I am back, and have been back, since Monday. Since that time I have been compiling backdated posts of my fly fishing foray in Northern Michigan that tell the tale. You will find those posts in dated order below this one if you feel so inclined to catch a brief, though most likely inadequately described, glimpse of my daily activities.
Closing up camp has become an art for us. It is done with efficiency and is done pretty much in silence. The only sounds are of supplies being packed away. Everyone knows the chores and duties that need to be performed. There are no assigned tasks, everyone does their part.
There is a certain sadness that comes with going home. True, we often feel more at home here, we feel more normal and more sane, in this place, but our life obligations are never too far from our thoughts.
In the matter of an hours time we are ready to depart and we glance around camp taking it all in as if it is the last time we shall ever see this place. It is at this moment that the desire already starts to well up in us to return and we have not even closed the gate and driven a mile down the road. It is a time of mixed emotion.
Driving down M-72 it has started to rain and now, approaching Grayling it is really coming down. We welcome the rain as it has been very dry up here and the land is thirsty and it too needs to be revived. We hit the highway and glance back in our rear view mirrors and say our goodbye to this good place yet, already, the wheels have begun to spin and plans are being laid down for the next trip...it will happen soon, but not soon enough!
Categories: Fly-Fishing
Today is Michigan's traditional trout openers. This occurs each year on the last Saturday in April. The previous 3 days have been outstanding and we have awakened to a new day. It was warmer than the previous 3 mornings as we had cloud cover all night and those clouds have remained this morning.
Yesterday morning I cooked omelette's for everyone in camp that were stuffed with ham, onions, mushrooms and cheese. This morning, not to be outdone, Jeff is made his "Mountain-Man Breakfast". This is a complete breakfast cooked in a dutch oven and consists of browned sausage & hash browns. Once those are browned all the ingredients are placed in the dutch oven and well scrambled eggs are poured over top and then sprinkled with cheese. The lid is put on the dutch oven and hot coals are placed on the lid. A half hour or so later, viola'! A delicious breakfast concoction that is very satisfying.
Opening day, to paraphrase from "Escanaba in da Moonlight" is like Christmas with fly-fishing as the gift. No need, really, to blast out of camp too early for any fishing on dry flies today is going to be later in the afternoon.
After bright and mostly sunny days we are blessed with cloud cover today so we had high expectations of better hatch and bug activity then the previous days ... Hennies like clouds, or so we thought.
Jeff, Rick and I fished the South Branch again where we waited patiently and diligently for the hatch to come on, but the hatch never came. We had a few very sporadic rises but other than that fishing was a disappointment. The only tale to tell of any adventure was Rick stumbling over a log, falling into the stream, coming up, soaking wet. No one likes to fall in, but this was tempered with a bit of a bonus of a caught fish that had taken his fly!
It spit and rained off and on, but it was really nothing of significance. In spite of the slow fishing us three enjoyed good conversation and used the opportunity to further let the troubles of our daily lives drain from our systems....This is, really, the key and purpose of our trip anyway.
Made it back camp late and upon our arrival we found everyone already
chowing down on dinner, Beef stew. They got tired of waiting for us and
so their appetites prevailed! I feel we are fortunate that there was any
left! Fishing has a way of creating in you a deep hunger that begs to be
satisfied. From what we have been told it sounds like us three were just
in the wrong section of river. There was good hennie activity below the
Chapel and the group down there got into some nice fish with my brother
Mort caught a nice sized brown trout that measured from his inner elbow
to the fingertips of his extended hand! Measured out that came to about
19+inches! Nice! So we have another lesson learned ... Location,
location, location!
Tonight we sleep in camp. Tomorrow morning we pack up and head home. While we are always anxious and excited to go camping and fishing by the time our trips come to a close we are equally anxious and excited to head home to wives and children.
