One my best friend of many years with whom I’ve shared some of my greatest adventures rented a cottage up north for the weekend. He invited my son in law and me along for some north country brook trout fishing.
It was an irresistible invite as my son in law had never caught a trout, and it was to be in an area my friend and I’d had a genuine “coming of age” experience about 25 yrs ago. I’ve been up there several times fishing camping and backpacking since but had never sighted any of the elk that reside up there and had honestly come to accept I might never see any.
We went up Sunday afternoon and arrived in the evening. My son in law and I fished an easy spot first and he caught his first ever trout, a beautiful little brookie, and the first of the trip which really made me happy.
We had dinner together at a local restaurant and, as in the old days, had the Gazzetteer spread across the table looking over access points and discussing strategy. We’re always happy to expend the energy necessary to avoid the pressured water and it pays.
Along our scouting path we spotted some glowing eyes on the road that belonged to a bird we couldn’t identify. I had my windows rolled down to enjoy the night noises but hadn’t paid close attention until we got up close to a bird in the road. The song is been hearing and the bird in the road was an eastern whip-poor-will which is extremely rare to see:
The skeeters were pretty darned heavy. I usually prefer bugs to the feel of bug dope but this was too much. I fogged my head, hat, neck, and the backs of my hands but got bites on my palms and inhaled a meals’ worth! I tossed spinners, jerk baits, and soft plastic minnows and had some bumps but no fish.
The next morning we hit some easily accessed water the first night and morning, needing to remind ourselves that pressured water often has smaller fish. There were plenty but they were little dinks. Fun to catch on ultralight gear but not the size we were looking for. My first fish was in an Eddie just downstream of the bridge were we got in, a creek chub on a wooly bugger:
The fish may have been small but their colors were stunning!
Over lunch we reviewed our maps and decided my buddy would put in where he’d been in the morning and fish upstream as he liked the looks of the area, and my son in law and I’d bushwack into an area well upstream of him and fish down. This strategy paid off as my second cast yielded a fish bigger than any we’d caught so far. He’d taken all three barbs on my spinner so I killed him and strung him up to eat.
Brian and I fished downstream hitting structure and holes hard but moving quickly. At one point we were working a pool created by a beaver cut over the river and I glanced over my shoulder to see a bull elk looking us over from perhaps 100 yards downstream. An amazing sight anywhere, but we’d not seen many Michigan elk before end neither of us had seen a bull so we were pretty excited!
I caught a second keeper just before we got out. We weren’t able to meet my buddy so we walked up the road enjoying the sunset and sighting a rose-breasted grosbeak.
The next morning we two tracked the Prius back into the area we’d started the afternoon before and went upstream. This time my first cast yielded my best ever brookie, a beautifully colored fish that flipped out of my hand before I got a good pic. I’d guess he went 15-16” and I briefly considered killing him but couldn’t bring myself to it after seeing so many dinks:
We caught a few that morning but had to get home. My son in law is addicted so we’ll be going back. That country is just astounding, the fishing amazing, and the seclusion refreshing.
Hope y’all have a great holiday weekend,
Efw