Matt McGraw- “Trees on the River"
In this piece, Matt Mcgraw walks you through a day fishing in New York, on the Cohocton River.
In May of 2022, I had a unique opportunity to fish two regions in Appalachia previously unexplored by me.I had two consecutive business trips in the Northeast within a few days of each other. I was scheduled to be in the Finger Lakes Region of New York from May 9-13th and then scheduled to present at Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh from May 18th -20th. Plotting these days on my Outlook calendar, the days between these trips, roughly 4 and a half days, began to stare at me in increasingly seductive ways. I decided to drive, bring my gear, and fish as much as I could. My wife and boss, separate and distinct people (in this instance), were surprisingly ambivalent to my plan. My first meeting ended on May 13th in Corning, NY, and the second began only four days later in Pittsburgh. It simply wouldn't be responsible to drive all the way back to Southwest Virginia just to drive back to Pittsburgh. Right? Right. Cogs began to turn, my eyes narrowed like coin slots, and I had the sudden urge to unfold hatch charts. I disappear for a few days periodically to drive, fish, and camp with fish on my mind, but no real destination. I usually return in a few days sunburnt, hungry, unkempt, and probably smelly. My wife calls these ramblings "going feral" and she is cool with it as long as I re-domesticate quickly when I am back to the real world.
For this trip, I would explore the Finger Lakes region of New York at the beginning of the trip, then head north to the Adirondacks for a few days before a rendezvous with two work colleagues in Pittsburgh on the return trip home. This writing expands upon my experience in the Finger Lakes while part two explores my days fishing in the Adirondacks. Many, myself included, do not think of the Finger Lakes of New York as "Appalachia". Geologically, the Appalachian Range runs from north Alabama all the way to Maine. I found the geography, landscapes, water vistas, and people of the Finger Lakes Region all to be both beautiful and interesting. The lakes themselves are a series of North/South oriented lakes that were gauged out of the landscape by advancing glaciers during the last ice age. Exceptionally deep, with bottoms well below sea level. Seneca Lake itself is over 600 feet deep in places. Zooming out on Google maps one can easily imagine glaciers the size of continental shelves slowly advancing and producing the namesake finger pattern. These lakes may have begun as northward-flowing streams, were gauged, deepened, and expanded by advancing glaciers, then filled in and dammed by retreating glaciers, with life phases measured in geologic time.
On Monday, May 9th I left my home at 4:00 am to drive to Corning, New York. The drive was rural most of the way and quite scenic. Noting several rivers and streams along the spine ridge that is the West Virginia/Virginia border and in central Pennsylvania where I intend to return and fish, I made very good time. I took a business call with a colleague along the way, checked into the hotel early, and was off again to conduct reconnaissance on the region's trout streams. Working from a shortlist developed the week before from online resources, I first scouted Catherine's Creek near Watkins Glen, but found it to be far too low, clear, and warm. I had read about a spring run of brown trout in Catherine's Creek, but I seem to have missed it by several weeks.
Referring to my notes, I identified three possibilities: Cryder Creek near Paynesville, Mill Creek near Bath, Naples Creek near Naples, and the Coshocton River. The Coshocton River flowed within feet of my hotel. At this point, the river is wide, sparkling, and slow. "Cohocton" is an Iroquois word loosely translated as "trees on the water" in English. I have always found native words for good trout streams to be beautifully descriptive in ways that were lost to European renamers of streams. I decided to drive upstream and give the Coshocton a try.
It was after dinnertime when I left the hotel, heading upstream in a general Northeasterly direction toward Keuka Lake. A colleague from the region describes Keuka Lake as the "middle finger of the Finger Lakes". Truly, as you look at a map, Keuka is the middle of the eleven Finger Lakes. At dusk I started to see public access points near the village of Kanona I scouted a couple, and found one that seemed out of the way and had both up and downstream wading options. I was out of daylight on this day, but I had a few hours to fish early the next day before I had to replace the waders with a tie and appear civilized. I had a plan and, as one of my favorite sayings goes, a good plan today is better than a perfect plan tomorrow. I was up early the next morning picking through a continental breakfast of packaged pastries and unripened fruit. It was 41 degrees when I arrived at the public access point. A gentleman in hip boots heading upstream quickened his pace when I pulled in, so I left him to it and waded downstream.
