Nate and I met Pete at exit 84 in the Wendy’s parking lot around five o’clock Friday evening. He was already suited up and ready to go. A half mile drive and we were on some of the best dry fly water in the Eastern U.S. We stood at the car and watched the river like a Heron intent on spotting its prey. The sulphurs were emerging and pouring off the water in droves. Upon further investigation we saw one rise form, then two, now six and then it happened the entire section came “alive”. Pete headed down to the river with a very determined demeanor. Kranes and I were not far behind, pulling our waders on and not taking our eyes off the noses, steadily protruding from the surface of the river. We both mumble incoherently to ourselves as we begin our descent to the waters edge. I could feel short blasts of adrenaline course through my veins as my senses were inundated with sights, sounds and olfactory hues that were all relative to eventful times spent on this particular stretch of the West Branch.As I approach the river I am constantly assessing. As far as hatches go, things can get very complex on the Upper Delaware system. Long before my fly will hit the water, there is always a series of questions and observations. There are six hatches coming off. Are they taking the emerger or the dun? Are they keyed in on two or even three different bugs? If so Which three are they taking? It can be trying to say the least when twenty or thirty respectable fish are on the feed right in front of you. You don’t just tie on any old caddis pattern and let it rip. In terms of your offering, these fish are species and size specific. You go into this knowing that any pattern you put out there will be scrutinized harshly by these wild trout. This particular evening hatch was not as complex as some I have witnessed. It was the usual suspects, march browns, hendricksons, blue quill and sulphurs. They were on sulphur duns and emergers. At the moment these fish come up to take your fly they will hover a few centimeters below it, analyzing, dropping back a couple of feet with the drift, then proceed to refuse or hammer it. The latter being the hope. Some did hammer it and many refused. Blustery conditions and thin hatches made for a tough couple days. Between the three of us, we missed over two dozen takes, brought at least ten fish to hand and had a ton of laughs. The auxiliary prize was watching a mating pair of fully mature Bald Eagles “fly fish” all afternoon on Saturday, bringing their catch back to the nest for the little ones to feast on. These times spent on the water are essential to my humanity. For me there is nothing more liberating than being knee deep in the current of some river, somewhere, over rising trout. Out of all my vices that have come and gone, I would have to proclaim that fly fishing is the elixir of life. Drink up!