International Waters

Our northern boundary limit of Michigan is the International bridge, which spans the St. Maries river.



Directly beneath it is the area refered to as "The Rapids" a short [over one mile] river section draining Lake Superior into Lake Huron.. subject to Ontario's rule. Mid June through fall there are landlocked Atlantics present that can achieve mid to upper teens with an average of 4 - 8 lb fish. Also big resident Rainbows year round and Pacific Salmon throughout late summer & fall. Lake Run Rainbows [Steelhead] early winter through June.. even an occasional Lake Trout. Very inimidating place to fish.. Extreme tough wading and winds.

Not long after arriving home from New Brunswick I got an email from a friend in Suttons Bay planning a run-n-gun trip. In short, we spent 1.5 days on the Sault Rapids. Went very well, certainly no complaints. Eric, another fishbum like us, took a gorgeous 5 - 6 lb Rainbow in the early evening first afternoon in. I'm still not sure whether it's a resident fish [it is after one fashion or another] or one that simply never returned to the depths of Huron after spawning this spring, but if so she was fat healthy and sassy already. She shows a lot of specs even below the lateral line making me wonder. Odd thing is that I took a nice bright 2+ lb'r from same pool.. fact that they were holding there together adds to the specualtion.



I hooked a nice 7 -8 lb Atlantic first thing Fri a.m. which jumped high on the set then tore up the pool. We were connected for good amount of time, it ripped back down stream surging and head shaking coming unbuttoned. Good enough for me. Eric Was hooked up briefly to a nice Atlantic that tangled him in flyline when it came loose, tension has got to be unreal in that heavy water with a hard charging fish on. He had another [big one] charge up and slash at his fly in the surface film just a couple minutes later. After the a.m. things died.. tough going in clear sunny conditions.

The wind can be pretty brutal there, keeps a guy constantly searching for some cast that might go out. Theres some downright scary wading to be done and can be seriously intimidating at times. Eric is quite an aggressive wader, also subtly less height & weight than me so not as many worries stumbling along behind him [John is 6'5"!] He's also very physically fit just retiring from Iron Man and similar type racing this year and is normally ahead of me. Some areas the depth is well over your wader height [soft flows] but you can carefully pick your way along by stepping on tops of the big boulders. One slip though.. There are others where courage can put you out and on top of a boulder that may or may not be submerged for a great to tentative casting station dependant on the rock & angle, level of traction, and amount of current pouring over it. A slip from a couple of these spots would have meant BIGTIME problems.. not so much with having to swim the pool but more with significant rapids below. I was elated to fish 1.5 days and get out of there still dry. Staff & my carbide snowmobile studded soles were the only things that allowed that level of risk. I would not do it in cold water without a C 02 inflatable PFD, if at all.



For some context, the small red circle to the left on concrete berm is a man. Red circle in the center is a boulder I sat upon between fishing runs either side. It's a long perilous wade back from there! [click to upsize pic]

Ripples from the past

Journeyed early a.m. to a small stream that played the leading role establishing my fishing passion. It was where I first 'angled' for Trout with Dad at the ripe old age of 9.. busted my chin wide open [if you've ever noticed the scar on right side below my lip] tripping and falling full force on a sharp snag in the dark, requiring my first 9 sutures in life.. aged 18.. evolved into catch & release fishing with pinched barb spinners in my early 20's, born from the luxury of not having Trout to care for after a late night during mid week.

It's a tributary of the Big Manistee in one of the to few remaining areas escaping the 90's. Drove without much difficulty to a section where a huge Beaver Dam was erected during my mid teens, somewhere near 1980. Fishing was unreal there for a few seasons until the Beaver were trapped out or ran short of near food supply and left. Things degraded terrible almost immediate. Stagnant silt filled restricted pools, the old structures do huge damage. Flows slow and sand builds, water temps go into a warming trend.. fishing really suffered. I only went there once every few seasons, more as a pilgrimage than anything. It was slowly healing but overall still a sad state of affairs. Yesterdays trip provided a real treat! I'd stayed up late rigging an old st Croix 6'8" glass rod, loading line on a little 2 3/4" SA System 4 and putting together a fly box. Turns out the fly box was a waste of time, I tied on a #10 Muddler and caught a fish right off the bat 7:00 a.m. Somewhat surprised to see it was a Brooktrout.. Not at all uncommon but this stream has always been pre-dominate Browns. Fish started coming quite frequent and were all Brooktrout.. Beautiful little jewels with varying shades of vermillion to a vibrant orange sherbert painted on their bellys, clean twin parallel white and black lines on sharp edged perfect fins.



