Spots of Time: Pere Marquette/Au Sable 5/11-13, pt. I

So I did get fishing last week. The trip was a good if rain-soaked one.

Moderate rains had been forecast, so I set my sights on the Pere Marquette to indulge in some of its heralded early season streamer fishing. I always want to fish the PM more anyway. Took a quick, unproductive whack at the water near Green Cottage later in the afternoon on Wednesday, then headed to another stretch I could easily wade access-to-access for the evening. When I first got to the water, I saw a rise on the other side of the stream so I switched my plan from streamers to dries and respooled with a floating line. Tried some versions of the caddis and bwos that were fluttering around with no luck, and nearly regeared for streamers when a black stone fly landed on my hand. Maybe this was a hint, I thought, and it was. On my first cast with the black stone dry I took an 11" brown from under the alders along the opposite bank. During the next hour or so I caught five more, 9-13", and missed at least as many more strikes. I was getting hits in quiet, brushy runs, in fast riffles, in deep bends and behind a steelhead redd.

The stonefly bite shut off a bit after 8, by which time the wind had picked up considerably and taken on a chill. Gray clouds began to dim what was left of twilight. Hendrickson spinners had swarmed over riffles most of the night, but thinned after the weather soured. After one nearby thunderclap I reeled up and began wading as fast as I could to get off the river. Along the way I practically stepped into a pod of rising trout. Enough spinners must have hit the water to draw them out, though hey stopped feeding after I'd blundered into them. I waited to see if they would resume (not the brightest move with more thunder booming and raindrops beginning to sting my hands and neck, but fishermen will do dumb things for a trout), but they didn't. Shortly after I got moving again the rain hit hard though blessedly it stopped when I reached my car. Afterward I headed to Edie's bar for a couple of apres la peche Oberons. The rain held just long enough for me to return to camp, brush my teeth, and zip myself into my sleeping bag. And then it poured. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed almost constantly for an hour before the storm subsided to a heavy drizzle. When I awoke my tent was sodden but, miraculously, hadn't leaked. And the sun was out. Whatever discouragement I'd had the night before steamed away like the raindrops clinging to the grass. I had high hopes for the day's fishing.