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 )

   

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!

THE CALM BEFORE THE BITE ~ The WI-MN Diaries (Part 3, Sept 3-4, 2011)

 IN PURSUIT OF MIDWESTERN MUSKY   

   Prime Musky season is quickly approaching.  The sun is warm but the wind is crisp and delightful.  The green of the trees and weeds are just past their prime.  The grass no longer grows at a lawnmower-burn-out pace.  Fall is nearly here & two nights past, I dreamt of Musky follows. 

   In honor of Labor Day weekend, a good buddy and I worked-out our casting arms with 10wts on Wisconsin’s Flambeau and Chippewa Rivers.  On Saturday, we’d planned the Flambeau float with a mid-afternoon stoppage for meals and rest.  Then, back to Musky water before dusk, to allow our eyes & other senses to adjust to the waning light, while continuing to fly fish into the night.  However, too little discipline (or too much passion) birthed 12-hours of casting and rowing, accompanied by fatigue and empty bellies.  Soon it was 830pm, darkening, with a waning moon and only one small light to guide our casting, rowing, fly changing… potential fish landing.  Dang!  Our fun and earnest hunt for the apex predator kept us from realistically and smartly exploring these creatures’ night-time habits.  We headed back to camp after loading the pontoon on the trailer.  I truly hope for another post-afternoon opportunity.  24-hrs on the fly/night fishing for Musky is on my bucket list, for good or bad, sane or crazy reasons. 

   Did I mention my buddy landed a Musky?  It was small enough that he didn’t want a photo to commemorate his first WI Musky on the fly.  However, I noted he sat back in the pontoon with a satisfied look about himself and his primary focus then appeared to be setting me up on good Musky water.  Now that’s a mighty fine friend.  He also fished successfully with an 8wt landing Smallies.  I kept to the 10wt and ended up dry, as far as Muskies go.

   Sunday greeted us with rain and a late start.   Throughout the day, the skies would cloud over and it would rain.  Then, after an indeterminate amount of time wearing hood-covered hats, we’d look up from our fishing and note the skies were blue yet again.  Hoods on, hoods off.  We’d also broken out the waders; another sure sign fall was on the way.  All in all, however, it was a lovely day. 

   No Muskies landed on Sunday.  However, at the start of the float, in deep, fast water I had a ~40” Musky follow my fly.  Figure 8 but no take.  Yet, the line was shooting out beautifully, the fly was hitting the targets, & I had a follow.  I was stoked!  The only fish landed Sunday on the Chippewa was a Smallie on a Musky fly.  We tried a variety of flies, but the Musky, the Musky follow, and the little Smallie with a Musky appetite all came on the ‘Supercharger’.  This fly is a Jared Ehlers creation; a quick tie which presents with a large profile and excellent action in the water along with a nice ease of casting.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JN8G64gHU4c .  The photo shown is a Supercharger but with an added orange marabou collar.

   The weather patterns varied throughout the weekend so how did that really affect the fishing?  After our final day of Musky hunting, we stopped in at Wannigan’s in the town of Winter for broasted chicken.  Greg, the owner whose business is next to a popular take-out spot on the Chip, told us that the fishing seemed to have been slow this year, attributing it to the hot summer temps.  So I’ve been wondering, what has Midwestern Musky fishing really been like this year; a typical year, slower than usual, or ???  And, will this year's spring and summer weather have any effect on the upcoming Fall Bite?

   I’ve decided to take these questions to the folks who have been fishing for Musky as much as I wish I could.  I’ve e-mailed Midwestern Musky guides, and also fly shop owners who cater to those who crave the pursuit of toothy critters.  Of course, the hope is for a good response.  (UPDATE:  The Fall Preview post, including the anglers' responses, is posted on my general posting (or Home) page. It will remain there until the end of November.  After that time, I will move it to the 'Featured Article' page. -Thanks, Twitch. 9/22/11)

   As for my predictions:  I believe the Musky Bite was slow this season & that their prey did not flourish due to the same suboptimal weather conditions.  If so, the Musky were able to feed adequately, but their typical body mass for this time of year is on the low side of normal.  With that in mind, Esox will have enough stored energy to aggressively pursue their forage base and will do so.  They will instinctively understanding the need to play catch-up in order to have the stored energy reserves available to survive the winter and be ready to spawn in spring.  To get to the point, I predict the Musky will behave like dogs left alone in meat markets and the fly angler will simply need to locate those markets.