Categories: Fly-Fishing
The trout have been somewhat active and there rises up and downstream from where I entered the water. We are told, thru what we have read and the old timers, that trout are skiddish, easily frightened creatures and that we must use stealth tactics when pursuing them in their environs. This advice, while practical, is difficult to take to heart when I am wading through a steam rather noisily and yet there are trout rising and on the feed less than 3 feet away from where I am standing .... It is if they are oblivious to my presence completely and it makes me chuckle at the aforemetioned prevailing wisdom.
It has been a good day of fishing and I am joined today by my friend Jeff who will be staying with us the remainder of the weekend. Fishing in solitude has it's rewards even so, fishing with a dear friend has it's equal rewards. We spent an hour or so chatting and enjoyin each others company on the rivers bank under the cedars puffing on cigars and sipping some Irish Mist from a flask. Jeff then decided to walk upstream about 300 yards from my location which left a large buffer between us. The river does a couple of bends and I am unable to see him so I am, once again for the most part, alone.
There is allot of structure where I am that provides a great variety of places for trout to hide, Submerged rocks and logs, overhanging branches, logjams and other woody debris, all areas of interest. The trout that I can see rising and on the feed are out in the middle of the river! These are mostly little "dinks" in the 6 to 8 inch range for size. They are inexperienced young trout who really do not know any better and are easy prey who rise to our flies the voracious eaters that they are! They are animated and comical but are very beautiful to look at and admire in spite of their small size.
I haven't kept count of the number of fish I have landed or lost as the day has progressed. Keeping count only really comes in handy if one wishes to boast or do oneupmanship with his peers. Firsthand accounts, when it comes to fishing, are fun to tell but in some regards pointless for we all know to well the stories of "the one that got away" or "I once caught a fish that was THIS big!" Stories like that almost demand photographic proof which is why I always carry a small digital camera with me on the stream to record significant evidence!
I have been wading downstream from my starting location. Now across the stream from me is a nice sized jam of woody debris and trees. It is lodged against the bank and juts out into the river a good distance with one large cedar log arching up out of the water as a sweeper. I wave my rod, load up my line and cast out my fly. It bounces off one of the logs and lands in the water. Caught in the current it starts its down stream drift floating silently across the surface, the perfect cast when .... Nothing happens, no rise were I had seen a fish rise before. Rod tip up, reload the rod and try again. Again the fly bounces off the log and lands in the seam closer to the logs than before and once again begins it's decent. It just rounded the tip of the sweep when it is taken by a previously unseen trout. I set the hook and the rod has come alive in my hand!
The fish dives and the rods develops a nice bend and I raise the tip to keep my catch under control. Finding no relief from his dive he swims quickly upstream. I am amazed at the power of a fish in how quickly and deftly it moves through the water! It has taken a little line and I see a brief flash of it just under the surface when it quickly does an about face and is swimming towards me, downstream, at alarming speed. I moved quickly to react to his counter measure turn stripping in my line by hand when he darts under the logjam! The line briefly tenses up and then goes slack and he has set himself free! An event like this sets off ones imagination with visions of monster trout and makes for excellent story telling around a fire. I cannot adequately express my excitement of the event, the heart pounding action or the great disappointment of the loss, but who am I to complain and why should I when I look at the success of the day in the whole. It is time to reel up and exit the stream.
I only had to wait for Jeff for a wee bit before I saw him too come up the path form his exit of the river. We drove back to camp and are now well fed. The river takes allot out of a person but we are comfortably tired and extremely satisfied with ourselves and our day. Drinks have been poured and just as they flow so do the stories from each individual. The stories are told where they should be around the warmth and glow of campfire coals and some day they will be recalled like an ancient myth or legend. There is noting like this in the world, as far as were concerned anyway, as we sit outdoors telling out tales of the "one that got away" and the ones that did not. We all listen intently to each other for a well guarded secret to be revealed ... But that too may be a spoof to throw us off the mark but would brothers do that to one another would they? You bet they would! We laugh and joke and contemplate, we revel in it all. We have the heavens for a roof and the entire world at our fingertips. We are living large, feeling very much at home and alive for when we are Up North fishing, while we are still mere mortals on this earth, up here we are Kings!