They were quite snappy, rose to and chased the Muddler with relentless intent. I was re-educated on just how much fun these small fish could be given half a chance, and harder yet, locating them. I laughed out loud many times and loved how they would rise to a fly on impact, rolling on it in an assertive calculated grab. The little glass rod was ideal for this fishing.

The Creek is shaping up nicely. Water is moving again, pools and runs are forming. Most important a lot of residual sand has washed through baring nice clean gravel. Unsure of an accurate temp but it felt colder than anything I've been on in a while. Guessing low to mid 60's.

There is nothing I have found that will humble a person quicker than casting fly line on one of these small intimate little tribs. Not that many years ago I would have left frustrated that I could do no better after clumsily crashing line around for an hour and seeing a few fish spook from the pools. A wide open setting where it's the norm to stretch a cast 30' or more, with the room for a moderate backcast, is so much simpler.. it never seemed like it should be though. Truths realised in practise. Next time I may have to step it up a stiff notch and try fishing dry.

They say time heals all wounds. I'm not sure I believe that but after nearly 30 years it has touched this small corner of my life and local in a very positive way.

Big Changes

Friday morning brought a glaring contrast to the norm. The bare gravel of the camp isle was gone! One of my first sights in motion is a nice Salmon breaking just upstream on the south bank run. Today would be spent on the upstream pool though.. Seems a shame to have our camp water finally come around into shape only to go elsewhere.

We arrive at the Pool and it's instantly obvious that it's risen considerably. Clifton has met us up here since Dickey had an appointment. Charles, John and I cross over to the south with Clifton, Mike fishes the north bank. John starts at the head with a dry fly. I've only started casting when I look up and see him connected. I go up to give him a hand, it's a nice Grilse. With the high water it was easily swum right in on the grass and tailed for hook removal. Nice start to the day.

Mike is having a good morning, he's fishing the channel between the island and north bank. A testement to water height, I've never seen fish travel this slot.

We while away the a.m hours casting. Water is up big time, rocks stood on as casting stations I now wonder if I could even reach. Good news is the fish are traveling, not holding at all but passing through. Charles has been hot having several takers but not staying connected very well. I remember one bright Salmon that took on a relatively short line just as the fly was coming around at it's fastest. He blew up on the instant, throwing an impressive spray of water, then was off and gone. Good shot of adrenaline for both of us.

Afternoon and I'm on the upper south.. Dickey's small white Bomber attatched. Unreal how the water has risen! Fishing hard and covering thorough I'm rewarded with a nice Grilse. There are fish showing regular, moving up and passing on through the run. Up high at the boulder weir I'm amazed, it's not at all visible other than a couple nice seams where the current rolls over it and a luscious looking one off the point. Digging around in my box and looking at all the low water ties.. Not much over a #8. I find a #6 Glitter Bear and drop down scouting a place to start. Did I mention the water was up? I am able to start, and get a nice swing, 2/3 up into the head of the pool! Not long fishing the wet when it gets picked off. I'm hooked up for a bit, enough to be reasonably sure it's a Grilse, and he comes off. No worries.

Mike lands a Grilse below. It's getting late in the game, I tie in a Orange Butt Shadylady for change of pace. There are fish on the move, they seem noncommital with a light pluck at the fly rather than solid take.

The evening grows short.. the dreaded feeling weighs heavier by the minute. Once again my time on this amazing pool is done. I spend my last few minutes reflecting on how fortunate we were overall. The two earlier showers in the week were a gift. This 2' plus water spike is like hitting the numbers, odds are seriously defied. It's all but impossible to do that in ones own back yard, let alone travel half way across the continent and 'hit it'. How could you not feel blessed?

As circumstance dictates so much in life we could not stay over and fish the camp waters on Saturday. I surely would have loved another go at them!

Another blessing in the night..

I awoke in the night once again hear the patter of rain drops on tin. Not nearly as intense as monady night but proved to be much longer lasting. One of those gentle showers that go on and on. Morning found us with nice cool air temp and overcast cloudy skies. The water had raised a bit.. good sign.

