Well, the grand day is almost upon us.
This link sums up the occasion as well as anything.
I'm actually going to try to meet up tomorrow with the Mr. Faber mentioned in the article. He's a cyber acquaintence of sorts. As he said in the last posting of his I read, "This Saturday, the world begins turning again." Hyperbole. But totally understandable.
Be back Monday with stories and, hopefully, pictures.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Meterological Anxiety
In the days before a fishing trip, I watch the weather websites like a day trader watches the stock market. I'm not sure having all that information close at hand is a good thing. Every little fluctuation can bring on elation or depression.
Earlier in the week, the weekend forecast was favorable--clear skies with highs in the mid-50s. Just about perfect for afternoon hatches of Hendrickson mayflies.
This morning I looked at Ann Arbor's own Weather Underground and saw that Friday still looked nice, but Saturday and Sunday will bring snow, rain, and highs in the low-mid 40s. Doesn't bode well for either comfort or fishing.
So now I have this slight cloud of dread about my upcoming trip. Not that I'll cancel it. Fishing must have been a much simpler business in the time before round the clock access to weather info. You went when you could and hoped for the best. Now, one bad forecast can kill my mood. On the other hand, one good one can restore it. Getting back to nature, I still put myself at the mercy of satellites, remote sensors, and computers.
Earlier in the week, the weekend forecast was favorable--clear skies with highs in the mid-50s. Just about perfect for afternoon hatches of Hendrickson mayflies.
This morning I looked at Ann Arbor's own Weather Underground and saw that Friday still looked nice, but Saturday and Sunday will bring snow, rain, and highs in the low-mid 40s. Doesn't bode well for either comfort or fishing.
So now I have this slight cloud of dread about my upcoming trip. Not that I'll cancel it. Fishing must have been a much simpler business in the time before round the clock access to weather info. You went when you could and hoped for the best. Now, one bad forecast can kill my mood. On the other hand, one good one can restore it. Getting back to nature, I still put myself at the mercy of satellites, remote sensors, and computers.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Gunning for the Pack
Today's Detroit Free Press reports that Michigan wolves may soon find themselves in gunsights:
LANSING, Mich. (AP) -- Michigan wildlife officers will be allowed to kill up to 20 wolves this year under a recently issued federal permit, the state said Tuesday.
The state may kill wolves only in response to attacks that damage or kill livestock or pets. Traps and other control methods may be used only within one mile of an attack site.
Continue Reading
Critter hugger that I am...I'd say it's a good thing. Not that I particularly desire to see wolves killed, but I think the measure may help the wolves' long-term recovery. Unfortunately, wolves will make some costly dents in livestock. Experiences of wildlife officials elsewhere suggest that wolves will avoid livestock where they learn there is danger associated with it. And this may mollify hunters who resent wolves making a living off "their" deer. Better to have limited lethal control than all out extermination, which was Michigan's policy until forty or so years ago. In this measure, I see acounting for varied interests, and a rejection of black & white absolutes--things too long lacking in efforts at environmental preservation.
Barry Lopez remarks somewhere that in a healthy landscape, there are de facto covenants between humans and wild animals that enable both to survive, but are never finalized: they change with circumstances. In ecology as in politics, one might say, there is a doctrine of a living contstitution. It appears one such covenant has changed. Maybe not in a pleasant way. But perhaps in a good one.
I would like to hear a wolf howl. When fishing or otherwise outdoors, I enjoy the sound of coyotes yipping nearby. Once while walking in a field near Okemos, I saw six coyote pups crawl out of a den and walk one by one to the same opening in the grass where, I suspect, Mama was waiting. Never saw the coyotes in the field again, but the place where I did became a special spot to me, where I felt I ought to pause a bit just in case the extraordinary was about to happen.
LANSING, Mich. (AP) -- Michigan wildlife officers will be allowed to kill up to 20 wolves this year under a recently issued federal permit, the state said Tuesday.
The state may kill wolves only in response to attacks that damage or kill livestock or pets. Traps and other control methods may be used only within one mile of an attack site.
