40 Rivers To Freedom

I had made plans to fish the Battenkill Saturday morning, call it a day at around lunch time, go over to orvis to meet John Gierach, then head back to Albany to see The Black and White Years at the Tulip Festival.

Then I get an email from Geoff wanting to know if I wanna float another river in the morning, then head to the Battenkill around lunch time to wait for Hendricksons. He twisted my arm pretty good, and plans were made to rendezvous at 7am Saturday morning.

Though it was a nice float, the first river didn’t produce. We did float past a guy throwing worms on the bank who said he had caught five, while holding his hands far enough apart to almost make me think about despising him.

Onto the Battenkill

We got to the Battenkill and the water looked good. This was to be the canoe’s maiden voyage with Geoff’s new canoe outriggers he got for his birthday. They worked great! Geoff put all his weight on one side of the boat and still couldn’t get water to rush in over the side.

Now when you have a canoe like that, all decked out with outriggers, an anchor pulley, oarlocks, and comfy seats- you’d think you’d anchor it/tie it off well when parking it near shore to get out and wade fish.

I’m fishing about 50 yards upstream of Geoff when I hear a strange yell. I glance up and he’s running down the bank on the opposite side of the river- his canoe is slowly floating downstream in some deeper water.

“Shit!”

I take off downstream thinking we’ll both walk alongside it until it floats into an area shallow enough where one of us can wade out and grab it. I get down to the boat and Geoff(after putting my camera in video mode of course), just as Geoff rips his waders off, empties his pockets and jumps into the freezing cold water to swim after his boat.

I’m laughing my ass off.

All you see in the water is the Geoff’s head, (with his hat still on of course), gliding through the water until he reaches up and grabs the boat and gets it back to shore.

Oh, by the way- there was a shallow flat about 10′ downstream from where he caught up to the boat.

The water is still cold, high 40′s/low 50′s, so as Geoff is standing there soaked, so I’m thinking that’s the end of our day on the water. Geoff must have been a boy scout though, cause he had a change of clothes with him.

Fishing was tough. The Hendricksons never came, although there were a fair number of spinners trickling out of the trees to the river, along with a smattering of medium brown stoneflies, and the occasional olive. Not wanting to educate the fish more than we had to, I’d guess 90% of our time was standing on the bank watching for the duns that would never come, then watching for feeding fish after we realized the duns weren’t coming.

We were sitting on some big rocks where a lengthy riffle tails out into a long glassy pool. We saw a rise and Geoff was on it like white on rice. First cast through, the brown pictured below made a splashy attack on Geoff’s parachute hendi.

Afterwards, Geoff took a walk upstream, while I hung out watching the head of the pool. Probably about 30 minutes later, I hear a rise. “That was a good fish!”, I say to myself as I’m watching the rings get bigger, and bigger. I jump up and work my way down to it, trying to find a way to get within casting range of the fish when it comes up again in the same spot. Only problem is the water is too deep to get to it, so I start walking back up where I’m meet by Geoff. I’m trying to explain where the fish came up when it comes up again.

“Yeah, right there” I laughed

“That’s a good fish” Geoff says

We hop in the canoe and cross the river where I should be able to wade within range. It rises again when I’m at the edge of my casting range to it’s left, and about 30′ below it. I wade a little further up, and a little further out and drift a Hendi dry with trialing shuck over it.

Nothing.

I try a few more times, and switch to a spent spinner.

Nothing.

I try a few more times and switch to a parachute

Nothing.

It’s topped feeding so I decide to rest it and think about my options when Geoff, who meanwhile made his way upstream to another rising fish, is hooked up with what looks like a good fish. I back out of my position and sprint upstream along the bank to get the fight on video. It was a great fight, the Battenkill Brown even made a nice leap about 30′ out of the water, right outside the vision of my camera. As Geoff lifted the net out of the water you immediately see the girth of what I guesstimate to be about a 14″ fish.

He let it go, and I made my way back down, hoping the fish I was working before would be active again. I took it as a sign that this fish wanted a piece of me- when it rose just as I stopped to watch for a rise. I waded back into position and it rose again. This time I started out with a Rusty Spinner.

Nothing.

A few more casts and I decide to move a little bit further upstream, and a few steps closer so I could cast further above it.

It rises another 15′ upstream.

I move up and cast to it’s new postion.

Nothing.

I go back to the trailing shuck Hendrickson and wait for it to rise again. But the rise never comes. Thinking I may have waded to a spot to close for it’s comfort, I step back and rest it. About 5 minutes later, there’s another boil follwed by a Blurp! at it’s original position.

