One of my favorite trips of the year is my late summer visit to the Au Sable trophy waters--it's given me some of the best days of fishing I had in some seasons. I've had some of those magical days when I can pull two or three trout from every riffle I ply with iso or ephoron nymphs. Flying ants falling into the river all afternoon and trout feeding on them in every smooth run, just like during a mayfly hatch. I've fished heavy midday hatches of BWOs, and ephoron emergences at dusk that ranged from good to spectacular.
Other times it's been a bust. Drifting all afternoon in my pontoon without getting a strike. Short strikers all day long. Or waiting in vain for the ephoron hatch. While I've never had a complete skunking, I've sometimes managed only one fish in the net.
Wednesday fell somewhere between feast and famine. Got on the river around 2:30, having spent morning and early afternoon working (I've become one of those people who takes a laptop into the woods...still beats working at home). Started at the riffle below Loud's rest stop, where I've had some very good days. Some feeders showed at the lip of the riffle and along the edges of the V falling down from it, and got some of them to strike on an ephoron soft hackle. Alas, they turned out to be chubs. After an hour I did pull a 12" brown out of a pocket below the riffle.
Next I went down to 2 Fish Flats (a private name for a spot that as far as I know has no public one), which yielded 3. Then it was One Fish (not sure what other feature to name it by), which lived up to its name precisely. I've wondered whether I ought to dub some hole Fifty Fish. One day years ago 2 Fish Flats very nearly approached that.
Ate supper in the woods, then went to a spot below Perry Creek to wait for the ephorons. When I got there a little after 7, some trout were rising to BWOs. The feeding wound down around the time I'd switched to a light leader, but I still fooled one rainbow. No ephorons emerged at sunset. I was waiting with the emerger tied on, and when I saw a solitary rise downstream, I thought I'd work it through the run anyway. The only subsequent rises I saw were when fish smashed my fly--three rainbows and one solid 14" brown. "Smash" is no exaggeration here--my fly would be gliding along with the current when I felt a hard pull, immediately followed by the sight of a trout thrashing on the surface of the river. There is nothing quite like that experience to draw you fully into a moment of your life. Buddhism offers that admonition to "be here now"; hooking and playing a substantial trout offers no other option.
Between the last day of my UP trip and the Mio run this week, August has been the best month of my season, meager as it was by the standards of most fishermen, including myself, or at least the self who used to get up north twice a month in summer. Almost makes seeing the close of summer worth it.
Back to school Monday. Into the maw of the working year once again.
Showing posts with label Au Sable River. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Au Sable River. Show all posts
Friday, August 17, 2012
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Proactive Protection Against Parmalee Catastrophe; Clever Fishie
A piece of encouraging news from the Freep yesterday.
The Anglers of the Au Sable aren't what you'd call a go-along, get-along gang.
Dedicated to protecting the Au Sable River and its watershed, the 700-member organization has, at various times in its 25-year history, vilified politicians, shamed bureaucrats and sued the pants off those they perceived as threats to the river.
So in the latter half of 2010 -- when awareness began to spread through the Anglers' ranks that Enbridge Energy Partners, the company responsible for the 800,000 gallon oil spill in the Kalamazoo River that July, had another aging pipeline handling up to 22 million gallons a day that crossed under their beloved trout stream near Luzerne [as best I can tell, somewhere in the neighborhood of Parmalee bridge] -- you might have expected things to get prickly.
But they didn't.
Instead, through a series of meetings and discussions between Enbridge officials and leaders of the Anglers, a somewhat unorthodox partnership was born. One which has resulted in the company installing a remote-controlled shut-off valve at a cost of $300,000-$500,000 on the south side of the river, visits to Grayling by Enbridge CEO Patrick Daniel and surprising praise for Big Oil from hard-line conservationists.
Read the rest.
This group has done amazing things to protect the AS watershed, and it's nice to see them getting out in front of something like this. Much preferable to after-the-fact lawsuits.
In other news, it seems whale sharks have taken bait stealing to the next level:
Wonder if a small clouser might fool one of those--or would I have to cast a net full of them?
The Anglers of the Au Sable aren't what you'd call a go-along, get-along gang.
Dedicated to protecting the Au Sable River and its watershed, the 700-member organization has, at various times in its 25-year history, vilified politicians, shamed bureaucrats and sued the pants off those they perceived as threats to the river.
So in the latter half of 2010 -- when awareness began to spread through the Anglers' ranks that Enbridge Energy Partners, the company responsible for the 800,000 gallon oil spill in the Kalamazoo River that July, had another aging pipeline handling up to 22 million gallons a day that crossed under their beloved trout stream near Luzerne [as best I can tell, somewhere in the neighborhood of Parmalee bridge] -- you might have expected things to get prickly.
But they didn't.
Instead, through a series of meetings and discussions between Enbridge officials and leaders of the Anglers, a somewhat unorthodox partnership was born. One which has resulted in the company installing a remote-controlled shut-off valve at a cost of $300,000-$500,000 on the south side of the river, visits to Grayling by Enbridge CEO Patrick Daniel and surprising praise for Big Oil from hard-line conservationists.
Read the rest.
This group has done amazing things to protect the AS watershed, and it's nice to see them getting out in front of something like this. Much preferable to after-the-fact lawsuits.
*******
In other news, it seems whale sharks have taken bait stealing to the next level:
Wonder if a small clouser might fool one of those--or would I have to cast a net full of them?
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Manistee & South Branch Au Sable, 6/27-29
A certain stretch of the Manistee above M-72 gave me very consistent hex fishing for four years. Some nights were better than others, but there were always bugs and there were always rising trout. Some nights I fished in a crowd, some nights I had it to myself. But last year I spent two nights there and saw good numbers spinners but no flies on the water. This year wasn't even that good.
Wednesday, a few hex spinners started to show around ten, but a swarm never appeared. Nothing emerged later. Thursday I never even saw spinners. That's really all there is to say about hex hatch 2012. I'd been lulled by previous experience into thinking I'd found a surefire hex hole, but I stand thoroughly disabused of that notion.
Ready for a change of pace, I spent Friday on the Au Sable's south branch in the upper Mason Tract. Hexes are done on the south, so I figured I would enjoy a nice solitary evening catching brookies on blue winged olives, and have at least a shot at a late isonychia spinnerfall that would entice some larger trout. Found plenty of rising trout from 7:00 on, but had a hard time connecting. I watched the water for a while after wading in and saw a couple of flying ants tumble into the flow. I put one on and quickly landed a decent brook trout. Believing I'd found the secret, I tossed the ant at a few other feeders and received only one short strike. A few olives were flying around so I tried a #20 dun and drew more short strikes. Many of these rising trout were quite small, and I didn't cast to the little ones at first. Finally I did out of desperation, and even they spurned me. Getting refused by a 6" brook trout is one of the keener humiliations an angler can suffer.
Around 8:00 I was seeing quite a few small brown caddis in the air so I tied on a reasonable facsimile and got nothing, even though around I was seeing a lot of splashy rises. Only about half an hour later, as the feeding began to slow in the run I was on, did I find an emerger that would have worked. By then I was seeing more smooth rises, as well as more BWOs in the air (though still not very many), so I tried my spinners and duns again, and again was refused by each fish that took notice of my fly. Many didn't.
A bit after 9 the run seemed to have gone dead. I had seen just a few iso spinners, so I cut back my leader and tied one on. I started wading back to where I'd walked in only to see another group of active feeders two runs up. The rises were quiet again, and stirred a few bubbles but I didn't see anything on the surface the trout would be eating, even with the aid of my headlamp. Having barely been able to see to tie the iso on, I wasn't going to attempt threading the hook eye of a #18 or 20 olive. I cast the spinner to a few of the risers and caught one, a whopper 8" brookie. Hooked a couple more briefly before feeding slowed and I kept moving upstream.
Close to my walk-out point a heard a couple of other rises. I can't say if they were consistent or not because in the dark I couldn't see them, and the sound of most of them would have been drowned out by the fireworks that had begun exploding almost continuously once the sun had set. Where I was, the tract is bordered by cottages, and most of their occupants were apparently exploiting Michigan's recent legalization of high powered fireworks. I kept drifting my iso through the run where the rises had sounded, and occasionally between the fusillades I heard more. Sadly, I didn't hear the ones that counted. Twice when lifting my line at the end of a drift I felt a fish pulling on it. By that point it's too late to set the hook. Except for the damn fireworks I would have landed a couple of good fish.