Categories: Fly-Fishing
The sound of the Coleman white gas stove being pumped up awakened me. John, the one who is usually first up, was fighting that cantankerous beast to get 'er lit so as to make morning camp coffee. There is nothing better than coffee in camp or camp coffee and I am forever grateful that my brother goes to battle with the stove on our behalf each morning!
It was chilly out. 17 degrees at 7:00am. I lingered in the warmth of my sleeping bag before finally rolling out of the rack a few minutes later. The sun was out as we currently had clear blue skies and all the birds were singing their morning chorus and greeting of the new day. Morning greetings were exchanged among those in camp, I poured my coffee savoring the warmth of the cup in my cold hands as I gingerly and carefully sipped the hot liquid and basked in the warming rays of that giant heater in the sky.
It was decided we would have breakfast at the lodge this morning and after milling about in camp, stretching, yawning and, in general, waking up fully, we piled into the Jeep for the 20 minute drive to Gates Lodge for Julies Guides Full Day Starter breakfast of 2 eggs cooked to order, meat, homemade toast and ausable hash brown potato pancakes. After throwing down breakfast we milled about Gates fly shop in search of new "hooey" and to exchange pleasantries, along with the previous days fishing details, with a select few of the staff. There are some things you just do not blabber out loud to the general public or in the close confines of a fly shop for as Rusty taught us, some information is sacred and best kept secret to yourself and your closest allies!
Once again we wold be heading out to the Mason Tract and our beloved South Branch of the Au Sable River though in a different area, The Highbanks and Sheps Bend. Over the many eons nearly all the stretches of river have acquired different names. Each section is unique and some sections got their names by their physical attributes like Daisy Bend, The Baldwin's, other sections were named after individuals, Like Sheps Bend, and still others were named from experiences, Like the Ice Box or Dinks hole. Some of the named sections everyone knows, other names only a select few know once again, possibly, keeping things, or locations, a well kept secret.
There is once section of river I myself am very fond of, upstream from the Highbanks where there is a tight grouping of 3-4 cedars where one can lounge against them in comfort and style on the bank while still providing ample view of the river. On sunny, hot days they provide shade, on windy and/or rainy days they provide shelter from the elements and the moss covered ground provides just the right amount of padding and insulation when it's needed. I have sat at the base and shelter of these cedars many-a-hour, and have napped there while waiting for the hatch to come on and that is where I am this 2nd day of fishing or, in this case, fishing but not fishing. It has been said "Some men go fishing all their lives never realizing that it is, quite often, not fish they're after" I learned, long ago, that there is more to fishing than catching fish, catching fish is just a bonus to the overall experience of being outdoors. I am just a visitor here and a temporary one at that.
The forest is a bustle of activity and if one listens carefully it has a conversation with you thru its sounds and inhabitants. There is the drumming of the Grouse, there is the tap-tap-tap of the woodpecker, a rustle of leaves as chipmunks and squirrels scamper hither and tither and the symphony of gentle breezes thru the branches. Of course there is always, in the background, the gentle sounds of the river as it babbles continuously along. So I sit here, with my eyes closed, really quite satisfied and relaxed with how the day is panning out when I here my first tell-tale splash of a rising trout. It is not a loud sound, but it is a very distinctive sound and one that stirs the soul and makes the heart pound in excitement! I stand, grab my fly rod, quickly look over the river, see,and hear, another rise just down stream and I quietly and purposefully enter the river in pursuit!
Categories: Fly-Fishing
We arrived at the gate to the Baldwins access and piled out of the Jeep. Getting "suited up" in our waders boots and other assorted gear is part chore and part mystic ritual but it is done full of energy and eagerness to hit the water. My brothers and I hiked silently, in file, down the narrow pathway to the South Branch. If we could of, we would have physically embraced the river like one embraces a friend one has not seen for an extended period of time.