Continue Reading
Critter hugger that I am...I'd say it's a good thing. Not that I particularly desire to see wolves killed, but I think the measure may help the wolves' long-term recovery. Unfortunately, wolves will make some costly dents in livestock. Experiences of wildlife officials elsewhere suggest that wolves will avoid livestock where they learn there is danger associated with it. And this may mollify hunters who resent wolves making a living off "their" deer. Better to have limited lethal control than all out extermination, which was Michigan's policy until forty or so years ago. In this measure, I see acounting for varied interests, and a rejection of black & white absolutes--things too long lacking in efforts at environmental preservation.
Barry Lopez remarks somewhere that in a healthy landscape, there are de facto covenants between humans and wild animals that enable both to survive, but are never finalized: they change with circumstances. In ecology as in politics, one might say, there is a doctrine of a living contstitution. It appears one such covenant has changed. Maybe not in a pleasant way. But perhaps in a good one.
I would like to hear a wolf howl. When fishing or otherwise outdoors, I enjoy the sound of coyotes yipping nearby. Once while walking in a field near Okemos, I saw six coyote pups crawl out of a den and walk one by one to the same opening in the grass where, I suspect, Mama was waiting. Never saw the coyotes in the field again, but the place where I did became a special spot to me, where I felt I ought to pause a bit just in case the extraordinary was about to happen.
Monday, April 25, 2005
Snow and Mulch
This morning I walked through fresh snowfall on my porch. Tonight, I mowed my lawn for the first time this season (swerving around a few lingering snow piles in the shade of the pines). Never have I done these things on the same day.
Some local blogs have been abuzz with lawnmower stories; I'll add one of mine. We moved into this house around Christmas in '99. The following spring we were looking to buy our first lawnmower, having been appartment dwellers before that. While driving home one day, I saw a used push mower for sale in my next door neighbor's lawn. It was a well-worn but solid looking Simplicity. He wanted $50 for it, which sounded fine to this poor grad student.
The first time I cut with it, it worked like a dream. On the second outing, it stalled mysteriously in the middle of the backyard. Since my neighbor, a retired mechanic, had told me he'd be glad to fix it if it went bad, I wheeled it over to him. Turned out it needed a new piston and some related gadget; he said he'd fix it for the price of parts. That was about $70. Got one more cutting out of it, but the time after that, it refused to start. Once more to the neighbor's. This time it was beyond his help, and I took it to a repair shop, where I learned it would take a couple hundred bucks to get it running again. As that was well toward the price of a new mower, I declined. Happily, they told me if I let them keep the mower for parts, they wouldn't charge me the $35 inspection fee. It was theirs.
My neighbor felt bad about the way his mower had worked out and offered me my money back. I graciously refused, saying I knew it came with no guarantees. Probably some weird male pride. I think he was a little hurt that I wouldn't take it.
Bought a new model from Sears, and being a bit spooked by previous experiences, paid for a three year service contract. Sure enough, each of the first three years I had the mower, it had a breakdown requiring a trip to the service center. In the two since, it's run fine. Do I hear three?
Three days until I leave for the trout opener. I equivocate almost hourly about where I'll fish or camp.
Some local blogs have been abuzz with lawnmower stories; I'll add one of mine. We moved into this house around Christmas in '99. The following spring we were looking to buy our first lawnmower, having been appartment dwellers before that. While driving home one day, I saw a used push mower for sale in my next door neighbor's lawn. It was a well-worn but solid looking Simplicity. He wanted $50 for it, which sounded fine to this poor grad student.
The first time I cut with it, it worked like a dream. On the second outing, it stalled mysteriously in the middle of the backyard. Since my neighbor, a retired mechanic, had told me he'd be glad to fix it if it went bad, I wheeled it over to him. Turned out it needed a new piston and some related gadget; he said he'd fix it for the price of parts. That was about $70. Got one more cutting out of it, but the time after that, it refused to start. Once more to the neighbor's. This time it was beyond his help, and I took it to a repair shop, where I learned it would take a couple hundred bucks to get it running again. As that was well toward the price of a new mower, I declined. Happily, they told me if I let them keep the mower for parts, they wouldn't charge me the $35 inspection fee. It was theirs.
