On April 1st, New York State opens its waterways up to anglers who want to try their luck. Going fishing on opening day is its own holiday for many. In the final installment of our spring series, WAMC’s Lucas Willard tagged along with a local fisherman hoping to snag trout from the Kinderhook Creek.
On March 31st, the day before trout season, 28-year-old Adam Muro looks over his fly-fishing gear in his Albany apartment.
“Here this is uh…fly spritz, which you spray on dry flies so they’re more buoyant.”
On a kitchen counter, Muro has a pile of brightly colored material; feathers, beads, hooks – all the materials necessary to tie flies. He shows a small case of artificial creatures.
“This is a wooly bugger. And that’s supposed to sort of emulate a baitfish as it’s going through the water, and you kind of pull-jig that as it’s going through the water. This is a zonker.”
There are two main types of flies – dry flies, which float on top of the water, and wet flies, which sink.
Today, Muro is working on tying some mayfly nymphs, wet flies that mimic the larvae found in New York rivers and streams.
“These are good for right now because when the water is cold, I mean, obviously there’s not as many flies in the air, but the fish aren’t really moving around as much as in the summer.”
Muro uses a specialized vice to hold a small hook with a bead attached. He wraps a wire around a material called dubbing – this will become the body of the fly. He then reaches into a bag to find what will become the tail of the mayfly nymph.
“This is a bag of feathers that my friends…field dressed a pheasant," he explains.
A fisherman all his life, Muro only recent began tying his own flies — about a hundred in the last couple years. With the internet, it’s become much easier for fishermen to obtain materials and pre-made flies. Muro fishes with some, but enjoys making his own.
“I mean, it’s cool to catch a fish with something that you made. For sure.”
After applying some tinsel and using thread to fasten some “legs,” Muro uses a tool to tie a knot that won’t slip to finish the nymph. It’s not his finest of the day.
“They say that the worst you tie a fly, the more the trout like it.”
The next morning Muro and his girlfriend, Amelia McDonnell, travel to the Kinderhook Creek, a half hour east of Albany.
Sitting on the bank, beside the bridge that spans the creek, the couple prepares. But before they can put a hook in the Kinderhook, a repair must be made.
A portion of McDonnell’s telescoping rod cracked on the ride down. Muro uses a piece of line to hold the rod together.
“I’m a little disappointed. Trying to keep my spirits high,” says McDonnell.
It’s a quick fix, but it will do. Muro and McDonnell head downstream on the path that cuts through pricker bushes. The creek runs noisily, filled with green water.
“Whoa, look at that, there’s a beaver five feet from us!”
Sure enough, a husky beaver paddles to the shore, sees us, and slips back into the water.
“Usually they whack their tails on the water and try to scare you off. That was a pretty brave beaver.”
As Muro turns his attention back to the stream, he looks for a suitable spot to cast his line. Because the water is so cold, the fish are more likely to favor deeper, slower-moving pools.
He ties on two wet flies; a wooly bugger and a mayfly nymph.
“So that I’ll have double the odds of getting a bite,” said Muro.
He steps into the stream….for a few seconds.
“I don’t think I can fish here it’s too dangerous! It’s like a million miles an hour. It didn’t look so bad from up there.”
“Need a hand?” asks his girlfriend.
“No, I think I’ll be OK.”
The search for a suitable spot continues. The morning warms up and the ice begins to melt off the guides of Muro’s rod.
Upriver from the bridge, McDonnell finds a sunny spot on the bank and drops her line in. Muro walks further ahead and comes across a small stream leading into the creek. The water here is shallower and allows a safer entry.
Now in past his knees, Muro has enough room to cast.
Casting with the floating fly line allows the lightweight flies to hit the water without the typical “kerplunk” heard when spin casting. Muro moves the rod back and forth, and the line loops through the air on the water’s surface.
A small, bright orange strike indicator sits on the water like a bobber.
But as the line comes in and out and mayflies are switched to stoneflies, the spot doesn’t turn up any trout.
“Sometimes when you’re a fisherman you go out and you don’t catch any fish that day. But that doesn’t stop me. Sometimes it’s boring. I think we have a chance, though, I haven’t given up hope.”
McDonnell doesn’t turn up any fish either and takes the car into town. Eventually, Muro heads back to the bridge.
There, another fisherman, John Rusinovich, is also looking for trout. On the end of his spin casting rod is a kernel of corn, which he hopes the trout will find interesting.
“That’s what they tell me,” said Rusinovich.
An Albany native, Rusinovich has fished the Kinderhook before, with some success.
“About three years ago…I hadn’t gone trout fishing in quite some time. And about 3 years ago I started going again. Not too successful, that’s why I gave it up,” jokes Rusinovich.
Rusinovich also knows that opening day can be a little tricky.
“Some years they’re hungry, some years they’re not, I guess.”
Muro tries one more spot about a quarter-mile down the road, but again, no luck today. As he exits, a vehicle pulls up with a couple rods in the backseat.
Dan DiCondio drove more than hour from Ludlow, Massachusetts to have his chance at New York’s opening day.
“It’s like Christmas morning, you know? And the anticipation of catching something pretty cool. At least catching something and having a present under the tree, right?”
And with a freshly signed fishing license in hand, another angler tries his luck on the Kinderhook Creek.
