Brule 22. Our PB & J

   In 2008 I hired a guide and fly fished for the first time, falling in love with fly fishing, doing something that's kept me humble, taken me on adventures, introduced me to so many nice people, and given me joy. My guide also became my mentor and a great friend.

   I re-hired him in June 2017 to repeat that Wisconsin Bois Brule River guided trip of June 2008. "Can you drift that dry under that overhanging Cedar?" Yes, now I can. "Keep doing it...Again." Bam! Then finesse a 22" brown trout, attempting to keep my excitement in check, so my guide, mentor, and friend Ouitdee of Arrowhead Fly Angler could hand-land OUR personal best Brule River native brown on that lovely river of presidents!

   PB&J. Personal Best & Joy.

2 Days at Musky Immersion Camp: The WI-MN Diaries continued

Fighting the fly.

Musky Camp Facts:  They can put you on to musky, but only you can stop your trout setting; names of rivers are changed or forgotten to ensure there will be musky to attack flies of future musky campees; there may or may not be s'mores, but do not expect to ever get hungry at camp (unless it is to fish for musky); this camp ain't for bed/boat-wetting kiddies; it's not just the camp leaders that are allowed to enjoy Adult Beverages while telling scary tales of toothy critters around a campfire. Sometimes the Camp Boss acts a little crusty, but he's been doing this so long he's become half-musky! Listen up when he gives pointers, and your odds of mugging for pictures with one of the big toothy girls will increase.

Brad Bohen is the head of Musky Country Outfitters (MCO), based out of Winter, WI. While Brad (BB) has been guiding clients to musky and mentoring younger guides for years, he is also the creator of the Buford, a fly largely made of bucktail that is the most well-known and likely still the most prolifically fished fly for musky.

Brad was also the Camp Boss, the dreams-to-reality guy who is making a musky immersion camp come to life. Classified as human hamsters by BB, we are also known as: Russ the comedian (or Russell the Love Muscle, First-Cast Russ); the ever-smiling and adventuresome Mike and Kelly, a white-water canoeing couple; the water acrobat Brian Bergeson, another fly-tier extraordinaire who lies awake at night thinking about fish; Cory, who taught his son Nick to fish and now that son, a guide, is teaching Cory to fly fish; TFO rep Patrick, our Chronic Fatigue Superhero who also managed to musky fish before breakfast, after supper, then during the day when everyone else fished; and me (Last-Cast Lisa, Twitch), skillful strip-setter of logs and rocks whose vocabulary is reduced to "Son-of-a-bitch!" when boffing a musky strike.

The musky immersion 3-day test camp was based at MCO headquarters on the outskirts of Winter on the Flambeau River. During the online invite, I'd communicated to BB that I may only be able to do 2-2.5 days as my lesser-known nickname is Queen of Tendinitis and five days of pike fishing was preceding musky camp. BB still extended the welcome. Ultimately, I headed out after 2 days of musky fishing, not getting to partake in some of the unique offerings of this immersion camp. Other than fishing for musky in a drift boat, a skiff, and on foot, those who wanted to could have the opportunity to row a drift boat, to have casting lessons, and polish their fly-tying skills, possibly even using some of BB's Primo Tail line of material.  

Lunch on the river.

What my time in camp did offer was lodging, all breakfasts and lunches, and most suppers also provided by MCO. I musky hunted by skiff and on foot (AKA musky golf). I could use the guide's or my rods or trial a TFO-supplied rod. I used both my flies and guide flies. Most importantly, Brad, with his guide crew, provided a strong guiding experience. While I have fished for Northwoods Wisco musky many times, the MCO crew still managed to put me on unfamiliar waters, in a beautiful environment, in consistently strong musky habitat.

With some misgivings, I had elected to leave camp without the smell of musky on my hands. However, while wade fishing "Falling Down River" on my final day, I'd had a strong follow on a Brian Bergeson fly and had also missed a musky strike on my own fly not 6 feet from me. Son of a bitch!! The sweet and young Austin was my primary guide on that most memorable day. While not having Brad's years of guiding experience, Austin still had a strong familiarity with the river and its finned inhabitants, and he displayed a natural ability to communicate succinctly where and how he wanted me to fish particular stretches of water. He was attentive and polite, but innately knew when to let me do my own thing for a while. Overall, I was impressed with Brad's young crew, also including Jeff and Nick. While I smiled at the 20-something young mens' usual fly-fishing-dude banter, these guys were simply polite and nice --the kind of enthusiastic people it makes you feel good to hire. We were also photographed and interviewed by Brad's bro, Keaton, who was doing some PR work for Brad during the camp.

Austin, left, Russ, and Brian.

By fishing that day with my fellow human hamsters, Brian and Russ, the day was already guaranteed to be fun. They were more about getting me into fish than wanting musky for themselves, and their selflessness and generosity made the day much more memorable.  Brian often fished behind us or would poke around in side channels, finding musky on the path less traveled. While Russ severely limited his fishing (he really wanted to see others get into fish), his pheromones were so fishy, he caught 2 more musky that day within 45 minutes of each other, and the first one came to his first cast on the inside bend of a large hole.