The Nam: Friends, Fishing, Fun, and Ticks ~ The WI-MN Diaries - (Part 2, 5/2011)

    We debated:  fish smallies on Chequamegon Bay & camp on the boat, or float/camp the Nam for trout?  No bad choices here, but ultimately the weather decided.   Too much wind for the bay.  Namekagon-bound!

After a night of suv-camping, I hurried off to Hayward.    Aah, a sense of the ‘warm fuzzies’ came over me as I fell in behind the canoe strapped to the familiar old Yota.  That Yota took me on my first fly fishing adventure in 2008. 

   We pulled in at the gas station, OC and I said our hellos & we eventually headed out.  Eagle’s Landing first, then we unloaded the canoe and all of our supplies at Thompson Bridge.  This trip was sort-of a mini dry-run for our upcoming BWCA canoe/fishing trip, minus 2 days.  Surprisingly, we were cramming a lot of stuff into the canoe, but when portaging the Boundary Waters in June we’d need to scale back or be miserable.   I wondered, ‘How would that affect the beer situation?’

   Anyway, we hit the water around 11AM on Friday the 13^th.  Temps were in the low 50’s and there was an intermittent stiff wind to accompany the light gray day.  The few occasions the sun appeared, it was blessedly warm & wickedly short-lived.  We shared the paddles, with OC providing tips on how to improve my canoe skills.

   Of course the day was to be filled with fly fishing but there was a target in mind.  Big nymphs with droppers, & big buggers were the main entrees.  We were targeting Big Brown Trout.  Early on, I landed a 13” Brown.  I like to think it fought ‘big’.

   During our own lunch break we banked the canoe near a bridge with a small rock dam.  I ate and looked for mushrooms.  OC started wading and fishing, then disappeared.   I heard him yell.  He had a good-sized fish on.  At that point, I had other fish to fry.  I knew my buddy had intended that I solo paddle the gear-laden canoe across the current, avoiding the little dam & rocky rapids, swing under the far side of the bridge, then head downriver.  I was feeling that the only ‘buggers’ weren’t in the fly boxes!  I was alone with no mistakes to be made.

   I ignored my friend’s yells and pondered.  I got in the water, grabbed the rear of the canoe and began wading upriver, relieved that the soft riverbed was firm enough to hold me.  About 35 yards upriver, I was in better position to safely paddle to the opposite side of the bridge.  I remained tense, however, as I paddled under the bridge, seeing and hearing the rough patches of water on my left side. 

   Perhaps my buddy was, so to speak, starting to ‘push the baby bird out of its nest’.  However, this chick was a bit miffed.   After all, the nest was holding all of our camping/fishing gear.  I let him know I was irritated but told him I didn’t know how much, as that was directly proportional to how tricky paddling the canoe directly across the current would’ve been &  I didn’t have a clue.

   At least irked to not care(very much) when he said the 22”er he’d had on broke off at the knot I’d tied, I simply asked him why those knots only seem to break when he had fish on my rod?  However, soon after, it bothered me.  I felt I’d tied a good knot & I’d checked it.  The only black and orange Guinea Bugger I’d tied was gone with the fish, too.  I’d had a good feeling about that fly.  Later, OC lost 2 more fish and one was at his knot.  The leader was replaced. 

   We landed a few fish & lost a few that day.  Come evening, I’d tied on a chartreuse/olive marabou concoction which, when I’d tied it, was told it was a good Steelhead fly.  The fishing was down, might as well experiment.  OC and I alternated rods, typically having one nymph rig set-up and one tied with a streamer pattern.  OC hooked into a fish with the marabou concoction.  He landed the bronze 11”er; his first Brookie on the Nam!