I wouldn't have minded trying a little longer, maybe moving to another spot, but the blasts from beyond the tract kept coming. My ears hurt from them--how loud would they have been close up?
Another frustrating night of fishing, but at least I felt like I was back in the game. If I was up there again tonight and someone told me I had a 50% chance of hitting a monster hex hatch on the Manistee, I think I'd still go to the south branch and try to crack the riddle of those twilight rises. A little further from town, though.
Wednesday, a few hex spinners started to show around ten, but a swarm never appeared. Nothing emerged later. Thursday I never even saw spinners. That's really all there is to say about hex hatch 2012. I'd been lulled by previous experience into thinking I'd found a surefire hex hole, but I stand thoroughly disabused of that notion.
Ready for a change of pace, I spent Friday on the Au Sable's south branch in the upper Mason Tract. Hexes are done on the south, so I figured I would enjoy a nice solitary evening catching brookies on blue winged olives, and have at least a shot at a late isonychia spinnerfall that would entice some larger trout. Found plenty of rising trout from 7:00 on, but had a hard time connecting. I watched the water for a while after wading in and saw a couple of flying ants tumble into the flow. I put one on and quickly landed a decent brook trout. Believing I'd found the secret, I tossed the ant at a few other feeders and received only one short strike. A few olives were flying around so I tried a #20 dun and drew more short strikes. Many of these rising trout were quite small, and I didn't cast to the little ones at first. Finally I did out of desperation, and even they spurned me. Getting refused by a 6" brook trout is one of the keener humiliations an angler can suffer.
Around 8:00 I was seeing quite a few small brown caddis in the air so I tied on a reasonable facsimile and got nothing, even though around I was seeing a lot of splashy rises. Only about half an hour later, as the feeding began to slow in the run I was on, did I find an emerger that would have worked. By then I was seeing more smooth rises, as well as more BWOs in the air (though still not very many), so I tried my spinners and duns again, and again was refused by each fish that took notice of my fly. Many didn't.
A bit after 9 the run seemed to have gone dead. I had seen just a few iso spinners, so I cut back my leader and tied one on. I started wading back to where I'd walked in only to see another group of active feeders two runs up. The rises were quiet again, and stirred a few bubbles but I didn't see anything on the surface the trout would be eating, even with the aid of my headlamp. Having barely been able to see to tie the iso on, I wasn't going to attempt threading the hook eye of a #18 or 20 olive. I cast the spinner to a few of the risers and caught one, a whopper 8" brookie. Hooked a couple more briefly before feeding slowed and I kept moving upstream.
Close to my walk-out point a heard a couple of other rises. I can't say if they were consistent or not because in the dark I couldn't see them, and the sound of most of them would have been drowned out by the fireworks that had begun exploding almost continuously once the sun had set. Where I was, the tract is bordered by cottages, and most of their occupants were apparently exploiting Michigan's recent legalization of high powered fireworks. I kept drifting my iso through the run where the rises had sounded, and occasionally between the fusillades I heard more. Sadly, I didn't hear the ones that counted. Twice when lifting my line at the end of a drift I felt a fish pulling on it. By that point it's too late to set the hook. Except for the damn fireworks I would have landed a couple of good fish.
I wouldn't have minded trying a little longer, maybe moving to another spot, but the blasts from beyond the tract kept coming. My ears hurt from them--how loud would they have been close up?
Another frustrating night of fishing, but at least I felt like I was back in the game. If I was up there again tonight and someone told me I had a 50% chance of hitting a monster hex hatch on the Manistee, I think I'd still go to the south branch and try to crack the riddle of those twilight rises. A little further from town, though.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Au Sable River--4/14/12; Happy FTR Anniversary!
Gas prices being what they are, I decided that up-north day trips were off the table this year. But the last three weeks--seemingly nonstop grading, prepping, and conferencing that now needs to be balanced with lawn and garden care, plus the frustrations of tending an ever-growing cadre of students determined to pass my classes without completing the bulk of the work--made me reconsider. I've felt beaten, burnt, and numbed, with two weeks of of the semester to go besides. But I had a relatively light weekend coming, and when I read a good report on the Gates Lodge website Thursday, talking up hatching hendricksons and skittering stoneflies, I decided to take the plunge. I considered heading up Friday morning and making a 2-dayer out of it, but when I got home Thursday night I didn't have the energy to start gathering gear. And there was work to do, so I made Friday a low-key recovery day, sleeping in a bit, working slowly through some papers I needed to grade, having a nice dinner with Kristine. Fishing is a fine way to clear the mind, though I'd rather let some of the fog drift away before I step in the water. Fishing is better when I am.
My boots found the water in the lower reaches of the mainstream Holy Water stretch a bit before 1. Lots of hendricksons in the air, some olives, and even a few black caddis, which over the next two hours became anything but few. The hendrickson bonanza I expected didn't happen--saw maybe half a dozen duns on the water all afternoon. When a burst of feeding began while no mayflies were in view, I tied on a hendrickson emerger and quickly caught three browns. After I released the third, though, I couldn't get another strike, despite trout rising throughout the pool. Then just a yard or so to my right I saw a struggling caddis pulled under by a small brook trout. Switched to a #16 black caddis dry, but was rewarded with nothing more than a few short strikes. Probably should have gone with the emerger, I chided myself, since the fish almost always prefer it. Almost always, but not yesterday. I got nips but no solid takes fishing two different versions. I fished through several pools of active fish, got blanked at each, and all the while the feeding was slowing down. Half an hour before, I'd believed I was on the brink of an epic haul--now I seemed headed for an epic humiliation.
But the fish have the final say about that, and as mysteriously as they'd spurned my flies earlier, they started to find them irresistable around 3:00. I ended up catching another dozen browns, 9-13", all on the dry. Tried the emerger again for the heck of it but couldn't get a take. Lost a few other fish, as well as a couple flies in the branches.
The action stopped by 4:30, and I already felt the trip had been worth it, but there was no way I was getting back on the road when there were still almost five hours of daylight, especially when the temperature had broken 70 and there was at least a slender chance of a spinnerfall. Had dinner in Grayling at Spike's, then went back downriver to a favorite dry fly spot. The bugs gathered in good numbers overhead, and just a few hit the water as darkness set in. Cast to one of the few risers I saw and immediately got a take, but when I set the hook an empty leader came sailing back to me.
It may or may not be wise to burn a tank and a half of $4/gal. gasoline for one day of fishing. But it is near-unforgiveable stupidity to do so and then NOT check the strength of the knots you've fished with for most of that day.
Two weeks until the official opener. Which, if my plans hold, should allow more than a day trip. If these next two weeks are anything like the last two, I'll need it.
It happens to be the seventh anniversary of this blog. Given my lack of attention to this undertaking, I don't know if that amounts to anything more than a factoid right now.
My boots found the water in the lower reaches of the mainstream Holy Water stretch a bit before 1. Lots of hendricksons in the air, some olives, and even a few black caddis, which over the next two hours became anything but few. The hendrickson bonanza I expected didn't happen--saw maybe half a dozen duns on the water all afternoon. When a burst of feeding began while no mayflies were in view, I tied on a hendrickson emerger and quickly caught three browns. After I released the third, though, I couldn't get another strike, despite trout rising throughout the pool. Then just a yard or so to my right I saw a struggling caddis pulled under by a small brook trout. Switched to a #16 black caddis dry, but was rewarded with nothing more than a few short strikes. Probably should have gone with the emerger, I chided myself, since the fish almost always prefer it. Almost always, but not yesterday. I got nips but no solid takes fishing two different versions. I fished through several pools of active fish, got blanked at each, and all the while the feeding was slowing down. Half an hour before, I'd believed I was on the brink of an epic haul--now I seemed headed for an epic humiliation.
But the fish have the final say about that, and as mysteriously as they'd spurned my flies earlier, they started to find them irresistable around 3:00. I ended up catching another dozen browns, 9-13", all on the dry. Tried the emerger again for the heck of it but couldn't get a take. Lost a few other fish, as well as a couple flies in the branches.