The first day, Russ and I had gone fishing with BB on the "SW Fork of the NE WhatsItsName River". The water was fishy, really fishy. But there were a few special stretches where you'd turn and look and turn look and turn and look again, and simply not see water that a musky would shun. The musky snubbed me here, but they loved Russ. His stripping skills enticed three musky to the fly and the gal he got in the boat was in her 40's and angry. It was a musky that thrilled us all. Russ' happy musky dance was, if not a thrill, at least entertaining.

I know that the MCO crew had also gotten Kelly into a nice musky, and there was a picture on day 3 of her husband Mike mugging with a musky. I also believe that Pat had gotten into musky and smb, and Cory had a strike from a bigger musky. While I don't know the official Esox masquinongy tally, they visited every angler attending the MCO camp. Fly anglers left camp tired but happy, well-fed, having made new friends, and with great stories to tell. I bet when we were kids none of us ever knew that an adult camp could be so much more fun.

Let the musky fest begin!

Russ keeping his cool.

Wisconsin river musky getting pissed.

Brad nets the musky for Russ.

Russ's laser focus gives way to a brief happy dance!

Russ and a Wisconsin Northwoods musky.

Final pictures prior to a safe release.

A much-deserved manshake between friends.

NO MORE WORDS - MUSKY DON'T CARE ~ The WI-MN Diaries (Part 8, Oct. 20-24, 2014)

   “Stop going through the motions.  I know it’s a hard day but you gotta put some life into that fly …and you’ve got an excuse for everything I say.”


                                                ouch.


   Those recent comments from a friend reminded me of a short conversation from years ago.  Back in the college days –my early 20s- I asked my fiancé one of the silly questions that men dread to answer.  “Does my butt look big?”  His reply that I will never forget:  “Lisa, I love you just the way you are, but you are a little out of proportion.”  I still consider that response to be one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.  I got back into shape.

Mentor
   Whether it’s about physique, fishing, or something else…  To take the risk in a relationship, to trust that the questioning person really wants the truth, and to be the one to provide that eye-opening answer takes guts.  It’s a likely oddity, but sometimes I’m so surprised by what I learn that I forget to remember it and apply it.  Years ago, I told the same fishing friend that I wanted him to smack me upside the head to get me to listen- if that was what needed to be done.  Either it took a while for him to believe I meant it or maybe I just fished that poorly during this recent trip, but after the initial shock and mortification evoked by his words wore off, I actually felt a stronger appreciation for our friendship.  When it mattered, he simply gave to me what I had asked of him in a way that really made me listen. 

The Path Less Traveled
   “You should fire that fly”, I was told.  Maybe that particular fly, but I stubbornly fished it a little longer.  That white fly, despite being a fly that moved with a little wiggle but mostly like a stick with a marabou tail, had had a couple follows and a strike when I fished alone the previous day.  These flies, originally tied by Rich McElligott, are great bass flies, but I threw some estrogen into the recipe, added 5/0 hooks and they became musky flies.  I think if they could, the popular fur, feather, big profile, articulated, testosterone flies would bully these inexpensive, quick-to-tie, yarn and marabou flies.  I think other anglers might similarly snub them, requiring that the nerd flies hook up twice as many musky prior to proving their worth.  I tied up a couple for my Wisconsin, 5-day musky fishing trip.

   Funny thing, though, I think that some of the time (spring, early summer) these hopped-up versions of a Shannon’s Fly could out-perform traditional, artistically-rendered musky flies.  When the tail is wrapped with just the right amount of tension –the tricky part- the action of the nerd fly is amazing.  It zigs, it zags.  It looks like an injured baitfish struggling on & just below the water’s surface.  

   On day 4 of my trip, I fished my variegated version of this fly on new water.  I did have a couple follows when initially fishing a more traditional fur/feather pattern of mine called BB’s Forage, but the follows, no matter how exciting, weren’t strikes.  I switched to the variegated fly and cast to a steep drop-off near the bank.  After a few strips, fish on!  Following a decent fight, I landed my only musky during a trip that had been graced with musky follows and strikes to both traditional and non-traditional flies.  Despite some laughable esox-angler antics at the watery landing zone, the 36-inch long musky with a surprisingly narrow head was safely released.  I yelled and whooped it up under the drizzling, clouded sky of a beautiful October day.

   To grow and be the best fly fisher one can be, it is necessary to be open-minded and willing to learn from others.  However, it’s also important to balance this with acting on one’s own thoughts even if they don’t follow the norm.  Under particular circumstances –often pertaining to big fish opportunities- I ask myself, “Will I regret this if I don’t do it?”  When the answer has been “Yes”, I’ve done it & now have a surprising number of memorable smallie, trout, and musky stories.

   My fly fishing recipe to success includes learning from others, learning from myself, exploring the path less traveled, and practice.  Ironic, but when I strike out on my own and am finding success by my own hand, what others have taught me becomes vitally active in my mind.  While I might find success on the path less traveled to be more satisfying, I can’t honestly say that I’ve ever landed a fish in solitude without the help of my angling friends.  And, by the way, when I haven’t technically found success, I’ve still learned something and generally enjoyed the journey.  I’m betting that anyone who is passionate about fly fishing & the outdoors understands this.

