So the big news for me lately has been that I started working Saturdays in the new fly shop in our area- Boyne Outfitters. They're a full service shop and guide service operating out of Boyne Mountain ski resort. While Fontinalis Rising will continue to be my own independent website and voice, if something particularly interesting is going on I'll share it here.
And so. . . On Saturday October 6 we'll be having Demo Days in conjunction with Boyne's annual Skitoberfest. Reps for Simm's and Far Bank will be here as well as our staff. You'll be able to cast rods and test lines on our ponds as well as enjoy local food, beer, wine and spirits as well as live music. I'll be working the fly shop, so stop in and say hi. Admission is free, and the fall color should be near peak by then. The color is about 30% right now, but it gets brighter every day.
So come on out, drop by, cast a rod, enjoy some music and refreshments, and go for a drive in the country to take in the color. Not necessarily in that order. Make sure you stop in the shop and say hi to me.
So, I went to Isle Royale, have been home for three weeks, and the crickets chirp louder than ever here at FR. You're thinking "What gives?".
Well, I've been buried in work, visitors, and feeling a little burned out. A little not a lot. It's more like needing to digest such a trip. Isle Royale is not your ordinary destination, no. It was almost disturbing to visit a part of my state so far removed from daily experience, kind of like discovering Molokai had been plunked down in a reservoir in Nebraska- it was mind boggling.
It was particularly jarring to find my own personal Shangri-La so close to home. IRNP combines so many of my loves- wilderness, kayaking, history, long coves, numerous islands to explore, wolves, brook trout, a reasonably good restaurant, arduous travel, hiking, geography, people watching, and discovery.
at home, in my element. Brett Watson photo
We got to Isle Royale at about noon Saturday, went through the required orientation and made our way to our cabin. We were immediately blown away. We had this picture perfect view of Tobin Harbor below our cabin. We quickly dropped our gear as the sound of a float plane approached. Two of our team members were due on the plane, and we wanted to see them drop in.
We made it to the dock as they taxied in and helped them unload. As we stood there exchanging high-fives and talking we happened to look into the water and spot brook trout- very large brook trout- swimming below us. I counted seven fish in the 20 inch range chasing minnows underneath our feet and snapped a couple of pictures. We hurried up to our cabin and strung our rods.
we came so far....
I got down to the dock in time to find that Bob Miller had already landed a 20 incher on a clouser minnow he had tied. I took a couple of shots then started fishing. Bob caught another smaller fish which I also photographed. We all stood there on the float plane dock casting. On my tenth cast give or take, a fish came out from under the dock and nailed my Madonna streamer. This one was also in the 20-inch range and very thick and heavy.
for this
The fish soon cleared out, and we had not yet settled into our cabin. We still had luggage on the ferry dock to retrieve. So we made our way back to the cabin, put our rods away and made our way to retrieve our kayaks from the ferry dock. As soon as we got there we spotted them- six coasters swimming on the sheltered side of the dock. We could hardly believe our eyes- this was going to be too easy. We carried the boats over to Tobin Harbor, got our personal effects a little more settled, then carried our rods back down to the dock. I paddled out to the nearest island, beached the boat and started casting. We fished the rest of the afternoon with no results. Later that evening Brett Watson caught an 18 inch fish. It would be the last of our trip.
From here out the fishing got very tough. On Sunday and Monday we beat Tobin Harbor to a froth. On Sunday the barometer was all over the place. We paddled first to the western islands in the harbor, stopping to cast at every point, rock and reef. While fishing alone a Coaster swam up to my feet to look at my fly while I was busy scanning more distant waters. When I gave my fly a twitch it took off, the last Coaster we would see on the trip.
Tobin Harbor mit coffee
What happened? We can speculate all we want about the barometer, about the influx of bait fish including smelt which were being busted on the surface, or about the ill-effects of early success. To be honest, the Great Lakes are like that- you can have bounty one minute, and empty water the next. It's a big place surrounded by big deep water. As it was we were graced by a few lovely fish, our assurance that Coasters still exist. The season for Coasters ended Monday (Coasters are catch and release only) and so on Tuesday, our last day of fishing, we moved our kayaks over to Rock Harbor where it's possible to catch coho salmon, lake trout and steelhead from shore.
Brett Watson working the shoreline
We didn't catch any of those either. Chris Reister had a big laker chase his fly to the dock several times. Brett Watson and I paddled our kayaks around Rock casting our hearts out, but I soon tired of this. Isle Royale is a big place, and I felt I had not seen enough, that I would be cheated if I didn't at least explore a little, and so I paddled out into the clearing fog all the way to the Rock Harbor light, nearly 8 miles away. For me it was the most magical experience of the trip, better still than catching a Coaster. I felt as if I was able to catch a small glimpse of this park. I spent the day alone exploring the coast, paddling between the islands, photographing the lighthouse even as I was uncertain of the time, of the great swells rolling in off of mighty Lake Superior, or the distance back to the harbor. I have written a story about this trip; look for it in thebackcountryjournal.net any day now.