The action stopped by 4:30, and I already felt the trip had been worth it, but there was no way I was getting back on the road when there were still almost five hours of daylight, especially when the temperature had broken 70 and there was at least a slender chance of a spinnerfall. Had dinner in Grayling at Spike's, then went back downriver to a favorite dry fly spot. The bugs gathered in good numbers overhead, and just a few hit the water as darkness set in. Cast to one of the few risers I saw and immediately got a take, but when I set the hook an empty leader came sailing back to me.
It may or may not be wise to burn a tank and a half of $4/gal. gasoline for one day of fishing. But it is near-unforgiveable stupidity to do so and then NOT check the strength of the knots you've fished with for most of that day.
Two weeks until the official opener. Which, if my plans hold, should allow more than a day trip. If these next two weeks are anything like the last two, I'll need it.
It happens to be the seventh anniversary of this blog. Given my lack of attention to this undertaking, I don't know if that amounts to anything more than a factoid right now.
Friday, July 08, 2011
Accomodations...hacked! (& hex trip report)
Talk about ironies...before my trip I put up a post waxing fondly about tent camping, only to return to my tent one night last week and find my rain fly slashed, the door unzipped, and my gear moved around. Nothing was stolen, curiously, though there wasn't much in there worth taking (unless someone was really, really desperate for clean socks). I have no idea what happened. It wasn't an animal, since I don't think animals open zippers or swivel picnic tables around which is another wierd detail of the "crime scene." There were strange tire tracks leading into my campsite too.
I was kind of freaked, and being the only person in the campground, I didn't really want to spend the night there in case whoever it was came back. So...I decamped (literally) to a motel. An overeaction, maybe, but it seemed reasonable enough standing in the woods at midnight with a freshly ransacked tent.
Part of my reason for camping was to spare expenses...but I ended up paying for 2 nights in a motel...and will be on the hook for a new tent now, too. The rain fly is beyond repair, though the rest of the tent is fine, so long I'm guaranteed to camp in dry weather. Which is not a very safe bet in Michigan.
As for the fishing...Tuesday the 28th was cold (highs 50s), stopped at the South Branch Au Sable in the afternoon and found a decent BWO hatch in progress. Caught a few brook trout, though they were kind of picky. Lots of short strikes. A few cahills popped in the evening, though nothing rose to them. No hex.
Wednesday I fished the Manistee below M72. Isos, cahills, Dorsata stoneflies, and sulfur spinners were on the water before sunset with a little feeding taking place, though I held off casting to avoid spooking any good size fish before the hex came on. My patience went unrewarded, though. Hex showed overhead around 9:20--it was cooling fast, and just a few, sporadic feeders showed. I caught one 15" brown, missed a couple of other strikes, and by 10 of 10, the fun was over.
Thursday I went above M72, saw loads of hex in the air, but none on the water, and no rises. At least while scouting for fishing spots that afternoon I found some ripe blueberries--never seen them that early before. So still a landmark outing of sorts.
Friday afternoon I put the books aside and went up to Deward to see if afternoon clouds would bring on the olives and stir the brookies to feed. I've had some great afternoons there in midsummer with these little bugs, but this wasn't one of them. Just a few bugs out, with just a few trout brought to hand. In the evening I went below 72 again, stayed to 11, never saw a bug.
So the limbata fest was kind of a bust this year. Bring on the Huron river hex (autocadatra) and white fly action with smallmouth!
I was kind of freaked, and being the only person in the campground, I didn't really want to spend the night there in case whoever it was came back. So...I decamped (literally) to a motel. An overeaction, maybe, but it seemed reasonable enough standing in the woods at midnight with a freshly ransacked tent.
Part of my reason for camping was to spare expenses...but I ended up paying for 2 nights in a motel...and will be on the hook for a new tent now, too. The rain fly is beyond repair, though the rest of the tent is fine, so long I'm guaranteed to camp in dry weather. Which is not a very safe bet in Michigan.
As for the fishing...Tuesday the 28th was cold (highs 50s), stopped at the South Branch Au Sable in the afternoon and found a decent BWO hatch in progress. Caught a few brook trout, though they were kind of picky. Lots of short strikes. A few cahills popped in the evening, though nothing rose to them. No hex.
Wednesday I fished the Manistee below M72. Isos, cahills, Dorsata stoneflies, and sulfur spinners were on the water before sunset with a little feeding taking place, though I held off casting to avoid spooking any good size fish before the hex came on. My patience went unrewarded, though. Hex showed overhead around 9:20--it was cooling fast, and just a few, sporadic feeders showed. I caught one 15" brown, missed a couple of other strikes, and by 10 of 10, the fun was over.
Thursday I went above M72, saw loads of hex in the air, but none on the water, and no rises. At least while scouting for fishing spots that afternoon I found some ripe blueberries--never seen them that early before. So still a landmark outing of sorts.
Friday afternoon I put the books aside and went up to Deward to see if afternoon clouds would bring on the olives and stir the brookies to feed. I've had some great afternoons there in midsummer with these little bugs, but this wasn't one of them. Just a few bugs out, with just a few trout brought to hand. In the evening I went below 72 again, stayed to 11, never saw a bug.
So the limbata fest was kind of a bust this year. Bring on the Huron river hex (autocadatra) and white fly action with smallmouth!
Friday, May 20, 2011
Spots of Time, pt. III--Pere Marquette/Au Sable, 5/11-13
Those predictions for "numerous thunderstorms" overnight last Thursday were dead-on. As in Baldwin the night before, thunder boomed and lightning flashed long into the night. The rain fell even harder, as if the clouds were dropping lead balls instead of water. But again my tent kept it out and at some point I fell asleep in spite of the ruckus outside. In the morning, the skies were still cloudy, but the rain had stopped, and the radio assured me that little more was expected that day.
The Au Sable mainstream was running dark--not as dark as the PM had been the day before, but still murkier than I'd like. Wading the evening before had been difficult in spots, and it would be worse today. I expected the upper north branch would be clear and easier to wade, so I struck camp and set out for Love lls. Of course, I detoured through Grayling to pick up one of Goodale's fantastic cinnamon rolls tocap off my lunch under the pavillion of the Lovells township park.
I began working down the north branch from the Twin Bridges a little after two. It was cool compared to the previous days--mid 60s, maybe--and overcast. Not many bugs on the wing--a handful of caddis, some stray hendrickson spinners, and every now and then a henny dun on the water. I threw assorted nymphs and emergers and caught some of the dinky brook trout that abound in that stretch.
Toward three o'clock good numbers of caddis and hendricksons took to the air and more hendrickson duns started to drift by. But nothing was rising yet, so I decided to walk back upstream fish a fast run where I had had a few strikes but no firm hookups one more time. I switched to a black gnat wet, which during the caddis hatch sometimes outproduces the emergers I'd been using. I made a cast that swung the fly in front of one of the log trout shelters put up by TU or whoever when I got my first hit. This fish didn't come quickly skittering back to me across the surface like those I'd caught earlier. Maybe it was one of those high single or low double digit brooks that usually don't show until the hatch gets going, was my first thought. But when I pulled I didn't budge it an inch. Then along the line came several hard sharp taps--like a steelhead head shake (not a sensation I associate with the upper north branch). Holy #*&@, what have I hooked, I'm thinking. I found out quickly when, after short charges between several of the shelters, the fish heaved itself up onto the edge of one. It was an orange-bellied brown that at that moment looked longer than my arm.
It was a miracle the fish didn't actually make it over the top of that fish shelter ( I won't complain about the drag on my aging Battenkill anymore). But there was a lot of other wood in that spot and the fish was doing it dangdest to get in it. The current there was fast too. There was no way I'd land the fish on 5X where I stood. So I steered it around the timber and walked it downstream into some quiet shallow water. Once there it didn't take long to get it close to me so I reached for the net, only to have it run hard downstream toward yet another pile of timber. I chased it and once again waltzed it into safe water. There, it just bulldogged me---you know how it goes with big browns where you fight over that last 20 feet of line half a dozen times. In comes the fish, out goes the net, and sayonara trout. But eventually it came in and held long enough for me to scoop it up. I took it to the bank, cursing myself for leaving the camera in the car. At least I had my tape, so I pulled that out and measured the brown. 23 inches. Tied for my second largest stream brown, and certainly the largest caught in the middle of the afternoon on a size 16 fly.
