Fichigan

Feeder Creek Brown Trout

I fished a small feeder creek to the Rouge River this morning. The stream was low and clear so accurate casting, at a distance, was needed. I had a total of three keeper trout hit my lure but only one was sufficiently hooked to land. On that cast it was necessary to cast over a log ten feet away and drop the lure into a pool three feet in length. Just enough pool to twitch the lure a couple times before the lure would catch on the log. There was an explosion on the surface, the trout dived, and as I rushed up there the trout had enough line to come out under the log back toward me. I had a choice to make. Feed more line out and try to net the trout downstream of the log, or reel the trout forward back into the small pool and net it there, which seemed like a better idea than having line wrapped around the log – which would require cutting the line in order to go to the bank to field dress him. It was a male, sixteen, maybe seventeen inches in length. A slight hooked jaw. Had molt, so spawn season is near.

It was a strange trip in several ways. First, mosquitoes were non-existent. I have no idea what to make of that. Didn’t see one. Secondly, my Polaroid sunglasses kept steaming up so I couldn’t see. I ‘d take them off and shake them till the dew evaporated, put them on again, make a cast, and couldn’t see again. I tried wiping them with my shirt, dowsing them in the stream, nothing worked. I was tempted to fish longer, get a second dinner trout, but I blew a couple good holes by hitting overhangs that I just didn’t see.

I filleted the trout boneless when I arrived back home and tried to talk my wife into cooking them up like she does with store-bought walleye. No. She likes how I pan fry them with fish mix or pancake batter. And the saltine crackers she uses were stale. She is making a custom salad to go with. And some stuffing. She suggested baked beans but that is such a standard trout camp meal with buddies, other sides work at home.

It felt good to get on a trout stream. About two weeks ago I went up to the Little South Branch (of the Pere Marquette) and had no luck. The stream was as low as I have ever seen it so much of the good trout cover was not workable. Long drive for tough fishing. Good exercise, but really, I’m after a trout dinner.

Late June Camp

I met my fishing buddies at a remote spot we call Burnt Clutch, a name that recalls an incident from years ago related to Mike, a brother to us all, whereby his Subaru failed to back his camper up the steep incline into the remote site. The name stuck. I trust Mike, who passed away a few years back, would appreciate no other name was possible after that.

Natch and I fished the Pigeon River before Feral and Jake arrived. The Pigeon was flooded so we had to get in and out of the stream several times on a normally easy wading stretch. I was leery about fishing this particular stretch because of the walk in through tangled scrub trees. I was worried about ticks. Crawling in and out of the stream at the bank didn’t help. We were sprayed down with deet, and we still had ticks. Natch keeps tweezers in his camper for surgical removal. I didn’t find two until a day later when I hopped in the shower at home. Next time I will listen to that voice in the back of my head and fish a less treacherous area of the Sturgeon.

It was perfect camping weather with lots of laughs, some target practice with air guns, a trip to Pickerel Lake to cool off, and campfire stories. It’s amazing how much fun buddies can pack into twenty-four hours.

For target practice I bought a garage sale pizza pan and hung that on a tree with stiff wire. There was a gratifying bong noise every time it was hit. We brought our favorite vintage pellet pistols and and passed them back and forth.

Natch also brought a super-lightweight, newfangled Ruger pellet rifle with a magazine clip. He paid about seventy for it. It definitely shot hard – not enough to go through the pizza pan, but you could tell where it hit compared to the pistols. I think Jake was the overall best shot. Every time he pointed that Webley the target rang out.

Natch and I found a bunch of firewood, including a box of it labeled Free, in Vanderbilt. The wood burned okay, but the box was something else.

Natch and Feral drank “White Russians” as the night devolved into clever observations and bizarre stories. Earlier, in Vanderbilt, I bought a single can of Big Hearted IPA thinking a beer buzz might be necessary to keep up. I took one sip and thought whoa. I hadn’t noticed the 9.5 ABV alcohol icon on the can. Didn’t even know that was legal. So I sipped that despite doctors orders to avoid real beer. I didn’t join Natch and Feral on Planet Nine… but then I didn’t drink the whole can. Jake abstained and kept a clear head. Hard to say what he thinks about us old guys partying.

June Camping at Pickerel lake

I passed through Mancelona on my way to Pickerel Lake up by Vanderbilt, Michigan and stopped at the jailhouse in case my fishing buddy, Natch, was there, but he was already at camp. He brought his ice fishing tent and it had rained Friday night. Turns out fishing shelters are not really meant for rain. He was drying out his cot and bedding when I arrived. I set up my Eureka backpack tent in the shade. It was the start of a memorable weekend of trout fishing and camping.

We normally pick the worst time of day to fish, mid-afternoon, because evening is meant for relaxing and elk viewing, and early morning means breakfast – usually at a restaurant if we are tenting it. We still caught trout. Years of experience, the right gear, and understanding where to fish (the best stretches of water) increase our chances even when the sunny conditions and clear streams mean tough fishing.

This brown trout, about 16 inches, was taken with a short cast in a shady spot right in front of me on the Sturgeon River. I’m still using the vintage Shakespeare 1755 reel from the opener including the light line (6 lb. Test ?) which I hate to change because it casts like shooting arrows with a long bow. I am not exaggerating when I say I can drop the lure anywhere within twenty feet. That’s how to catch a brown trout when the water’s clear and the sun’s out.

