World Class

I called McSteel two days ago.   During the conversation he told me a story that was worth sharing.

He recently outfitted his boat with a casting platform and a set of oars and locks to turn it into a stealth fishing craft.  He spent much of that week with a friend of his from Oregon who flew back to the Midwest with the sole purpose of fishing our world-class smallmouth bass fishery.

Again for emphasis: "World-Class".

It seems that when something world-class is in your backyard you tend not to think of it in such heady terms.

But, it's true.

If you wanted to go anywhere in the world to fish a trophy smallmouth bass fishery, chances are you'd end up in one of three local area codes.

I've been to Belize for world class permit, the Bahamas for world class bonefish, out West for world class trout and to the Pacific Northwest for what I would consider world class steelhead.  Yet I never looked at the local fishery as anything other than local...until McSteel brought it up.  I don't think I'm alone in overlooking the importance of what we have.  I'm pretty certain that McSteel, although he values his water and the fish in it, may have described his local fishery in terms less grandiose then "World-Class".   But, when someone (in this case McSteel's buddy from Oregon) takes a week's vacation, books a flight and shows up with a fly rod to fish your "World-Class" fishery...it's tough to argue the point.  Especially when they leave completely convinced that they have accomplished their mission.

Fast forward a few days.  McSteel asks his 10 year old son if he wants to go fly fishing for smallmouth bass.  His son (we'll call him "H") says yes. 
H is a great kid.  He's friends with my kids and an active and healthy lad.  He is not at an age where fly fishing is more important than riding a bike, or playing video games, but he likes it enough to go with his Dad on occasion.  McSteel says they went out and of the four fish that H hooked, he landed two.

One was 19"+ and the other was 20"+. 

Take a look at the fish in the picture below and I challenge you to contest the term "World-Class".

Now take a look at the smile on H's face...

...also "World-Class".

I'm not a huge fan of posting pics of kids on the internet, so I took the liberty of cropping the photo that McSteel sent me.  I was going to crop it down and just show the fish but realized that if I did I would miss the whole point of the photo.  Check out that smile...

Perspective

 I was planning to write a post about how EB and I had a bad night on the water when one of the pictures I took from earlier in the evening gave me a little perspective.

So, here is the revised post:

EB and I didn't catch much tonight, but we had a good time trying.

This guy had a bad night on the water:

perspective

Winding down

My friend JP drove by the house today and I suggested that he meet me out at the lake for some evening fishing...which he did.  EB was originally slotted for some alternate activities but he had a change of plans and ended up making it out as well.

A well worn old man looked at me quizically or drunkly (or both) when I asked for his blessing in allowing us to wade slowly and quietly through the edge of the water he was spin-fishing in order to get to our preferred shoreline for the evening fish.  I'm not sure what he said in reply, but he didn't seem to mind and it occured to me that if he disagreed with our intentions he was in no shape to protect his real estate from any one of us...never mind the three of us together.  Don't get me wrong, we didn't bully him...I just assumed that what he was slurring was some form of "Yes".

The fishing was great.  Soft breeze, midges in flight, 70ish degrees and a bright waxing crescent moon bouncing light off the rippled surface of the lake.

The catching was not so great.  EB wrangled a walleye early on and few white bass were hooked, landed and released.  My fly was also intercepted by a freshwater drum that croaked when I was working to free the hook from his mouth.  I snapped a quick pic and noticed only after downloading the image from my camera that in exchange for yanking him out of the water...he crapped on my hand.

At 10:30 with very little in the way of fish sign for the previous 30 minutes I decided to call it a night.  EB and JP must have had the same vibe because they followed me out and after shining the shallows from the bank to see if we had missed any fishing opportunities in close, the three of us headed back to our rigs and stowed our gear.

After the shared experience of a relatively uneventful fishing outing, we stood around kicking gravel and burned through another hour (in the dark) in the kind of unplanned BS session that occasionally takes root and flowers when a "Plan A" is less than what you had hoped.   We covered some ground in the conversation but eventually the moment happens when you've made enough casts and shared enough stories and laughed at enough jokes and bitched at enough of the worlds stupidity... and you head home to bed.  It's called winding down,

and it's the best way to end a day.

EB prepping a walleye for release

Drum

Night Shift

EB and I headed back out tonight on the night shift.
Water clarity was still decent this far into the summer.
The hatch was slow in getting started but the midges finally made a showing accompanied by another hatch of flies known by the latin taxonomic name of: "Tiny little white flies".

We fished well into the evening and the fish started to show themselves at around 10:45.  We pounded through an extra 45 minutes on the shift catching a few (but seemingly larger) whities.

Before heading home we turned on our headlamps and investigated a ruckus in the branches of a low hanging willow on the shore behind us.  We found a female mallard and her kids hanging around and also a critter that I at first thought was an otter until we saw it shuttling branches around and discerned it to be a beaver.  Where I come from, a beaver will slap it's tail hard on the water's surface before diving if it is startled or feels threatened.  This beaver apparently took our close proximity and blinding headlamps in stride and kept on about it's business.