My neighbor felt bad about the way his mower had worked out and offered me my money back. I graciously refused, saying I knew it came with no guarantees. Probably some weird male pride. I think he was a little hurt that I wouldn't take it.
Bought a new model from Sears, and being a bit spooked by previous experiences, paid for a three year service contract. Sure enough, each of the first three years I had the mower, it had a breakdown requiring a trip to the service center. In the two since, it's run fine. Do I hear three?
Three days until I leave for the trout opener. I equivocate almost hourly about where I'll fish or camp.
Sunday, April 24, 2005
Dry Spell Ahead?
Finding the river may become a little harder in these parts. Literally.
The Ann Arbor News reports that "By 2010, the city of Ann Arbor projects it won't have enough water to meet peak demand." Read the Article
I was struck by the difference in the amount the city takes from the river relative to that taken from wells. And by how little margin for error there is--one well goes off line and a water shortage becomes a real possibility. Of course, a "shortage" in this case means only an inability to support extravagant uses of water, like lawn watering and car washing.
Today is Kristine's birthday. Never celebrated that before with snow on the ground.
The Ann Arbor News reports that "By 2010, the city of Ann Arbor projects it won't have enough water to meet peak demand." Read the Article
I was struck by the difference in the amount the city takes from the river relative to that taken from wells. And by how little margin for error there is--one well goes off line and a water shortage becomes a real possibility. Of course, a "shortage" in this case means only an inability to support extravagant uses of water, like lawn watering and car washing.
Today is Kristine's birthday. Never celebrated that before with snow on the ground.
Friday, April 22, 2005
Killing time between meetings
Well, it appears Blogger has just completed its three scheduled hours of maintainence. Plus about tweleve unscheduled hours.
I'm between a couple meetings on campus (yawn). Just checking to see if the site was back up.
Appropos of not much, here's a quote I'm fond of. Came to mind last night for some reason.
"People who like material things are just fine by me. As long as it's the thing itself they like, whole and all of it, and not just the money or the end result from it."
Rick Bass, from Oil Notes
I'm between a couple meetings on campus (yawn). Just checking to see if the site was back up.
Appropos of not much, here's a quote I'm fond of. Came to mind last night for some reason.
"People who like material things are just fine by me. As long as it's the thing itself they like, whole and all of it, and not just the money or the end result from it."
Rick Bass, from Oil Notes
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Shared Silence
Tonight, as on the first and third Wednesday of every month, my church's (see "Sunday Hangout" link @ right) contemplative prayer group met. My wife, myself, and three other women from my parish (two absent tonight) gather on these nights in a candlelit classroom in the church basement to sit in silence for an hour and, as the teaser in each week's church bulletin says, "practice the presence of God."
It's a very informal and individualized gathering. When the group was organized about two years ago, we spent part of each meeting learning about different approaches to contemplative prayer: mantras, zen-style meditation, focusing on icons or images, praying with beads. Now, each of us has a style we're comfortable with. I like to begin with beads (an Anglican rosary, actually), then simply sit with a still mind after I finish my rounds. The individual prayers I say on the beads aren't always that meaningful per se, but sometimes whatever concerns I have at the moment may attatch to them. Sometimes after I finish the beads, I discover what I truly need to pray about.
Is it really an hour in the presence of God? I don't know. My skepticism about sentimental religious experience makes is hard to affirm this unreservedly. The group is certanly a good experience. There are nights when my mind wanders hopelessly, but often, I do feel distinctly centered, or sense a richness and joy in what is outwardly an utterly ordinary moment, sandwiched between the usual demands of home and work. That richness, I suspect, may well be in all moments, though it's vulnerable to our myriad distractions.
At the very least, these meetings do offer an hour in the presence of people who seek God, which can be uplifting in itself.
Of course, visitors are most welcome.
