No, you’re not seeing things. Yes, there is water again in the PTMA and even in Unionville. Last Monday, the upper Farmington River, its reservoirs, and watershed in southern MA got deluged, with some areas receiving inches of rain. Now that the Colebrook Reservoir is at 100% capacity, the Army Corps of Engineers has instructed the MDC to dump water and reduce the level. That’s why the gauge looks like this:
While this is better than the paltry 60cfs MDC was releasing, it’s a perfect illustration of how poorly this resource is managed. Instead of dumping 340 extra cfs of water en masse, why couldn’t the flows have been set to 150cfs for weeks? Better yet, how about the historical median flow? You know what’s going to happen next: the flows will go back to a trickle, and we’ll have the Farmington Rock Garden River. Again. There is no word on when those flows will be cut, but it is surely coming. So get out and enjoy the water while you can.
I’m still waiting to get you some better information on how this will all shake out, and what can be done about it. There are forces at work for better stewardship of the river. Stay tuned.
I was both humbled and honored to have the opportunity to guide three groups from Project Healing Waters. Over the course of two days, we fished, learned, talked, and just plain enjoyed being out on the water. On Tuesday afternoon, I did a streamside classroom for everybody, Wet Flies 101. OK, to be technical, it was at a picnic table at their campsite, but you could hear the river, so that counts for something.
This was the day after those torrential rains, so I gave the first group the option of streamers below the Still River or wet flies above Riverton. Option B was the choice, and off we went. That section was, not surprisingly, loaded with anglers. (Many thanks to those who shared the water both days and were so giving once they learned who we were and what we were doing. True, small kindness is vastly underrated.) The water was bracingly cold, and we had between 70-80cfs of flow to work with — not great, but doable. We found a few fish willing to jump on, but as I heard from the guys multiple times, it really isn’t about putting fish in the hoop. And in this case, they’re mighty right.
Not a bad day at the office! Time flies when you’re having fun, and on both days I frequently lost track of time.
For Wednesday AM, we stuck close to home, fishing water adjacent to the campground. The river had come down a bit, and cleared some, but we still had the challenge of mid-day summer fishing. Nonetheless, by covering water as best we could, we found a few feeding fish. The warmth of the sun on our shoulders and the cool of the river at our feet reminded us that were in a really good place. I had the group fishing a two-fly wet fly team, a fine compromise when not everyone is a great caster. Hatch activity on both days was minimal, and with the recent down and then up flows, I’m sure the insects were as discombobulated as we were.
We finished up Wednesday above the Still River in some gorgeous dry fly water. So, naturally, I suggested we fish dries. I rigged everyone up with a long leader system — minimum 13 feet — and we had at it. What a fantastic job this group did in some fairly technical water. While the trout were feeding — somewhat irregularly on emergers, but mostly spinners, the hatch (sulphurs size 14-16) wasn’t going to break any records for volume. But we stuck with it, and before too long, my man Guppy connected with a nice rainbow on a size 20 Usual.
I’d just seen a trout nail a skittering sulphur on top, so when Guppy’s fly began to drag at drift’s end, I told him to let it be. Moments later, whack! How exhilarating when it all works out just like you drew it up in your mind.
I stayed to fish after our session, but the evening rise never materialized in any big way. There were far more emergers and duns in the late afternoon than in the evening, and no spinner fall to speak of. I managed to stick three trout in about two hours. When I climbed out of the river at 9pm, my legs felt like cold, semi-unresponsive lumps. I was shivering. The fishing had been disappointing. But it hadn’t rained. It hadn’t stormed. And I realized that just being there did indeed count for something.
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