We fished the upper camp run with renewed confidence. To no avail.. It was raining on and off. I decided to go back down and cross, then wade back up to a possible lie. It was an effort, the water was obviously up and running compared to making the same 1/2+ mile wade earlier in the week. Once finally arrived I took time to rest and tie in a small Bomber. Going very carefully I began to probe the run. Midway down I had a Grilse boil under the fly.. instant rush! He would not come back at all though. I rested him a bit and tried a White Wulff. No go. Fished down the run and came back, it's raining harder so tied in a slightly bigger Brown Bomber with Orange hackle. No rise/rs to it either, frustrating. Resting the water once more I tied in same fly he originally came up for. Working the area with a few casts brought zero, really considered calling it quits. In desperation I decided to try something accidentally stumbled onto on the Salmon Branch of the Cascapedia. ..fished over the entire pool upstream with a dead drift Bomber bringing no rises. At the head of the pool I'd had enough and as the fly was drifting downstream went directly to the reel cranking. As the fly surged along a nice little Searun shot up from the depths and blasted it! I know he'd seen that fly repeatedly without what it took to trigger him.. all very interesting. Touched my fly down light and began a quick paced short strip retrieve.. the Grilse shot up and crushed my fly.. Woww.. This fish is one of those that blatantly strikes you as spiritual.



When we arrive at the upstream pool for evening fishing it's showing benefit of the recent water influx as well. I keep thinking how fortunate we have been to recieve some rain rather than be stuck in the same cooked out vacuum we started our week with.

Alex stays to fish on the North bank and the rest make the crossing. I fish the upper south bank with a small white Bomber, green and yellow hackles. A random thought mentioned to Dickey the day before and born into reality when he dropped two in my hand today. Dickey loves to tie. I'm in my own world up here, one of the reasons this section is a favorite, a zone unto itself. With the all the pockets, big rocks and current ideosyncrasies it's impossible water to swing on. Fish hold well though.. perfect dry fly water.

Hearing a commotion below I look down. Charles is hooked up with something. I jog down there, it's a Grilse. I no more then get back up to where I'd left off and began fishing when theres a repeat. A nice pair of Grilse for Charles!




Black skies were pushing in from the North West, scattered light showers were the setting. Things started to shift more from direct North and BIG winds arrive, with them driving rains! I ran behind a green belt of brush about 20' tall between the river and farm field. Hunching up tight to it on the south side was great shelter, the storm was really raging! The worst of it lasted no more than 20 minutes.

Later speaking with John who had caught a ride across just prior, he told me that fish seemed to have become active on the front of the system that blew in. Alex had taken a Grilse. John hooked and landed a Salmon Frankey estimated @ 18lbs! Once again on a Bomber.

Charle's son Alex has arrived during the night. He's an entertaining sort, fun and easy to be around, share some laughs. He lives in a world so far removed from mine it may as well be another planet. Makes it very interesting to get him telling stories.

Morning puts us back on our upstream pool. Frankey keeps Alex over on the north bank and the rest cross over to the south. The water may be slightely up, it's still at a good temp. Not far into the day I hook and land a nice bright smallish Grilse on, you guessed it, small Brown Bomber. Alex is hooked up briefly but fish soon shakes loose.

John is back on the upper reach looking for that good riser again. It turns into his day of the trip. I'm near enough to witness the initial hook up and fight of a nice very bright Salmon.. The fish of his dreams jumps into reality. A 12lb Henfish, he's on such a natural high it would be impossible to miss. Well done friend.



Evening on the camp waters provides some social time more than anything.

Some precipitation is appreciated

Monday night I was awakend by rumbling thunder in the distance. With eyes now open there was also a bit of a light show. Seems strange now thinking back on how hard I willed the storm to come our way. It eventually did and when the first few drops struck the old tin roof I was very tempted to run outside and share in it. I wimped out when it abrubtly shifted gears and started driving down pretty hard. It was nice while it lasted but over all to soon, maybe 40 minutes tops, hopefully areas upstream recieved more. Daybreaks peek out over the river showed no rise in level.

Clifton was soon there, we went out and hit up the upper run with nothing to show for it.

Afternoon on the upstream pool showed a marked inprovement! The spate had charged things nicely here. Dickey had been taking frequent temp readings and advising me but I made no notes and can't recall accurate. It was quite a significant drop though.

Back over on the south bank John went up into the head to ply the dry tactic, his chief interest with the trip. As a diehard Trout fisherman [we first met on my home waters, the upper Manistee, a decade ago..petite gal places hands on hips "FISHING! How does anyone meet FISHING!"] he couldn't continue to resist the stories I'd told him of fishing the Miramichi.. especially of fish measured in pounds rather than inches willing to take a dry fly. Over the course of the evening he had a couple fish move to the fly. A good one in the extreme upper end on the rock weir had him wound up and wishing for more light and better insect repellant.