Unsure of public access laws, I stayed in the river and moved slowly looking for changes in depth or current, a foam line, or, if I am lucky some woody structure. About a quarter mile downstream from my truck, a shadow passed overhead. An eagle was hunting. He went on downstream and 10 minutes later passed overhead again, this time with a 12-inch rainbow in his talons for breakfast. A few minutes later I noticed swallows darting. Things were looking up. The eagle more or less pointed me toward the swallows who were taking caddis out of the air. I slowed and could clearly see trout stacked up in a foam line as if by rank, sipping caddis to a regular cadence. For the first time in a long time, I felt connected to nature as an impartial, unbiased observer. I tied on a size 16 caddis imitation to the 10-foot, 5X leader, connected to the floating three-weight line, on my favorite dry fly rod. I had several good drifts, but no takes. No strikes, hits, winks, or sniffs. Nothing. Downsizing to an 18 and a caddis emerger was the trick. That foam line produced several rainbows and two browns. The browns were both about 12 inches but had gorgeous coloration, buttery bellies, dark spots, and attitudes. I loved it.
Two hundred yards further downstream where the stream began to parallel a railroad track, I came to a small tributary creek. Downstream of the mouth of that creek, the main channel in the Cohocton deepened, widened, and there were fallen trees on the north bank. Recalling the translation of the Iroquois name, I began to work my way down that channel towards the fallen trees and sweepers against the north bank. The sun was higher now as it was near midday and the air temperature was considerably warmer. The fog had burned off and it was turning into a bluebird day. I switched to a tight-line setup, drifting a sparse partridge and orange behind a Walt's Worm with a tungsten head. A few drifts to gauge depth and develop a mental map of the stream bed, and I was into fish. That stretch was mostly brown trout with the occasional rainbow. I spent the rest of my time on that stream fishing the same 100-yard beat: nymph the mouth of the tributary and the channel then hit the far bank around the trees with small streamers. A copper and gold kreelex seemed to be the most productive. I would take a short break, quietly wade back upstream, and repeat the circuit. The brown trout were some of the most beautiful I had seen and the occasional rainbow was feisty as well.
As it does, time got away from me. It was late afternoon before I thought of lunch and I realized that I had to be professionally dressed back at the hotel in only an hour. Taking mental notes on the stream and physical notes back at the truck, I hustled back to the world. I wasn't able to fish again that week until my last day in Corning, which was May 13th. My meeting finished in the early afternoon so instead of finding new water, I went back to the same access point and waded downstream to the same confluence of streams at the railroad track. It was 4:00 before I arrived and the sun was high and hot. No caddis meant no swallows were to be seen. I picked up a few on the same nymph setup as earlier in the week, but not with the same effectiveness. A mop fly produced a couple more. As darkness neared, I switched to a copper and gold kreelex and pounded the banks until visibility was enough to make me feel uncomfortable wading back toward the truck.
The trip to the Cohocton in Steuben County was fantastic. The fishing was great, the vistas stupefying, the region historically and culturally interesting, and it is only a short seven-hour drive from my home in Virginia. My only true regret is that this trip was pigeonholed onto the beginning and end of a business trip as it certainly warrants significant attention. A friend recently pointed out all the great trout water I drove by to fish in Steuben County, New York. He is certainly right- the streams of the highlands in West Virginia and rural Pennsylvania are certainly extraordinary, but that only made me feel like I had discovered a hidden gem.
Matt Mcgraw Bio:
Matt McGraw is a proud Appalachian who lives in the scenic Alleghany Highlands of Virginia. He is a marginal but enthusiastic fly angler, a sub-par fly tyer, and a dangerous fly caster. His favorite streams include the Jackson River, the South Fork of the Holston River, and the New River. His preferred quarries are trout and smallmouth bass, but he will target with a fly rod anything that both swims and eats. As a tyer, Matt likes old-school trout flies and easy-to-tie bass flies.Matt's alter-ego is that of a mild-mannered college administrator at Mountain Gateway Community College.
Contact Information:
Email: mcgrawms@gmail.com
Instagram: @matthewmcgraw1