Fichigan

Small Stream Trout fishing in Michigan

07 Apr 2012
1 Comment

Ducks on a Trout Stream

Maybe you can relate to this. Occasionally I come around a bend and all heck breaks loose. It is usually two, but sometimes several ducks or geese hanging out.  Since I fish wading upstream that is the direction they head to get away from me. They slap their wings on the water and take off like a slow prop plane on a runway – it takes a while to get airborne and in the meantime they boil the water and spook every trout within a hundred yards. If that were the end of it, oh well, but they usually land a few bends upriver and forget about me until I come around that bend and repeat the process. It may be the only thing worse than unknowingly following another fisherman up the stretch. I ask you what’s worse: Knowing why the fish are turned off or wondering why the fish are turned off. Either way about all you can do is get out of the stream and do a big circle to get ahead of the problem.

This reminds me of another problem but one that usually goes away quickly – beaver on trout streams. I was caught by surprise on the Baldwin one time by a loud slap noise and a fat furry head bee lining toward me and creating a wake. I panicked and started backing up but it stopped ten feet from me and went back upstream. The slap of the tail is meant as a warning and I can tell you – instinctively it comes across as one. It’s loud. Another time Feral and I were fishing the Pigeon up by Vanderbilt and came around a bend and saw one on the bank that looked like a black bear cub – it was that big and chunky. Since the Pigeon is bear country, we did a quick freeze to figure out just what we were looking at. Beavers are actually fairly common on trout streams and if you see them they usually just cruise past you like small furry submarines. No danger really, but there is a quick moment of knowing you are sharing space with a wild animal.

The only real danger on a trout stream is getting run over by a canoe. It’s all unlicensed drivers with no training required. Someone needs to invent a canoe with a steering wheel and foot brake. Canoeists may hurt the trout fishing with their noise but on the other hand they provide some entertainment too, so maybe it evens out. One time Feral and I came upon a small group of young people on the Pine River that had pulled over to make some shore lunch. They were on the outside of a wide deep bend, we were on the inside. They were animated and friendly. One geeky kid wanted to re-setup his backpack camp grill to show us how cool it was. So far it had been a hot unproductive day of fishing and we were happy for the diversion. They had some cold beer and offered and we said sure. They threw a can across the river to Feral and he almost went in catching it. They asked if I was ready and I said yes so they lobbed another one over. I lifted my fishing net and caught it. They thought that was hilarious. We thanked them and headed on our way, two ducks waddling up the river.

Posted in Fishing Stories
01 Apr 2012
9 Comments

Shakespeare Wonderod

Back when Shakespeare was on the cutting edge of fishing equipment and my grandfather was doing trick casting demonstrations for them at trade shows, they would send Jake free equipment to try out. He stored his arsenal of fishing rods on a rod rack on a wall of his bedroom. Grandma didn’t complain that I know of but those were different times and I can’t imagine what my wife would say. As a little boy the fishing rods were a great source of interest to me and sneaking into his bedroom to look at them was a regular occurrence.

Jake had a favorite set-up – his “go to” rod and reel for most trout fishing and after he passed away it fell into my hands. I store the rod and reel in an old case and have not been tempted to use it even though as a kid I would have done anything to get my hands on it. The brown Wonderod stood out on his rod rack  and had a certain mystique mainly because over the years we associated that rod with Grandpa and many creels full of trout. It was like Minnesota Fat’s pool cue – there must be magic in it.

Back then fiberglass was the new thing – does that date this story? The rod was designed to go with the company’s closed face spinning reels, notably the 1810 and the 1756. The rod has a sliding reel seat over a lengthy cork handle and when the reel is attached it is attached at the butt of the handle. This allows the user to pinch the fishing line against the cork handle before releasing the bail. After the bail is released the cast is made and line released using the index finger – allowing great control over when to release the line and thereby helping casting accuracy. The line is stopped by using the same index finger to pinch the line against the handle – so the caster can stop the lure mid-air over the target. Jake achieved deadly accuracy (trout Point of View) using this set-up along with his underhand flip cast.

