Snake Guides: Back Home Up There

It was supposed to be a bucket list weekend for me and McSteel.

He finished the Birkie and then joined me in a training program that was supposed to culminate in a joint trip to Duluth, MN for the Grandma's Marathon. (Our wives ran it last year and left us feeling like maybe we needed to step up our game.) Two weeks before this weekend's race, McSteel shot me an email with a photo of his freshly broken ankle. It was a freak accident that cracked a bone and broke a few hearts....tough stuff after a 374 mile training program including a couple of 20 milers. Despite the tough break, he and his family joined me and my family and we made the trip. The ladies ran the half marathon and I completed the full...McSteel just put on his game face and supported all of us.

My friend TP and his wife joined us for dinner that night after the run. Drinking and eating and talking about fish (and art) was a great way to end an already successful day. TP grew up in the same town I did and lived a life of fish and hockey and art much the way I did. He's an interesting guy for me to talk to because though our early years were very similar, he is quite a few years younger than me and he's learned some things that I have missed. Always a pleasure.

We packed up the morning after the race and headed north to a place where I've spent a quite a bit of time. It's further north than my original hometown but the roots of my wife's family run deep up here and I've adopted it as my own. (I like it so much that my wife and I plopped down some cash on a couple of acres for the days after the kids have moved out and we fully intend to be sick of the grind.) We settled in to a nice relaxing post-race day and McSteel and his wife put together a fantastic dinner before I suggested we grab our waders and hit the door for the shore of Lake Superior and some late evening fishing.

The lake was settling down from a day of waves and rain and the fog hung heavy. It wasn't the ideal evening, like when the lake flattens out and you can scan the surface for rising fish, but it wasn't exactly miserable either. We put in about an hour and half before it got dark enough that I couldn't see McSteel across the outflowing river current that was dividing our fishing water. Fishless, we decided to call it a night and headed back up to warmth and dry clothes and cold beer. We had covered a mile of the two mile uphill drive when we both noticed that the fog was gone. It was surprising to see the soft glow of the sun edging the northern horizon at 11:00 pm. There is something stunning about being far enough north that you can get at least a small taste of the midnight sun.

I suggested we head back down to the lake the next morning at 4:00 and try to be fishing by 4:30. McSteel said that I should go and that he'd meet me there. I went to bed at 12:30. Lying in bed I thought about how much I love fishing up here and the beauty of the lake and how happy I was to have finished a marathon and then I looked at my watch and it was 1:30 am.

I grabbed my phone and googled a few things and read about MN fishing regulation changes and the history of North Shore Commercial Fishing from 1839-1847 and then I looked at my watch again and it was 2:30.

At 2:45 I was downstairs drinking hot coffee and quietly washing the agates that I found the previous day. At 3:15 am I was at the lake, waders on and pitching flies into the outgoing current looking at the glow from the Northeast and watching the "Supermoon" going down in the southwest. I waded out to a chunk of exposed rock and stood there in a moment of complete awe. The flat lake reflecting the most beautiful morning I could ever remember seeing. I thought about the "Double Rainbow" guy whose videos went viral on youtube.
I felt like that guy.

As if all of this wasn't enough, at a little before 5:00 am a freight train hit my fly, tailwalked for a few feet, splashed down again and then put on a series of aerial acrobatics that made me think I'd hooked a baby tarpon. When I finally got things under control, I fumbled with a few quick snapshots of a 25" chrome bright, unclipped steelhead.

Perfect mornings.

At around 6:00 I went back to my rig to swap out a line. The SA streamer line that I was heaving didn't like the temp of the Big Lake and was getting tangled in the stripping basket. In my haste to re-string and get back on the water, I dropped the rear window of my Honda Pilot back to the closed and locked position with the keys inside. I considered worrying about how I was going to remedy that situation when it occurred to me that some problems can wait.

This decision was made all the more easy by deciding that the fishing certainly could not wait.

At some point in the morning I turned and saw McSteel swinging the current with his switch rod. He didn't make a production out of his arrival, just stepped in and started. That's one of the things I like about him. I climbed down from my perch and crossed over the river to where he was fishing and he told me that he just had a pull and was hoping to get his hands on whatever it was that had intercepted his fly. I fished near him for awhile and within 15 minutes I watched his rod bow and jump with the tension of a hooked fish. That fish stayed on for only a few seconds which confirmed a few things I already knew,
1. This place has fish
and
2. You don't win them all.

McSteel seemed more excited than disappointed and he verbalized later the thing that intrigues me most about the fishing in Superior. He said, "I wonder what that thing was?"

I left him alone to try and answer that question and headed back to my rig where I secured a coat hanger (don't ask...) and broke into my own vehicle in less than 2 minutes.

As I suspected...these kinds of problems can usually wait.

(Note: In a rush to get on the road I left a packed bag on my bed at home. Inside, my fleece wading pants, rain jacket, buff and camera. Cold and wet I can deal with...no camera is more than I can bear. Luckily my wife lent me her little Canon point and shoot and I tried my best with what I had.)