During the fight, the hatch finally commenced and trout were feeding around me as I chased the fish all over the stream. A shame I was busy, since I'll bet some of those feeders would have gone 11", easy. (heh)
That was the only fish of (to indulge in some understatement) respectable size that day. But if you're going to catch only one, that's the kind to catch. It was a magnificent day on the water because of a few moments of tense combat with that big brown. Which was in keeping with the best parts of each day on the trip--the spate of stonefly action Wednesday, the last trout as darkness fell Thursday. Small spots of time when what this angler sought merged precisely with what the rivers offered. Yes, there were other times when I caught fish, and more fish at that, but somehow these added less to the contours of the trip as it remains in my memory. We release most of our memories as surely as we release most of our fish, and I suspect this is partly why it matters little to many fishermen whether they catch many fish or only a few. The mind does not have infinite creel space.
The Au Sable mainstream was running dark--not as dark as the PM had been the day before, but still murkier than I'd like. Wading the evening before had been difficult in spots, and it would be worse today. I expected the upper north branch would be clear and easier to wade, so I struck camp and set out for Love lls. Of course, I detoured through Grayling to pick up one of Goodale's fantastic cinnamon rolls tocap off my lunch under the pavillion of the Lovells township park.
I began working down the north branch from the Twin Bridges a little after two. It was cool compared to the previous days--mid 60s, maybe--and overcast. Not many bugs on the wing--a handful of caddis, some stray hendrickson spinners, and every now and then a henny dun on the water. I threw assorted nymphs and emergers and caught some of the dinky brook trout that abound in that stretch.
Toward three o'clock good numbers of caddis and hendricksons took to the air and more hendrickson duns started to drift by. But nothing was rising yet, so I decided to walk back upstream fish a fast run where I had had a few strikes but no firm hookups one more time. I switched to a black gnat wet, which during the caddis hatch sometimes outproduces the emergers I'd been using. I made a cast that swung the fly in front of one of the log trout shelters put up by TU or whoever when I got my first hit. This fish didn't come quickly skittering back to me across the surface like those I'd caught earlier. Maybe it was one of those high single or low double digit brooks that usually don't show until the hatch gets going, was my first thought. But when I pulled I didn't budge it an inch. Then along the line came several hard sharp taps--like a steelhead head shake (not a sensation I associate with the upper north branch). Holy #*&@, what have I hooked, I'm thinking. I found out quickly when, after short charges between several of the shelters, the fish heaved itself up onto the edge of one. It was an orange-bellied brown that at that moment looked longer than my arm.
It was a miracle the fish didn't actually make it over the top of that fish shelter ( I won't complain about the drag on my aging Battenkill anymore). But there was a lot of other wood in that spot and the fish was doing it dangdest to get in it. The current there was fast too. There was no way I'd land the fish on 5X where I stood. So I steered it around the timber and walked it downstream into some quiet shallow water. Once there it didn't take long to get it close to me so I reached for the net, only to have it run hard downstream toward yet another pile of timber. I chased it and once again waltzed it into safe water. There, it just bulldogged me---you know how it goes with big browns where you fight over that last 20 feet of line half a dozen times. In comes the fish, out goes the net, and sayonara trout. But eventually it came in and held long enough for me to scoop it up. I took it to the bank, cursing myself for leaving the camera in the car. At least I had my tape, so I pulled that out and measured the brown. 23 inches. Tied for my second largest stream brown, and certainly the largest caught in the middle of the afternoon on a size 16 fly.
During the fight, the hatch finally commenced and trout were feeding around me as I chased the fish all over the stream. A shame I was busy, since I'll bet some of those feeders would have gone 11", easy. (heh)
That was the only fish of (to indulge in some understatement) respectable size that day. But if you're going to catch only one, that's the kind to catch. It was a magnificent day on the water because of a few moments of tense combat with that big brown. Which was in keeping with the best parts of each day on the trip--the spate of stonefly action Wednesday, the last trout as darkness fell Thursday. Small spots of time when what this angler sought merged precisely with what the rivers offered. Yes, there were other times when I caught fish, and more fish at that, but somehow these added less to the contours of the trip as it remains in my memory. We release most of our memories as surely as we release most of our fish, and I suspect this is partly why it matters little to many fishermen whether they catch many fish or only a few. The mind does not have infinite creel space.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Spots of Time: Pere Marquette/Au Sable 5/11-13, pt. II
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.
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.
Monday, September 07, 2009
Happy Labor Day; Au Sable 9/4
Being free myself from the chains of labor last Friday, and surmising that the day might provide some first-rate fishing, I made a day trip to the Au Sable.
I planned to spend most of the day on the big water below Mio, but I remembered heavy trico hatches on the north branch over a labor day weekend a few years ago, so I went there first. My car thermometer read 41 degrees when I pulled into an access above twin bridges just before 9AM. Tricos did come, around 10:15, but the hatch was very thin. Feeding activity was lighter than when I'd fished the same stretch in July, and the fish that showed were exceptionally spooky. I put down the first two pods of fish I cast to after two or three casts. I approached a third on hands and knees, setting up behind a large sand ridge that ran between a weedy backwater and the run where the fish were rising. It was difficult to get a good drift over the fish, since there wasn't room for a backcast that would load the rod (even my whippy 4 wt) and generate enough forward power straighten the leader. Kneeling and catching the water with the elbow of my rod arm when I cast didn't help with accuracy either. But I did manage a few good drifts and didn't put the fish down with the bad ones. During the twenty or so minutes the hatch lasted, I managed a couple of smaller brook trout and a shiner.
I headed downstream to Mio for the afternoon and evening. Bob Linsenman told me that white fly soft hackles were still the ticket, so I hopped downstream from access to access fishing one in tandem with other nymphs or emergers. The midday action wasn't red hot, not even as good as it had been the Friday before. I took three planter rainbows, lost a few others.
That wasn't the most regrettable part of the afternoon, though. While fishing in front of the Davis rest area, I heard a roaring coming from upstream and I turned around to see two jet skis rounding the bend. They weren't moving fast but they're kicking up a wake that could easily (and possibly did) swamp a canoe and making enough racket to drown out every drunken tuber on the river. After they passed a cloudy ribbon trailed along the river's edge for almost five minutes, erosion from their wake breaking on the bank. Soon they were headed back upstream: more noise, more silt. I hope jet skiing isn't becoming popular on those waters.
Around 4:30 a nice BWO hatch began and fish began feeding avidly. Over the next hour and a half I caught about 10 trout, 10-14" long. When the bwos faded, I went to the McKinley bar for a quick supper and got back on river a bit before 7:30. The white fly hatch began shortly, and using an emerger, I took 8 or 9 trout about like those I'd caught on olives. When they stopped hitting the emerger, I looked down for spinners and saw none.
Last year on a superb night of white flies, I switched to a spinner pattern far too early and missed a lot of trout I should have taken, but didn't switch back because I didn't want to have to re-tie the spinner on in the dark. Last Friday I decided to keep the emerger on until the spinner fall was obviously in progress, but a succession of trout ignored it. When I did see the first spinner, I immediately went to change flies, but I fumbled tieing on the spinner in near darkness (there's a stretch between twilight and full dark where the vest light is of limited help). I only heard about two rises once I was ready to go, and my casts in their direction produced nothing. But having done well earlier, my regrets were mild.
I sometimes feel guilty about these day trips, burning a lot of money and gas for a single day of pleasure. Sometimes I don't even catch much. But this one was worth every penny and every pound of C02.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Au Sable Big Water, 8/27-28
Got onto the water Thursday and saw numerous risers--took me a while to figure out what they wanted, but once I got the BH soft hackle white fly, I took 7 or 8 rainbows and browns up to 14". Mostly missed the evening white fly emergence, which started earlier than I'd expected--probably on account of the cool weather. In camp that night, the fire was not just about atmospherics.
Friday was slower--managed five trout, including one 15" brown, in the afternoon, all on olive emergers, but rain drove me from the river in the evening.
Camping at the Loop was an unsettling experience, as usual. Details to follow.
Friday was slower--managed five trout, including one 15" brown, in the afternoon, all on olive emergers, but rain drove me from the river in the evening.
Camping at the Loop was an unsettling experience, as usual. Details to follow.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Paddling East, Fishing West
Had a nice float with Kristine down the south branch and mainstream of the Au Sable. I won't go deeply into detail. We paddled, we saw eagles, deer, an otter; slept on the ground, woke one morning in fog so thick it felt like drizzle; ate out of cans and bags; I watched in agony Thursday night and Friday morning as rainbows rose to BWOs for hours on end in the waters below Mio.
