Hooky...

I received a call on Sunday afternoon from a friend who suggested we skip work on Monday and go fish a Lake Michigan trib for steelhead. I emailed the boss and told him my plan... straight-up. No coughing, no flu like symptoms, just "I'm going fishing".
His response: "Sounds like fun, have a blast."
Nice.

We met at 5:30 and blasted east. Overcast, drizzle, 48 degrees. Perfect.
This was my first visit to this particular river and I was keyed just to see it. First glimpse showed good flow, ever so slightly off color and dark kings everywhere...every riffle, run, pool, tailout. Not being to easily excited by the rotting, closed mouth giants, I focused my attention on the 2' to 4' deep, walking speed runs that I have come to associate with good steelhead water. I fouled a few chinook even swinging unweighted flies. I added a little weight and continued until...
Bump and tug, headshaking and some short but sturdy runs. After a minute or two I caught sight of the fish and was please to see the black spots of a nice brown. My pal netted it and we took a few snapshots to celebrate shaking my skunk.
The morning passed quickly, fishing blind in the deeper runs and trying to dodge the ubiquitous dark chinook. Nothing.
I turned my attention to a pod of dark, but not yet decaying, kings battling on the edge of where a pool ended and a riffle began. Though I had a fish follow my 4" long intruder, nothing happened. They'd chase, but not seize.
I switched back to a spey style fly in hopes of finding a steelhead with a little enthusiasm for my offering. I fished it unweighted with a floating line to (hopefully) avoid fouling any kings. At the head of a new run, 3 or 4 swings through, I saw a bright fish twist and flash 50' out. I placed my next cast to run my swing through the zone. The rest of this story is open for discussion. The fish when it was finally landed was a 18, 19 maybe 20 pound hen chinook. The fly swung past her unweighted and the fly stuck in the middle of her upper lip. She was by far the brightest chinook I saw that day and I was happy to have tussled with her. She gave 3 or 4 good runs and took a while to bring in close enough to net. I'm not a big believer in biting kings in the river. I've read that they can be teased and taunted into striking, but my earlier efforts at that technique failed. I'm not convinced that she "ate", but despite my best efforts at avoiding fouling, feeding or flossing these fish, the fly ended up in the eating end of this one...

...I think until mid-October.

I found myself in Maine this week. Touching base with clients and prospective clients. Noting the color of the trees and the cool nights, I inquired about the stripers and asked if they had moved south yet. "No," I was told, "they're usually around until mid-October."

I did my job and worked my way from Biddeford to Bar Harbor. The 8 wt tucked into my luggage made an appeal at night as I checked into each hotel.

And then, like Poe's Madman, the plea's from my Tell-Tale 8wt became too much and on Thursday I made a mad dash to a spot south of Portland where I'd had some luck with Stripers in the past.

I fished the falling tide and was rewarded with a strong fish that peeled backing and made my arm sore. Another angler, from PA, interested in the tussle was kind enough to take my camera and shoot a few photos. (Thanks PA guy.)

As a friend of mine is fond of saying in justification for night fishing: "All it takes is one".

Indeed.

Rigging...


Outgoing Tide


September Sundown


Have you seen my backing?


My largest striper....so far.

September 19,20

"....When I was five
I was just alive
But now I am six,
I'm as clever as clever;
so I think I'll be six now
for ever and ever".
A.A. Milne

My fine friend "T" called me a couple weeks ago and suggested that he may bring his six year old son to a favorite trout stream where we, in the past (before six year olds), spent many hours fishing, staring at fires and sleeping in tents. He thought it might be a good idea if I joined him and brought my 5 year old daughter along. The two kids had never met except when they were too small to recall. And so the pencil on the calendar became pen and we went.

T and I never really had any grand illusions of converting these children into lifelong fly fishing addicts, but it wasn't entirely off the menu. We did manage to get the kids to hold an actual flyrod, but the creek and bugs, dirt and toads were too much of a distraction. So, we stood on the banks of a fine trout stream, bathed in the warm September sun, sipped beer and allowed that though trout fishing is a fine way to spend a day...so is being a father.

They swam and laughed, fell and skipped, caught crayfish, toads and grasshoppers. They played
and played
and played.

Never a quarrel was heard, nor a discipline required.
After dinner as we sat near the fire T's son turned in his camp chair and said sleepily,
"Dad.... I'm not sure why, but this S'more is cheering me up."

And that, was worth the price of admission.


The other thing to do with a blue ribbon trout stream.


T and I decided a size 6 olive/gold woolly bugger tied on a Mustad 9671 would match this nicely.


Oblivious of trout


This steep bank on the spring creek provided hours of entertainment.


No amphibians were harmed during the posting of this blog



This is about the sum total of our fishing lessons

September 13th - Firsts

My two year old "caught" her first fish.
I cast, I set, we reeled, she squealed.
"It hopped out of the watto!", she cried, after this smallmouth gave a 3' leap next to the dock.

(Quite a tug on the Tweety Bird Rod I might add.)

Scenes from up North

September 8th

Went to the local State Park with my girls.

September 6 and 7

My older brother drove down for a night out on the sand islands of the Big W.
I was hoping to show him the River and a few of it's smallmouth residents.
I forgot that it was Labor Day weekend.
The smallmouth were also on vacation.
All was not lost however. The traffic died down at dusk and the cool evening kept the bugs away.
The beer was cold, the river quiet and the tent camping was perfect.
We did manage to fool a few SMB's, but the dry fly fishing for mooneye was hot. We tried some twilight gar fishing with crease flies, but didn't connect.

It was great to spend time on the water and around the campfire with you bro.
Thanks for making the trip!

Island campsite


Ammo


Jon Johnson in for the night.


Misty Morning


Mooneye on top.


Keeping the sand out of the reels.


SMB. On.