   We politely slid the canoe around holes where other anglers were wading.  At one hole, the man’s unsmiling face alone confirmed that the fishing was down.  Then I saw a flash downriver of our canoe with the man soon setting the hook upriver of our canoe.  We slipped away and cheered him on!  It was his first fish of the day.    

   We’d intended to set up camp at 4PM and arrived on time somewhere after 630.  OC had hoped for the rare occasion to cook up some trout (he’d read a book about an 1800’s Brule River guide frying the catch in bacon grease) and I’d hoped to treat my friend to his first-ever morels.  The fish weren’t legal and the discovered 'brain mushrooms' could’ve been lethal.  So, hopes put on hold, we had more time at camp to light a smoky campfire and free winged insects from an over-winter in a lidded, open-air vault toilet.  Due to tick concerns, we kept our waders on as long as possible.  I’d also worn my fleece wading pants, socks over the stirrups, for the whole trip except when I carefully dropped them for, you know….  At least the view from ‘the vault’ was pretty in that gold n green pine tree hue sort of way(yes, there is a point to this latter part of the story!).

   Later, I cooked up a BWCA menu test recipe:  chicken with cranberry stuffing.  It would do.  OC fried bacon and we ate our fill while dodging the smoke from the camp fire(it was still windy).   I hit the tent first.  He soon followed &, having forgotten cards, we played the kid’s game, ‘Connect the Dots’.  OC played it like he fishes; better than me.  However, on a fluke, I won.  That just emphasizes the moral to my story of life:  Never give up.  I guess that is why I am typically the last off the water. 

   We woke early the next AM to wind, cold and rain, & more deer ticks on the mosquito netting.  Luckily, no ticks were in the tent.  I got coffee brewing under the tent vestibule.  With coffee to warm us, I went off to ‘enjoy’ the view under the pines and OC got breakfast started.  He ate most of the half crispy/half limp bacon slices.  I pulled off a few stray crispy pieces.  Then, he threw the eggs in the bacon pan.  Wow!  Note to self:  I fry the bacon on the BWCA trip but I beg OC to scramble the eggs.  They were the best I’ve ever eaten.

   Mid-morning we packed up camp and climbed in the canoe.  15mph winds easily.  Brrrrr!  And why is it so hard to find clear, polarized glasses?  They would’ve been ideal for this gray day.  I landed an 11” Brown and OC landed more, of course.  He also landed a 23” Redhorse.  Later, I switched to a smaller, size 10, bugger and got more hits.  Due to the weather, I happily thought we’d have more of the river to ourselves.  But it was also a Saturday and I was wrong.  I found myself equally happy to share the water with anglers who also thought casting with 20 mph gusts in chilly temps was still a pleasurable way to spend a day.     

   Soon, it was after 7PM and it was getting a bit late to set up another camp without rushing ( mmmm… pizza and beer).   So, we split the reasonable rate at The Riverside in Hayward.  While OC went to the grocery store to prepare for his next day’s guide trip and to also pick up our pizza, I took advantage of some privacy and a warm shower. 

   Dangit!  Small & wiggly sore spot on butt!!  Attached.  So much for a relaxing shower.  My buddy returned with a hot pizza and I exited the bathroom strategically draped and embarrassed.  Yep, it was a deer tick.  While my embarrassment lessened but never entirely went way, what I believe he considered to be a minor inconvenience turned into his intriguing dissection.  Two breaks, one his own tick-check(1 wood tick, unattached) and the other, a luke-warm pizza break; tweezers, a safety pin,  and, finally, ice to numb the area so he could dig out the last stubborn remains, and the tick was gone.   

   What a long day!  The next morning, OC headed out early to meet his client.  I grabbed breakfast and changed my mind repeatedly on where to fish.  I always say that heaven is just north of IL & it’s Wisconsin.  But, in the evening when one is on a 7 hour drive home, deer run onto the road and one gains insight and, last year, large dents.  Deer would not run onto the road willy-nilly in heaven.  They would politely wait their turn to cross the road.  My point?  Wisconsin is not heaven, just similar.  Therefore, I wanted to fish somewhere quickly so I could get back to IL prior to nightfall to lessen the chance of WI deer attacks on my CRV. 