We took few pictures on this trip--certainly not enough to offer anything like a photonarrative of the trip. Since I had the camera most of the time, the quality may not be what it could have been. But here are a couple of random shots that came out OK.
The Mason Chapel, on the south branch
Our last night's camp, at Meadow Springs
I started missing the trip as soon as we hauled out. I've been online-window-shopping for canoes since we got home.
Quite the mind-wipe it was. I didn't give much thought to work or other routine concerns, except to note a couple of times the fact that I wasn't thinking of them. Returning to reality is much harder than letting it go--I almost began that with "unfortunately," but I'm not sure about that.
After the float was over and the livery hauled us back to our car in Roscommon, we headed up the road to Grayling to recover with a motel room for the night and the obligatory dinner at Spike's. In the morning, I snuck out to fish the Manistee, giving the Au Sable a break because I'd never tried the Big M before in trico season. A fair hatch came off around 9, and I took 5 legal or better browns, plus some dinky ones. Fish were active in a few locations, but completely absent from long stretches of water. Nothing worth opening the champers over, but a pleasant wrap to the trip.
A busy week ahead, with preparations for classes. I may or may not blog
We took few pictures on this trip--certainly not enough to offer anything like a photonarrative of the trip. Since I had the camera most of the time, the quality may not be what it could have been. But here are a couple of random shots that came out OK.
The Mason Chapel, on the south branch
Our last night's camp, at Meadow Springs
I started missing the trip as soon as we hauled out. I've been online-window-shopping for canoes since we got home.
Quite the mind-wipe it was. I didn't give much thought to work or other routine concerns, except to note a couple of times the fact that I wasn't thinking of them. Returning to reality is much harder than letting it go--I almost began that with "unfortunately," but I'm not sure about that.
After the float was over and the livery hauled us back to our car in Roscommon, we headed up the road to Grayling to recover with a motel room for the night and the obligatory dinner at Spike's. In the morning, I snuck out to fish the Manistee, giving the Au Sable a break because I'd never tried the Big M before in trico season. A fair hatch came off around 9, and I took 5 legal or better browns, plus some dinky ones. Fish were active in a few locations, but completely absent from long stretches of water. Nothing worth opening the champers over, but a pleasant wrap to the trip.
A busy week ahead, with preparations for classes. I may or may not blog
Monday, August 10, 2009
Floating...
We'll be floating the S. and Main branches of the Au Sable over the next few days. Field reports while there, a writeup when we get home. Hopefully I'll get to toss a line at some point.
Monday, July 20, 2009
North Branch This Weekend/T+40
Kristine and I were in the Grayling area over the weekend. Made it out Sunday morning onto a part of the north branch AS I hadn't fished in about ten years. It looked like in the meantime the stretch had received some of those trees airlifted into the river by the Anglers of the Au Sable. Lots more cover, and lots more contour to the bottom than I remembered. Some things hadn't changed, though: my take consisted of a bunch of small brook trout. Tricos came off about 8:45 and I squeezed in just an hour before I had to get back to camp. Still about the best hour of fishing I've had in over a month.
Lots is being said today about the moon landing of forty years ago. Got to see it with my own three-year-old eyes. I remember only snatches of the event, most of which concern what my mother and sisters were doing as we sat around the TV. Primarily, what I remember is eating moon sticks, a candy that passed itself off as "space food."
I've told that to a number of people, though none had ever heard of them, even those much older than I was at the time. I was starting to wonder if I'd invented the memory, until I ran across this. I feel validated.
Lots is being said today about the moon landing of forty years ago. Got to see it with my own three-year-old eyes. I remember only snatches of the event, most of which concern what my mother and sisters were doing as we sat around the TV. Primarily, what I remember is eating moon sticks, a candy that passed itself off as "space food."
I've told that to a number of people, though none had ever heard of them, even those much older than I was at the time. I was starting to wonder if I'd invented the memory, until I ran across this. I feel validated.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Manistee/Au Sable 6/10-11
I can be flighty when I'm fishing--if I'm unsatisfied with the place I'm fishing, I don't have a problem picking up and driving, 20 or 30 miles, even, to someplace where I'm sure the action will better. This isn't unreasonable, and in my experience it's not uncommon among fishermen, either. Sometimes the change of setting does bring a change of fortunes, though you always risk the compounded embarrassment of a multi-site skunking. Regardless of how the move pays off, though, it leaves you with the question what you missed by not staying put. Rivers aren't static--insects emerge and fishes' feeding instincts turn on in response to some slight modulation of light or water temperature. And at this time of the season, bugs and fish tend to be much more active in the evening, almost making a river (from the angler's perspective) an entirely different stream at night than it was early in the day. Yet this week, full awareness of that couldn't persuade me to hold my ground and allow changes to come through time instead of chasing them over distance.
What all that is about:
I drove up to Grayling on Wednesday, planning to camp and fish on the Manistee river for a change--normally I drive east of town to the branches of the Au Sable. The river was in much better shape than I'd expected given Monday's downpour. I went to a spot below M-72 where I occasionally fish the hex hatch, and saw a variety of insects in the air--large and small stoneflies (I really need to learn the stonefly species better), sulfurs, caddis, and a handful of brown drakes and mahoganies. There was unfortunately little surface feeding, even during a 5 minute mahogany emergence when flies drifted for yards before lifting from the water. There were scattered, splashy rises, though I never saw what was getting eaten. The most abundant insect was a small, dark colored stonefly, and green egg sacs were visible on most of these I saw on the wing. I tied on a green-butted black caddis imitation and took a couple of browns (@ 10") and missed a few other strikes.
Not the worst afternoon, but not great. By 4:30 the insects were thinning out--not an encouraging sign. And by that point, visions of a certain spot on the Au Sable where I'd had great evenings after bailing from poor afternoons on the Manistee were coming to mind. I couldn't resist.
When I waded into the Au Sable, the air was filled with sulphurs. A few were dribbling along the surface, though they didn't trigger much feeding, perhaps on account of the high water (the AS looked much further above normal than the Man.) But risers did show here and there, mostly along riffle seams or near brush along the bank. Casting to the feeders and fishing blind to likely spots I picked up maybe half a dozen fair trout and a mess of dinks. The best was this rainbow, @ 12".
A bit after 7 the sulphurs faded and I picked up a couple of brookies twitching a caddis in pockets of slack water between fallen logs along the banks. That's never brought me rapid fire action, but it's a fun way to pass the time between hatches.
At about 9:15 sulphur spinners began drifting by and some risers showed in pools and quieter runs. Again, not as many as I'd usually expect, but certainly enough to get the blood pumping. I ended up taking four brook trout, 9-12", losing a couple of others.
Very unusual not to catch browns during a spinner fall. I've noticed before that I catch more brook trout than browns when fishing hatches on high water. But a fisherman I talked to in the parking lot that night said he caught only browns. Go figure.
Thursday was more or less the same, except that the afternoon on the Manistee was positively dismal, with few flies around and only tiny trout coming to my fly. The early evening sulphur hatch on the Au Sable was even heavier than Wednesday's, though my take was about the same, aside from a couple of brown trout joining the mix. At sunset, a small number of emerging brown drakes joined the flow of sulphur spinners, and I did take one brook trout on a drake, but no others followed its lead. I caught a couple more brooks after switching to the sulphur spinners and caught, yet could not get as much as a short strike afterward. I cast three different versions of the spinner to one very active pod of trout for nearly 20 minutes. Could they have been feeding on something else altogether?
Questions like that keep you coming back. But that still leaves the question of what would have happened on the Manistee. I'm certain that the action must have picked up a least somewhat in the evening. But that very logical conclusion has to compete with memories of the Au Sable saving the day on trips past. All the memories of your life combined weigh less than a midge, but their colors and contours give them a substance that the possibilities of the here and now cannot have, save with considerable intervention by the imagination. Possibilities whisper promises. Memory exerts the pull of gravity.
