Small Stream Trout fishing in Michigan

Archive for the month “June, 2013”

Pike for Dinner


After Feral dressed out the 28 incher he had a dinner size plate heaped with boneless fillets. I should have taken a picture of that because I was surprised so much meat could come off a pike that size. Feral put together a mix of some flour and spices and heated up cooking oil in our camping skillet so it was popping hot. Then he browned the fillets so they were crispy on the outside and flaky when split. It was some of the lightest and tastiest fish I have ever eaten. I had always heard Pike was good – and now I am a believer.

It almost didn’t happen. Early that morning Feral caught a two footer and tossed it back. We thought we had a working live well on the bass boat and could hear the live well motor running, but for some reason it didn’t fill with water. And we didn’t have a stringer – so that first keeper pike went back into the lake. Naturally the fishing went south on us but we persevered and tossed a variety of spinner baits and even some crank baits. Feral caught dinner, pictured above, late afternoon on a spinner bait so we let that one flop around on the boat floor while we headed back to the dock.

We will be doing some more Pike fishing. It is a bit of work filleting them but only one of us has to know how.

Camping Alone

Big Leverentz

It seems like more and more people are camping alone. I did an overnighter with Feral up at Leverentz Lake campground and a man was camping alone at site # 1 by the boat dock, and a little later a woman pulled in and camped just across from him. In a perfect world that is how people meet except that he was a young married businessman practicing yoga and trying to get away from it all, and she was an older substitute teacher and jewelry artist enjoying the right here and now.

On our first encounter with the woman, she grilled Feral and I about our age and it seemed like we were being interviewed for a job. I was put off a bit by her assumption that men like to be grilled about stuff but Feral, after our escape, had a different perspective. “She came up camping by herself, she’s probably nervous, she wants to meet people. We should be nice.” He was right, of course.

Toward evening she asked for help starting a campfire. She, Jeanette, had purchased some wood in town, some damp oak shaped like railroad ties that would make a nice picnic table but nearly impossible to light without enough kindling for a beaver dam. So Feral and I, along with Dave, the businessman, gathered sticks and did the guy thing while she did the helpless woman thing. I wasn’t quite buying her helpless woman thing (She said was part Cherokee) but hey – all of a sudden we were all talking and laughing about stuff and who cares anyway.

Jeanette invited us to enjoy the fire and Feral mentioned guitars and she said she had a dulcimer, which she pulled out of her van and passed around for inspection. We grabbed the guitars and some beers and played a couple oldies with Jeanette following along. She pulled out a music stand and fearlessly played a tune out of her Mel bay book. I tried to play along and listen for the chord changes and she was kind enough to say I did it well so you know she was not above bending the truth.

The campfire turned out to be kinetic art requiring some upkeep so Dave kept feeding the fire with engineering precision. His sharp yoga mind also injected humor into the various conversations and somehow he became Feral’s new “agent’ lining up the next big paying gig. That was good news to Feral who will normally play all night for free if someone in the audience has a pulse. Humor begets humor and Feral told a joke about a piccolo player in church which was pretty bad and I followed up with one about a banjo player and forgot half the joke set-up and pretty soon everyone was ready to call it a night. A very good night.

We packed it up the next morning but not before Feral gave Jeanette a guitar slide for use with her dulcimer. Some slide dulcimer might go very well with some John Prine should our paths cross again in some dusty Michigan campground.

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