“Alright, Alex. It’s taking something just below the surface.” I say to myself

As I’m scanning my fly box, one pattern jumps out at me.

click for recipe

 

It’s Shane Stalcup’s “Stillborn Emerger”. A fly I’ve found that rides about 6″ below the surface when no floatant is applied.

 

“Fish!” Geoff yells from about 50 yards downstream. Except this time- I’m not moving. It’s not that I don’t wanna go down and help out. It’s that this fish is toying with me, and heading down to help Geoff might be seen as a sign of weakness.

 

Blurp!

 

I’m trying to get my tippet through the hook eye.

 

Blurp!

 

Still Trying

 

Blurp!

 

What the hell!

 

Blurp!

 

The hole isn’t obstructed

Blurp!

 

Maybe if I cut an inch of the tippet

 

Blurp!

 

The fish is now rising maybe 15′ in front of me

 

Blurp!

 

Maybe there is something in the eye

 

Blurp!

 

I clean out the eye with another hook

 

Blurp!

 

Damn, still won’t go

 

Blurp!

 

I need glasses

 

Blurp!

 

Come on!

 

Blurp!

Are you kidding me!

 

Blurp!

 

Finally!

 

Blurp!

 

I cast about 10′ above it and mend. The fly is under the surface, so I can’t see it as it is heading for the fish’s last known position. With no indicator, I quickly pull any slack out of the line, and follow the line with my rod tip. The line slowly drifts to about the right spot and I’m thinking I had another refusal as it drifts past the fish’s last known position.

I don’t remember a boil, but I think there was one. All I recall is slowly lifting the rod up and feeling several violent head shakes, followed by Geoff’s,”Yeeeeaaaaahhhhhh!”, a few yards behind me.

Even though I have a spool, I’ve never fished with 6X before. More out of refusing to go below 5X than anything. But I ran out of 5X earlier and was forced to go with the 6X. Not knowing what it can handle, I start feeding the fish line as it runs.

“Don’t feed it line, fight it!” Geoff says

“I got 6X on” I say

Every bone in my body tells me I’m gonna lose this fish, and for some reason I’m okay with that. I’m just pumped that I finally fooled it. As the fight continues, I get more and more comfortable with the light tippet and get some control over the fish.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget seeing that fish as the net came out of the water. I couldn’t help myself as I lifted it out of the net after removing the hook.

“Wow!” I said

What a great fish, I couldn’t keep my eyes off it. I held it’s nose to my first stripping guide and mentally noted where it’s tail came to on the cork so I could get a semi-close measurement the next time I was around a tape measure. I admired it for a few more seconds, it made a quick thrash, and swam away.

Then I got home and had the perfect end to a perfect day

 

 

 

 

“Of course, the solution to all of this is pretty clear. I am sure all these magazines are dying for content, you clearly think you can do it better, step up and write a piece.”- comment from Lance

Here goes. This is my attempt at a destination type article that doesn’t sound like the rest of the destination articles out there.

[attempt]

Despite all that has been written about it, even it’s most frequent visitors have yet to pry away many of the secrets northern Michigan’s Au Sable River protects as it makes it’s 129 mile journey from north of Grayling, Michigan, into Lake Huron.

I lived within minutes of it’s gentle flow for nine years and never set foot in it until a spur of the moment decision one mid November morning to retire my Ugly Stik and Hula Poppers in favor of fly gear. It was a decision based more on trying to break through the intimidation of fly fishing, than about wanting to take advantage of all the area had to offer coldwater anglers. It’s a decision that ultimately lead to what will likely be a life long passion for the craft- and love for the Au Sable.

“I guess I’m moving to New York”, I said to Rusty Gates, after hovering over the book shelves for about a half an hour in the back of Gates Au Sable Lodge. A shop that sits on the south bank of the Au Sable only a few feet downstream from Stephan’s Bridge. Since the place I had worked for had shut down a 5 months before, a handsome severance check had allowed me to pass through it’s doors almost daily.

“Why?” Rusty asked.

“I don’t know!” I laughed.
“I got a job offer in Albany. Looks like I start in 3 weeks.”

Before asking me about the job, I could see thoughts running through Rusty’s head, wondering how anyone could live without the Au Sable as part of their daily routine.

“It’ll suck to leave, but I guess there’s descent fishing out there.” I said. I think I was still just as much trying to convince myself the move was a good idea, as I was trying to convince him I really thought it was.

“Besides, there’s an AuSable out there, too.” I said, pronouncing it the same as we pronounced our Au Sable. “Except they spell it with no space between the u and s.”

Almost before the s came out of my mouth, Rusty said,

“Their AuSable is pronounced O sabel, not Aww Soble. Their is only one Aww Soble.”