What all that is about:
I drove up to Grayling on Wednesday, planning to camp and fish on the Manistee river for a change--normally I drive east of town to the branches of the Au Sable. The river was in much better shape than I'd expected given Monday's downpour. I went to a spot below M-72 where I occasionally fish the hex hatch, and saw a variety of insects in the air--large and small stoneflies (I really need to learn the stonefly species better), sulfurs, caddis, and a handful of brown drakes and mahoganies. There was unfortunately little surface feeding, even during a 5 minute mahogany emergence when flies drifted for yards before lifting from the water. There were scattered, splashy rises, though I never saw what was getting eaten. The most abundant insect was a small, dark colored stonefly, and green egg sacs were visible on most of these I saw on the wing. I tied on a green-butted black caddis imitation and took a couple of browns (@ 10") and missed a few other strikes.
Not the worst afternoon, but not great. By 4:30 the insects were thinning out--not an encouraging sign. And by that point, visions of a certain spot on the Au Sable where I'd had great evenings after bailing from poor afternoons on the Manistee were coming to mind. I couldn't resist.
When I waded into the Au Sable, the air was filled with sulphurs. A few were dribbling along the surface, though they didn't trigger much feeding, perhaps on account of the high water (the AS looked much further above normal than the Man.) But risers did show here and there, mostly along riffle seams or near brush along the bank. Casting to the feeders and fishing blind to likely spots I picked up maybe half a dozen fair trout and a mess of dinks. The best was this rainbow, @ 12".
A bit after 7 the sulphurs faded and I picked up a couple of brookies twitching a caddis in pockets of slack water between fallen logs along the banks. That's never brought me rapid fire action, but it's a fun way to pass the time between hatches.
At about 9:15 sulphur spinners began drifting by and some risers showed in pools and quieter runs. Again, not as many as I'd usually expect, but certainly enough to get the blood pumping. I ended up taking four brook trout, 9-12", losing a couple of others.
Very unusual not to catch browns during a spinner fall. I've noticed before that I catch more brook trout than browns when fishing hatches on high water. But a fisherman I talked to in the parking lot that night said he caught only browns. Go figure.
Thursday was more or less the same, except that the afternoon on the Manistee was positively dismal, with few flies around and only tiny trout coming to my fly. The early evening sulphur hatch on the Au Sable was even heavier than Wednesday's, though my take was about the same, aside from a couple of brown trout joining the mix. At sunset, a small number of emerging brown drakes joined the flow of sulphur spinners, and I did take one brook trout on a drake, but no others followed its lead. I caught a couple more brooks after switching to the sulphur spinners and caught, yet could not get as much as a short strike afterward. I cast three different versions of the spinner to one very active pod of trout for nearly 20 minutes. Could they have been feeding on something else altogether?
Questions like that keep you coming back. But that still leaves the question of what would have happened on the Manistee. I'm certain that the action must have picked up a least somewhat in the evening. But that very logical conclusion has to compete with memories of the Au Sable saving the day on trips past. All the memories of your life combined weigh less than a midge, but their colors and contours give them a substance that the possibilities of the here and now cannot have, save with considerable intervention by the imagination. Possibilities whisper promises. Memory exerts the pull of gravity.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Au Sable, 5/10-13--Highlight Reel
Being a bit pressed for time, here's the rundown of this week's trip. I am sad to say I took no pictures.
*Stopped at the Rifle river on Sunday and fished for an hour an and a half. No hits--water temp barely 50.
*Went to the Au Sable below Mio. Water temp was a more promising 60˚. "Nothing rising," an angler standing in one of my favorite runs told me as I arrived at the water. Moved a bit upstream from him, and after about ten minutes began to see Hendrickson Duns on the water, and rises soon after. The feeding was never heavy and I took one brown, one rainbow, and one brook trout, besides missing a few others. I'd never caught a brookie in the Trophy Water--didn't think they even existed there. Maybe it moved down from one of the creeks.
* The thermomenter on my alarm clock read 26˚ when I woke up Monday morning. I skipped the dawn streamer outing. I skipped it the next morning too when the temp was 28˚. Wednesday morning the day broke at a balmy 41˚. I hit the south branch and managed a single brook trout.
*Monday afternoon on the south branch: Water temp 58˚. A nice caddis emergence around 4. Not too many fish paid attention. Took a few brook trout
*Tuesday afternoon: floated the big water below Mio. Hendricksons emerged off and on (mostly off) and I got to fish my first ever daytime spinner fall. Ended up with only six trout to hand--all browns, unusual for the Mio stretch. A little disppointing, but my spirits picked up when, after calling Kristine and getting some supper, I went back to the river for one last look and saw both wings and rings on the water. There was a profusion of Hendrickson duns and spinners. It took me a while, and several refusals, to figure out that the fish wanted the duns (they feed on spinners at dusk, right? And Hendricksons shouldn't be emerging that late, should they?). Later it took me a while to figure out their preference had shifted to spinners. Again, I landed six fish. I'm sure I would have caught more if I'd wised up to their meal choices sooner, but there were so many insects on the water my fly was probably lost among them. It was, bar none, the largest insect event on a trout stream I'd ever witnessed. I thought I'd seen "blanket hatches," but I was mistaken. I also thought spinners didn't gather and fall on cool, windy nights. I travelled lighter on the return to camp, unburdened of these assumptions.
*Wednesday afternoon: fished the north branch around Twin Bridges in a punishing wind. Streamers, wets, and nymphs failed to produce. I could count on one hand the number of insects I'd seen by 3PM. Went to the mainstream for one last try. There were some bugs in the air here, and a few small trout rose along the banks or behind sweepers. One took my black caddis emerger. By five the river had gone dead and I set out for Grayling, and home. If I hadn't had a dentist appointment at 8 AM Thursday, I might have cruised over to Mio to see if the evening feed was on again.
*Stopped at the Rifle river on Sunday and fished for an hour an and a half. No hits--water temp barely 50.
*Went to the Au Sable below Mio. Water temp was a more promising 60˚. "Nothing rising," an angler standing in one of my favorite runs told me as I arrived at the water. Moved a bit upstream from him, and after about ten minutes began to see Hendrickson Duns on the water, and rises soon after. The feeding was never heavy and I took one brown, one rainbow, and one brook trout, besides missing a few others. I'd never caught a brookie in the Trophy Water--didn't think they even existed there. Maybe it moved down from one of the creeks.
* The thermomenter on my alarm clock read 26˚ when I woke up Monday morning. I skipped the dawn streamer outing. I skipped it the next morning too when the temp was 28˚. Wednesday morning the day broke at a balmy 41˚. I hit the south branch and managed a single brook trout.
*Monday afternoon on the south branch: Water temp 58˚. A nice caddis emergence around 4. Not too many fish paid attention. Took a few brook trout
*Tuesday afternoon: floated the big water below Mio. Hendricksons emerged off and on (mostly off) and I got to fish my first ever daytime spinner fall. Ended up with only six trout to hand--all browns, unusual for the Mio stretch. A little disppointing, but my spirits picked up when, after calling Kristine and getting some supper, I went back to the river for one last look and saw both wings and rings on the water. There was a profusion of Hendrickson duns and spinners. It took me a while, and several refusals, to figure out that the fish wanted the duns (they feed on spinners at dusk, right? And Hendricksons shouldn't be emerging that late, should they?). Later it took me a while to figure out their preference had shifted to spinners. Again, I landed six fish. I'm sure I would have caught more if I'd wised up to their meal choices sooner, but there were so many insects on the water my fly was probably lost among them. It was, bar none, the largest insect event on a trout stream I'd ever witnessed. I thought I'd seen "blanket hatches," but I was mistaken. I also thought spinners didn't gather and fall on cool, windy nights. I travelled lighter on the return to camp, unburdened of these assumptions.
*Wednesday afternoon: fished the north branch around Twin Bridges in a punishing wind. Streamers, wets, and nymphs failed to produce. I could count on one hand the number of insects I'd seen by 3PM. Went to the mainstream for one last try. There were some bugs in the air here, and a few small trout rose along the banks or behind sweepers. One took my black caddis emerger. By five the river had gone dead and I set out for Grayling, and home. If I hadn't had a dentist appointment at 8 AM Thursday, I might have cruised over to Mio to see if the evening feed was on again.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Film the River
A poster at the Michigan-Sporstman.com forums created this video tribute to the Au Sable river, overlaying Alan Cayn's song "River of Sand":
I like the scratchiness, like you'd see in an old film. It complements the historic feel of the video.
Alan Cayn, appears to have a number of fishing related songs. Maybe I can commission him to write an FTR theme song.
Hope everyone had a good Christmas.
I like the scratchiness, like you'd see in an old film. It complements the historic feel of the video.