The weather could'nt have been better! In fact one would find it hard to believe it was only springtime. It was partly cloudy, the air temp was 66 degrees ... Nice for just after lunchtime, and the river water temp was already 52 degrees. We stood at the rivers edge quietly and surveyed the waters for Hendricksens on the surface and the telltale signs of rings left by rising trout. The game was ready to commence. Mort went down stream, John entered at the rivers edge and I hiked the Mason Tract pathway to an access point up stream. Looking over the water I saw several rising trout, unhooked my fly from its keep, let out some line and let out my first cast, a sloppy one, trying to get back the feel of the rod when my first strike occurred without warning. The trout was scrappy and a quick flash showed it to be a brookie but he was only on briefly and he spit the fly, and LDR (long distance release) It's not often one gets into fish the first cast, it's an exciting event and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. There was brief disappointment, but there was a smile on my face and a famialier lightness in my heart.
I quickly surveyed my surroundings and identified several rising trout and additional areas that could hold trout. My third cast landed near a submerged log and an area where a Trout had risen and my cast was spot on. The trout came up, grabbed my offering, the hook was set and the fight was on! I brought the trout to my wetted hand. It was a nice 10" Brook Trout. While a 10" trout may not seem very large, for this small stream this was a nice fish, nicely colored with an orangish belly, white tipped fins and red spots with the circumference outlined by blue. I gently removed the hook, admired my catch ever so briefly, and released it back to it's home in the river. This was going to be a good day! Through the course of the day I caught several other trout, all browns and brookies. The afternoon Henny hatch slowed down and my last fish caught, within sight of my brother John, was a very lively 12-13 inch brown that, in spite of it's size, fought like one of it's much larger counterparts. It was a nice catch and I believe my brother enjoyed watching me catch it and much as I enjoyed landing it! This was a nice way to cap off my first day of fishing!
Tired, yet satisfied, we drove back to camp to share tales, some would say lies, around the campfire while we dined. We memorialized our departed friend Rusty "the Gator" in our conversations. The evening was topped off with fine cigars and brown water (bourbon) as we relaxed around the warmth and glow of the fire, piling logs on periodically to keep the flames alive til at last we let it die down to a bed of red hot embers. We finally trudged off to bed at a late hour to rest up in preparation for day 2 of fishing and the arrival of the rest of the gang in camp.
Categories: Fly-Fishing
Anticipation is half the fun. For weeks, months even, we had been planning and now we were on the road. The destination, just shy of 3 hours away, was hastened by good company in the form of my brother Mort in the passenger seat of my 2000 Jeep Cherokee as we chatted about the important things in life and nothing at all. Our final destination, Two Arrows Trout Camp a parcel of land under 6 acres large and perched atop a ridge some 30 feet above the 600 some odd feet of blue ribbon, and here unnamed, trout stream. We quite often say that arriving at this magical place is like coming home as it is a place where one feels more complete and whole , not to mention more sane, than when we are when actually home.
We stopped at Gates Lodge and Fly-shop to get the latest fishing report from Josh and the gang and to purchase additional supplies, in the form of hand tied flies, to supplement our already overflowing fly-boxes and to wish our friends a "Happy New Year". You would'nt know it but there are two new years every year for the fly-fisherman ... Traditional new years on January 1, every knows about that! For flyfisherman in Michigan the real start to the New Year is the last Saturday in April, The opening of Trout Season.
It was a bit strange at the shop this year. Our longtime friend and mentor, the lodgeowner, the flyshop purveyor, the riverkeeper, someone that reminded us brothers of our departed father and someone who was maybe even a bit of a god to us, was not present. He had died back in December after losing his battle with cancer. In the shop we half expected him to come waltzing in from the kitchen with coffee in hand with a warm smile on his face, and a quick wink and nod of approval in our river fishing destinations. It was surreal not seeing him there and sad too. Several times thoughout the weekend our conversations centered around his influence in our lives and what he had taught us not only by what he told us but what he had shown us by his own actions. The loss of him, the absence of his presence, tempered our weekend and our attitudes and we each paid homage and respect to his memory individually and collectively.