It's a very informal and individualized gathering. When the group was organized about two years ago, we spent part of each meeting learning about different approaches to contemplative prayer: mantras, zen-style meditation, focusing on icons or images, praying with beads. Now, each of us has a style we're comfortable with. I like to begin with beads (an Anglican rosary, actually), then simply sit with a still mind after I finish my rounds. The individual prayers I say on the beads aren't always that meaningful per se, but sometimes whatever concerns I have at the moment may attatch to them. Sometimes after I finish the beads, I discover what I truly need to pray about.
Is it really an hour in the presence of God? I don't know. My skepticism about sentimental religious experience makes is hard to affirm this unreservedly. The group is certanly a good experience. There are nights when my mind wanders hopelessly, but often, I do feel distinctly centered, or sense a richness and joy in what is outwardly an utterly ordinary moment, sandwiched between the usual demands of home and work. That richness, I suspect, may well be in all moments, though it's vulnerable to our myriad distractions.
At the very least, these meetings do offer an hour in the presence of people who seek God, which can be uplifting in itself.
Of course, visitors are most welcome.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Training for Trout
Went jogging this morning, as I do about every other morning or so. I am a morning person generally, but it was hard to haul it out of the sack today. There really is no morning when I look forward to my 3-mile jaunt around the 'hood. I'll admit it was pleasant to be out in daybreak, inhaling the fragrance of blossoming trees. But a cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal would have been better. And if I'd had more time this morning, I could have gone for a walk after breakfast and got my exercise in that way.
No, running is not a passion. I am not "a runner." I just run three or four days a week. Around Ann Arbor, jogging seems to be a civic religion, but I'm unlikely to convert.
The reason I run is so that when the time comes to do physical things that I really enjoy--fishing, hiking, cross-country skiing--I'll have the stamina to do them to my heart's content (no pun intended). That, and it curbs the effects of my indulgences at the dinner table.
Tonight Kristine and I are going to a seminar on gardening with native plants at the U of Mich. Botanical Garden. It would be nice to make our plantings a bit "greener"
this season. BTW--does anyone know a place in SE Mich. you can buy prickly pears to plant?
We've got a Mojave-esque patch on the south side of our house that fries nearly everything we've tried to plant there.
Temperature in the 80s today. Saw first dogwood blooms of the season while out jogging.
No, running is not a passion. I am not "a runner." I just run three or four days a week. Around Ann Arbor, jogging seems to be a civic religion, but I'm unlikely to convert.
The reason I run is so that when the time comes to do physical things that I really enjoy--fishing, hiking, cross-country skiing--I'll have the stamina to do them to my heart's content (no pun intended). That, and it curbs the effects of my indulgences at the dinner table.
Tonight Kristine and I are going to a seminar on gardening with native plants at the U of Mich. Botanical Garden. It would be nice to make our plantings a bit "greener"
this season. BTW--does anyone know a place in SE Mich. you can buy prickly pears to plant?
We've got a Mojave-esque patch on the south side of our house that fries nearly everything we've tried to plant there.Temperature in the 80s today. Saw first dogwood blooms of the season while out jogging.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Sightings...
Summerlike weather in mid-April...We're looking for highs in the mid-70s this afternoon. If things keep up like this, some of the good early spring fly hatches will be over, or at least past peak, by the time the opener rolls around. Want to hit the Hendrickson hatch dead-on? Here's a failproof system. Email me about April 15, and find out when I'm planning my first trout trip of the year. Then plan trips for a week before and a week after my trip date--you're bound to get into the hennies one of those times.
Some interesting sights on the commute to Toledo today. Along the shoulder on I-475, saw a turkey vulture pecking at the carcass of something. Not usually what I think of as an urban bird.
Also saw gas for under $2 a gallon. Now that revives the spirit...
Some interesting sights on the commute to Toledo today. Along the shoulder on I-475, saw a turkey vulture pecking at the carcass of something. Not usually what I think of as an urban bird.
Also saw gas for under $2 a gallon. Now that revives the spirit...
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Background, Pt. 1
Update, 3:21 PM, 4/17--Comments now open to all!
So who the hell is Shupac?
Well, I'm a 39 year old guy living on the outskirts of Ann Arbor, Mich. I've been married for 12 years to Kristine. We've got no kids and one cat.