If you are a fisherman and ever wondered why 1810 and 1756 reels are mounted so close to the rod, that is the reason – so the line is easy to pinch against the rod handle. Modern spinning reels are mounted a good distance from the rod making manual control over the line almost impossible. I keep waiting for a tackle manufacturer to figure this out but I won’t hold my breath.

I am considering using Jake’s brown Wonderod and 1756 reel this spring as I know there is still some magic there and it will make my brothers jealous.  Note to myself: lock pole in trunk when not in use.

Posted in Trout Gear and tagged , , , ,
08 Mar 2012
2 Comments

Jake Lucas Trout Diary

Jake Lucas, my grandfather and fishing mentor to family and friends, kept a written diary of his daily trout catches on Michigan streams from 1954 to 1976. The diary includes place, weather conditions, baits or lures, largest fish, total fish and other notes. The diary may represent the only existing record of the trout population of brook trout, browns and rainbows (not to mention steelhead) in many of Michigan’s noted trout streams though this time period. While the diary is in spreadsheet format, he was inspired to add this account after a couple great days of fishing.

1965 – May 6

Fished Little Manistee above public fishing site at Indian Club Bridge. Hooked a large RB (rainbow) in a deep run by some stumps on a curve. He jumped and then he tore downstream for 40 or 50 yards. I turned loose the reel and he unwound line from the reel faster than anything I have ever hooked. He turned into the slow side of the stream and moved up into a drift and got loose.

Had a strike by another RB in front of the drift. Hooked another one about 20 feet in front of the same drift. Played it until I thought I could get it into my net. Had it close in front of me and started the net up it’s tail – then he turned head first into the net and a hook caught the net and the fish pulled loose.

I was ready for a straight jacket. Boy: I was mad and disgusted.

Hooked another one in a run of water by some raft type cover. He was smaller than the other two and I finally got him into the net downstream about 75 or 100 yards. It was a 27 inch male. I took it back to the car and met Doc (Dr. Pratt) at about 11: AM. He had an 18 + a 12 inch Brown. In the afternoon went back to the same area (points 3 to 5) caught another 27 inch female, + one 20 inch male and had another good one and my line broke inside the reel because of a grooved pickup pin.

Friday AM, May 7

Hooked a big one and he broke my line so quick I didn’t have a chance. I think the grooves in my rod tip cut it. Hooked a big one by the tail and lost it. I just could not wear it down. He got off after going downstream from me. Hooked a really big one but he went downstream and just dogged it in the middle of the stream. Felt like I was hooked to a snag because I could pull hard and he would just stay there. Finally he bore downstream rolled on the surface and the hook came out.

The following is a handwritten note in Jake’s diary from Doc Pratt (first a client for Jake’s guide business, later to become a close fishing buddy)

I never saw anything to beat this – what it takes Jake has and aplenty. Accuracy and handling and the lure in the water tell a tale and my experience was worth every cent – a real pleasure.

Doc’

Posted in Fishing Stories and tagged , , ,
17 Feb 2012
3 Comments

Al

When Feral and I first started camping on Michigan’s trout season opener, a long time ago, we camped on a bluff overlooking the Pine River in Lake County. We had a friend from childhood join us for the first couple years, he passed away, but I think about him now and then. Al loved to hunt and fish. He was a bit of a rogue – never holding on to employment long, made do day-to-day, was generous with whatever he possessed even though it was never much, and was fun to be around.

