The good folks at our secretary of state had bungled my mail in licence plate renewal. I'd been waiting for tabs to arrive for weeks. Finally an envelope from them which stated [in a hand written perturbed script] I'd given them the wrong card info.. which was 100% matched / accurate. They didn't bother to return my only proof of insurance. Oh well, i'd be driving 1/2 way to a good fishing stretch to reach a branch office.

Tied a nice black sculpin with an orange throat and gold flash for the occasion. New to me System 8 reel and a 5wt Wulff Ambush line I'd traded a forum board member for over winter.. Wired the reel on my light 10' 6wt [3.4 ounce] Scott STS and left.




This section is what I consider 'early' so was not very optimistic for Steel but often there are some good Browns waking up and willing to play. Midway into the morning I feel the familier pickup and lift into good solid weight. The reel sang loudly on a hard run downstream.. no Brown trout here. Getting on the bank and changing my angle convinced it to run back upstream. Two jumps and a little short line work brought it bankside.




My luck held with the branch office stop on the way home, first good luck I've had there in a long time.

A breath of fresh air

Winter has not been kind this season.. Granted, there were a few days around the holiday week that were pretty nice.. but with my only sister [from Spokane] and only niece [Seattle] back on the home farm for a few days I passed on the fishing. Normally we recieve some sort of thaw in January but New Years day was the end of anything even resembling one. I should have, and even could have, went early on new January 1 but it was real easy to convince myself staying home might be a better option. It was a mistake.. Peeking at the flow charts later glared in my face just how much.. conditions appeared to be perfect. This little trib has fished best in December by far over the many years I've been on it. Oh well.. opportunities missed.

The next fishable day was Feb 05 and off I went with high expectations. There were no tracks in evidence on the old road.. a good sign.




I access the river from a remote county road service pull out and snowshoe in. I'd actually gotten over 3 miles from home and remembered I hadn't put in the shoes. Almost went on without them.. that would have been a BIG mistake. Most efficient few minutes I spent all day was returning to get them. The water was quite low with big wind blown drifts and plenty of shelf ice along the banks. Fishing went fairly well until the banks began caving in and icebergs started flowing thickly. The first few times a crack or crash rang out I jumped pretty good, they come out of nowhere amidst otherwise total silence. Fished hard over about 5 hours, took a nice 19+" resident Brown not to far in then nothing for a long time.




Last run, and one of the best, I had a good grab in the gut and some light little nips /nibbles down in the tail.. just the sort that reverberated rainbow up the line, through the blank, and into your hand. No go though.. I changed flies and went back to the head of the gut where the good grab came with no further interest. On the long walk out in the dusk I reflected on how lucky I was to encounter the Brown.

Feb 23 is the next good chance for fishing. While it's still cold outside I tie a grey skulpin streamer. I'm somewhat superstitious and fresh tied flies seem to possess good charm. Go over some tackle and I'm off. What a grand day, it's got a totally different feel to it than a couple weeks ago had. Second pool I fish reveals a startling phenonema I've never witnessed to this degree before. The banks / shelf ice had all settled and with bright sunlight thawed snow creating perfect rows of miniture ice sickles, each one an exact replication of it's left and right hand neighbor.. A lense couldn't possibly capture the wonder and awe they presented.. row after row.. all the banks within eyesight up and down, hundreds of feet. They reminded me of piano keys or possibly some sort of ornate brick a brack lace. Anyway, it was quite stunning. Had I been there in the early a.m. the suns position would have offered a much better shot.








Unlike the last outing there was life evidenced both visual and audio. A solitary Eagle soared through not that far off and the Crows were brash and brassy.. early signs of spring. One of the coolest things was a small flock of Bufflehead ducks that came upstream like rockets, in tight formation just inches off the surface. I stood immobile and when they reached me, timed to a micro second, the flight split each side blistering by @ Mach III.. their wing primarys making a tearing sound as they carved air with maneuvers.. I felt the breeze on my face.

Casting is going well, the slight wind is over my right shoulder and quartering downstream.. the fresh grey skulpin is swimming well.. Perfect. Just reaching the prime of the pool I fire one of those casts that for some reason you just know is the one.. sure enough just as it starts the turn I feel the pickup. Dropping the rod tip with it for what seems an unbearably long time I then give a good lift into.. solid shaking weight. About the time I decide it doesn't feel that heavy it comes up and never slows, shooting airborne, a bright silver missle of approximate 4.5 lbs. Back down in, a couple headshakes then running at me hard.. the line never tightened up again. Resting the pool for 10 - 15 minutes was easy, looking around at the piano keys and shooting a few more pics.. heard the spring song of an unrecognised bird but could never get an eye on him. I re-started just above where the fish took. On about the fourth swing below that marked spot the pickup replays itself, once again I lift into solid life.. only this time the connection remains. This fish never jumped, he might have at one time but I didn't encourage him. A nice Bulldog built Buck still cocky and full of attitude.





I finish my day out with one more good grab that came up empty. The fish would not comeback.. I was fine with that. The sun was dropping below the tree line as I fished the last pool. My guides really started freezing up then. They had been slowly closing all day, even with the direct sunlight, but only needed cleared occasionally. The problem was solved when I struck wood and broke off my fly. There was still good amount of daylight left but rather than push it I reeled up and went out.. it was more than enough to put the soul at ease.