I teach English at the University of Toledo, mostly freshman writing. I was living here when I got the Toledo job, and it didn't seem worth the hassle of moving. The commute is itself a hassle, about 45 minutes each way, but I'll be doing it for the forseeable future. This on top of long commutes most of my years in graduate school, too. When I got my PhD at the Cow College, my studies concentrated on literature and the natural environment. The purpose statement I wrote when I applied there said something about an ambition to help nurture appreciation of the natural environment through the teaching of literature; I'm not sure I've accomplished that, but my years in this racket have certainly been good for the oil companies.
None of which explains the name "Shupac."
"Shupac" is the name of a lake in northern Michigan where I sometimes camp when I go fishing on the Au Sable river system. I started using it as an internet handle a few years ago. Here's a view from above...
So fishing is a big deal to you, eh?
Yeah. I literally can't remember a time in my life when I wasn't fishing. One of the earliest memories I have is of being taken to fish in ponds at a city park in Ft. Wayne, IN (my birthplace) when I was about 3. I can remember catching some panfish there and being uncertain what to do with them. I also remember getting nipped in the butt by a large white goose. That might actually be the reason I remember the day. I can't say that I developed a passion for fishing right there and then, but it was put into the mix from the beginning of my conscious life. It wasn't a big part of my life in the years immediately following, but when I was 6, my family moved to Kalamazoo, MI, and bought a house a ways out of town, adjacent to some ponds and a small but fine trout stream. I spent a lot of time on those waters between then and the time I went to college, and fished local lakes with my dad pretty frequently too.
Fishing was and is an escape from the daily pressures of life, as well as an utterly engrossing pursuit in its own right. There is always more to explore and learn, even in places you've been to a hundred times. As an "escape," fishing seems less a nook to duck in to and catch your breath than a parallel reality, a world with its own rythmns, laws, and culture (as well as considerable chaos). It feels like a life complete unto itself; or maybe a just a zone where the completeness of my life becomes apparent.
Not that I think that sort of stuff when I'm doing it, at least not much. Not if I'm serious about catching something, which I usually am.
Why 'Find the River'? Is that from the song by R.E.M.?
Yes. I do like the song, but the title also sounds like a good standing order for living.
So who the hell is Shupac?
Well, I'm a 39 year old guy living on the outskirts of Ann Arbor, Mich. I've been married for 12 years to Kristine. We've got no kids and one cat.
I teach English at the University of Toledo, mostly freshman writing. I was living here when I got the Toledo job, and it didn't seem worth the hassle of moving. The commute is itself a hassle, about 45 minutes each way, but I'll be doing it for the forseeable future. This on top of long commutes most of my years in graduate school, too. When I got my PhD at the Cow College, my studies concentrated on literature and the natural environment. The purpose statement I wrote when I applied there said something about an ambition to help nurture appreciation of the natural environment through the teaching of literature; I'm not sure I've accomplished that, but my years in this racket have certainly been good for the oil companies.
None of which explains the name "Shupac."
"Shupac" is the name of a lake in northern Michigan where I sometimes camp when I go fishing on the Au Sable river system. I started using it as an internet handle a few years ago. Here's a view from above...
So fishing is a big deal to you, eh?
Yeah. I literally can't remember a time in my life when I wasn't fishing. One of the earliest memories I have is of being taken to fish in ponds at a city park in Ft. Wayne, IN (my birthplace) when I was about 3. I can remember catching some panfish there and being uncertain what to do with them. I also remember getting nipped in the butt by a large white goose. That might actually be the reason I remember the day. I can't say that I developed a passion for fishing right there and then, but it was put into the mix from the beginning of my conscious life. It wasn't a big part of my life in the years immediately following, but when I was 6, my family moved to Kalamazoo, MI, and bought a house a ways out of town, adjacent to some ponds and a small but fine trout stream. I spent a lot of time on those waters between then and the time I went to college, and fished local lakes with my dad pretty frequently too.
Fishing was and is an escape from the daily pressures of life, as well as an utterly engrossing pursuit in its own right. There is always more to explore and learn, even in places you've been to a hundred times. As an "escape," fishing seems less a nook to duck in to and catch your breath than a parallel reality, a world with its own rythmns, laws, and culture (as well as considerable chaos). It feels like a life complete unto itself; or maybe a just a zone where the completeness of my life becomes apparent.