Alan Cayn, appears to have a number of fishing related songs. Maybe I can commission him to write an FTR theme song.
Hope everyone had a good Christmas.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Table Talk
Went to a holiday reception put on by the dean of my college this afternoon. I knew no one there and was sitting at a table by myself when a couple of guys walked past discussing a gun purchase.
"I've got to get a gun before I go back down," said the older one. "I don't need something big, just something rapid fire. Is anyone sitting here?"
"No," I said, itching to hear more of the conversation.
"Get a Ruger 10/22," said the younger man, going on to describe it further.
"Luger?"
"No, Ruger. 10/22."
"Is it rapid fire?"
"It's semi-automatic. It'll shoot as fast as you can pull the trigger. You can even get a 50 round clip if you want."
It turned out the older man wanted it to shoot snakes around his vacation place in Florida, where copperheads, diamondback rattlers, and water moccasins covered most of the ground, I gathered. He didn't know much about guns, he admitted, not having held one since he went partridge hunting in northern Michigan as a kid.
"Partridge hunting," said his companion, "the sport of kings."
He turned to me and gave a quick smile. It was obvious I was listening in.
"My sport too," I said.
His eyebrows arched. "Really?"
I nodded. The older guy, who it seems was a music professor, started in on the difficulty of shooting partridge. I couldn't but agree. We ended up talking about hunting and fishing for a while. Turns out the younger one, a professor of communications, owned 120 acres up near Glennie where he spent most of the summer and as much of deer season as his teaching schedule allowed. I mentioned that I fish the Au Sable fairly often. He rarely fished anymore, he said, aside from catching eater brookies from the creeks up there. Yet when he was younger, he told me, he had speared steelhead in some of the Au Sable's tributaries. "I don't do it anymore," he said quickly. "It's not sport fishing. It's more 'satisfying a primal instinct' fishing."
I think I felt my eyes boggling but I managed a wry laugh. I snagged salmon when I was a kid (though it actually was legal at the time). Spearing seems a more brazen kind of violation, though it may be a more honest one: at least it doesn't present an illusion of legal angling.
It's a shame some of the people who proudly denounce "effete intellectuals" weren't around for this.
"I've got to get a gun before I go back down," said the older one. "I don't need something big, just something rapid fire. Is anyone sitting here?"
"No," I said, itching to hear more of the conversation.
"Get a Ruger 10/22," said the younger man, going on to describe it further.
"Luger?"
"No, Ruger. 10/22."
"Is it rapid fire?"
"It's semi-automatic. It'll shoot as fast as you can pull the trigger. You can even get a 50 round clip if you want."
It turned out the older man wanted it to shoot snakes around his vacation place in Florida, where copperheads, diamondback rattlers, and water moccasins covered most of the ground, I gathered. He didn't know much about guns, he admitted, not having held one since he went partridge hunting in northern Michigan as a kid.
"Partridge hunting," said his companion, "the sport of kings."
He turned to me and gave a quick smile. It was obvious I was listening in.
"My sport too," I said.
His eyebrows arched. "Really?"
I nodded. The older guy, who it seems was a music professor, started in on the difficulty of shooting partridge. I couldn't but agree. We ended up talking about hunting and fishing for a while. Turns out the younger one, a professor of communications, owned 120 acres up near Glennie where he spent most of the summer and as much of deer season as his teaching schedule allowed. I mentioned that I fish the Au Sable fairly often. He rarely fished anymore, he said, aside from catching eater brookies from the creeks up there. Yet when he was younger, he told me, he had speared steelhead in some of the Au Sable's tributaries. "I don't do it anymore," he said quickly. "It's not sport fishing. It's more 'satisfying a primal instinct' fishing."
I think I felt my eyes boggling but I managed a wry laugh. I snagged salmon when I was a kid (though it actually was legal at the time). Spearing seems a more brazen kind of violation, though it may be a more honest one: at least it doesn't present an illusion of legal angling.
It's a shame some of the people who proudly denounce "effete intellectuals" weren't around for this.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Beginning Again
As of yesterday, another school year began. Barely noticed it creeping up on me, despite having spent much of the summer preparing new classes. It really doesn't feel as if I've crossed some kind of hard boundary. Days blend into one another. But soon life will become very different from what it was for the last three months; the first stack of papers to grade will drive the point home.
One of my new classes--the environmentally themed freshman writing course out at the Lake Erie Research Center--has only two students enrolled. It's going to proceed, but with writing classes overbooked at the main campus, future iterations of it are in doubt.
I did get fishing last week. Wednesday and Thursday I headed up to the Au Sable below Mio. Got there in time for the ephoron hatch Wednesday but it fizzled. Floated to Comins Flats on Thursday and landed five rainbows, 10-13". The biggest came when I was just rowing along dragging my fly in the water. Heard a thump and looked around to see my rod bent. Maybe I shouldn't bother casting. I did hook a number of other trout that stayed on for a bit, but worked off before I could net them. Maybe it's time to sharpen hooks.
Got to run upstairs and badger the department secretary for giving students my cell number. I get two or three calls a day from people wanting to add a class. None of them want to drive out to the lake for one, though.
One of my new classes--the environmentally themed freshman writing course out at the Lake Erie Research Center--has only two students enrolled. It's going to proceed, but with writing classes overbooked at the main campus, future iterations of it are in doubt.
I did get fishing last week. Wednesday and Thursday I headed up to the Au Sable below Mio. Got there in time for the ephoron hatch Wednesday but it fizzled. Floated to Comins Flats on Thursday and landed five rainbows, 10-13". The biggest came when I was just rowing along dragging my fly in the water. Heard a thump and looked around to see my rod bent. Maybe I shouldn't bother casting. I did hook a number of other trout that stayed on for a bit, but worked off before I could net them. Maybe it's time to sharpen hooks.
Got to run upstairs and badger the department secretary for giving students my cell number. I get two or three calls a day from people wanting to add a class. None of them want to drive out to the lake for one, though.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Last Weekend
I've been slow getting up my report about last weekend, though my field reports gave the skeleton outline. I'll just flesh those out with some pictures.
Our first stop was the Loud Creek trail system near Mio. Nothing spectacular about it: just a nice rolling woodland trail. We did run into several wood lilies along the way
Near the end, the trail crossed a small stream near an abandoned beaver dam. A meadow had filled in the old pond some time ago.
We picked some blueberries along this trail to put on our cereal the next morning. Unfortunately, I left the container we put them in on top of our car when we drove off. It had taken us a while to get a couple of cups, too. Berries were sparse everywhere we went.
When I hit the North Branch Au Sable the next morning, a heavy fog lay over the river. It lifted slowly.
I should have taken pics of some of the brookies I caught, but the flies were out and fish were rising. It's hard to remember to break out the camera in those conditions. Or almost any time after I've caught a fish.
Saturday afternoon we took a hike around Wakely lake, east of Grayling. We got poured on during the last half mile of the walk, but it was pleasant going at first.
I was glad we'd stayed in a motel this time, as it rained off and on throughout the weekend.
When I got into the river at Dam 4 Saturday morning, I'd seen a flyer advertising the annual "Beaver Stew, Beer and Banjo" festival, a gathering to benefit the Lovells historical society. It sounded like an interesting way to pass a damp Saturday night, so we drove up to the Lovells tavern around suppertime. We assumed that the featured dish didn't really include beaver, but when I asked the waitress at the tavern about it, she confirmed that Castor Canadensis was indeed the chief ingredient. Kristine and I exchanged a "What the Hell?" glance and ordered it. It was actually good--like beef stew, as I said in the field report. If you got a larger chunk of meat, you could taste a little rankness, but not enough to put any but the most delicately constituted off their feed.
Before heading home Sunday, Kristine and I canoed the upper Au Sable. We passed through a light rain, then a protracted heavy one. Not good photo conditions.
Plans are in the works for another bowl of beaver stew. Kristine and I are talking about spending this week--the week before the big canoe marathon--in and around Grayling next year and chasing the race once again. That could become an anniversary tradition. This year, we'll settle for going to the annual Michigan Beer Festival.
Our first stop was the Loud Creek trail system near Mio. Nothing spectacular about it: just a nice rolling woodland trail. We did run into several wood lilies along the way
Near the end, the trail crossed a small stream near an abandoned beaver dam. A meadow had filled in the old pond some time ago.