Nearly two years later, the words there is only one Aww Soble still ring through my ears daily as I sit at work, daydreaming about past trips between it’s banks- anticipating my return.

Main Stream

My first experience fishing the Au Sable(actually my second, but you don’t want to hear about a mid February skunking) was just below Loud Dam. It was Memorial weekend and I was running a little early to pick up a friend for what would be my first time fishing for trout with a fly rod. There was a small access where I fished for panfish and bass to kill 20 minutes. A couple small rock bass later, I picked up Steve and we headed upstream to Mio. This area of the river from the Mio Dam downstream is dubbed, “The Trophy Waters”. Unlike the upper river, it’s big, fast water best fished from a boat. There are a few wadable areas, and we intended to fish one such stretch about a 5 minute drive downstream where we would meet up with Bob.

First, we stopped at Linsenman’s Au Sable Angler Fly Shop in Mio to get a few odds and ends. I hadn’t intended on it, but with a great selection of streamers in the fly bins, I picked up a couple Zoo Cougars and we headed out.

As we pulled into the parking lot, there was a guy with camera in hand, standing over a fish he just landed.

“Is that Bob?” I asked

“I don’t know, it kinda looks like him” Steve said

We hopped out of the car just as Bob was releasing a small hatchery rainbow back into the stream.

There were bugs everywhere,to this day, probably the biggest sulpher hatch I’ve ever witnessed. After bumming a dry from Steve, Bob pointed out a small pod of rising fish to me on the opposite side of the river. It wasn’t really that I needed the help finding a riser, they were everywhere. I think Bob was just excited to help someone. It only took me about 8 false casts to snap the fly off. I waded up to Steve to embarrassingly bum another fly( I still couldn’t tie dries) before Bob put me back on some fish and after missing a couple strikes I landed my first trout.

A couple hours, and about 25 fish later, I waded upstream into a small side channel. Unlike the main river, there were almost no bugs coming off, so I tied on one of the Zoo Cougars from Linsenman’s shop. Unable to cast it more than 20′, I started just stripping out a bunch of line, letting the fly drift downstream, then stripping it back in. The second time through, I had my first streamer caught trout, a 16″ rainbow that hit the fly so hard, over the following months, my trout box morphed from a small assortment of bugs to a smorgasborg of baitfish imitations. I ran down to tell Steve about the fish, and after getting the story out, he told me about a Brown pushing 30″ that swarmed through the flat he was on trying to pick up one of the 8″ stocked bows. That was when I learned that the streamer fishing was supposed to be excellent in the Trophy Water stretch, unfortunately though, I never got to float it.

As the day came to an end, Steve and I sat on the bank watching the water for the elusive Brown Drake. I didn’t know what a Brown Drake was yet, but from hearing stories of the blanket hatches they provide during the first week of June, it sounded like a hatch I wanted to experience. They never came, so I gave Steve a lift back to his cabin downstream.

On the way, he told stories from fishing the river over the past 20 years. Some of which included the Steelhead runs below Foote Dam. As I listened, it hit me that it must be tough for guys like Steve to think back on the good ol’ days considering the current Steelhead runs on not just the Au Sable, but on most Lake Huron tribs, have almost become nearly non existent over the past few seasons due to a bait fish crash.

I didn’t fish the Au Sable many more times over the rest of that first season, instead focusing on other streams in the area. But for some reason, as the following winter progressed, the Au Sable and some of it’s stretches open to year round fishing pulled me out of hibernation.

It was sometime in February of ’06 when I saw there was supposed to be a day or two with temps above freezing. I had heard from other guys in the area that dredging heavily weighted streamers would be about my best bet for a mid winter trout in the C&R stretch dubbed, “The Holy Waters”. Honestly though, I had little hope to actually catch a fish there. It was a big surprise to see my line stop half way through it’s drift. I landed the Brown, got one of those pictures where the fly line is running right through the middle of the frame, and let it go. I wasn’t really sure how long it was, but I guessed about 14″-16″.

Towards the end of the month, I meet a couple guys from the Headwaters Chapter of TU at one of their tying nights. I mentioned that I usually don’t catch too many fish and was quickly invited by the chapter president to come wade a stretch with him throwing streamers. We waded from the “Guide’s Rest” access point down to Stephan Bridge.

“Nice day to take a walk, huh?” John asked about halfway through the trip. Moments later, he was stripping his olive/black streamer along a log when a 25″ class rainbow blew up on it. I was about 30 yards upstream when it happened. Water exploded, John’s arms shot up in the air, and just as quickly as it all started, it was over.