Not that I think that sort of stuff when I'm doing it, at least not much. Not if I'm serious about catching something, which I usually am.
Why 'Find the River'? Is that from the song by R.E.M.?
Yes. I do like the song, but the title also sounds like a good standing order for living.
Saturday, April 16, 2005
Blog Opener
About a year ago, I told myself I'd launch a blog. Didn't for various reasons, but it's a good time to revisit that ambition. Another fishing season is approaching, and since my obsession with fly fishing was to provide the general pivot point for the blog I planned a year ago, I began mulling the blog project again. Today I found Blogger in between some other projects and resolved to wade in, so to speak.
It's two more weeks until the trout season opens in my state, but today is Opening Day for my blog.
So what's this going to be about? About fishing, yes, but also about whatever else comes across my mind. Most days, that includes politics, religion, literature, education, the environment, pop culture. Regarding fishing, I plan to write more about the interior experience of the sport--the satisfactions and insights it brings--than about technical aspects. If you want to learn how to cast further, or what patterns to use on particular rivers, you should look elsewhere. I teach in a university, and so get summers off. Once or twice a month in that time, I take a fishing trip, and when I do, I'll report on it here, and maybe reflect a bit on it in the days that follow. Otherwise, I'll sit here and noodle about whatever when I find the time. I'd love to hear from anyone who shares some of my interests, or who simply takes the time to read this and is pleased, angered, confused, or otherwise moved.
Between now and the trout opener (last Saturday in April, the 30th this year), I'll spend some time laying out the basics of me--what sort of politics, religion, etc. interst me. Perhaps offer a little angling philosophy to better frame what follows. To avoid plunging too far into self-analysis this first time out, I'll offer a story of my last outing, which took place around the end of last week on Michigan's Pere Marquette River.
For about the last five years or so, I've made an annual spring trip to Baldwin, MI to fish the steelhead run in the Pere Marquette (PM). Steelhead are a large, migratory rainbow trout, native to the Pacific Northwest and planted in Michigan in the 19th century. They spend most of their time in big water (the great lakes in this part of the world) and run up rivers to spawn in the spring (there's a fall run too, but that's another matter). The PM gets one of the best runs in Michigan, plenty of fish, though the fishermen probably outnumber them on some days. This trip usually inaugurates my fishing year, and drives home for me the fact that spring really is here. Seeing robins in your backyard is one thing, but it's hard to connect with it intimately. It's like watching something on the screen. But fishing the steelhead run literally immerses you in events of the changing season--snowmelt-swollen waters, sex-crazed fish, birds calling for mates and scouting for nesting materials. True, I could immerse myself in comparable things in a walk around local woods, but for various reasons that doesn't happen a lot.
I fished April 7-9, landed four steelhead ranging from about 5 to 9 pounds. Two came on black stone flies, two on orange salmon egg patterns. There were a lot of fishermen up there, but I managed to avoid the crowds most of the time. Once I was a kind of glad when I didn't: at the end of a long downstream wade, I came to a popular spot near a walk-in access. There were maybe half a dozen fishermen working a long, deep bend. The only open spot was near the head of the bend, so I stopped and cast there, and hooked a fish on my first cast. Normally I don't care about showing off, but it was neat to walk in and hook up, particularly when most of the people there had gone without a hit for a long time, or so I gathered. Ended up landing a nice female.
The next morning I went back to that same spot about an hour before daybreak--had it all to myself. I could hear some fish thrashing in shallow water, digging or defending spawning beds. I cast into the deep holes just behind some of the beds, and landed two fish (out of five on the line) in about three hours. The first came to net while stars blazed sharply in the sky. It was the smallest fish of the trip, about 5 lbs., but also the most memorable. Fighting a large fish is more exciting in the dark, when you aren't sure what obstacles are out there for it to run to--more a matter of faith and hope. And brilliant starlight overhead puts a special seal on any catch.