Well stocked we departed for the final push into camp where we met up with another brother,John, the one who, in his wisdom, found and purchased the parcel that is our "real" home. Greetings among brothers are special occasions, hearty hellos and warm hugs are the norm. Our bonds have always been tight but the one that binds us particularly close is our pursuit of trout on a fly. Camp was set up hastily, lines were mended, rods were strung up and we were on our way to the South Branch, the Baldwins section with gleams in our eyes and warm memories in our hearts.
Though relatively new, or should I saw re-newed, I will not be posting here over the next few days ... Instead I will be indulging myself in the pursuit of trout on one of the many pristine trout streams in Northern Michigan. You could say that I am going in for repairs and rejuvinating the soul. For a glimpse into what activities I may be enjoying, check this link out.
Categories: Down for Repairs, Fly-Fishing
There just ain't nothing like the music from the 40's and 50's. It is of a whole different caliber and class.
From swing-era girl singer to sultry siren to grande dame of American song, Miss Peggy Lee brought a sense of style, sophistication, subtlety and depth that coaxed listeners into a world of romance and rapture, heartache and enchantment.
Just released TODAY, April 20th, 2010 from EMI and Starbucks is a new compilitian CD of Peggy Lee titled "Come Rain or Shine" and my Tunes for Tuesday selection. Good Stuff!
Categories: Tunes for Tuesday
Spring is in full swing finally and I know that many have breathed a collective sigh of relief. Sping is, after all, mother natures way of saying "Let's Party!" Lotsa folks are out doing yardwork, fertilizing, spreading mulch, planting gardens and watering ... mostly in the form of perspiration.
Tru-Green does all my lawn fertilizing and they put my first application down almost 4 weeks ago already. I got my first lawn mowing in last weekend. I really gotta do a little plug here for Tru-Green. They cost a bit more than you doing the job yourself, about 40 to 45 dollars an application (I have 7 applications each year) that being said, they deliver results! Add up what you would spend on fertilizer product, and then add in your time, what you feel your time is worth in dollars, look at the total and you'll find, like I did, that it's a great deal! I got no weeds, no clover, and a great looking lawn!
Yeah, I'm one of those types!
If you desire a good looking lawn, I highly recommend them! Besides, there's a cetain satisfaction one gets when they can sit on their deck sipping on a beer while watching them do that work for you. It's not that I'm lazy, it's more that I have better use for my time and, the way I look at it, I am helping to keep someone gainfully employed!
Categories: Tips
... it's been about 4 weeks since I had my left arm sliced open by the orthopedic surgeon. Lateral epicondylitis ... a.k.a. tennis elbow. I don't even play tennis. Heck, my left arm is'nt even my dominate arm. It's my drinking, reeleing in the fly-reel & feel the wife up arm and I highly doubt that any of these were contributing factors to whatever caused the problem to begin with. I can tell you it was damn uncomfortable!
Physical therapy has been interesting. It woulda been nice if I had been blessed with my Dads luck and got a good looking PT nurse, No such luck, I got some dude. Sure, he's nice enough and all, but most guys I know, myself included, would be more motivated, and probably heal allot faster, if we were teamed up with a good looking nurse of the opposite sex! I know that may sound sexist, especially to you girls out there, but hey, if it we're you, ladies, would you rather have some homely girl nurse or a hunky male nurse with a nice ass? Be honest!
As the Black night would say: "It's only a flesh wound!"
Photo above it the incision, 2 days after surgery, taken via mirror ... letters above scar are my intitals, PV, (backwards cause I took the photo in the mirror) that I had to write there so they would not cut me open where I was not supposed to be cut open.
Categories: Down for Repairs
