Fichigan

November Camp

When the sun comes out in Michigan, no matter the time of year, camping sounds good. Highs in the mid-forties, low thirties at night, and somehow a one-nighter up by the Pigeon River was workable. Natch asked and I waffled, admittedly, until I saw the sunny forecast. If the sun’s out… go for it.

Natch, Jake, and I dispersed camped up at Grass Lake on Saturday Night. We met around noon. We wanted to camp at “Burnt Clutch,” our normal late-season spot, but it was taken. A large party of bird hunters were camped there. There are a couple spots along Grass Lake, a little further up the trail, and we managed to get a spot. I was surprised to see it open because we often see people there.

Feral stopped by to pick up a deer rifle I don’t use, a gift from my stepdad Ken. I gave him the rifle but told him the box of shells would be seventy dollars 🙂 Feral didn’t camp, just drove over for the rifle. I thought of making a joke about “the real men are camping” but then thought I might have had to add later: “The smart one stayed home.”

We fished the Pigeon River. Two spots. Last fall Natch and I found new access upstream of Tin Bridge. There’s a locked DNR gate on the main two-track so we parked there and walked in. It opens to a huge field and a footpath leads through it and down through woods to the river. The Pigeon is mostly sand in that stretch, hardly any gravel – which was surprising. A half mile or so upstream it turns to mostly gravel, and then back to mostly sand. Fishing was tough. Natch saw a nice rainbow trout over twenty, and Jake saw a smaller brown trout. We didn’t fish long because there wasn’t much trout cover.

We decided to hit the Cornwall stretch which often produces large browns and rainbows. You can’t keep the browns this time of year but you can keep a rainbow.

No luck on the Cornwall stretch either so we exited at our normal get-out spot and went back to camp. I brought some “Better Cheddar” sausages and we cooked them over the campfire. Warm food helped. It was so cold. Not so noticeable when the sun was out, but come nightfall it was “see how close you can get to the campfire and not burn your shins.”

The new spot on Grass Lake was great. There was a stone circle fire pit and lots of room for tents, even trailers. The lake was spectacular in the setting sun. If we camp this late next year I’ll seriously think about bringing the scamp trailer. I slept okay in my small tent but the ground was hard and it was tricky staying warm. I crawled into my sleeping bag and put a quilt and a Carhart coat over me. It was raining in the morning. I packed up early, in the dark. My fingers froze by the time I was loaded up. I cranked up the heater in the 4runner and took off. Natch and Jake were sleeping in their trucks. I said goodbye but didn’t get an answer from either one. I felt bad about leaving but it’s not like we would have hung out in the freezing rain. Later, by text, they said they had a great time.

Next project: It’s a long time till the next trout season opener and Natch suggested we each make a peace pipe to smoke a little mixture. I like that as an art challenge. He has some distant Cherokee DNA and may have been inspired by the Cherokee peace pipe illustration on one side of my possibles box. (see earlier post). We have added a hiking stick as an optional project for non-smokers in the group. Same rules: make it functional, creative, and unique. Show and tell at spring trout camp.

The Last Stretch in October

The last couple of years I met the guys up at Burnt Clutch, a remote camp spot up near the Pigeon River. It has been tents instead of trailers and lasted a weekend. I kept hoping for the perfect tenting weekend but it didn’t happen this year. Cold and rain seemed to blow in every weekend. I did want to take one more shot at the Pigeon so I drove up there yesterday. When I arrived the sun was out, the temps in the sixties, and when I drove by burnt clutch camp on the way to the river I had a moment of regret – it seemed like perfect camping weather.

I parked at the end of a long trail and walked about a half mile to the get-in spot. The sun was out and that helped me keep my direction through some thick cedars and swamp to the stream. The stream was muddied up just a bit but very wadable. I started with a Walleye-pattern Rapala, then a #3 gold Mepps spinner, then a 3-hook Silver minnow. I worked that first grassy stretch slowly, placing good casts, switching lures, and seeing nothing. Not even a flash. In the course of ten minutes, the sky clouded up and darkened. I heard some rumble of thunder and within a few more minutes it started sprinkling. Perfect. Rain usually means more trout. I hadn’t bothered with my rain jacket. I figured if it rained it was in the sixties and I would stay warm enough.

I had a good fish on almost immediately. It might have gone twenty inches and I watched it shake off the lure right in front of me. It headed downstream. Moments later I hooked a small brown, maybe 14 inches, off the left bank. I caught one other small brown further up. On this stretch of the Pigeon you can only keep rainbow trout after the regular season. I had a rainbow on briefly and that is a guess – it was silver and flashed like chrome in the water. It hit my lure twice. I didn’t see the familiar rainbow coloring.

When I reached the normal get-out spot for this stretch I heard a lot of thunder but wasn’t seeing lightning. Still, a little disconcerting, like a warning. Plus, I was soaked, so rather than push upstream further I headed back to the truck. The whole stretch was no more than two hours. I drove three and a half hours to fish it and had the same drive back home. I know. Pretty crazy. I was tempted to get a hotel room in Gaylord and fish more in the morning but figured if it kept raining the river would flood and that meant difficult wading and less chance of a fish seeing my lure. So I headed home.