Back then we were very ambitious about opening day and would go down to the river at the strike of midnight to fish. This usually involved some beer, crawlers, and warm clothing including waders. Just down the hill from camp there was a nice bend of deep water that allowed us to toss the crawlers and set up fork sticks, or just fish by feel as the crawlers washed across the sandy bottom. We were not expert wormers but we usually caught a few trout. The bank there had lush grass and we would set a lantern up far enough back from the river to avoid spooking the fish. We could see our shadows against the tall bank opposite us. It was usually cold enough to see our breath, but maybe because of the beer, maybe because of the anticipation of trout, we could forget the cold and concentrate on the goodness of the gathering and joke about anything.

Al made do with his fishing equipment. Where Feral and I would try to use just enough hook and sinker to present a crawler to wary trout, Al would launch a concoction of spinners rigged to a home made crawler harness loaded down with metal objects like keys instead of lead. He would usually have a fishing pole best described as used – most likely acquired though some barter the day before the trip.

I recall one time in particular where we had a pretty slow night up until Al hooked up on a big fish. If I remember right, his fishing pole was a two piece and on setting the hook it became two pieces with the end of the rod sliding down the monofilament into the stream. Catching trout at night is never pretty, but Al trying to land this fish with half a pole set a new standard. He said the fish was a big and we believed him since only a large fish was likely to move the conglomeration of hardware attached to the end of his line. We all imagined a giant hook-jawed brown trout. We knew the Pine was capable of giving up such monsters and we were ready to witness it.

Al was standing on the bank and I don’t recall if he had waders but the next thing we saw was him jumping in the stream and going after the fish. He was able to control the fish with half a pole so the construct of hooks were doing their job. He fought the fish like a man possessed and in no time he managed to pull it near the bank. He reached down and lifted up, to our surprise, a five pound sucker.

I am sure Feral had some encouraging, heartfelt words of consolation for Al but those have been long forgotten. The event was the highlight of the trip – but is just one of many stories where Al provided something extra to make a gathering special.  RIP Al. You were a true fisherman.

For those who remember Al and his love of the outdoors, here is a painting I did in 2004 of Al and Feral, painted from a photo taken during archery deer season, most likely in the late 70’s. Al was an avid bow hunter as well as fishermen.  Those were such fun times!

Allen Zoppa & Feral Tweed

Allen Zoppa & Feral Tweed

Posted in Fishing Stories and tagged , ,
07 Feb 2012
2 Comments

Feral’s Instruments

I’d like to have a nickel for every musical instrument Feral has brought to trout camp because I could buy a candy bar. If it has strings attached he has owned one, and that includes banjos, mandolins, violins, ukuleles, acoustic guitars, electric guitars, dobros, steel guitars, classical gut string guitars, and some hybrids like a tiger maple slide guitar. Not to mention harmonicas, a piccolo, a flute, a recorder, and then there was the time he brought up a grand piano on a flat bed trailer. Ok – no piano yet at trout camp, but he has owned one or two.

Feral’s owned some vintage instruments including a Fender Duosonic circa 1960s, an unidentified parlor guitar that had the loudest, clear tone I have ever witnessed, and a steel Dobro with a hot lady etched on the back (wow). All of his instruments came with a story and it was always more fun hearing the story than hearing him play. (Just kidding but Feral is a story teller which is a rare breed nowadays. He keeps trout camp a very interesting place to be.) He is also a daring instrumentalist which is more than I can say for myself.

So how did I get started on Feral’s instruments? In the picture above there’s an electric guitar I don’t recognize. I remember taking the photo one morning when we tried to make coffee but we lost the percolator cap on our coffee pot. The beer bottle did the trick – so there’s my camping tip for the day.

At first I thought the guitar was a loaner I had from Jeff DeJager back in the 70’s, a Stratocaster copy with a neck though body that his wife bought him and he didn’t play but loaned to me for some unknown reason. But it doesn’t look like a strat body so I am at a loss. It may be one from Feral’s archive or maybe someone else brought a guitar to camp. Anyway, when I get a nickel for every instrument Feral brought to trout camp I will give the person who identifies the guitar a candy bar.