“Good one?” I asked, but the expression on John’s face told me everything I needed to know. We finished up, and Rusty invited us in for a bowl of venison chili.

Now chili is always good, but NOTHING hits the spot better on a cold northern Michigan day like a good bowl of venison chili! We hung out for about an hour upstairs, BS’ing, watching “Big” on TV. Before we headed out, John invited me to fish with him again the next day from Stephans Bridge down to the next access.

“I caught a pretty little Brown Trout on that stretch a month or so ago!” I said

“Oh yeah, where at?” John asked

“Ya know the run just below that island? Just below that. I’m not sure how big it was, but I figured it was about 14″-16″ ”

John interrupted

“It was 16″, I caught that same fish in January” he laughed

North Branch

A couple weeks later I got my first pair of breathable waders, but needed wading boots. A friend had a pair he couldn’t use anymore due to diabetes related foot problems so I stopped by his house and picked them up. Afterwards we hit a spot on the North Branch of the Au Sable. It wasn’t a long hike in, maybe by Michigan standards, but it was enough that his feet were bothering him before they even got wet. This guy was one of us, he lived to chase fish with the fly rod.

It was a beautiful Spring day, the snow pack was pretty much melted. There were small BWO’s coming off with the occasional Early Black Stonefly dive bombing the surface as we worked our way upstream. After about 50 yards he had to stop and rest his feet. We sat on the bank of the river and checked out each other’s fly boxes, this guy could tie. 10 minutes later we started working further upstream. We got about 25 more yards before the day’s first wave of Hendricksons started popping. It was beautiful. I was amazed that the river, which seemed to be void of life moments before, was suddenly alive with rising fish. I’ll never forget the colors on my first Brookie.

After releasing the fish, I looked downstream towards Kevin. He was sitting on a log doing his best to fish the hatch. It was a bittersweet moment. Here I was on one of the premier ecosystems in the US, in the middle of one of one of the most enjoyable hatches of the year, catching beautiful fish left and right. Yet it was a little sad to see a man who had so much passion for what we were doing, and who wanted to do it so badly, unable to do it.

It’s a bad pic, this fish was about 12″-13″(There’s a #6 Muddler in it’s mouth)

I meet him halfway after he tried to make his way up to me.

“I gotta head home, my feet are bothering me pretty bad.”
I offered to help him back to his truck
“Naww, I’ll be okay”

That was the last time I ever saw him. I tried to get in touch with him a couple times since, but he just kind of disappeared. I hope he’s doing alright.

I hope the day never comes when I can’t do what I love.

I couldn’t help but feel excited on the drive home. The North Branch’s hatches are usually about two weeks ahead of the main stream’s. That meant there should be main stream Hendricksons on the general trout opener the last Saturday of the month.

South Branch

Not much has been written about the Au Sable that doesn’t mention the mid June Hexagenia limbata hatch. But I must be honest.

It’s highly over rated.

Yes the fish go nuts for them, but that’s only if you’re lucky enough to catch the first few nights the spinners fall on a given stretch. After that, it’s almost like the fish feel how you do after eating leftover meatloaf for a week- kinda sick of eating meatloaf.

My first experience trying to find the elusive spinner fall left me with a dead car battery several miles from the main road- and about another half mile off the Mason Tract- the main two track that parallels the South Branch of the Au Sable. There was no cell signal, so I started a midnight walk out to the main road where I hoped I could get a couple bars on the screen.

The wife wasn’t happy to get that call.

The next year I went back to the same spot for my first try at catching one of those magical first spinner falls of the hatch. When I walked back to my car, a new bug had passed the sulpher as my favorite hatch, but it wasn’t the Hex.

I got down to the river around 6:30pm and sat on the bank to wait for twilight when, hopefully, the big bugs would start their mating swarm. I sat on the bank watching rise after rise to Isonychia bicolor duns. Intent on waiting for the Hex, my rod sat up against a small cedar for two hours before I just couldn’t take it anymore. I untied my hex imitation and tied on a downwing Adams before wading in below one of the more active fish. My first South Branch brown was a beautiful fish, one I’ll never forget.

It was pretty much dark out as I watched it swim away, yet the birds were chirping more loudly than ever. I looked up and something was clumsily flying over the water that looked like a cross between a spider and a helicopter. I tied my spent hex back on and stood motionless at the tail of a small bend pool tucked between two shallow riffles. The sky went black, and the fish started turning back on.

It’s crazy how much bigger fish sound, when rising in the dark. I heard sounds that night that even to this day have me wondering if it’s really safe to wade that river without a shotgun.

