I returned from Rhode Island striper fishing with Jeremy, Nate, Dave, Mike, and Louie, and instantly caught the bug once again. I really needed to see a trout river, and soon. I was talking with Dave in Syracuse, and he mentioned something about the Delaware River. 5 minutes later I had a plane ticket and 2 days later I was in the air. A late arrival followed by 2 days of fishing was the order. Nate (kranefly) met Dave (waterwhippa) and I in Syracuse, and off we went to a nearby trout river, a fairly solitude streach of water without another angler for miles. There were fish sipping Hendrickson’s from the surface, but even with all of the surface activity I managed to see a few browns flashing and feeding near the bottom. We hiked around looking for activity and passed a small run that Nate pointed out to me. “There is always a fish there,” he said “why don’t you strip a bugger through it and see what happens.” I flipped my bugger into the small pool, and let it sit while I pulled some line off of my reel. As I retrieved my fly to put my first “cast” into it and WHAM!….POP! 0 for 1. 6x tippet is a lot lighter than the 40lb that I usually use down here in SW Florida. There were many opportunities at fish on our way upriver, but Nate had the magic wet fly that was most productive that afternoon when he fooled a nice 20in brown. Oh yeah on our way back to the car I decided to throw another bugger into the little pool that always held a fish, WHAM! POP!, I swear there was an alligator in there. The second day’s plan was to drive south to Hancock, NY, where we fished the West Branch of the Delaware River. Smart, angry, and hungry trout were on the rise, most just out of casting range, and Hendrickson wet and dry flies were on the menu. We settled into a stretch of river 40 yards long and about 50 feet wide. I swear I was out West, gravel, rock, and sandstone that sloped gently away from us to a far bank that was nearly 4 feet deep and surrounded by lush mountain greenery. The day brought consistently rising fish and steady feeding activity. I would scout out some active fish, stealthily position myself for a perfect drift, and waited for aggressive feeding patterns. When I felt the time was right I presented the fly. This strategy seemed to be working on these wary fish, as they never saw it coming. I didn’t beat them up before the time was right to fool them into the take. A sip or even a brutal attack was usually followed by a strong wild fish flying out of the water. The hatch progressed into a blizzard like spinner fall and the fishing lit up like a smoker in an airport for the last hour of the day. All in all a dozen fish or so were landed by us all, and equally as many missed or lost. Fishing the birthplace of American fly fishing is something I will never forget, and hope to repeat before the season is over.I want to thank my new friends for the hospitality, and the fishing lessons, and I am looking forward to your upcoming fly fishing adventures down here into tarpon country.