I moseyed down to Housatonic Meadows State Park late Saturday morning on Aug. 16 for a Trout Unlimited smallmouth bass event put on by the Mianus chapter.
“Wait a sec,” you say. “If it’s Trout Unlimited, why are they fishing for smallmouth bass?”
The answer is two-fold.
First, the Housatonic River in summer is primarily a smallmouth fishery. The water is too warm for trout but it doesn’t bother the bass much.The trout are hiding out in the thermal refuge areas and are off-limits until mid-September.
Second, the word “unlimited” suggests wiggle room.
When I rolled in there was a small pop-up tent with the words “Trout Unlimited” on it set up by the upper parking lot. Being a trained observer, I spotted this vital clue almost immediately.
There was a folding table under the tent. It was empty, but it seemed likely there would be food on it at some point.
Trained observers are also patient. I tabled the food question and motored down to the lower parking area, where I beheld half a dozen men with fly rods casting into the low, slow river with varying degrees of proficiency and enthusiasm.
The nearest to me turned out to be Eddie Curtis, who hails from southern New Jersey. “About 15 minutes from Philly,” he said.
Curtis was a fortuitous choice of subject. Chatty and easy-going, he embarked on an angling monologue that included adventures on salt and fresh water and an incisive critique of fish and game practices in his home state.
All the while he chucked lazy downstream casts. On about every tenth one, he hooked a smallish smallmouth bass.
I asked him what fly he was using. The answer -- a black Wooly Bugger -- wasn’t surprising. That’s a standard pattern for this kind of fishing. Almost a cliche.
Curtis was using a black Wooly Bugger with an unusual feature — a little propeller or spinner.Patrick L. Sullivan
But this was different in that it had a little propeller attached just below the hook eye.
I last saw something like this in the mid-1990s in New Mexico, where a rustic saloon I just happened to be in had a small display case of standard trout flies with the same kind of propellers attached. The brand name was “Pistol Pete.”
Curtis said they work almost too well. He jerked his thumb behind him and said “He ties them for me.”
I resolved to catch up with “he” when everybody took a break.
I ambled back to the car and exchanged camera and notebook for rod and vest.
I tried four different flies, two surface and two subsurface, and failed to move anything.
Not anxious to perform the Walk of Shame, I tried a black Wooly Bugger, no propeller.
That did the trick.
Back up at the tent my finely honed instincts proved correct.Food had materialized, in the form of two giant submarine sandwiches, a couple of jumbo bags of potato chips, and sodas.
Gerald Berrafati was in charge of this. He is the chapter coordinator for the Mianus Trout Unlimited chapter, and he was talking a mile a minute about various dam removal and stream reclamation projects in his bailiwick.
Since the state of Connecticut east of New Hartford and south of Torrington is a complete mystery to me, I had only a vague idea where these places were.
But it sounded good.
Antoine Bissieux, who does business as “The French Fly Fisherman,” made a cameo appearance. Some years back he was with a couple of sports on the Hous in similar circs — warm, low, late summer -- and I swapped him a handful of mop flies for a sampler of his perdigon nymphs. If he remembered this he didn’t let on.
The six or eight of us at the tent did a number on the chow and talked some guff between bites. The sandwiches were good. So was the guff.
Warren Nesteruk of Southbury (I think) said his wife was giving him a hard time about having so many fly rods.
I asked how many he had.
“Fifteen,” he replied.
When I informed him I had something like 80 rods, he grew thoughtful, as if my awful example might buy him some space.
Then it struck him.
“You’re not married, are you.”
One loose end remained. I hate loose ends, and I wanted to find the fellow who added propellers to his flies.
But they had left.
So if you read this, Eddie Curtis of south Jersey, drop me a line. I’d like to find out if they really do work almost too well.
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Ralph Fedele sits at a desk in the historic Irondale Schoolhouse, which he led the effort to relocate to downtown Millerton.
Starting in 2015, the building was disassembled and moved — piece-by-piece — thanks to the efforts of a local organization called the Friends of the Irondale Schoolhouse and a Millerton resident that has dedicated much of his life to the community and preserving local landmarks.
That man is Ralph Fedele, a revered figure in the community both for his efforts to restore, maintain and educate people about the former schoolhouse and for more than a decade serving on the North East Town Board.
Fedele moved to Millerton from New York City 37 years ago, in 1988, and has since worn many hats – volunteer, historian, advocate, elected official – yet he still doesn’t believe he’s earned that title.
“I’m a transplant,” he said matter of factly. “I’m from the city.”
Years after settling in Millerton full time, Fedele was driving north on Route 22 when he spotted an old, classic building and couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“It was in dire straits,” he recalled. “Right on the road, but beautiful. I remember thinking, ‘Wouldn’t that be a great building to move into the village?’”
That moment would eventually turn into Fedele’s lasting legacy.
Fedele joked that people may have thought he was crazy during the lengthy restoration. “I was a tyrant,” he said with a laugh. “I really made sure that we were able to get it done.” The effort required coordination with the state, the county, village and town officials, and his newly assembled nonprofit board.
As a self-proclaimed history buff, Fedele didn’t stop at the restoration. He found a list of students in old records and did what any determined historian would do. He opened the telephone book and started making calls.
Eventually, he tracked down one of the schoolhouse’s original students – Mary (Mechare) Leitch – who, at the age of 101, returned to the building after renovations were complete.
“It was a marvelous time,” smiled Fedele. “I was so happy to see her.”
North East Town Supervisor Chris Kennan, left, and Mary Leitch, who was the last living Irondale Schoolhouse student until her death in 2025.Provided
Leitch died on Dec. 24, 2025, at the age of 103.
Leitch was born in Millerton in 1922 and grew up on Winchell Mountain in the hamlet of Irondale. Her early schooling was at Irondale’s 1858 one-room schoolhouse until it closed in 1930. She was proud of having been the last person to attend the school. From the third grade onward, she attended school in the Millerton school district.
“If you sit still, you will rust,” was a favorite Leitch saying, perhaps inspired by the Irondale district and the area’s iron industry.
Leitch delighted in the outdoors and in the company of animals and people, caring for many dogs—especially Jack Russells—and cherishing the horses that were part of her long, vibrant life. An avid sportswoman, she enjoyed deer hunting and fishing, keeping her licenses current right up until her passing. She was a longtime member of both the Jack Russell Club of America and the Dutchess County Professional Horsemen’s Association.
In 1958, she married William “Billy” Leitch of Millbrook, a professional horseman, sharing a love of the sporting life and enjoying active membership in the Millbrook Hunt Club. Billy pre-deceased her in 2015.
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