If You Keep Doing What You’ve Always Done…
   …you’re going to get what you’ve always gotten.  When fishing, I often mumble this to myself.  Usually, it comes after a couple of mild cuss words or a “Dangnabbit!”  I really try not to cuss but those “duh” moments that occur when fishing tend to set me off for a few seconds.  I have mini fisher-tantrums.  

   I can only imagine how a guide or helpful friend feels after coaching the angler, again and again, how to do something differently & more effectively, only to have the angler continue to do what he/she has always done, despite that angler’s best or nonexistent efforts to change.

   And so that was the way it was during my 2nd full day of the October musky fishing trip.  I’d spent that day with a friend, who is sort of a “Professor Musky”. Ironic, but I think this was the first time I came relaxed, well-rested and prepared, compared to other whirlwind fishing outings with this man.  And it was possibly my worst day of fly casting for musky.

   It struck me that all of the tight quarters, small water casting I’d been doing for smallies, salmon, and even musky during the previous 4 months had unknowingly bred some bad casting habits in me.  I was still having trouble mastering a couple basic skills when using a musky rod versus a trout rod.  At times, I was embarrassed.  He coached.  He repeated himself.  I questioned and casted.  He repeated himself.  I debated things.  I tried to understand and change my bad habits.  He coached, and I took deep breaths & practiced new techniques.  I had a beer.  He did not.  He’s never taken a beer with me until a musky has been boated.  We grew more silent.          

   Other than a few crows, all of land, sky, and water appeared barren of life.  The absolute best I can say for myself is that I strip-set the heck out of the snags I got.  If one had been a strike, the fish would have been mine.  But there weren’t any strikes.  It was just one of those days; hope for a miracle.  At one point, I realized that the fun was feeling more like work, & likely for both of us.  Whether true or not, I sensed that my friend was becoming bored & my spirits waned.  I didn’t give up.  I never give up, but…

   But that is when he said what he said, “Stop going through the motions.  I know it’s a tough day but you’ve got to put some life into that fly…”

Enough!  The Musky Don’t Care
   “…and you’ve got an excuse for everything I say.”  So, I livened up the fly and I think the shock of his words shut down my mouth.  I was glum and irritated, but after a few minutes that changed.  He was right about my fishing, but was he right about everything?  Had I been offering excuses or reasons to my failings following his instruction?  Both?

   Then, I realized that it didn’t matter.  The musky don’t care.  They don’t care why the angler chokes on a back cast or why a fly is presented in a particular manner.  They don’t care!  What the musky cares about is if the object in front of it either looks like a suitable meal or looks like a threat. It doesn’t care how or why the object appears, it just has be there and look the part to elicit an attack.  

   My friend, he thinks like em.  Reasons & excuses are the same to him and he doesn’t care. He cares about the outcome of the cast & if the fly presents like a meal or a threat.  He cares that I catch fish and he cares that I want to become a better angler.  So, he did everything he could do for me on an exceptionally challenging day of fishing.  That’s a friend I’ll fight to keep.  Strip-set!!

No More Words
   When I started fly fishing, throughout all of the snags, knots, failed attempts to hook a fish, & despite the embarrassment of believing a shiner was a different strain of trout simply because it came from a “trout stream”… I could still sense how good it would feel to have just enough skill to cast to and land a couple fish.  Funny, but I truly knew what the pleasure would feel like before I felt it.  That’s what kept me going.  Then, the instruction, intermittent practice, and a fair amount of fishing time improved my skills to where they are today.  

   To be completely honest, I’d place myself at the lower half of average when it comes to overall fly fishing ability.  But now there are the occasional glorious days when I sense how good it would feel to consistently fish as a better-than-average angler.  

   At this time, guides and friends can’t do much more to push me off my angling plateau & up to that next level of fly fishing.  Instruction alone won’t take me farther.  Excuses certainly won’t do it.  Thanks in part to friends, I now know what needs to be done yet I’m the only one who can finish the job.  Only work –consistent practice- will take me to the next level & to yet another path less traveled.  I'd like to go there.  I think that's where one finds the big musky.  ~Twitch (11/24/2014)

Something Unforgettable on the Musky Trail Lurked, Waiting for Us ~ The WI-MN Diaries (Part 7, Sept. 12-13, 2013)

   The first thing I heard was “Davis!!”  In Wisconsin, place of musky and monikers, I knew something was up.  BB usually calls me ‘Twitch’, an apt title for a jumpy gal.  My first image was of his tall, lean figure & in his hands a flexing fly rod -bent toward the midsection by something unseen at the end of a taut line.  

   

  
    He yelled, “I’ve got one and it’s a big one!”  On cue, the musky jumped from the water and both man and esox were framed by a backdrop of frothy, Chippewa River current.  He played that big gal, drawing her toward calmer water near the bank, but then she made a final run & I watched the angler take off after her, running along a skinny, steeply-pitched path of riverbank.  In a calm bed of water, slightly short of breath, the man hunkered over the musky & asked if I was ready.  I was.  He hoisted up that fish, saying it was the biggest musky (including girth) he’d ever caught.  

   I took two pictures of my friend and his toothy victory.  Squirming free of his hands, the musky hit the water & BB’s de-barbed fly, the single-hooked, articulated ‘Bohen 747’, landed 2 feet away.  His girl was gone.  BB was trembling.

