There’s an old joke that says in the U.P. there are two
seasons, Swat and Shovel, and based on the month of October I’m inclined to
believe it. Two weeks ago, I was basking in temperatures that reached 70
degrees and crushing the occasional mosquito making me its last meal of the
year. This week I endured heavy, wet snow and treacherous driving conditions. I
offer you these pictures as evidence.
Friday, October 25, 2013
Friday, October 18, 2013
Testing an old adage

The trip to the river was filled with Sunday drivers who
apparently had mistaken Wednesday for that day. To make matters worse, I was
followed by an officer for 60 miles of the trip, meaning I couldn’t pass without
risking a ticket whose cost might surpass the price of my last fly rod.
I finally got to the river and headed straight for the falls
that blocks any upstream migration of fish. The river I was on is essentially a
steep canyon from its mouth to the falls and navigating the sometimes rocky,
sometimes clay-covered, always root-filled cliffs was difficult at best and
deadly at worst. One slip meant a fall to rocks 30 feet below or a raging river
now flowing at 500 cubic feet per second higher than it had been two days
earlier.
There were two anglers holding fly rods at the falls’ base
and I skidded my way down to see them. The spawn-sack-soaking pair was quick to
provide what I wanted to hear … the run had started late last week and was
definitely on. One of the gentlemen reported catching three kype-jawed brown
trout and one silvery coho. He also shared that he had seen several porpoising Chinooks
and I was starting to feel that all my scouting would finally pay off. I wished
the pair luck and headed downstream to find a spot to fish.
The first spot I chose, a large back eddy, was an obvious
location to fish as it had the remnants of a warming fire, a broken spinner and
an empty Rapala box strewn about. My indicator bounced in the current the first
two casts and, on the third one, it disappeared. I set the hook hard and in a
split second turned my favorite nine-foot, eight weight into an eight-foot six
inch model. The rod was no match for the bedrock which had taken my fly.
I recovered the top half of the rod thanks to the indicator
still on the line – the flies remain attached to Mother Earth – and walked back
to my truck to get a new rod. As I rigged my back-up, I realized that my wife
had been wrong every time I came home with a new fly rod. You truly can never
have enough rods.
Back on the river, I looked for a new spot and I chose
poorly. Again I should have seen it coming. The path to the Spartan shore had
everything required to create a disaster ... jagged rocks, wet clay and slippery
tree roots. I remember thinking, “I know I can get down there, but I hope I can
get out.” Sure enough the trip down went off without a hitch and soon I was
nymphing and casting flies into a narrow stretch of water that just had to hold
fish. (If it did, the fish weren’t at all cooperative or appreciative of my
efforts. I never had a grab.) After losing a few flies to the rocks, I
re-rigged and started to climb out. About half-way up the 30-foot slope, my foot slipped and I tumbled back down to the water’s
edge stopping, miraculously inches shy of the raging torrent. My rod had not
broken but my right ring finger was already swelling and turning that deep
purple color indicative of a broken bone.
I fished another hour, soaking my finger every few minutes
in the ice-cold water, before climbing back out of the gorge and calling it a
day. A few cold beers, a cheap cigar and a hot sauna on the shores of Lake
Superior helped me forget the day but left me wondering if that old adage, “a
bad day of fishing is better than a good day at work,” is actually true. On
Wednesday, it sure wasn’t.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Yes, I am superstitious
I have to believe that every fly angler is, to some degree,
superstitious and I am among those who believe that leaving your lucky shirt,
hat, rod or fly at home can spell disaster. Consider this story.
By last Wednesday, the rivers had finally dropped to
fishable levels following three inches of rain over the weekend. I was eager to
throw some streamers because post-flooding fishing can be (as one shop rat in
Montana once told me) “stupid good.” I
was about to hit the river in time to fish the last couple hours when I
realized my lucky shirt was back in camp. I was undeterred and jumped into the
water expecting to catch a fish on every cast.
When I walked back to the truck in the waning daylight, however, I found
myself on the receiving end of an ass-kicking by the fish as in I had been
skunked for the first time all year.
The next day I was on the same schedule, having spent the
day scouting waters that are now closed. I wandered down to the same river at
the same time with the same streamer except now I had my lucky shirt on my
back. The result? Stupid good fishing.
There are still some good days to be had on the water this
week and the fall colors remain brilliant in some parts of the U.P. But with snow
showers forecast for the weekend, it won’t be long before I will be hanging up my
lucky shirt in the cabin for the season (make that putting it in the back of my
truck) and that will be a sad day as it has been a tremendous year.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
A tale of two seasons

Early in the week, fish (especially big browns) were keyed
in on girdle bugs and copper johns. Later, when the cooler weather made its
appearance, streamers became the fly of choice and rainbows became much more
active. The fall colors made fishing a pleasure all week long as trees reached
their peak. From crimson maples to fiery oaks to orange aspens, the week was
one to remember.
One thing that still hasn’t shown (unless I missed it during
my road travel) is the fall salmon run. I scouted a river known to harbor a
good migration and saw no signs of the large fish. There were no fish (dead or
alive) in the water and no anglers chasing them. Perhaps the heavy rains will
change that picture. In the meantime, enjoy some more fall photos I posted on
our website.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)