Posted in Trout Camp and tagged ,
28 Jan 2012
1 Comment

Manistee River Brown Trout

Natch has been joining Feral and me for trout camp going on about fifteen years. He’s had a couple of interesting nicknames including one that had to do with burning wolmanized lumber in camp but that’s another story. Fall trout camp 2011 didn’t fall together but Natch, like the rest of us, made a year-end foray to a local stream late in September. I’ll let him tell it.

  Natch:

Since it sounded like the closer might be rather thin on bodies this year I chose to do some insulation work up north at the cabin. However, I did rip off a 3-hour stretch on the Manistee River near M-72. I had never been down that way and thought I would check the water out. It runs pretty shallow with a few small holes under some brush and logs. It was overcast when I started but became sunny halfway into the stretch. I saw plenty of little ones (10″-12″) that would come out from underneath cover but not aggressive enough to actually hit the lure. After about a half-hour I noticed a college-age guy walking along the bank up top on a trail. He was carrying a clipboard and wanted to know if I would answer a few questions like “what are you fishing for? Keeping or releasing? What bait?” etc. As he walked away I caught a 12 inch Brown and he came back to check it out.

I continued fishing in hopes of seeing some deep water. An hour or so later, I came around a bend with a long straight away and a few cabins.  Jutting about 20 feet out from the other side of the river was a massive log – a good 3 feet in diameter. The water was rushing under it causing a nice wash out. I placed a cast tight up under some brush along the front edge of the log and reeled in my double-hook silver minnow.  About halfway back the lure dropped under the log. Bam! I was hung up with no hopes of getting my favorite lure back. Or so I thought. All of a sudden my line headed upstream. The fish came to rest in the middle of the river. I slowly approached with net in hand. Just as I reached for him, splash! Off he went back toward the log. My heart was pounding as my drag started to slip. I still wasn’t sure if this was my 20+ inch trout or not. After a couple of tense minutes, I landed him. The tape measure read 19″.

It wasn’t the 20″ class trout that continues to elude me but it made my adventure on a new stretch of stream well worth it. I released the trout and continued for a few more bends. Nothing,  so I headed back. When I came to the log I debated on whether to give it another whirl.  I noticed two fly fishermen just around the bend so I gave it a few minutes of casting and headed back to the truck.

Posted in Fishing Stories and tagged , ,
18 Jan 2012
1 Comment

Camping in the Snow

Michigan’s trout season opens on the last Saturday in April and there’s no guarantee of good weather. It’s about a fifty-fifty shot in Michigan. We’ve had balmy weather with morel mushrooms popping, thick snow that brought visibility down to fifteen feet, and every grade of weather between the two. The weather can start out nice and deteriorate quickly, or start bad and end up wonderful. In all of the years of camping on opening day I am proud to say that Feral and I only packed it up once.

We didn’t want to leave. We woke to find snow, built a fire to warm up and went down to the river and fished. Casting was very interesting – watching the lure disappear in snow before it hit the water. As I recall the snow didn’t let up a bit. Then the real show began.

Feral and I were fishing together and had moved just upstream from camp to a wide gradual bend. We were standing on the inside corner when a canoe came by. There was a young boy about age ten in front and middle-age man in the back and they were paddling like mad rounding the outside bend. At the exit of the bend some logs angled outward and sure enough they glanced off the logs and overturned. The water was maybe a degree or two above freezing and they both took a complete swim.

We waded back downstream to help but the man managed to get his canoe up-righted quickly. We told them our camp was right up the hill and that we had a fire – they were welcome to dry out and warm up. The man would have none of that – he said they’d be fine and wanted to keep going.  I have no idea how far they were going, maybe Feral can add a comment on this, but if they were heading to the next canoe landing they had a couple freezing hours ahead of them.

We felt so bad for the boy. He may have been in shock.  It just seemed surreal not to take our offered help and at least warm up at the fire. We would have been happy to drive them to their vehicle and I’m sure we offered. As far as I was concerned the dad got what was coming to him, the boy was a victim of his dad’s ego or stupidity.