   

   Overlooking the river, we shared a rock and a couple of celebratory Leinie’s in their throwback 1940’s gold cans.  He shared his happiness –no, euphoria- with me.  He relived the fight, talking about the jumps of the black-backed musky & how she jetted the sinking line from the water.  He estimated her length at 50 inches & told me she’d felt like 40 pounds in his hands.  He asked if I remembered what he’d said when we first approached that section of the river:  “Be ready, right here one of us could land the biggest musky you will ever see…”   

 I’ve known Hayward, Wisconsin’s Brad Bohen, AKA ‘BB’ or the ‘Afton Angler’, since Chicago’s Great Waters Fly Fishing Expo in 2009.  On the final day I laid down cash for what became my favorite overall rod, my first 10wt.  I also met a lot of anglers, many who remain acquaintances and some who became friends.  Brad Bohen, head guide of the then virgin Musky Country Outfitters, was the first person to speak at length with me.  He also coached me on the casting floor.  On Columbus Day of that year, I hired him.  After a brutally quiet-water day, nearest to dark when colors shifted to shades of grey, I very happily held my first esox in my hands.  Brad took pictures & I beamed.  It was a pike not a musky, but on a day when one fished from morning until dark & sensed that all species of fish had ceased to exist, the flush of victory was felt.  Brad had said if I landed a fish I could keep the fly.  BB’s Angry Minnow was mine!

    

   We’ve hit the water a couple more times as guide/client and have plied the waters with other musky friends as well.  However, I’ve spent more time watching the world record holder of the 51.25” musky on a fly manning the oars for others than casting a fly rod.  So, I was very happy with BB’s recent invitation to his Musky Lab and a couple days of Northwoods-style fly fishing. 

   

   On September 12, 2013, he treated Dynamite Dan, his lifelong friend, and me to a beautiful 15 mile Flambeau River float.  We had a musky follow and 3 smallies to our credit on an otherwise quiet, first day of a cold front.  Scouting the water, Brad primarily stuck with the oars. 

   

   Brad (BB) works hard to feed the angler’s hunger for musky.  But lately I not only wanted to continue to hit the musky trail with Brad the guide, I wanted water-time with BB the friend.  And on September 13, it happened.  Guide/client or teacher/student roles were largely dropped and we shared one of life’s simple pleasures… we just went fishing.

  

   Now, if that sounds all folksy and sweet, I can set you straight.  For some reason, fishing and hunting are frequently described as separate things.  I can set you straight on that as well.  On September 13, Brad didn’t man the oars.  BB went hunting.  With a fly rod.  For Musky.

   It was great to go fishing, dropping any roles except the one called ‘friends’.  We both hooked and landed musky.  But in the end, there was more.  I was there when this friend (remember, he is already a musky record-holder), landed his fish of a lifetime, what he labeled his ‘Hemingway’.  I watched how he fought that fish, focused and reeling in much of his excitement until she was his.  Then, there were the pictures.  Proof.  Finally, there was his unabashed happiness, shared with me on a beautiful day while sitting together on a rock overlooking Musky Country; the celebration following a successful hunt. 

   

   He told me was retiring his fly.  It was going to be a one fish fly.  And later he handed me that fly, his Bohen 747.  He’d given me the Angry Minnow after I landed my first esox and then, for reasons unspoken, the Bohen 747 became mine after he landed his Hemingway. 

   

   He landed his fish of a lifetime but we both had a blue-ribbon day.  I think the quality of an angler’s life might best be judged by the fishing friends that one keeps and what, as friends, we experience together.

   
   Life is very good.   

(For Brad's 1st-person account of the exciting hook-up with his toothy, black-backed opponent, click on the link:  http://www.drakemag.com/message-boards/viewtopic.php?f=1&t=8817&start=2010 )

   

Stalking the Predator: November Musky on the Fly

   My angling pal, musky guide Brad Bohen, told me he had been in need of turkey feathers for fly tying material.  Do people who fly fish for musky always prefer a difficult path?  He told me he smacked a flock of turkeys the other day.  One big turkey dented the front end of his Land Cruiser.  His rod holder rack, loaded with rods, was knocked off the suv, but my pal got his tying material.  A few days later, he smacked a buck.  I guess he needed buck tail as well.  When I got in his vehicle I put on the seatbelt, secretly happy he doesn’t tie his flies with elk fur.

   On Friday, November 2, we were the only humans on the West Fork of Wisconsin's Chippewa River & the solitude was appreciated.  I spotted a large buck and, later, Brad spotted otters poking their heads through holes in thin ice hugging the shore.  The bearded, cigar-smoking musky hunter, known to proudly display his esox-bloodied fingers, grinned while he made ‘schnuffling’ sounds – otter calls.  I smiled & relished one of the main reasons I enjoy being around my fishy male friends.

   It was more than chilly that morning on the water, but by the time my cold fingers had warmed and the wet gloves were stripped away, the musky and me had thawed enough to do battle.