We picked some blueberries along this trail to put on our cereal the next morning. Unfortunately, I left the container we put them in on top of our car when we drove off. It had taken us a while to get a couple of cups, too. Berries were sparse everywhere we went.
When I hit the North Branch Au Sable the next morning, a heavy fog lay over the river. It lifted slowly.
I should have taken pics of some of the brookies I caught, but the flies were out and fish were rising. It's hard to remember to break out the camera in those conditions. Or almost any time after I've caught a fish.
Saturday afternoon we took a hike around Wakely lake, east of Grayling. We got poured on during the last half mile of the walk, but it was pleasant going at first.
I was glad we'd stayed in a motel this time, as it rained off and on throughout the weekend.
When I got into the river at Dam 4 Saturday morning, I'd seen a flyer advertising the annual "Beaver Stew, Beer and Banjo" festival, a gathering to benefit the Lovells historical society. It sounded like an interesting way to pass a damp Saturday night, so we drove up to the Lovells tavern around suppertime. We assumed that the featured dish didn't really include beaver, but when I asked the waitress at the tavern about it, she confirmed that Castor Canadensis was indeed the chief ingredient. Kristine and I exchanged a "What the Hell?" glance and ordered it. It was actually good--like beef stew, as I said in the field report. If you got a larger chunk of meat, you could taste a little rankness, but not enough to put any but the most delicately constituted off their feed.
Before heading home Sunday, Kristine and I canoed the upper Au Sable. We passed through a light rain, then a protracted heavy one. Not good photo conditions.
Plans are in the works for another bowl of beaver stew. Kristine and I are talking about spending this week--the week before the big canoe marathon--in and around Grayling next year and chasing the race once again. That could become an anniversary tradition. This year, we'll settle for going to the annual Michigan Beer Festival.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Au Sable/Manistee, 5/4-5/6
Last Thursday my doctor told me that whatever had laid me low a couple weeks back (see previous post) was almost certainly not heart related. He said it likely stemmed from one of a number of abdominal disorders, though this couldn't be determined without further testing, and that would be most productive while the symptoms were active. This wasn't entirely comforting, though he did say that none of these potential problems were life threatening, and he told me there was no reason I shouldn't go fishing last weekend. So on Sunday I drove to Grayling hoping to get in on the late end of the Hendrickson hatch and hammer a few early morning browns on streamers. I did both, albeit minimally.
I decided to float the north branch on Sunday afternoon. When I set off around 1, there were black caddis fluttering like confetti over the water and a few hendricksons on the wing blowing by from time to time. That looked promising, though an angler I passed just below the 612 bridge told me he hadn't seen a rising fish on the river in two days. After floating for about half an hour I did see one and pulled over to fish the log-strewn slot where it has risen. I cast a black caddis dry with a beadhead caddis emerger on the dropper into the far edge of the slot and on the second drift the dry plunged beneath the water and I hauled up. I felt shaking on the end of the line. The fish was no dink, and I had a few anxious moments steering him around the many snags in the run, but I did get him to the net and had the pleasure of holding the largest brook trout I've caught in a couple years-a 12 incher. No trophy, but certainly above average for the north branch. It was a photo worthy fish, but as I unhooked him I saw another rise in the run and turned him loose so I could get back in the game. Alas, the fish won that round.
One quirk of the north branch is what I call the "3:30 caddis quickie meal." I think that a good share of those black caddis you see flying about emerge during a brief period beginning roughly at 3:30 each day. Quite often on the north branch, you'll see hordes of caddis in the air but no fish feeding. Then, around 3:30 fish will begin rising and they will take black caddis dries freely for 10 or 15 minutes. Then they will stop. While emergences of black caddis usually concentrate around certain times, I haven't seen them as predictable, and as predictably brief, on any other river. The quickie meal occurred again last Sunday, and while it lasted I caught four brooks of 8-10" and a few littler ones.
After that, I floated two hours without a nibble in any of the places I stopped to cast. When I got to the landing at Dam 4, a man asked me how I'd done and I gave him the story. He told me he'd done the same, but without having to row. There's the celebrated brotherhood among anglers for you.
Not a landmark day, but it would be the best of the trip. I was on the mainstream ripping streamers early Monday morning and managed to turn 4 without getting a solid hookup. The great accomplishment of the morning was managing to avoid getting knocked off my feet by the current and swept down to Mio. The mainstream was running high and fast, and the usually gentle currents around my favorite streamer runs were vicious. I had planned to float part of the mainstream Monday, but the water looked like too much for my boat handle, or rather, too much for me to keep my boat out of the lumber. So it was back to the placid north branch, where I waded a stretch above where I'd floated and did next to nothing. This time there was no 3:30 quickie meal, and a light hendrickson emergence went unnoticed by the fish. I picked up a few dinks fishing runs blind and that was all.
Tuesday morning the mainstream was slightly less menacing--wading back upstream I only had to stop to rest every seven or eight steps instead of every three. The fish would treat me better too, with two fair browns coming to hand besides a few other hookups and slashes. I decided to fish the Manistee in the afternoon and had essentially the same experience as I had on the north branch Monday. By six o'clock my first trout adventure of the year began the customary wind-down sequence of trips to Grayling: sandwich at Spikes, coffee to go at 7-11, I-75.
I plan to be up north again in another month. But before then I expect I'll be sneaking off the Cloud Creek for an evening. Stay tuned.
I decided to float the north branch on Sunday afternoon. When I set off around 1, there were black caddis fluttering like confetti over the water and a few hendricksons on the wing blowing by from time to time. That looked promising, though an angler I passed just below the 612 bridge told me he hadn't seen a rising fish on the river in two days. After floating for about half an hour I did see one and pulled over to fish the log-strewn slot where it has risen. I cast a black caddis dry with a beadhead caddis emerger on the dropper into the far edge of the slot and on the second drift the dry plunged beneath the water and I hauled up. I felt shaking on the end of the line. The fish was no dink, and I had a few anxious moments steering him around the many snags in the run, but I did get him to the net and had the pleasure of holding the largest brook trout I've caught in a couple years-a 12 incher. No trophy, but certainly above average for the north branch. It was a photo worthy fish, but as I unhooked him I saw another rise in the run and turned him loose so I could get back in the game. Alas, the fish won that round.
One quirk of the north branch is what I call the "3:30 caddis quickie meal." I think that a good share of those black caddis you see flying about emerge during a brief period beginning roughly at 3:30 each day. Quite often on the north branch, you'll see hordes of caddis in the air but no fish feeding. Then, around 3:30 fish will begin rising and they will take black caddis dries freely for 10 or 15 minutes. Then they will stop. While emergences of black caddis usually concentrate around certain times, I haven't seen them as predictable, and as predictably brief, on any other river. The quickie meal occurred again last Sunday, and while it lasted I caught four brooks of 8-10" and a few littler ones.
After that, I floated two hours without a nibble in any of the places I stopped to cast. When I got to the landing at Dam 4, a man asked me how I'd done and I gave him the story. He told me he'd done the same, but without having to row. There's the celebrated brotherhood among anglers for you.
Not a landmark day, but it would be the best of the trip. I was on the mainstream ripping streamers early Monday morning and managed to turn 4 without getting a solid hookup. The great accomplishment of the morning was managing to avoid getting knocked off my feet by the current and swept down to Mio. The mainstream was running high and fast, and the usually gentle currents around my favorite streamer runs were vicious. I had planned to float part of the mainstream Monday, but the water looked like too much for my boat handle, or rather, too much for me to keep my boat out of the lumber. So it was back to the placid north branch, where I waded a stretch above where I'd floated and did next to nothing. This time there was no 3:30 quickie meal, and a light hendrickson emergence went unnoticed by the fish. I picked up a few dinks fishing runs blind and that was all.
Tuesday morning the mainstream was slightly less menacing--wading back upstream I only had to stop to rest every seven or eight steps instead of every three. The fish would treat me better too, with two fair browns coming to hand besides a few other hookups and slashes. I decided to fish the Manistee in the afternoon and had essentially the same experience as I had on the north branch Monday. By six o'clock my first trout adventure of the year began the customary wind-down sequence of trips to Grayling: sandwich at Spikes, coffee to go at 7-11, I-75.
I plan to be up north again in another month. But before then I expect I'll be sneaking off the Cloud Creek for an evening. Stay tuned.
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