***Update 6/14
EB emailed me today with a news article and video of a guy who got a little too close to a beaver while filming it.  Long story short, the beaver charged the guy (this all happened on dry land) bit him in the leg, and the guy bled out and died.

I'm pretty sure EB was suggesting that we give the critter a wider berth tomorrow night...

EB working the night shift #1

EB working the night shift #2

North Shore 3

My older brother and I had made some plans to fish this evening and I was happy to see that despite a little rain he was still game to sling some line.  The calm seas had given way to a slight chop, though it wasn't much considering the fury this lake is capable of.

My brother took up position and I claimed my rock.  The gray sky, scattered rain and cool wind made this place seem completely different than it was just this morning and the evening before.  Even though the mood had changed, my conviction had not.  I felt that a fish could (and would) seize my offering at any time.

After a while, the Pike from the evening before, or at least an exact replica of it, smashed my fly in close near the rock.  She struggled hard and I walked to shore so that I could beach her.  

I decided to have more fish for dinner this week.

North Shore 2

I got back last night and stayed up talking until 12:30 in the morning.  I set my alarm for 4:30 and when it sounded I pulled on my fleece wader pants and grabbed a 7 oz Coke from the fridge instead of waiting for the coffee. 

The lake was still calm though I'd read that there was a chance for rain today so I wasn't sure how long the peace was going to last. 

I would have made a beeline for my rock except that I saw noses popping out of some foam in the lake and decided to pitch the streamer in for an exploratory probe before settling in for some deep water lake work.

On the third casts I connected briefly with 14 inches of fish that went airborne before denying me the the stick of the hook.  I think it was a brook trout which would mean that I may have to take a paragraph to explain what 14 inches of Brook Trout translates to in real fish size/numbers (for the uninformed).

But nah...

I gave up on the foam noses and headed out to my rock basking in the predawn light thinking about all of the fish that were swimming in front of me and wondering which would open their mouths for a deceiver.

I couldn't tell you how much time I spent casting but I can say that I was back at the kitchen table drinking coffee with my beautiful wife (by 6:30 am) explaining to her that I had caught and released a nice 26" post-spawn wild steelhead and almost got a great photograph of a Timber Wolf before she had even rolled out of bed.

Summer Steel

North Shore 1

My wife's grandfather died at a good age after a long life.
He was the son of a Norwegian immigrant who settled Minnesota's North Shore of Lake Superior.

I didn't know him very well, but I enjoyed talking to him.

I once tied him a dozen marabou jigs after he told me a story about how they were deadly on walleyes.  I'm sure he never fished them, but I was happy that he got them from me.

He died in February and the decision was made to have a memorial service in June instead of a conventional funeral the week of his death.

The memorial was this weekend so my wife and kids and I piled into the car and drove North.

This "North" is the place of my own birth and childhood and I am connected to it.
I still feel, after all of these years of being away, that the lake is mine...or perhaps I am her's.

After the service today,  I walked through my in-law's house to their deck and looked over the Lake.
It was calm.
It was unusually placid for the afternoon hour and the high sun pierced the glassy surface.  I felt compelled to walk down to the rocky shoreline to the edge and peer in.  I was thrilled that the wind and the sun conspired to betray the Lake's depths.

After a while I rejoined the celebration of this man's life as the sweet early summer day turned into early evening. Eventually, with my fly rod, I took my leave of the family and made my way to a stretch of Lake Superior shoreline that has captivated me for over 20 years.

Wading out to a familiar rock with a freshly tied Deceiver knotted on, I stripped a boastful pile of line into my basket and started casting.   I plied the depths of the Lake with my fly as fish appeared on the surface.

Close in they were sipping and far out the were rolling.
My guess is that the fish near shore were whitefish or maybe herring...
possibly brook trout and maybe even suckers...
the fish in the distance...
I couldn't say.

My fly line came tight briefly and I felt confirmation for the confidence that the this place gives me.

A few casts later I landed a Northern Pike of about 4 pounds and I was happy for the tussle.  I pulled the fish onto my rock and removed the hook before letting her slide back into the water.  I came for trout or salmon but had trouble being disappointed in catching the pike.  The amount of water in front of me and the size of the fly I was casting into it made any connection a small miracle.

I varied my retrieve, paused to allow the fly to sink and cast at different angles off my rock.  The only thing I didn't do was doubt the possibility of another connection.

And then, stripping my flyline back into my basket with a two handed striped bass retrieve (the technique borrowed from my friends on the East Coast and brought here, by me, to the North) my fly was eaten.

The fish, a hatchery bred non-native, Kamloops Steelhead, or "Looper" tugged and twisted and would have probably made a run or two except that she had recently spawned and was lacking the energy and acrobatics of a prime fish.

I was surprised.  Even this far North, June is a late to find these fish where I found her.

And so, in the name of science, my personal ethic and the tradition of old Norwegian settlers, their sons, and their grandsons, I killed her with a rock, ripped her gills out and bled her out in wave pool on this rock....
...and made another cast, never doubting.

From Left to Right: Rugged, Calm

Clarity

My In-law's House

Old fisherman's steps

Looper on the Rocks

Harvested