  So, I headed south on Rt. 63 toward home.  The Nam isn’t known for trout in this section, but remember my motto?  Never give up!  I went to Groat Landing, hiked a trail, found a hole and fished.  Waded more, saw a guy and gal dump their canoe in the river, watched a hatch and knew I would not catch any trout at this place.  With the hatch on my mind, I decided to return to my suv and drive back through Hayward to prime trout waters.  New motto: Never give up, but be smart about it.  Let’s just say I had a couple of hits, & it was sunny but still very windy.  No delicate presentations today.  Also, while I’d gone to prime trout water, I didn’t find a prime trout hole.  Time and travelling by wading boot limited my options.  So, as usual, I left the water late, around 3PM, driving a portion of the trip in the dark, but I was out of Wisconsin by then.

   Today, I’m on day 13/14 of antibiotics.  Lyme disease prevention.  I did not want to take the chance of acquiring Lyme and missing our BWCA(Boundary Waters) trip in June.  I hear the open-air vault toilets are erected in even prettier settings there, so, no reading material needed. However, I won't forget the TP and DEET.     

 

  

The WI-MN Diaries  - Part 1, Sept. 25-27, 2010

   Kate and I load up the CRV as quickly as we can.  I'd just finished a long day at work and we knew there was a long night in front of us.  We head out from Moline, IL., by 6:30 pm.  We are Hayward-bound.  We hope we are musky-bound, too.      

Day 1:  For the love of fly fishing and the Northwoods, Kate and I reluctantly get up early after the previous night's 7 hour drive to Hayward.  A breakfast stop at the Spider Lake Cafe nets me the pleasure of visiting with MCO musky guide Brad Bohen and introducing him to Jackfish Kate.  Brad tells us the guides and a film crew are taking it to the water today.  We discuss how the current high water-levels may affect all of our fishing.  After breakfast, Bob, owner of the Spider Lake Motel, kindly provides Kate and me with a map marked with areas to fish.  Today, we hope to explore as much water as possible.  The 'real' fishing begins tomorrow.

   Next, we head off to the urban, clear-water, sand-bottomed Round Lake.  It's purported to have musky and trophy-size smallies.  We split up and wade waist and chest-high, casting in the clear water.  No fish today.  Walking back along the shore, I scan for unusual rocks, but end up with a rubber salamander(it now rides on the dash of my CRV).  I also leave with a wet leg.  My waders have sprung a leak.  Oh well, whaddya do?  We get back in the suv and keep exploring. 

   We are boat-less and the water is far from optimal.  Yet, if it's possible to shore-fish, we wet a line.  As with anything in life:  If you don't try, it definitely won't happen.  At the swollen Teal River Boat Access, I cast solo while Kate briefly checks out the water upstream.  We again run into Brad and the boys, checking out the water conditions.  They are shocked (& I'm amused) when I tell them I've landed 3 musky here.  Of course, I quickly admit the truth!  I feel a bit foolish being 'caught' shore-fishing this water, but I tend to walk my own crazy path.

   Lastly, Jackfish and I shore-fish along the Chippewa and then head for Don's cabin.  Good company and home-made pizza await us.  Along a 1/4 mile stretch of road, we spot turkey, a large black bear, and elk.  Kate, who regularly fishes in Canada, says it's the largest black bear she's ever seen.  Nice way to finish the day!
   That night, our musky guide, Don Larson (the Pondmonster), provides tips on proper musky leader construction, including the wire bite guard.  Kate is also 'pro-wire' and her 9wt gets a new leader.  My opinion remains open, but I stick with my Seaguar fluoro.  We discuss our fly selection for the next day, and get to sleep early.

Day2:  Don treats us to coffee and home-made blueberry pancakes, and we then head out for our full-day float on the Chippewa.  A mist rises from the water on this beautiful morning and by 9:30 we're in the drift boat.  Within 5 minutes, Kate has a fish on!  I have the camera, Don has the net, but (dang!) the musky unhooks itself at the boat.  Kate is using one of Don's flies.  It has good action and rides 'hook up', proving itself to be weed-free.  I enjoy casting my flies to the weeds' edges, but must frequently remove weeds from the hook, greatly reducing my opps of engaging a musky in battle.  I will be tying some flies differently in the future.