Debris

You have to understand- all hatches on the Au Sable system are near epic. It’s just wrong for one river to have so many truly great hatches. Caddis hatches so thick you can’t breath. So many White Flies in the air that if it wasn’t for the 70º air temps, you’d swear it was snowing. Tornado-like clouds of Tricos on the North Branch- and everything in between. Like all fish with easy access to an all you can eat buffet of bugs, they can be pretty particular about what they put in their mouth.

Speaking of putting stuff in your mouth, there’s a small pub in downtown Grayling called, “Spikes Keg O’ Nails”. If someone makes a better burger, I haven’t tasted it yet.

Anyways, despite great hatches and great habitat from a bygone logging era, fishing can be tough. These fish have all day to check out your offering, no, not all day- they’ve got all week. Add moderate to heavy fishing pressure on some of the more accessible stretches, and you have a recipe for what can become very technical fishing.

It’s not the hatches, or the burgers, or the fish, or the cedar swamps that I miss most though. It’s the area in general.

For the most part, it’s still wild.

Here in the northeast, you’ve gotta put some miles on your boots to get away from it all, but not in northern Michigan. Even on a river as widely known as the Au Sable, it’s nothing to go all day without seeing signs of civilization. On the days I spent on the South and North Branches my final season before moving, I saw more deer than houses and more mink than people. Even during the opener and the big drake hatches, it was easy to find seclusion.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t shed a few tears as I drove the UHaul over the river on the way to New York. Every bone in my body screamed to turn around. After 5 months of near daily visits with her that final year in Michigan, we were just starting to get to know each other. Sometimes, I can tell the rivers out here are a little jealous as I fish them. They know I’m usually thinking about a place 800 miles away.

[/attempt]

I’m sure a more talented writer could do something more creative, but this is just the first way to write it differently that popped into my head. I understand people want to have a sense that they know what they’re doing, and what to expect when they visit a place for the first time. I get that. But what have you accomplished by going to a new area and being successful when you had all the answers handed to you? It’s just like most things in life- the more you put into something, the more you get out of it. Still, I think I did an alright job of giving away some basic info on the area, it’s hatches, etc. I could have written more( I should have said something about fishing the river in a traditional Au Sable River Boat), but if you read between the lines, you’ll see that there’s more there than meets the eye- even some stuff a lot of locals don’t know…

Getting skunked is something we’ve all experienced, probably more than we’d like to admit. I’ve got a slightly different definition of getting skunked than most guys. In my eyes, getting a fish to at least make an attempt to eat my fly is better than it being ignored all day. So whether I get the hook set or not, it counts for something.

Getting skunked to me are those days when you’d swear there was no living creature in the water you just covered. You make cast after cast, drift after drift, retrieve after retrieve, and nothing happens.

The more time I spend doing this fishing thing, the less of those days I get to experience. I guess it’s a sign I’m either getting better, or maybe, I’m just getting better at putting myself in the right place at the right time.

For some reason, irony always has to show it’s sense of humor…

The more times I can get out, the better a fisherman I’ll become. Yet at the same time, the more times I get out, the more times I’m going to experience a good skunking.

Kinda funny, isn’t it?

Some guys make excuses for why they didn’t catch fish.

“It rained in Mexico last week.”

Some guys go into denial, and just tell lies.

“I couldn’t keep em off my line!”

Some guys blame the spot

“This spot sucks! I told you we shouldn’t have come here!”

I’m one of those guys that blame my gear when the frustration gets to be more than I can handle. Not so much my rod, my line, my leader, or that kinda stuff.

It’s always my fly’s fault.

Which is probably why I spend most of my time at the vise after a good skunking. I’ll obsess over the smallest details. You know, the stuff that really doesn’t matter to the fish so much as it matters to the fisherman.

I’ve got fat hendricksons, skinny Hendricksons, different color variation Hendricksons. Hendricksons that sit low in the film, that sit on the film, and that sit high in the film. Downwings, spent wings, parachutes, catskill wings, duck wings, synthetic wings, and triple wings. Hendricksons with eyes, Hendricksons without eyes. Hennies with an egg sac, Hennies without an egg sac. Don’t even get me started on trailing shucks. And of course, they’ve all got to be tied in 4 different sizes. Once I’ve got all my bases covered, I’m pumped. No way I’m getting skunked the next time I go out- cause I’ll have the fly they want.

Somehow though, the fish know what I’ve got up my sleave.

I know this because the next time I go out, they’ve got a new favorite- the one variation I didn’t think about. The compara-sparkle-cripple-half spent-egg sac-spinner with a touch of lime green in the thorax-Hendrickson-that sits just off the film- in a size smaller than they’re supposed to exist.

Back to the vise…