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by Matt on Wednesday 7th of January 2009 01:12:50 PM
It had been a cold December in Michigan when the weather finally broke in early January. The rivers received some much needed water to replish the water level. With more cold weather in the near future, my brother and I decided work was not a good idea on this particular Wednesday. Shortl after sunrise, we had the hour and half drive to one of our favorite steelhead streams. It was a balmy 16 degrees when we reached the river at 9 am. We considered stopping at our parent's home, who live only a short drive from the river, until the temps rose a few degrees. But once we saw the river, the decision was made to brave the cold and fish. The level and clarity was near perfect.
It really wasn't that bad, although the increasing breeze put a sting into any exposed skin. Not sure what the windchill was but my best guess is "cold". We blazed a path through the fresh snow as we headed for one of our favorite pools. Once I stepped into the icy current, I knew we had made the right decision. It just felt right and there had to be a hungry steelhead holding in this pool.
The cold quickly vanished when my brother was able to land a skipper on the first cast. We weren't sure if it was a sign of things to come or the curse of the first cast. After picking up a couple trout a piece, I set the hook into something heavy but it would only last a few seconds. Winter steelheading in northern Michigan can be tough. Many days you are lucky to get one bite, and when you blow that one chance, it can linger on your mind. Three casts later, while still annoyed with myself for a poor hookset, the indicator would dip again. It was near the end of my drift and I felt the rod load as she grabbed. Before I could lift the rod, she immediately launched herself into the air and I saw the tell tale white belly of a fresh steelhead. This girl was hot. She made quick runs across the pool ending each one with another ariel show. She tried hard to reach the wood below the surface, but the 10 1/2" 6/7 weight switch rod was too much for her. All in all, she would leave the water 6 times before giving up. We both laughed in excitement as my brother slide his hand up under the belly revealing her heavy girth. She was easily over 10 lbs and taped at 31". A fine Michigan steelhead.
We didn't care what happened after that. Our day was already made. Over the next two hours we would lose a couple more brief hookups with steelhead and land a few more trout. Every fish that we could confirm came on a nymph. The Bear's hex and grizzly hex did the majority of the damage.
It was another great day spent on the river with my brother. We only saw one other angler who packed it in shortly after arriving. Apparently it was too cold. The fishing was good, the scenery was awesome and the company was even better. I can't wait to do it again.
by Matt on Saturday 20th of December 2008 10:01:07 PM
Fly Life is about a life with fly fishing...well, sort of. Fly fishing to me is not a hobby or a sport. Fly fishing is something that defines who I am. It is about the places it takes me, the camaraderie with others, the people I meet along the way and the fish that give me a brief glimpse into their existence.
I have casted a fly in many places throughout Michigan's Upper and Lower Penninsula. Some waters are new to me and others are waters with special place in my heart. Waters I have known for years with a rich tradition. The fish from these waters are special. Some bring new memories with others remind me a fish past. Two such rivers are the Ontonagon River and Au Sable River.
Both are rivers I have a long standing tradition with. Many hours can be spent retelling stories of fish past. Some caught, some lost. Each one frozen in time like it happened the day before. I see some of those fish when I close my eyes at night. There are trout that haunt me such as the Carp Brown. The Carp Brown received his name because I thought it was a large carp when it first appeared behind my streamer from a dark pocket. That is until I saw the bright scarlet dots on her flank. She grabbed, things turned violent, and then as quickly as it started...my line went limp. Time seemed to stand still. It left me wondering what could have been. While she will haunt me as long the memory exist, I know experiences like this will keep me coming back.
There also vivid memories that bring a smile to my face. One such fish made her mark on a cold, snowy day on the Pere Marquette River. On a whim, my younger brother and I decided to "forget to go to work". You will see this as a reocurring theme on Fly Life. I will touch on this story another day and tell it in full detail. For now, I pause as my mind wanders back to that day.
Fly Life in a sense will be an ongoing journal filled with stories as they happen as well as stories from the past. They maybe the occasional fly pattern and technique from time to time. If this is something that interest you, feel free to follow along. If not, I wish you well on your way.
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