Heard later that the next access downstream--where I most often fish mornings up there--was packed with people. Folks camping on the bank all night, shoulder to shoulder conditions around the best holes and many people walking away skunked. And barely a mile away I had solitude for nearly three hours, with plenty of fish for the taking. There are times, as on the day before, when a little company adds to the experience. But nothing matches the pleasure of good fishing in solitude.
In case anyone's interested, all fish landed on that trip were released to continue spawning.
It's two more weeks until the trout season opens in my state, but today is Opening Day for my blog.
So what's this going to be about? About fishing, yes, but also about whatever else comes across my mind. Most days, that includes politics, religion, literature, education, the environment, pop culture. Regarding fishing, I plan to write more about the interior experience of the sport--the satisfactions and insights it brings--than about technical aspects. If you want to learn how to cast further, or what patterns to use on particular rivers, you should look elsewhere. I teach in a university, and so get summers off. Once or twice a month in that time, I take a fishing trip, and when I do, I'll report on it here, and maybe reflect a bit on it in the days that follow. Otherwise, I'll sit here and noodle about whatever when I find the time. I'd love to hear from anyone who shares some of my interests, or who simply takes the time to read this and is pleased, angered, confused, or otherwise moved.
Between now and the trout opener (last Saturday in April, the 30th this year), I'll spend some time laying out the basics of me--what sort of politics, religion, etc. interst me. Perhaps offer a little angling philosophy to better frame what follows. To avoid plunging too far into self-analysis this first time out, I'll offer a story of my last outing, which took place around the end of last week on Michigan's Pere Marquette River.
For about the last five years or so, I've made an annual spring trip to Baldwin, MI to fish the steelhead run in the Pere Marquette (PM). Steelhead are a large, migratory rainbow trout, native to the Pacific Northwest and planted in Michigan in the 19th century. They spend most of their time in big water (the great lakes in this part of the world) and run up rivers to spawn in the spring (there's a fall run too, but that's another matter). The PM gets one of the best runs in Michigan, plenty of fish, though the fishermen probably outnumber them on some days. This trip usually inaugurates my fishing year, and drives home for me the fact that spring really is here. Seeing robins in your backyard is one thing, but it's hard to connect with it intimately. It's like watching something on the screen. But fishing the steelhead run literally immerses you in events of the changing season--snowmelt-swollen waters, sex-crazed fish, birds calling for mates and scouting for nesting materials. True, I could immerse myself in comparable things in a walk around local woods, but for various reasons that doesn't happen a lot.
I fished April 7-9, landed four steelhead ranging from about 5 to 9 pounds. Two came on black stone flies, two on orange salmon egg patterns. There were a lot of fishermen up there, but I managed to avoid the crowds most of the time. Once I was a kind of glad when I didn't: at the end of a long downstream wade, I came to a popular spot near a walk-in access. There were maybe half a dozen fishermen working a long, deep bend. The only open spot was near the head of the bend, so I stopped and cast there, and hooked a fish on my first cast. Normally I don't care about showing off, but it was neat to walk in and hook up, particularly when most of the people there had gone without a hit for a long time, or so I gathered. Ended up landing a nice female.
The next morning I went back to that same spot about an hour before daybreak--had it all to myself. I could hear some fish thrashing in shallow water, digging or defending spawning beds. I cast into the deep holes just behind some of the beds, and landed two fish (out of five on the line) in about three hours. The first came to net while stars blazed sharply in the sky. It was the smallest fish of the trip, about 5 lbs., but also the most memorable. Fighting a large fish is more exciting in the dark, when you aren't sure what obstacles are out there for it to run to--more a matter of faith and hope. And brilliant starlight overhead puts a special seal on any catch.
Heard later that the next access downstream--where I most often fish mornings up there--was packed with people. Folks camping on the bank all night, shoulder to shoulder conditions around the best holes and many people walking away skunked. And barely a mile away I had solitude for nearly three hours, with plenty of fish for the taking. There are times, as on the day before, when a little company adds to the experience. But nothing matches the pleasure of good fishing in solitude.
In case anyone's interested, all fish landed on that trip were released to continue spawning.
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