A Homecoming...(part one)

It was the Autumn of 1996, and though I didn’t know it at the time, I was on the verge of an awakening. It was a Tuesday, as I recall, and BP and I were scheduled to have lunch with one of our employee’s brothers-in law, John. I knew John by name and reputation only, though he was friends with my father. BP didn’t know him at all. The lunch was arranged by Linda, our employee, because we all shared one passion...fly fishing.

BP and I also had some alternative motives for John; 1) Find new fishing spots, and 2) Try to rent John’s cabin on the North Branch of the AuSable River.

John was not one for small talk, and before the entrees were even delivered to us he announced “If you guys want to do some real trout fishing, you need to get your asses up to my cabin... It’s open this weekend, you guys interested?” Shocked, BP and glanced at each other and sheepishly nodded... yes. Thus beginning a life long friendship with John, and a life long love affair with the brook trout of the North Branch.

Sunday Morning Sessions, part duex

My guide

I love baseball... And I love to watch my boys play baseball... But since the end of April, I have been at the ball park almost every night watching baseball. Everyday except Sundays. The day of rest and reflection for our small Amish community. My Sunday's have become the day of fishing...usually for myself.

So, when Miller made the suggestion early last week that we give the entire Sunday to fishing the Amish waters, he received no argument from me. And on this day, he would serve as my guide (after all, he is an Orvis guide) to some waters I haven't fished in years.

We got an early start, and headed across the border to Michigan for breakfast. (None of the restaurants in Amish country are open on Sunday's). We ate like kings for we knew it may be the only meal until evening, and headed to our predetermined spot. It was a long walk to the stream, and the day was quickly warming up.

The stretch of the river we entered was much like I remembered, and expected. A canal, with a soft silty bottom. Miller assured me that it got better as we meandered downstream. About a quarter mile down, the channel magically turned into a spring creek, and we unhooked our flies from the hook keepers and began to fish.

Our system is has follows, one person has the lead until he hooks (not catches) a fish of any kind. Yes, even a chub. Then the other person takes the lead...so we each have a chance at virgin water. The worst thing that can happen for the leader is that the person behind you catches since trout out of the hole you just abandoned. (And yes, it did happen).

Miller was swinging flies, looking for big brown, and of course, I was dredging the runs Amish nymph style. Within minutes, it was game on... And continued at a steady pace all throughout the day. We moved at a pretty brisk pace, for we had a lot of ground to cover, taking fish out of almost every run we came to.





By 3:00 PM, we had reached the end of our journey... And we were exhausted. Miller had some family obligations, so I headed to Spring Street Because I had heard that Lehman was fishing there. I wasn't disappointed to see that he was not, and I headed home to catch a quick nap before tending to my own obligations.

All in all, my best day of fishing this season... And I owe it all to the Miller Guide Service... Don't look in the book for their number...it's not there.

FISHING REPORT:

The water is low and clear... Warm nights are bringing out some drakes and big bugs. Choose a warm night with no wind and a box full of drakes, and you are set up for success... But don't give up to soon, the big boys come out to play only in complete darkness!

Durning the morning and day:

Nymphs in the Morning. Size 12 to 16. Hot wire PT's, Frenchys, Prince nymphs... Something with some color.

Mid day- buggers and small streamers. Black and olive

Evening and night: Drakes... Size 8 to 12. And patience.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Confidential.

Opening Day (After)

Saturday was opening day for Amish Trout Season... A holiday for trout-a-holics across the globe. And after one of the mildest winters and early springs, It came as no surprise that opening day we had a mix of snow and rain. So, since I emptied half my boxes for Miller's trip to his cabin on the PM, I talked Carter (my youngest) into making Saturday a tying day, and hitting the river on Sunday.

My companions where some of my favorites... My three boys. I decided to take them in at Spring Street access. To my amazement, there were no cars parked there. We ran into @rassler walking down the trail on our way to the walking bridge. He was done for the day and had beaten the waters we were about to fish, and done well.



I set my oldest, Kade, up on the lower run. He said "Dad, I may be a little rusty." But, after a perfect second cast, his line tightened to a spunky rainbow. His smile was ear to ear... And so was mine. I got the other two settled and watch my boys with pride. Soon Quinn had a hookup... A chub, and then Carter brought a rainbow to hand. Fish after fish, we all had a blast. Carter got tangled up, so I got him squared away and glanced into the hole he was fishing. Trout were moving in and out, from one run to the next. I saw a gold flash near the front of the hole and upon further inspection discovered the flash was a huge brown trout, with a lamprey attached to it. I pointed it out to Cart and he said "Get it! Dad!"



I cast his line to the top of the run and let the current take the flies to the depths of the hole, right in front of the golden beast. I will admit that I was shocked to see the fish move over and take my small nymph... GAME ON! By now the other two boys had gathered and where hooting and hollering like we were at a football game. I fought the fish for several minutes, being very carful not to horse him and break him off. I brought him to my feet and Carter reached for my net, when the pig decided to give it one more fight, shook it's head and POOF he was gone...

I was shocked. I stood there and looked at the boys smiling. After retrieving my flies, I saw that the trout had straightened the hook. A moral victory if nothing else.



We fished a few more spots, enjoyed a shore lunch together, and headed home.

Another priceless memory.

As for the big brown... I shall return to fight again...

Stay tuned.

-ak