Fichigan

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.