When the boat hit the north bank there was very skinny light left. A fish broke the calm surface.. John wordlessly handed me his rod.. second cast brought a taker up.

Pointed upstream

Monday morning found us on our upstream pool with Mike joining. The water was ultra low.. very depressing. There were a few fish around the inlet but grim conditions on the south bank. Frankey took John under his wing as is customary here for new comers. I had to chuckle a bit.. John is a very experienced fisherman, just a little unsure of what to expect from Salar.

I went into the head area being sure to stay well back from the waters edge. Fish quite often hold very close here. Tying on a small Brown Bomber [my confidence fly] I start working the run upstream. Midway up an hour later I had a fish boil on my fly. I dropped down giving him a short break and cast back to him. Several casts and no rise, time to move. before I do though I pile a small tier of rocks from my casting position. Finishing out the run takes fair amount of time. Walking back down, again keeping well back from the waters edge, to the spot marked.. slowly ease into position, strip some line, aeriel measure correct length over the bank.. once back and ahead touching the fly down soft.. BOOM! he blows up on it so fast it's amazing! A nice fat Grilse instantly airborne head shaking, back below the surface digging and comes unbuttoned. Good enough! Very nice take, I'm left smiling with the fly dancing on tight line downstream.

Late in the a.m. I glance across to the north and see [barely*] John with a bent rod. Not much longer and he's initiated as a successful Salmon fisherman with a 7-8 lb fish. Fly was Shady Lady Wet, Orange Butt**. A sparse wingless tie that works well for us.



Evening on the Camp water is a repeat of Sundays efforts.

*I've yet to replace my eye glasses which were ripped from my face by an errant coil of running line that jumped off the casting deck odd hooking the corner of them, launching them about 10' out into heavy December current while Steelheading last winter. Very frustrating.

** Shadylady Orange Butt
Hook: # 8 - 12 Wetfly
Tag & Rib: Silver Tinsel
Tail: Hackle fibres
Body: [aft] Orange Antron
Body: [fore] Black UV Ice Dubbing [loop dubbed]
Hackle: Soft Black hen, palmered & brushed out.

Departure and first delay

We left Michigan early a.m. on 07/16 and headed for Canada. At the border we were subjected to the most intense thorough search by customs I've seen yet and hope won't be repeated.. not just soon but ever. It started with the toll booth officer, a VERY attractive younger gal asking questions. All was fine until asked "and how did you all meet?" Charles answer; "Fishing". She exits the booth entirely, placing hands on hips "FISHING! How does anyone meet FISHING!" That was the start of our inquisition, which did end fine, but unpleasant additional stress. After digging through a ton of gear one of the officers asked in all seriousness "What are you guys, professional fishermen?" That struck us as quite comical and went a long way relieving tension. In contrast returning to the States in Houlton ME, when asked same question Charles gave same answer. The officer replied "Been up on the Miramichi?" He then launched into the fishermans lingo, telling us how closely our report mirrored his favorite land locked fishery..LOL.. Border crossings are so much easier with an officer that understands.



We arrived in camp to find very low warm water conditions. Depressing situation but not terribly surprising. I'm already mentally doing a rain dance and praying for cooler cloud covered skies. That afternoon John & I walked up to the pool and sat over it watching and talking. He saw one fish porpoise, a good sign. We did get some clouds, unfortunantly it was overnight which seemed to seal the heat in and not cool the air much if at all.

Charles and John on the pool




Sunday was our first crack at the river. I was blessed with optimism after seeing a fish break just before we went upstream. John started on the lower water working a dry. Charles and I swung our way down through it. In short, morning and evening produced zero takes / sightings.

Mid morn I noticed someone walking upstream towards us. Clifton asked "How long do they build those rods??" ..LOL... in his opinion our 11' ish rods are more than enough. It was NB Rob from the Speypages forum board, toting a 15' stick. We spoke briefly, shook hands, and he was in the water fishing. As I watched him fish down it was obvious he's a fair hand at casting. I asked him later what line he was using, thinking it an Airflo Scanhead [by color] and was surprised when he told me it was a 65' Carron! He worked that line in tight, very nice and effective. So much for the myth you cant fish a long line very well short..

After one pass and some socialising he took Charles off on a tour of some other waters. I was mildy envious [seeing/fishing new waters ranks high with me] but glad Charles had a chance to go. I know he enjoyed it from his commentary later. Especially a certain pool that borders a popular outfitters water.