I don’t recall if that incident turned us off for the weekend but it may have. Feral and I packed it up and headed home with a vow to meet back there in one week. We really didn’t mind the snow and it’s not the first time we’d tented in it. It’s just that it wasn’t what we expected. We were thinking Spring.

Posted in Trout Camp and tagged , ,
06 Jan 2012
1 Comment

A Morel Dilemma

It’s January 6 and the temperature is almost fifty in Michigan. When I stepped outside I was transported to trout camp first by the warmth and then the earthy smell of spring. Reality checked my imagination but not my enthusiasm.  Spring brings the new trout season, and a backup pastime of Morel Mushroom hunting. Mushroom hunting finishes a close second.

We find the early black morels, and as the season progresses, the half-caps. We (Feral and myself) don’t have a spot for the later white morels but maybe that’s because we’re looking in the wrong place – we keep going back to the black morels areas. It’s vexing to think back to our grandpa opening the trunk of his 65 Chevy Impala and seeing two bushels of white morels. I don’t have a clue where he found the mother lode but it’s possible those days are gone, at least on public land. A good day for us is a few dozen two inch Black Morels to fry up with some trout. And that’s enough. We fry them in butter until they are about 25% of their original size and crispy. People compare the taste of morels to steak, but to me it’s more like eating bacon. Are we frying them too long? I’ve read you need to cook them thoroughly.

If you haven’t tried mushroom hunting here’s a good tip: Look for cars parked along the road in late April and early May. Most everyone expects to see other hunters so you will not be breaking any code. I have read books on morel mushroom habitat and what else I can add has very little value unless you are a naturalist with a degree in botany. Look near Elm and Ash trees, white barked trees like Birch, Poplar, and Aspen, and in evergreens like White Pine. Look where the sun is warming a hillside early in the season, and shaded hillsides late. Alongside water is good including drainage ditches along a road.

If you have never been mushrooming it’s wise to go with an expert the first time. It is encouraging to see someone else find some. If they help you spot some it will be much easier to gain some confidence – they are difficult to see, especially the black ones.  And the expert can cull your bag for the false morels, the poisonous variety that can wreck an otherwise nice meal.

Posted in Survival and tagged , , ,
29 Dec 2011
1 Comment

Pike Fishing

I have a theory that learning any art form helps you improve and mature in other art forms – and this applies to fishing too. If you love trout fishing and want to become more productive, it makes sense to try for Pike. Stop scratching your head!

My mentor, Jake Lucas, was a pioneer at small stream spinning for trout, but his fishing interests were by no means limited to that. He fished lakes and streams all year for most every species in Michigan, with side trips to other states and Canada. He ice fished, he fly-fished, he bait-fished, he threw lures of every size and make. He made lures. He tied his own flies and developed original patterns. He shot Carp with a bow and arrow. And when he wasn’t fishing he was hunting – and he was very successful at that too.

Feral Tweed, my main fishing cohort, bought a kayak last fall with the idea of catching a monster pike. He lives in Lake County and is surrounded by lakes. As an accomplished trout fisherman he knows when to head to a trout stream and prefers to wait for the right conditions. So why not try something new? To be successful he knows he must innovate and that includes learning where to find the big ones, figuring out what lures work where, learning how to land a Pike in a kayak, learning how to fillet a Pike (they are boney) and finally, how to convince me to drag my bass boat up to Lake County so he doesn’t have to land a monster Pike in a kayak.

I understand Feral’s appreciation of Pike. It goes back to our childhood and hanging out with Jake Lucas (our Grandpa) in his basement. Jake wasn’t a taxidermist, but he had a couple Pike heads mounted to boards. It was the skeletal remains of the heads mostly with the mouths wide open and razor teeth showing. It was just the stuff to capture a little boy’s imagination. One of those head mounts belongs to the Pike pictured with this story – a nineteen pounder.