   We had 4-5 musky strikes and the first 2 were boated.  We also had a follow.  The third strike pissed me off.  The fish should’ve been boated, but was missed due to my quasi salmon-trout set.  I knew it’d be a let-down if the musky attacks ended on that note.  But later, during a possible strike, a splash occurred behind my fly.  On a firm strip set… the fly snagged a branch.  False redemption.  The last attacker of the day was a mini-musky – a super-sized Polish sausage with a big appetite and a bad aim.  It lunged over my fly during its single strike.  

   My first missed strike, or that ‘son of a bit%$’, as I called it (since those words seem to come out of my mouth at no other time except when I lose a fish), taught me a lesson.  I lost that fish simply due to my poor position in the boat.  Earlier in the day, I’d come up short with casts due to line catching under my boots. So, I stripped line and kept my feet planted while twisting my body to keep the rod tip pointed at the fly.  It’s hard to do a strip set when your elbow is jammed in your ribs, so the quasi salmon-trout set occurred & the musky was lost.  Lesson learned.

   Of course the successful musky hook-ups were exciting things!  We were fishing along a ‘belly’ of the West Fork.  Both fish attacked within 10’ of the boat.  On the first fish’s strike, my set did not take and I plunged the rod tip in the water and began the figure 8.  The fish immediately struck again and my strip-set was hard.  After a brief fight, we boated a thick-bodied musky.  Brad and I celebrated our first musky success together, passed a flask, & then took pictures.  While that first fish had been out of Brad’s line of sight, the 2^nd musky attack was visible to both guide and client.  It was classic!  Almost casually, strip, pause… strip, pause… in the water.  The next moment the Beauford fly was slammed by a finned torpedo with teeth!  Strip-set!!  Yelling erupted from guide and client, and the more active fish fought hard against the long rod.  It took Brad a couple tries to lift the fighter from the water.  With the musky in the boat, I breathed more deeply.  We had not wanted to lose that fight.  Bite marks on our fish’s back from another musky were examined.  Brad took more pictures, and I released the toothy torpedo.

   We excitedly re-lived our musky moments, then I reported that all we needed was a good follow to obtain the trifecta of musky takes.

   I don’t think more than 5 minutes passed and this occurred.  

   I was stripping in line & my fly was at least 20’ out when & I silently questioned, “Is that a follow?”  I kept quiet, doubtful, yet trying to shift fully into ‘predator-mode’.  Moments later, my doubt turned into a statement:  “I’ve got a follow!”  Actually, I think Brad and I announced it simultaneously, but a couple seconds were a blur.  I do remember him adding, “And it’s a nice fish”, with a controlled excitement in his voice.

   It was a chunky musky over 40” long and landing it would’ve met one of my goals for the year.  What replays in my head now, is what followed the follow.  I hesitated on the strip just prior to starting the figure 8.  Somehow that tiny pause was different enough from the rhythmic ‘strip-pause’ which had kept the creature’s interest for at least 20 feet.  I’d been presented with one slim opportunity to hook a larger musky.  During the brief moment that my thought had over-ruled my instinct, the finned predator had won the game.

   The day had been great in so many ways.  For most fly anglers, good fishing and good company can’t be beat.  Yet, briefly, I was frustrated.  For the second year, I hadn’t met my musky goals. 

   Then, I remembered something.  I love this fly fishing journey.  I love the people and the waterways, and I love the angling challenges and adventures.  Making and reaching a goal is great.  But I think it’s the journey that gives an accomplishment its ultimate pleasure and value.  I’m loving the trip & there’s no need to rush. 

Travelling the Autumn Trail for Musky ~ The WI-MN Diaries (Part 5... Oct/Nov, 2011)

TALE OF THE RABBIT, THE MUNSTER, AND A MUSKY (Oct 28-30, 2011)  

   I would’ve driven the 14-hour round-trip every weekend this fall to fly fish for Musky.  When autumn arrived and plans were made, something unexpected would occur and the trip would be cancelled… again and again.  I gotta tell ya, this fly angler had needs which weren’t being met.  I got so desperate I was willing to pay for some hard-core, all-day action, but the services were denied me (jeez, I’m happy this is fishing we’re talking about!) .  Actually, the Musky guides were already booked.

   Finally, the probability of trips for the weekend prior to Halloween and the first weekend of November began to look brighter, but I remained skeptical until actually on the road.  WI-bound!  The weeks of frustration were coming to an end. 

   Last year’s goals for this year were to land a Musky outside of Wisconsin and outside of fall –which I just realized is my favorite fishing season.  Another goal was to watch Mike, a friend of mine, land his first Musky.  While I’d be thrilled to land hundreds of Musky in the great state of Wisconsin, I also fish MN, IL, and IA waterways.  My goals hadn’t been unreasonable.  However, by late September goals were altered to simply being able to fish for the toothy critters a couple of times.  Also, Mike had put aside the bulk of the fall season’s fly fishing for his other passion, falconry.  When plans did come together it was late fall and we were back around Hayward, Wisconsin.  After watching those around me boat the fat, toothy critters, I happily changed goals again to simply being able to land a Musky outside of the WI waterway in which I’ve landed all my Musky.  And then yes, this one goal also changed…