Fall finally gives one up

It was a tough fall this year. Normally even I manage to stumble onto a fish but so far zeroed out. Even the day Charles and I spent with Pete on 11/13 never made the boards.. I could tell he was a little skeptical when we arrived at his cabin before daybreak. The water was low.. real low. The good folks up at Croton Dam hadn't let down any water for a couple days on an already skinny river. State contracts and free flow laws be damned I guess.. We at least had cloud cover. We gave it a hell of a go and managed to briefly hook one and one other good pull for the day. For some reason I wasn't surprised, I just had that feeling going in. Still a grand day with great company. Time well spent.

Two days later Charles is on board with Kevin F and has an absolutley BANNER day, four great fish with two of them well in excess of normal weights. It's also day one of our firearms Deer season so they have the river mostly to themselves. Word was that the same section we hit up with Pete two days prior was fishing very well too.. Again, I'm not surprised.




Earlier in the fall friend Forrest let it be known that he was going to have a few days leisure time around Thanksgiving and wanted to hit up the river. Charles is still on cloud nine from his last big day on the water and hungry for more, so he's in 100%. I'm a little more cautious knowing this state and the weather that can, and does, occasionally, completely and ruthlessly stomp out the best laid plans of mice and morons. I join in.. but with the weather clause held in reserve.

The date is set for 11/24 and wonder or wonders, by the forcast it shapes up to be decent enough to make me nervous. Meeting them at the boat storage early a.m. of the 24'th we pick up Forrest's drifter and get underway. Spirits were high, the day held promise.

Three in the boat is an ideal number.. it just works. Pitching big streamers for trout, around home or travel, it allows two guys to totally concentrate on covering the water while the third devotes his efforts navigating. Trading off periodically in a very informal rotation everyone gets a shot up on the bow, on the oars or from the stern. Swinging flies for Steelhead isn't much different. It's a full time job running the boat. Get it spotted and anchor where it needs be, and within only a couple swings from each caster, it's time to drop it a boat length. Anyone thats ever done this knows how much more complicated this is then the couple simple sentences imply! They can be a bitch to handle in fast water, get the anchor to bite, stay on the correct track.. the list goes on. The guy on the oars and anchors earns his keep.

Casting spey rods from any boat is a art in it's self and requires everyone to be familier with it. If so, things go without a hitch. It's nice to have attained that level. Forrest and I had agreed prior to share his LeCie 13'7" 9/10 rather than have a third and unnecessary all rigged taking up valuable space, under peril of someone losing their balance going down driving a knee into it. A spare was brought but left in the tube.

Forrest and Charles both tie excellent flies, I was set for the day so left my junk in the vehicle. Forrest has been honing his skills on Petes version of the Temple Dog Tube. He's about got it nailed.. it is a fish catching S.O.B.

Not long into the day we anchor on a great looking piece of water. This drift is one I'm not overly familier with but am fast becoming interested! Some very top shelf looking runs / pools. Charles is fishing the stern and gives out a shout, he's hooked up. Seconds later I see it flash gold, when it hits the net sure enough it's a nice resident Brown, a little malnourished, but still a good fish.. were on our way.




We leisurely fish our way downstream.. arriving on some broken gravel bar pockety type water. A few drops into it I get lightly picked off.. lowering the tip to it for a bit of slack and then sweep into throbbing weight. It's on.. finally. A fairly heavy spirited fish ripping off line, several times. Forrest puts the boat on the opposite bank so I can get out and land it. What a gorgeous fish! approximate 8 lbs of super fresh hen.. I'm so elated to finally see one up close again it's surreal.







The day is great by calender standards.. it is still quite cool with some breeze picking up. We drop downstream fishing, now I'm on the oars with Forrest up front. His casting is nice.. it's interesting being on board with two of the people you've started out with from scratch spey casting. We've each came a long way, working hard for any gains. Forrest is hooked up.. his nice cast paid off. I began moving the boat back towards the north bank, get the net out and at the ready. I get apprehensive netting fish, always afraid of some mismanaged or botched job.. not that there have been any but.. there were some tense words spoken many years prior on a remote Brooktrout lake in Ontario. A good friend had a dandy hooked and brought it by a bit deep but still within range.. the fish was green yet, I let it go through and recieved a silent glare.. just as it's coming back around getting in range the knot pops off and it turns down dropping from sight.. a confident sweep and lift the fish is netted, we are all glowing with the second score of the morning, a nice fresh 6+ pound Buck.




Continuing on, Charles is now front and center. We are all on cloud nine, the day is huge success and were basking in the sensation of no pressure just enjoying things to the fullest. Charles hooks up.. We are really excited now, these fish just don't come that often, and now a third is hooked. Gorgeous henfish.. shades of lavender on her lateral line. These fall run hens are so pretty they can burn your eyes.




The wind keeps gaining.. our casts still go out though not quite as pretty. It's getting to be a struggle but were unconcerned.. We fish out the day with no more takers, but again.. unconcerned. The day is a gift to each of us.

By the time we reach the launch it was really rocking, back to the latter November I know so well. As Forrest winched the boat up on the trailer we hear a big jet coming, it's already close but the wind had masked it. It's Pete, at first we thought he was alone but there was someone hunched down on the floor below the deckline out of most of the breeze.. we had a good chuckle over that, glad to see that it wasn't just us.

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.