Isle Royale paddler
Conclusions? Well, we weren't there long enough to get a good measure of the plight of Coasters. If our early success was an indication Coasters are doing quite well. Their subsequent disappearing act speaks not just to their enigma, but to that of Superior as well, a mysterious fish in a mysterious lake. When you float out over that blue-green water, the rocks far below you receding into darkness, it is hard not to have a shiver run down your spine. Never mind the universe, or even this planet, we are small and inconsequential on this Great Lake. Let's hope we are inconsequential to the fish as well.
my view, before the fog closed back in
Our last day, Wednesday, was all about making the ferry on time for its 9 A.M. departure. It rolled out under heavy skies. We made the stop at the park headquarters at Mott Island before making the narrow passage past the Rock Harbor light, my destination of the previous day. The distant roar of surf and the rising pitch of the ferry announced squall weather on the open lake. I interviewed a park employee as we left the island under dark clouds, a stiff breeze and spitting rain. Before we reached the inland passage back to Houghton four hours later, the waves were big enough to make walking difficult, and several broke above the second level of the boat, sloshing water down the decks and sending all but the bravest passengers inside.
I'll go back. I'll go back, but I won't stay at the lodge. I'll bring my kayak, paddle from point to point, stay at the campgrounds, do day hikes to points of interest, or just to work out the kinks in my legs from being cramped in a kayak. I'll go for at least ten days. Isle Royale is a beautiful and memorable place I have barely touched or seen. Sure I'll fish it again, but it will only be part of the adventure. I'll look for moose, stay at off-shore campgrounds, paddle the Palisades, and take the water taxi to the west end of the island. I'm going to paddle from Windigo to Siskiwit Bay.
I'm going to give Isle Royale a good paddling. That's all I can say.
Aaaauuuuuuchhhthphphhhh. Yawawn, stretch, scratch,
repeat. It’s Monday in Isle Royale. This
has been a great trip so far. let's have some coffee.
Just getting here was an adventure. It’s a seven hour drive
from my house, and I stopped a lot to take pictures and stretch my legs (and
back). Once I got to Copper Harbor where the ferry and our hotel was I found a general store, a couple of curio shops and
restaurants and no cell phone signal,. Every motel room was full, because it turns out that Copper Harbor is one
of the top ten mountain biking destinations in the US, and there was a race
this weekend. I bummed around town, checked into the dilapidated motel, got
some dinner at The Mariner, and went back to my room and tied flies. The guys
got in late, and we talked and laughed way too late into the night, or should I
say morning?
Our ferry left at 8 a.m. Saturday morning and we sailed on
the calm blue of Lake Superior, the low mountains of the Keewenaw Peninsula
receding into the Lake, and then the outline of Isle Royale itself lifting from
the northern horizon. In the course of
the voyage we were never out of sight of land which was a surprise in this 56
mile crossing. It took about three hours.
When we arrived, we went through orientation then checked in
and found our cabin. It is situated on a ridge overlooking Tobin Harbor, which
is the focus of the Coaster brook trout population. Chris Reister and Brett
Watson had opted to fly via float plane, and we heard its droning while we were
checking out the cabin. We hurried down to welcome them to the island. No, we
didn’t have spruce leis.
While we were standing on the dock talking, someone looked
into the water, and right there beneath us seven Coaster brook trout swam in
circles. They were chasing bait fish clustered around the dock. We had some
necessary business to care for but hurried back down to the docks with our rods.
Bob Miller was the first to score, and on his second cast. A few minutes later
he had another. Then I hooked up on a good buck. The fish were all 18-20”, and
beautifully colored. Brett would catch
one later in the evening. We launched our kayaks and poked around, saw a few
more fish, then went back to the docks after dinner and played a game called “Learn
to Spey cast” in which Chris Reister managed to break his spey rod and put an
early end to our bet as to who would break a rod first. Brett came in second on
Sunday.
one of four good fish
While it was nice to see fish right off the bat and even
catch a couple we quickly tired of the dock fish, not to mention that the Tobin
Harbor dock is a favorite after work swimming hole for the park and lodge
workers. The fishing has turned out to be tougher than our early results would
have indicated, with sightings being sparse. I had one fish follow my fly on
Sunday, but there’s very little surface activity to help you pinpoint fish, and
the harbor has been invaded by bait fish dimpling the surface everywhere you
look.
