“Breaking the shoreline,” says Todd Spire. “That’s really the big thing for people.”

Spire, the founder of Esopus Creel, a fly fish- ing outfitter in Phoenicia, is referring to the moment when first-timers get their first rush. “You feel the hug of the stream against your legs and you’re no longer stuck on dry ground,” adds Spire. “It’s really transformative.”

This return to nature mentality has been a real boon for the Catskills, where curious urbanites, (in-creasingly millennials), have turned to fly fishing in surprising numbers. They’re chasing, according to Spire, an authentic experience — a reprieve from an otherwise tech-paved reality — one that standing midstream provides. You might call it a primitive itch, but the call, especially in the Catskills, is nothing new.

For Spire and Esopus Creel, it all began shortly after September 11th, 2001 (about thirteen fishing seasons ago, for measure). Being a web designer allowed him to trade Brooklyn for Beacon, New York and although he’d fished his entire life — even on his paper route along the Saddle River while growing up in New Jersey — fly fishing was an entirely new method to explore.

The style itself is distinct from all other an- gling. “When I moved up here it felt sacrilegious to throw traditional lures.” (Unlike other lures, fly fishing lures are intricately designed to float on the water and must be cast swiftly on a weighted line; the technique, when done right, is nothing short of choreography.) And the allure of fly fishing is not just about how you catch, but what you catch. “America has been obsessed with bass for decades, but it’s turning back to trout because of the history, authenticity, and the experience,” says Spire of the sport’s preeminent prize.

There’s a fishing history in the Catskills that, until lately, might have been easy to miss if you weren’t a fishing fanatic: the Catskills are known as the birthplace of American dry fly fishing.

From the Willowemoc, Neversink, and Bea- verkill, to the Esopus, the Catskills’ rivers and tributaries spread in popularity among anglers in the 1800s because roads, and eventually railroads, made the destination accessible. Hospitality followed, from fishing clubs to boarding houses and resorts, beckoning visitors to stick around. In time, the community began to innovate, resulting in an evolution of gear and tackle that gave local fly fish- ing its own distinction.

These local pastimes fell off the radar in the 1970s, after Catskills tourism sharply declined. At the turn of the century, a leaner cohort of anglers might have wondered — worried, even — who would continue the legacy.

And that’s what makes Esopus Creel so timely, if not timeless. Having spent the past four years as a fly fishing guide, Spire went brick-and-mortar last year, opening the area’s first designated fly fishing shop in a quarter of a century.

A fresh crowd (unlike the older, admittedly whiter skew of the past) is catching on, too. At least one report, released by the Recreational Boating & Fishing Foundation, found that 2018 marked a ban- ner year for American anglers: it’s more diverse than ever, and growing in popularity.

Make no mistake, fly fishing isn’t a crowd-pleaser. It’s a solitary sport, one beloved for being an escape from crowds altogether. And yet, this ever growing community, flourishing in the Catskills, is undoubtedly in good company.

A note from Spire: As a fly fishing guide who relies on seasonal employment, I am, as of writing this, not allowed to take clients out on the rivers I call home. But, the Catskills are a collection of mountains and rivers that hold the prestigious title of “the birthplace of American fly fishing.” So, of course, it is my honor to carry and share the tales of the men and women who stomp these hallowed waters – for their stories are stories of patience. I’ve yet to see a fly fishing an- gler lose their cool in the midst of all this stress. All anglers seek the fruitful benefit of washing away their burdens in the waters within which they wade. We are one in those waters... and we are always together even when we are apart. Tight lines to all.

By Keith Flanagan

Images courtesy of Esopus Creel/Peter Crosby