   During the whirlwind pre-Halloween weekend, I spent a 14-hour round-trip on the road listening to books on cd.  Then, with friend and Arrowhead Fly Angler guide Ouitdee Carson, we sandwiched in a Saturday of fly fishing followed with a night’s entertainment at the Musky Ball.  On that pretty fall day, Ouitdee and I put-in at Crowley Dam and we fished the Flambeau River.  It was cool to watch my buddy pull his pontoon down along a steep, staired path most other boat-owners could not follow.  I got to fish immediately below the dam but my intermediate line simply didn’t cut it in deeper, fast-current waters.  Next, I rowed downriver while my friend painted water with a new, perch-colored ‘Supercharger’ fly.  Within 15 minutes we boated a Pike and a few casts later, he landed the only Musky of the trip.  It was hooked in fast-current, shallow water but at the tail of a deeper seam.   As usual, we fished later than planned and finished by trailering the pontoon in the dark.  That night, we learned from other anglers that even a Musky follow that day had been hard to come by.  My buddy had done well. 

   Quickly, we cleaned up, tried to wake up, and then headed to Boulder Lodge for Musky guide Brad Bohen’s Musky Ball.  My friend wore casual attire while I dressed as a Musky Fly, complete with bug eyes and a hook.  The night was made up of food, friends, music, beer, and a tad of moonshine.  Not having seen Brad all year, I gave him a hug and accidentally poked his –oops!- with the ‘hook’ protruding from my costumed belly.  Sorry Brad.  During the evening, we watched a tall white rabbit do the smooth groove on the dance floor & noted that ‘Eddie Munster’ could simply replace his pointy ears with a guitar and be mistaken for AC/DC’s Angus Young.  We were also drawn outside to a campfire set in a circle of pines and listened to a bearded Scottish fly angler tell his riddles. 

   The following morning, my friend headed back home to his family, I explored some Hayward area waterways, and then made the long trek home, recalling the new memories and grateful for the chance to make and share them.  

2-DAY SERVINGS OF MUSKY ON A MULTI-SPECIES ROADTRIP (Nov 4-8, 2011)

   Late Friday I was back at Boulder Lodge, outside of Hayward, WI.  I spent a night which would ensure me not to sleep in –I car-camped.  Saturday morning I drove to meet buddy Ouitdee at the Spider Lake Café, which is the point of where this fish tale begins.  Let’s summarize:  On Friday, Ouitdee fished Chequamegon Bay for Smallies.  On Monday, Doug, another fly angler from Duluth, and me went to the Brule River in search of Steelhead.  Ouitdee was already there.  The MN-WI guide was enjoying his 100^th day this year of fishing.  By Tuesday, we were all either home or… ahem… bound for home.  However, Saturday and Sunday were all about Musky and those who love to chase them.

   The weekend weather predictors proclaimed clouds and wind, & this was true, except Sunday was more windy than expected.  Ouitdee and I debated which water to fish Saturday and if we should chance different put-in and take-out spots for the pontoon should the wind get out of hand.  We decided on a ‘safer bet’, electing to meet at the café for breakfast, then fish a single area of the West Fork of the Chippewa River.  As soon as we met at the café, plans changed and we headed off for new waters, bigger fish, and the fun of fishing with MCO Musky guide Brian Porter and his friend Chris Willen.

   Porter and I manned the oars while Chris and Ouitdee wetted flies.  Soon, Chris was yelling.  Each boat was rowed to shore and soon a 40” fat Musky was nestled in a cradle.  Porter directed the landing of the toothy fish, ensuring it had very little out-of-water time and that it was handled carefully while pictures were taken.  I was impressed by the thick-bodied fish and the guide.  During the course of the day, Chris landed 2 Musky, Ouitdee brought one to shore where it threw the hook just shy of being cradled, and Porter, who rowed more than he fished, capped the day by landing another thick-bodied lady that was 44” in length.

   The wind seemed to get brutal each time I rowed.  I was thinking of this when my friend voiced the same thing, somehow allowing me to feel better about the situation.  In retrospect, I guess I’d rather have the wind kick up when rowing than when casting with a fly tied on a 5/0 hook.  However, on the homestretch of the trip, Ouitdee rowed and the wind kicked up again, this time giving very little mercy to my friend, and to Chris in the other boat.  At this time, I was using Chris’s rod; a 10 wt Loomis which seemed more like a 12 wt, with 500 grain sinking line and the largest profile, articulated fly I’ve ever seen.  The wind and the large fly necessitated increased attention paid to the timing of my casts.  While I left the water that day the only angler without the sweet stink of Musky on her hands, we all left the water with body parts intact (aside from Chris, who was surprised to find his hand bleeding after one of his Musky encounters) & a desire to hit the water again tomorrow. 

   Chris and Porter stayed overnight at a friend’s cabin.  Porter later told me, “We got one little musky and some pike that Sunday, saw a couple others and lost a decent musky“.  Saturday was THE DAY to be on that stretch of water & I’m still pumped to have had the opportunity to fish it & to see those well-fed ladies.

   Meanwhile, Ouitdee and I headed back toward Hayward.  Along the way, I silently changed (again) my Musky goal for the year, and suggested to my buddy where we should fish on Sunday.  It was the West Fork of the Chippewa.  It was the last day that we would fish together in 2011 for Musky.  It was also –I hoped- the last day I had to tote a bottle of ‘Mosquito Wine’ onto his pontoon.