We have two full days of fishing left and so we’re still
hoping to crack the code here and get some good fish. I should say that one
highlight of this trip has been the food, provided by Erin Chittum and Peter
Nunez of Petite Cottage basically at cost, or at least I don’t think I could
have gotten food for the trip for the price I paid to eat like a king. Sirloin
stew, lasagna, enchiladas. They sent a loaf of zucchini bread for each of us,
as well as trail mix, cookies, homemade jerky, guacamole, vegetables and bread
sticks. No one will be losing weight on this trip for better or worse.
Brett Watson casting
Well, there’s too much to tell, so I’ll leave it there. I
doubt I’ll get another blog post done before I get home so have a great week.
Keep an eye on our Facebook page for fresh pictures etc., and I’ll get some
posts up soon here and elsewhere.
Friday I'm heading north, crossing the Mackinaw Bridge, pointing my car west for several hours, then north into the Keewenaw peninsula all the way to Copper Harbor. It is at least a seven hour drive. I will have my kayak, my 8 weight rods, and my camera. I will be joined there by four other anglers- Wayne Snyder, Brett Watson, Chris Reister and Bob Miller. Chris and Brett will take a plane from the town of Houghton, but the rest of us will board the Isle Royale Queen IV for the cruise to Isle Royale.
We've done our homework, packed our bags, tied flies, bought supplies. We've spent months planning, poring over maps, discussing plans, the weather, lodging, travel. We have contacted scientists and fishermen. We pored over the maps some more. There is nothing left to do but go.
We're going to Isle Royale in search of Coaster brook trout. For me this is a fantasy in triplicate. Coasters are a dream fish- large native brook trout that can weigh up to ten pounds. Isle Royale is a fantasy land, remote and rugged, difficult to get to, the playground of moose and wolves. Kayaking its rocky shore dotted by dozens of smaller islands will round out this trip.
this fish is so bad ass. upflyfishing.com
This won't be a backcountry trip unfortunately- we'll be staying at the lodge, and I'm bringing my laptop, camera and cellphone, but it's all for a good cause. The lodge where we're staying advertises it has wi-fi (we'll see what that means to them) and so I'll be posting updates on our Facebook page daily. The point of this trip is to catch and chronicle some Coaster brook trout and hopefully build some awareness of their current status, and what needs to be done to restore them on the mainland. Coasters used to number into the millions throughout Lake Superior, but only remnant populations remain. Isle Royale is one of their last strongholds.
Let me introduce the crew.
Wayne Snyder is a Michigan author and historian extraordinaire of Michigan fly fishing. His book "The Golden Age" is the touchstone tome on Michigan's rich legacy.
Brett Watson has been fly fishing since age 12, and is currently the president of the Paul H. Young chapter of TU here in Michigan.
Bob Miller is the latest addition to the team. He is the founder of Ryan Rocks Outdoor Adventures, which takes children with a history of cancer into the outdoors.
Chris Reister is the sole owner of Willow Classic Reels. He has fished the world in search of rare and beautiful fish.
Me? Meh. I'm just a guy who fishes, and with a name like Fontinalis, this was a natural fit.
alex cerveniak photo
I feel like I'm falling down the rabbit hole. If Alice has brook trout colors I'll completely understand.
That's right, you're going to have to listen to me complain about my health. I'm afraid morning is come and gone, so there won't be any of that yawn-stretch-scratch routine. Despite some minor back pain I was having a pretty good week last week- I night fished in terror and wrote that post Monday night, then Wednesday I got to take artist Becca Schlaff fishing. Her fish art is amazing, and she has painted several canvases from my photos, with more in the works. I had pitched her the idea of coming up and fishing, photographing her fish and then seeing how the whole experience would affect her artwork. We had a great time and found some fish and so we'll see. Despite how small and brushy the creek was I took her to, I think she enjoyed herself, as she says she's coming back soon.
Becca up north
one fish from the day
I had big plans for the weekend, including finishing a job and night fishing. Thursday morning when I woke up my back was hurting noticeably, and when I reached for a shirt in my dresser I almost collapsed. I quit work early and saw my chiropractor.
Friday morning I was unable to walk.
This isn't the first time, but the last time I was confined to my bed by lower back pain was 8 years ago. Since then I've learned how to cope with and manage the pain and avert a complete collapse. Not this week. I hope this doesn't come across as some sort of disrespect to disabled people, but to suddenly not be able to walk gives me at least some glimpse into their lives. How did I get by? I had to crawl around my house, that's how, and that was excruciating. By Saturday evening I was able to walk a little, and by Sunday morning I could walk unassisted. Usually exercise in the form of walking is actually helpful at this point, as it seems to re-align my back and muscles. So what did I do?
