Rivers of anticipation

Published 12:33 pm Tuesday, July 29, 2025

Later this summer, I’ll be heading west to chase trout in the high mountain desert of Wyoming. Reports of good-sized fish sipping grasshoppers and beetles off the surface have only heightened anticipation of waking up with lows in the 50s and no humidity. The build-up to the trip is almost as fun as the adventure itself. The anticipation of what a new place will fish like brings any angler joy.

At my fly-tying desk, I was about to switch the materials to western fly material from our normal Appalachian fly selection. As I put up the old materials, I realized it had been a while since I tied up my favorite patterns. The reason was Hurricane Helene.

At dinner the other night, a fishing buddy and I were discussing when a few of our favorite streams will be accessible. Here we are, almost a year from Helene, and things are not back to normal. The normal happy anticipation of our fishing trips has changed to an anxious longing about our favorite water’s future.

When I go out west, I’ll get what I get. The stream I will fish has no memories to live up to. If it is bad, oh well, I went fishing. If the fishing is great and fond memories are made, the stream is now bound to a higher standard.

With our local waterways, when the debris is washed away by rain or hauled away by dump trucks, will the rivers live up to the great highlight reel in my mind?

Memories of early dates with my wife fishing until dark in the late spring well up. Bugs hatching along the surface of the long slick pool meet their demise from a trout sipping them from beneath. The calm water accentuates the dimple formed by the eat, and if we were close enough, we could almost hear a “slurp” sound. 

Another favorite river, the Green, could be the birthplace of my love for rivers. The access point at Fishtop on Green River Cove Road was where I first contorted my body into a plastic kayak and paddled whitewater. The cool tailwater flowing down from the Tuxedo Dam was refreshing when I flipped over without knowing how to roll back up.

Green River Cove will never be the same after Helene. The predictable dam releases from Tuxedo are now gone since the storm damage to the plant. The river itself has changed. New rapids replacing old ones. Famous rapids now wiped off the riverbed. Whitewater enthusiasts are starting to become acquainted again with the new Green River.

Change is inevitable. In our area, some say we never change. The truth is, we change very slowly. Helene was a geological event that happened over a weekend. The further we get from the tragedy, returning to the old ways and hobbies become more comfortable. 

The streams I fish and the rivers we float will never be the same. But the anticipation of their future is on my mind as I tie my stonefly and inchworm imitations at my fly-tying desk. Tying bugs for Wyoming can wait. I’ll start working on flies for our rivers as I anticipate the rebirth of our waters after Helene. 

Later this summer, the author will be heading west to chase trout in the high mountain desert of Wyoming.