My hopes for the day's fishing sunk when I stopped at the M-37 access to look at the river. It was swollen from the previous night's rain, and I could barely see the bottom in shallow water. There were half a dozen parties waiting to take off in drift boats, and I suspect they had a good day if they were pulling streamers. But the river was too high for safe wading, at least for me. I'm pretty cautious when it comes to that.
With the main stream ruled out, I went to the little south branch of the PM which I'd never fished before. It does look like a miniature version of the PM fly water. Last week that resemblance extended to nearly flowing out of its banks. But since it was smaller and presumable shallower water, I decided to try it for half an hour to see if I could hang something on a streamer. The water was negotiable, but I got no strikes. Back at the parking lot I made a quick call up to Gates' lodge to inquire about water conditions on the Au Sable. Excellent, they said: just a little stain, but very wadable. So I went back to camp, packed up the tent quickly (i.e., threw it in the back of the car without folding it or wiping it down) and hit the road for Grayling.
Once there I wasn't certain about my next move. Weather radio predicted rain by early evening and overnight, but predictions for the amount of rain and time of its onset varied by the half hour. Should I pitch the tent before hitting the river or just get a motel room to ride out the rain in comfort? Or should I just plan to head home when the rain hit and come back when the weather improved? I punted and went straight to the river.
When I waded in at an access in the upper end of the flies-only Holy Water stretch, a heavy black caddis hatch was underway, with a smattering of rises visible. Caught a couple of very small fish at the access, then worked downstream, casting to active risers and fishing blind to some prime looking spots. Despite the plethora of bugs, the fish were tough customers. I made many nice, skittering presentations over active fish but got ignored more than not, and drew more short strikes than solid takes. Even the short strikes were exciting though, since I was fishing directly across the current from me for the most part and could see the trout gliding to the surface like long, bronzed bubbles to engulf--or burst beneath--my fly. Hendrickson duns were drifting by occasionally and many of those got eaten, but fish that looked at my parachute version refused at the last minute, save for one 9" rainbow. I did end up taking 4 or 5 browns that were 8-10" on caddis dries, and 4 lovely 10-12" brooks on an emerger. Interesting that the different species preferred flies at different stages of emergence. Around five a light rain fell for about 10 minutes, even though the sun remained out. It actually felt good, since the temperature was well above 70.
The sun returned strongly once the rain passed, and weather radio now predicted storms should hold off until late that night. I felt encouraged enough to pitch my tent. Once it was up I broke out the cooking gear and started my supper, but I no sooner began heating water for soup when it began to rain hard--again, with sun visible in the distance. The rain stopped, then started again and continued. Screw it, I thought, I'm headed into Grayling. Once at the edge of town the rain stopped, naturally enough. But I was there, so I shelled out for a burger at Spike's.
For the evening's fishing I went to another favorite access, where caddis once again were present in heavy numbers. I skittered a dry pattern near cover along the banks and took three fair size browns. There were also some risers I couldn't get to strike. A bit after 8 hendrickson spinners begtan gathering overhead--lots of them. I clipped off the caddis (which had gone ignored for half an hour anyway), tied on a spinner, then put the hook through the holder ring the just above the rod handle to keep it at the ready, and dry, while waiting for the bugs to fall. But when I reeled up to keep the line taut, the dacron loop on the end of the line that I use to connect the leader slipped off. Unless I could fix this soon, I'd be helplessly watching the trout rise to spinners blanketing the water.
The only obvious fix was to tie a loop in the end of the fly line, but that would sacrifice a good 6 " or so of the line tip, hardly ruining the line, but something I'd rather not do at all. But it occurred to me that I had another rod in my car. A 6 wt., it was heavier than I like to use for dry flies on the Au Sable, but it was the only option. And it turned out to be an excellent option because shortly after I began wading back to the access the sky suddenly clouded over. Rain began falling and when I reached the access I could hear thunder rolling from every direction. A bolt of lightning split the sky just to the north.
In the parking lot another fisherman was rigging up, but stopped his preparations and took shelter under the open rear hatch of his SUV. I took cover likewise, but uncased the 6 wt. and began hunting for a leader for it, hoping the storm would pass. But it continued, and after 5 minutes the other angler announced he was going to "get out of Mother Nature's way," packed up, and drove off. I retreated to the driver's seat of my car and shut the doors. The rain and the thunder weren't relenting and after a few more minutes I concluded I should follow Mr. SUV's example. I started the car and backed out toward the road, but once I got clear of the trees, I saw a large patch of clear sky to the west. It should reach me soon, I thought, and I might be able to salvage this night yet.
It didn't, but the rain did stop, so I pulled back into my parking space, left the car and trotted to the river as fast as my waders allowed. It had cooled off considerably by then and there were almost no insects over the stream now, but twenty or so yards down stream I made out two rising fish. I caught one on the third or fourth cast over them with a hendrickson spinner, though the remaining fish stopped feeding once I'd landed his buddy. It was nearly dark now, but I could see the ring of another rising fish maybe thirty yards further below. It was feeding hard against what amounted to the vertex of a near-right angle formed by a log jam jutting out from the bank. It took me four or five casts with careful mends to get a good drift into that corner, but as soon as I did the fish took and I shortly had a 12" brown in my net. I could barely see well enough to unhook it. When I reached my car it was near full dark, and the rain was beginning to fall again.
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