I don’t know if Feral plans to mount the head of his future monster Pike to a board, but I hope he does. And I hope I’m invited to a Pike fillet dinner. His enthusiasm for Pike is contagious – I may drag my boat up there unannounced.

Posted in Trout Advice and tagged , ,
09 Dec 2011
1 Comment

The Incident at Tin Bridge

I was thinking back fondly on a strange incident at Tin Bridge on the Pigeon River in the Pigeon River State Game Area.  I had parked my 10 year old 91 Pathfinder at the bridge and fished a stretch upstream and when I returned to my vehicle I had to drive over the bridge, turnaround, and re-cross the bridge to head back to camp. At that time the bridge was in pretty rough shape with squared off logs laid sideways and apparently not firmly attached. You could hear a distinct thumping sound as you crossed but what was really happening down there was not clear. As I re-crossed the bridge the dull thump sound was replaced by my blasting exhaust.  A log had somehow knocked my muffler off – but that was small potatoes.  When I put on the brakes my foot went to the floor. I rolled to a stop and looked underneath. I could see a severed brake line with dripping fluid and the muffler hanging low. There was nothing I could do but glide back to camp. Fortunately it was all two-tracks and I didn’t meet anyone head-on.

Back at camp my buddies took turns surveying the underside and that’s where we first noticed the frame damage. The rear axle on a 91 Pathfinder has support members designed for stabilizing. One was definitely broken. The frame was fairly rusted out anyway so it was hard to gauge how much I can blame on the bridge. Still, this was serious. The frame needed work.

I started adding up the costs. We were out in the sticks and the closest town with any auto service was Gaylord, at least twenty miles away. It would be expensive to have the vehicle towed. The exhaust and brake line might run a couple hundred bucks. The frame was the wild card – I didn’t know if I could even get the frame fixed, or for what cost.

I fired up the Pathfinder the next morning and found that a car without exhaust is twice as noisy on a cold morning. Feral followed me in, wisely, since he didn’t want to provide brakes with the rear of his vehicle.  We took the old highway into Gaylord to avoid traffic. I used my parking brake lever to help stop – I can’t remember if I had a hint of brake left – that may have been the case. I think we pinched the severed line so the brake system held some pressure.

I rolled into a muffler shop near Main Street and they put it on the hoist. They did right by me – putting on a cheap muffler and fixing the brake line.  They also directed me to a place that might be able to fix the frame, a welding shop of some kind. As I recall, they were closed.  It was Saturday.

Meanwhile I had to formulate a back-up plan: just in case. I could scrap the vehicle or try to trade it in for something else providing a dealer would even take it. We did a little car browsing and I was feeling the pressure.  I really needed the frame fixed in order to avoid a “make-do” car buying experience.  Being at the mercy of a car salesman is low on my list of entertainment. I looked at a few older vehicles but didn’t see anything I would even want to consider.

On Monday Feral and I stopped at the suggested welding shop and explained the situation. The young fellow working there (alone) crawled under the Pathfinder and banged on the remaining rusted frame to see what he could find to work with.  He offered to weld some new pieces of steel onto the frame for $200. I jumped at it. He told us to come back at the end of the day. When we arrived later I could tell he spent more time than he planned but he was very professional about it. I looked underneath and could see he’d welded some new steel in place and listened as he explained the difficulty of making sure everything was aligned properly. By all accounts I had lucked on a perfectionist who took pride in his work. Bottom line: I was back in business for about $350 total car repair.

If nothing else, this is a true story about nice people in a small town helping out a guy with car problems. It could have been a disaster. I should mention the state has replaced the old bridge. The new one is an eye sore with heavy duty guard rails that belong on an expressway – not exactly what you want to see on a two-track out in God’s country… but I really shouldn’t complain. If anyone has a photo of the old bridge please send it to me and I’ll add it to this post. Thanks.

Posted in Survival and tagged , , ,

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