I wish I had a photo of this: Natch and I were sitting at camp about noon and we heard a vehicle in the campground approaching. It was a small truck with the window down. I saw a bb gun appear in the widow and heard the plumbth sound of a shot. Feral did a drive by shooting. He had threatened to do this in a text message when I proposed a camping trip. He stopped for a half hour to talk, but was on a schedule and needed to get home for family business.

Spring Trout Camp 2026

We held our spring trout camp a week late this year hoping for warm weather. That didn’t happen but my trout fanatic buddies rallied past the cold. We caught a lot of trout. Camping was mostly dry and the sun was out.
Natch and I arrived early. The Pine River in Lake County, MI was high and tea colored, but mostly wadable. I caught a couple dinner size trout below camp fishing from the bank. Natch caught a nice brook trout. We put them back figuring that when Jake and Feral arrived, we would dedicate a day to catching four browns for our traditional trout camp dinner.

This years master angler was Jake who caught three of the dinner trout and provided the baked beans. Feral caught the fourth trout. They fished the stretch just below camp. Natch and I, back from an earlier brutal trip of big hills and scarce trout, walked the bank downstream and watched them fish. I took a couple videos with silly narration with Natch making funny comments. Not sure I want those to go public. Here’s some photos.

I brought up my telecaster and a Roland street cube amp with a guitar and microphone channel, and Natch brought bongos. We worked briefly on a new camp song called “Catch a Brown” to the tune of the T-Rex song “Get it On (band a gong). We really needed a second stringed instrument. Feral forgot his ukulele even though we texted about it, and he knew I was working on a new camp song. I even offered to bring an extra guitar or mandolin. Time to rethink live music at camp!

Feral and I have been using newer underspin fishing reels which are only good for a season or two. They’re slowly being discontinued by manufacturers like Zebco, Diawa and Pflueger. Fortunately, old Shakespeare reels can be found at yard sales and online, so we had some options. I had a few stuck in a fishing junk box in the garage and was able to clean them up. I used a model 1755 at the opener and have to say… it is the smoothest reel I have ever used for casting. The Shakespeare’s have a slow retrieve but I offset that problem by purchasing some small “shallow shad raps” which have great action at slow speed. (Jake has used vintage Shakespeare reels for years.)

Feral brought a new hand cannon to camp. Not sure if that is the correct term. Basically a long handle with a short “flash pan” gun barrel at the end. It can be loaded up with a round ball or bird shot. You need to hold a lighter to the flash pan to touch it off. The workmanship is stellar with very nice metal engraving. He walks through bear country for Morels but concedes it would take a bit of fast work to get off a warning shot.

I did some watercolor paintings for the guys and handed them out one morning. I used camping photos from other trout camps for reference. My favorite, and first painting, was of Natch standing by his Jeep. I had been wanting to do a painting of him for years, something special, since he has been such a good friend. See the previous post for more photos.

Natch and I checked our regular Morel mushroom spot on day one. I found six, but they were mostly old and dried out. If we’d have camped a week earlier we may have done better. Conversely, Feral and Jake stopped at a new spot and found twenty. We didn’t fry them up, but that’s okay. I did a lot of cooking. After I bought the Scamp camper I started doing breakfast for everyone, as well as the trout dinner. Breakfast in my camper helped us move past the chilly mornings. We had the trout dinner in the trailer too. It seats four so that worked out well.

Jake and Feral pulled out on Sunday. They used Jake’s vintage Apache tent camper. Feral slept on a cot and had trouble sleeping. He had a knee problem which made wading and morel hunting a problem. If you are not 100%, camping in cold weather can be rough.

Natch and I stayed until Monday. I fished an upper stretch of the Pine with some success, but didn’t catch that lunker I hoped to photograph for this post. Natch went below 6 mile bridge and didn’t fare much better. We are talking about meeting up on the Pigeon River in a few weeks. Hope that works out.

Trout Camp Artwork

The week before trout camp I did a black and white painting of Natch, standing by his Jeep. Then I decided to do a couple more, one for Feral and one for Jake. I handed them out at spring trout camp last weekend. It caught them by surprise. Lots of fun comments if you can imagine. Coming soon: our cold weather trout camp story.

National Native American Heritage Month

After a trip out west last spring, I was inspired to do some Native American scenes. These were painted from archive black and white photos found online, so I had to get creative with color. And composition. These are acrylics, which allow impasto technique and watercolor-like washes.

The middle section of a tipi has a spirit being that comes in a dream. From what I understand, the spirit being has taken pity on the owner and has shared its spirit for the well-being of the tribe. It is much more complicated than that; everything about the tipi design has symbolism based on respect for the natural world.

I just completed this last painting. Grand Valley Artists (29th Street behind Schuler Books) is having a December sale, with cash prizes for the best three artworks. I entered this painting titled “Inventory,” based on a photo from the Montana Historic Archive. 16×20 acrylic.

September Brown Trout

I was digging through some old photos and found these, most likely taken by Feral, of me, on the Sturgeon River. Best guess, maybe ten years ago. At the end of September we would run into huge brown trout heading upriver to spawn, but it seems like those days are gone. The same thing took place on the Pigeon, huge browns up to two feet long, moving upstream. This hasn’t happened for years and I can only guess global warming has pushed the fall migration further into the year, possibly late November. We do catch a few lunkers, but nothing like the heyday. On a single trip up the Sturgeon, ten years ago, I caught four browns over twenty inches. We will be up there again this fall, checking those rivers, but maybe it’s the end of an era. I wish we had some answers. Note – we turned the big ones back and kept small ones for the skillet.