   During the previous trip, I’d scouted out our potential put-in at the West Fork and the then-current water-level.  The season had been dry but while the water was as low as I’d ever seen it, I thought it remained very fishable.  As re-enforcement of this, I watched at a distance as two men in a drift boat landed a fish.   

   So, on that November Sunday, after a Spider Lake Café breakfast, we went in search of West Fork Musky.  Ouitdee hit the oars first.  It was windy and chilly.  I had my West Fork ‘Hang Time’ fly on the line and asked my friend to keep the boat in a particular stretch of water.  Soon after I had my first Musky of the year!  It was a ‘micro Musky’ but nonetheless, my revamped goal of simply landing a Musky this year –even on the water where I’ve landed all my Musky- was met.  The Musky was released and I took the oars.  Within 4 casts, Ouitdee landed another Musky in the same stretch of water!  We traded on the oars, conquered the wind –again and again- anchored and fished together, and then finally my buddy hooked another fish!  I was rowing and could see it was large for the water in which it lived.  Ouitdee reported it to be about 40” and was ‘ugly’ & scarred.  While rowing to shallow water and excitedly looking forward to seeing this ‘ugly’ toothy critter, it threw the hook.  I was not happy, but my wise friend, who always seems to be happy, remained unfazed.

   The wind continued to challenge our boat, but we continued on.  We explored skinnier water and Ouitdee had another ‘micro Musky’ try for his fly.  My friend then took the oars and we started to head back.  He rowed back through a narrow stretch of water and Ouitdee pointed out a weed edge, asking me if I saw the small opening.  I told him yes and he asked me to cast to that opening.  I double-hauled and my fly, a modified Supercharger in reds, yellow and black, hit the opening.  Two strips later, I gave two very hard strip-sets to ensure that the Musky that hit my fly remained attached to that hook.  It wasn’t huge and it wasn’t fat, but it sure could fight.  I put the fighting butt in my gut and did not give any slack while Ouitdee rowed to the shallows.  I saw the fly at the corner of the fish’s mouth while Ouitdee clamped the Fish Grip on its jaw.  At that point the Musky again began to fight, tossing the fly, but the fish remained ours to photograph and to release. As we neared the landing, I attempted to use all my senses to feel and to remember the weekend.  At one point the sun lit the trees and water and all seemed to glow with a golden hue.   

   Well, reader, you’ve read how I whittled down my Musky goals and, in the end, how the Musky I finally landed lived in the same waters in which I’ve landed all my Musky.  Perhaps you think I might be disappointed?  On Columbus Day, 2009, I fished for Musky for the 1^st time.  It was on the West Fork.  It was 32* & light snows made land & trees appear lace-covered.  The guide worked hard to put me on fish but they simply were not feeding.  Yet, I still remember it to be one of the most satisfying days I’ve ever had on the water.  Since then, whenever I’ve been on that water, I’ve landed Musky.  Ouitdee is a guide and has fly fished since he has been a child.  Prior to Sunday, he’d never fished the West Fork and it is always my thrill to provide him with the rare, new fly fishing experience.  I can’t imagine ever landing a ‘trophy-sized’ fish out of this water, but one at least has a good chance at a ‘micro Musky’.  We did more than that.  And on that Sunday I accomplished another goal of getting Musky ‘doubles’ with my friend and mentor.  It was for this reason I’d been carting around a bottle of wine on all of our Musky trips.  And, near the end of the day when the sun was ready to set with a golden hue on our season’s Musky adventures, WE also landed that single, final fish.  It was a fish which wouldn’t have been landed or even hooked without both anglers helping each other, carrying out specific roles and communicating well.  Yes, we celebrated doubles and goals met, but in the end we really celebrated life and a strong friendship.    

   So, readers and fellow fly anglers, I wish you tight lines and even tighter friendships!

Anger Meets Ignorance on the Brule ~ The WI-MN Diaries (Part 4, Nov 7, 2011)

   With a smile, I greeted the landowner who had called out to me, expecting a ‘how is the fishing going?’ type of question.  Oh no, this guy was mad. 

   Doug and I had headed out from Duluth, MN, the morning of Nov. 7, 2011, to the Bois Brule River in Wisconsin.  For me, it was day 3 of fly fishing.  2 days of Musky followed by a final day of hunting for ‘Steel’ on a great river.  I dig multi-species trips & Doug loves to fly fish for Steelhead.  I was happy to be fishing with him.

   At the Red Gait parking lot, I saw buddy OC’s Yota.  Soon after, we found him at Howenstein Hole.  We talked and he told us what to expect upstream, including that when we got to the state park sign it would be private property & we would have to stay off the land but could still wade.  We thanked him and headed off to find holes of our own to fish. 

   We fished, crossed the river a couple of times , discovered one hole which had a huge blanket-topped picnic table bordering its shore, and near another hole I re-discovered an old enamel stove I came across last year when fishing with OC.  My guide friend has fished these waters with clients & is very respectful of others & the law, so I knew this hole to be accessible to the public.