   It's a beautiful day on the Chippewa.  Trees paint the shoreline in green, red and yellow.  A few trees appear dead, but Don tells us these are 'Black Locusts', the last trees to dress and the first to undress.  We have a quick lunch on the boat and get back to fishing.

   While Kate has fly fished longer than I, this is her first time fishing for musky and the first she has been in a drift boat.  She taught herself to double-haul the week prior to this trip (impressive!) and today she is learning where and when to cast when 2 anglers are fishing in a smaller boat.  I occasionally duck, hold my cast, or smile; remembering when I learned these same lessons last year.  In February, when I was confined to crutches and a cast, Kate was one of a few friends who helped me continue to fly fish.  I'm very happy she's come on this trip.

  "I got one!", I yell.  The fish leaps from the water and puts on a good show.  Soon, a frisky little musky with a toothy, over-sized mouth is netted.  I liken it to a large-pawed puppy - minus the cuddle-factor.  Pics are taken and the fish is released. 
   Kate briefly hooks another fish, and then, I later miss a strike.  Too soon, our day-long float is over.  However, I'm so hungry even I think our flies are looking good enough to eat.  Don is soon out of the boat, towing us up the creek where we drop anchor for the day.  Kate and I are grateful for our guide's hospitality and knowledge of the water.  However, we are thrilled when he invites us to fish the next day!  I believe the water-level is stabilizing and quietly think 'the bite will be on' tomorrow...
Day 3... starts with another home-made breakfast.  Today, a light wind is blowing.  We head down the creek and back to the Chippewa.  Soon, our flies take to the air and water.  We have only 1/2 day to fish, so no time is wasted.  The wind keeps me on edge as, a couple of times, I hear my fly whiz past my ear, much closer to my head than I prefer.  I initially avoid casting up the middle of the boat, but eventually adapt.  Kate seems to have found her groove. 

  "Bite me!" and "Eat it!", I say, as I try to impart these feelings to the action of the fly.  Today, we are all more relaxed and loose, therefore more alert and ready to set a hook.  Also, 9, 10, &12 wts will paint the water and Don will allow himself a little fly fishing.  It's a great day! 
   After a little 'strip-n-twitch' action, I retrieve my fly and say to Don, "Rub this fly and give me a little luck!"  Don decides he can do a little better than that, opens his cooler and produces a cold can of Leinenkugal.  Our flies are all christened with Leinie's Au jus and we get back to casting.  Don ensures that the rest of a good WI beer does not go to waste.
   "Fish on!!", I yell.  This musky is larger than yesterday's and likes its acrobatics.  It takes a little longer to fight, and the pleasure is all mine.  Then, I see another boil and yell to Kate.  She sheds her camera for her 9wt, but there will be no doubles this day.  With the help of my friends, I boat a respectable 35" musky, pics are taken, the victory Musky Dance is completed, and the fish is released...never so annoyed as to be so popular.

   And that is how our day continues to progress.  We sauce the flies another time, Kate has a fish on, and I boat 2 more leaping, tail-wagging Esox under 34 inches.  The fish seem to like my fly, a modified 'Hang Time' pattern, so I never switch it.  However, after the first fish, Don politely suggests I check my bite guard.  Frayed!  Lesson learned.  Always check the leader after any strike.

   Near the end of our short day, Don gives the oars to me and he unleashes his 12wt.  In the meantime, he also suggests that Kate try my fly.  She picks up my 10wt & begins to cast.

   Soon, STRIKE!  Jackfish is visibly excited but remains cool. I, on the other hand, want her to land her first musky so badly, I'm barking out, "Set the hook hard! Keep the line tight! Let out some line!"  Jeesh, a slap may have been in order but her hands were full.  She lands it!!  Don nets it and we take pictures of Jackfish Kate proudly posing with her first musky.  That, readers, is an ideal ending to a Northwoods Fly Fishing Trip.

(Thanks Pondmonster!) ~Twitch.