Natch is talking “November Camp.” It will be a first for the Fichigan crew if it happens. The Pigeon will be open yet and I think small game season too, so we will see. A sad note, Natch’s father passed away this month. From everything Natch has told me he was a remarkable man and great dad. I hope he followed this blog… he would have been proud to see his son catch so many nice trout.

Fall Trout Camp 2023

Natch, Jake, Feral, and I met up at Pickerel Lake for our annual fall trout camp. Natch and I fished the Sturgeon and the Pigeon. Fishing was tough. The streams were low and clear and we didn’t see a drop of rain. I caught a fourteen-inch Brook trout on the Pigeon using a spinner. I didn’t keep it. We see so few of them we always turn them back.

Natch saw a couple decent browns on the Sturgeon. We fished one afternoon stretch and two evening stretches. I lost a nice brown trout under the horse bridge in the valley during the day. That night we dropped in near the Ford property and I fished downstream a bend, just curious to see what was down there. The land is private but the water is public. Natch took off upstream and there was no way to catch him. Later, waiting for him to come back downstream, I watched the sun drop below the treeline. (cover photo) It was late and I was a bit nervous…we had to navigate some thick woods and make a steep climb to get out of there. We did get out before nightfall.

Jake and Feral hunted for pats and woodcock and never did fish. They walked five to seven miles a day in areas where they had seen birds before but managed only a couple shots. They hunt without a bird dog which puts the odds against them in the thick cover bird habitat. They both had new shotguns, vintage units with swap out rifle barrels for deer hunting.

Denny and his wife Lorraine stopped by camp a couple times. They wanted to see the possibles boxes (see last post). Denny brought a guitar, another of his hand-made Martin copies, so we jammed out a couple songs one night around the campfire. Denny has a band, Down Yonder, that played at the Calder Arts Festival the last two years. They also do some entertaining/music at old folks homes. I video taped that for them once – it was so appreciated by the residents! After the show one of the staff tried to check Denny into a room. I wish I’d have gotten that on tape. 🙂

My sister’s youngest son Dan stopped in and camped two nights. That was a nice surprise. He plays guitar but I couldn’t talk him into playing. He was happy to hang loose, take photos (a very good photographer), and add stories to our round table.

All told, we had great camping and fantastic weather. Zero trout for dinner and Zero birds for the spit, but it didn’t matter. We had fun. We have one more trip in October. We’ll hunt and fish then too, enjoy the fall colors, close out another year.

The Possibles Box Challenge

About two months ago I proposed a challenge to my fishing buddies to come up with a hand made box to store camping, fishing, hunting miscellaneous items. I called it a “possibles” box after the possibles bags carried by mountain men into the wilderness. We had our show and tell at our fall trout camp. (I’ll do separate post on that.)

From left to right: Natch made two boxes, the first entirely from a wood crate. It has a custom latch and a smaller box with a matching latch. The rope handles are a nice touch and the workmanship was stellar. He also made the darker box alongside which features a custom trout engraved on the top and a magnetic latch. I like how the front has a lighter scrubbed area with the words possibles box. Each box includes a bottle opener. Nice work Natch!
The next box, in front, was made by Jake. I expected great things from him and he delivered. The box is made from a thick sled runner we found half buried in the Sturgeon River back in 2015. (see photo below) He had to slice the runner up into small usable pieces and assemble from there. Further, he made the custom hinge by hand (he’s a blacksmith and professional jeweler). The knob to open the box is made from a spike in the runner. The finished box assembly is amazing – every joint and seam fits down to a few thousandths inch. Incredible workmanship, design, colors, a really spectacular box.
Feral built the box with the caramel finish. He took design and utility to a new level. The top cover is removed in the photo – it can be used as a tray. On the right side you can see a built in coffee grinder. If you lift that section, below the grinder is an attached mason jar lid so you can screw a jar onto it to catch the grounds. His box is dedicated to cooking and he has various cookware and utensils stored inside. Top marks for creativity go to Feral. His workmanship is stellar too.
My box (Luther) is on the right. I went with 1800’s pioneer theme. My thought was make the box look like something that fell off a covered wagon. The lid has a US map from the late 1700’s with the names and general locations of North American Indian Tribes. I did this and the other illustrations with ink lines and watercolor paint, then a coat of clear matte varnish. The very front has a bison and a grizzly bear measuring each other up for a fight. The right side has a ox-drawn wagon and two rough looking characters, and a lower panel with a 50 caliber Hawken rifle with flame maple stock. The opposite side has two illustrations, a Crow Indian camp, and a Cherokee tomahawk pipe, both drawn from archived Smithsonian photos.
I called it this a challenge, not a competition, because I knew declaring a winner would be impossible and was pointless. These guys are artists. Each box is completely original, hand-made, and unique. I congratulate and applaud their efforts.