   After rounding a couple more bends in the river, I discovered a property with a richly-colored golden-brown cabin on it and a vehicle in the drive.  It looked peaceful and it was here I discovered the private property signs posted on its neatly-trimmed border.  So, I backed up and left the trail staying 20’ clear of the posted property and respectfully staying out of eyeshot.  Despite the friendly IL neighborhood where I live, I still like the opportunity for privacy on my tiny property but find it difficult unless I remain indoors.  It is easy to appreciate another’s desire for privacy.

   Doug soon came by, he crossed the opposite riverbank, and we fished a hole large enough for two.  No fish.  We elected to head back for a late lunch.  I returned to the trail and it was here we met the ‘Angry Landowner’.  He informed us that as ‘sportsmen’ we were to respect the rights of the property owners.  I assured him that we saw his signs and had not crossed on to his property.  He told us his property extended beyond the signs to the ‘pipeline’ and he was not required to post signs but as ‘sportsmen’ we should be aware of the rules and not be disrespectful of the property owners.  He threatened us with law enforcement and fines unless we left his property.  He asked us, ‘would we want him on our property?’  Doug replied that currently, he’d say no.  We assured him we had been leaving and would continue on.  Doug asked how far the pipeline was. Landowner replied it was obvious.  Becoming angrier, he ordered us off of the trail and into the water, advancing toward Doug.  Doug told him to back off and we waded downstream.  Angry Landowner followed on the trail for a short time.

   Back at the Red Gait parking lot, which is where the pipeline and the trail to the river are located, we again met up with OC.  He was finishing off a beer left-over from our previous 2-day Musky trip. Dang!  I thought that beer was in my CRV.  No fish, angry landowner, and no beer for lunch.  What a day.

   We ate and told our tale to OC.  We realized we’d never seen a state park sign and it was still very unclear where the landowner’s property ended and state property began.  With no more than 1.5 hours of fishing daylight left, OC told us we could head back down the trail toward the Sauna Hole.  However, he cautioned us that part of the trail was again on private property (posted) but as long as we remained on the trail, the landowner didn’t mind others accessing the property.  When we came across the signs and entered the property, I admit to being a bit anxious.  However, I trust my friend and continued on.  The recommended hole was already being fished.  We found a nearby hole.  Near dark, we returned to the first hole and Doug and I again shared it.  The inside shore of the hole was banked by the trail and the owner’s very cheerful-looking sauna.  Now bankside, Doug watched me fish as the remaining sunlight was replaced by moonlight.  Another angler began to fish upstream of me.  Doug and he conversed.  As I left the water, the other angler moved on.  Doug told me the angler was also the property-owner.  I wish now that I hadn’t been so involved in fishing to stop and say hello.  I certainly would’ve thanked him for allowing us to share this section of the Brule River with him. 

   Overall, I believe both Doug and I would claim to have had a good day of fishing on the Brule, although we neither caught nor hooked any fish.  I’d also claim we experienced some ‘adventure and education’ on the Brule, again not due to any appearance of fish. 

   I learned that I need to have more knowledge of the waterways I fish.  While I wouldn’t recommend the Angry Landowner’s approach, he did further my education on the matter, so I appreciate crossing his path.  Other than employing a psychic or a land surveyor during fishing trips, I’m still clueless how to know when un-posted land is private property but I intend to learn more. (If something clear-cut presents itself, I will add it to the end of this post.)

   I think many people would label the ‘Angry Landowner’ a jerk or worse, and consider the ‘Happy Landowner’ to be a great guy.  I simply think of the Angry Landowner as, well, angry and very frustrated.  I feel badly for the guy.  I imagine he put down a large chunk of dough to buy his riverside retreat; a place to escape.  Perhaps all he wanted was a place in which he could leave civilization behind.  Alas, he bought property on the Brule, a river well-known for its Trout and Steelhead fishing.  No more can he stop the 2-legged human animal from entering this rich land than birds, bear, and deer.  A few will knowingly trespass and, I believe, many others -like me- who are ignorant, will accidentally cross his property lines.  This man, who paid a high price for property and peace will never truly get the peace he wants.

   I imagined to myself, what if Angry Landowner grilled brats outdoors on occasion and invited the stray angler over for a meal?  How many people from how many places would he meet and how many stories would he hear?  Or what if he just conversed with those crossing his land and wished them well?  I do know he would receive true ‘respect’ and while he would still find others on his property, responsible anglers would help ensure his property was cared for and avoided by the irresponsible few. 

   I believe both the Angry Landowner and the Happy Landowner deserve respect for their property rights.  The Happy Landowner, and those like him, are also deserving of kindness and gratitude from those who are allowed to enter their land.  But to answer the Angry Landowner’s question:  Yes, I would let him enter my property.  If I should ever realize my dream of owning a cabin with a little boat on a fish-filled waterway in which I give keys to all those who have offered me kindness and instruction in my fly fishing journey, I would give the Angry Landowner a key.  Indirectly he did teach me about fishing. But more importantly, I wish this man more experience in feeling the kindness of others.   

   The morals to my tale:  1) Learn the rules of the waterway.  2) If you should err and meet this angry man or another like him, tell him he is right and give him your kindness and understanding no matter what he expresses to you.  Returning a river of anger creates a dam; little penetrates either side but bad things spill over.  Continued streams of kindness may alter the course of the river.  Take the high road.  You may be sent below the trail to wade in the river, but the river is beautiful and only you can remove yourself from the high road.