Small Stream/Giant Trout

A new report from Jake: Feral and I went to the tube stretch that we like on the Pine and worked up through pretty slowly. The water was high but still in the banks with plenty of color. Lots of clouds kept the day dark and it misted the whole time we were in the water but never got us wet enough to feel like rain. First cast I picked up a 10 inch brown and considered keeping but decided to throw back. Second cast I got one about 12-13” right up to the bank before he spat out the lure and swam away. It was feeling like a good day to fish. We worked up through some nice looking water. Lots of logs and undercut banks that made us wonder why we didn’t have a trout on the line with every cast but the more we fished the less action we saw. Feral had small ones follow his lure out of some deep holes and even had one or two on briefly but managed to discreetly shake them off almost before I noticed.

When we arrived at the real premium deep hole Feral was in the lead and he was casting in all the right places. We knew there had to be a fish under the far bank. This was one of the spots we specifically cleared out some overhanging brush earlier in the year so we could get the lures back into the shadows. After a moment he got quiet and stepped back to me saying he had seen a big swirl like a sizable fish taking a bug off the surface. He crept back up and cast up and down the bank and we both knew there could be a fish on at any second. After several casts and no luck he motioned for me to give it a shot. I made some long casts up stream and then a few into the grassy bank area and it wasn’t long before something big down in the deep dark water decided to come out and play.

My tackle is pretty light for fighting big trout so when a monster goes for my lure it makes my rod look like it might snap in half. This was the case when I felt the hit, saying “there he is” and positioned myself for the fight. I could tell right away it was a nice trout. And it was a good fight. The fish stayed deep and tried again and again to get back down under the bank but I kept the pressure on to bring him out. He went downstream and back up and then back down. I kept plenty of tension on the line but had to give when he took off for fear of breaking my line. After what seemed like several minutes he began to tire and I handed my rod off to Feral and swooped down with the net to land the beast. A 20 incher. This was my first time carrying a net and I was glad I had it. It’s going to be part of permanent kit now.

We didn’t see much for the rest of the trip. It was a nice day though and it felt like fall as we walked back to the truck. Tonight we will make trout tacos.

A Fishless Day

It rained on Sunday but there was no way of telling if my favorite streams 100 miles north saw any of it. Monday I woke at four in the morning and rather than try to go back to sleep I decided to drive up there and take a chance fishing. We’ve had a bit of a drought so I hoped the streams were up a little and carrying a little stain.. but no such luck. I fished the Pine River (Lake County) for about an hour and didn’t see a fish. The Pine was as low as I have ever seen it. I drove south to the Little South (branch of the Pere Marquette) and took a look. It too was very low, maybe the lowest water level I’ve seen on that stream. So a lot of driving, no fish, but did discover my waders leak. Not the best news to cap off a fishless day:)

Preston Arendson in Copemish

About two months ago I proposed a get-together / possible jam session with former members of the Preston Arendson band. Scott Zylstra, the lead guitarist, hosted it it up at his home in Copemish. He has a beautiful old farmhouse with ancient wood floors and vintage furnishings. I felt like I was stepping back in time which is not far from the truth. Jack Grant, the bass player, and Bill Voss, our sound technician, arrived ahead of me. When I walked into the living room four chairs were set up in a circle and Jack was already set up with his bass and amp. I recognized the bass, a Fender Precision he bought back when we first started playing out. Vintage! Bill brought a new model Taylor guitar from his vast collection of very high end acoustics and electrics. Scott just retrieved his Martin D-18 from a guitar shop. They had it for over a year for a re-fret job so I think he was ready to test it out. It sounded incredible. I brought my OOO-16 cutaway Martin acoustic.

We talked for a bit about old bands from the 70’s, concerts we saw back then, mostly music topics. I brought my vintage pellet pistol knowing Bill is interested in old firearms. Turns out Jack has some knowledge on the subject too. Frankly I was a little nervous, under-practiced, and didn’t know how this would all go down.

Highlights for me: Scott goofing on his guitar between songs playing killer riffs and short progressions. I could have listened to Scott do that for fifteen minutes and called it a great day. I kept thinking I really need a recording of his jams. Maybe I could write some lyrics and melodies around them if he was up for a project. Then listening to Jack on the bass. A master. When I say master I mean subtle and solid progressions that don’t call attention to his playing. Supporting the song. And then he slides in with harmonies that are so dead on, and beautiful, you can’t hardly separate them from the melodies. Bill sounded great singing old Ozark Mountain Daredevils tunes and spurring memories of songs I completely forgot! We started playing around 11:00 in the morning and suddenly Jack said he had to get going. Scott mentioned it was 5:30. I swear, time has not moved that fast for me in the last 20 years. I wished I’d have been more prepared and forthright about jumping in with songs. Truthfully, I was just glad to be there and listen. I really needed that. It was something.

Found this photo from the late 70s… Feral with a pipe on the left, Jack on bass, me with my D-35, Scott tuning a 12 string, Abe on the right. Not sure who took the photo but wish I had more photos from back then.