I went fishing.
another sign of fall
This was an incredibly dumb thing to do. For starters, I couldn't be satisfied with the streams close by. No, I had to drive an hour into the Pigeon River State Forest to fish. When my back is out, sitting and driving is one of the most excruciating things I can do. Secondly, it's one thing to walk down the side of a paved road, but the uneven bottom and large stones of a stream regularly jars things that don't wish to be jarred. Kind of like jarring a jar of bees now that I think about it. Walking back across the tussocky grass on the bank was even worse. Thirdly, to go that far into such a remote place in such condition was foolhardy to say the least. I did catch a couple brook trout including one ten incher, then headed to a nearby lake thinking that it would be easier on my back, but by the time I fished a couple of hours I knew it was time to race home and get back in bed.
I hope this was worth it
a dumb bass caught by a dumbass
One would think that with all this time on my hands I would have started writing my book, but no, I had to discover Trailer Park Boys on Netflix. Think "My Name is Earl" but more realistic. Being that I live in a trailer park I took it less as entertainment then a guide for living, minus most of the petty crime. I'm definitely gleaning style and decorating tips. There's nothing like mindless entertainment when you're in pain and thinking is something you don't want to do.
So, between naps and staggering to my feet to care for various needs, I'm working on nailing down the details for my Isle Royale trip. Do me a favor and go to our Facebook Page and click "Like". There's a synopsis of the trip and its purpose, pics and bios of the team members and I'll be sharing more information and photos from the trip. The lodge on Isle Royale has Wi-fi, so I'll try to at least post pics every day, maybe even get a blog post or two done. Morning and evenings are the best fishing, and I'm sure I'll have some time at night as well.
Well, I've said enough. It's going to be a busy week, if ever I can make it out of bed.
I have some Redington, Rio, and fishpond swag to give away, so be sure to enter at the bottom of this post.
For years waders for me were a sandwich bag. They sheathed and protected that which was important to me (lunch or myself), but I didn't give much thought to them. Neoprene was a big breakthrough for me. Imagine that in July.
At some point my friend Tim started on me about breathable waders, how they would change my life. He was right, but even then I only bought store-brand, relatively cheap models. They were a revelation, but wore out in short order. I went through several pairs of cheap waders, enduring bad fit, thin material and slow leaks.
Over the years it seems that I fish more and more, not less and less. With the rate that I burn through cheap gear it has started to make economic and logistical sense to buy better brand-name gear. After all, if I wear out a pair of waders only once a year, that's fewer trips ruined or put off while I scramble for new ones.
Imagine my joy and surprise when Redington sent me a pair of their Sonic-Pro Zip Front waders to test. These are their premium waders, with welded flat seams (instead of stitched) and a water proof zipper that extends down to the waist.
Comfort and style. And Steelhead.
First impressions- these are sharp looking waders, stylish even. Next I noticed the wading belt- it is quite wide, thick and elastic, making it very comfortable. I took these waders fishing right away and I immediately noticed a difference in the feel of the seams. The welding process leaves them noticeably flatter than stitching- it really does make a difference and in my opinion more comfortable than stitched waders. I'm a bit of a bull in a china shop, so for me to notice this means something. Another plus, was that unlike my other brand name waders, the hook on the gravel guards actually stays hooked to my wading boots. This was a major pet peeve which the Sonic-Pros solved.
a good look at the design and features. And another steelhead
Some initial concerns? I thought I was having a fit problem, but then realized that no one designs waders to have a DSLR camera shoved down the front of them, a hazard of having bloggers review waders. I shifted the way I wear my camera- problem solved.
The other concern was more of an adjustment- I'm used to having one big storage pocket on the front of my waders which I always over-stuff, and with a zipper smack down the middle of them, the Sonic Pro Zip Fronts have to divide this space up. There are multiple pockets in the front, including an interior pocket that is just the right size for your cell phone or keys. I simply had to use smaller fly boxes and keep unnecessary items in my back pack. It's probably time for me to look into one of those handy fishpond chest packs. Redington provides plenty of storage on these waders and I only mention it because it did change the way I manage my gear.
What do I love about these waders? Again, the welded seam construction is noticeable in comfort- you'll really like these. Perhaps the biggest feature that sets these apart is the zipper. Donning and taking off your waders is always a bit of a job no matter how long you've been doing this. The zipper makes a monumental difference in ease of wader removal. If you're a guy (sorry ladies- I have no idea if this helps you at all) it also greatly facilitates the ease of rest breaks if you know what I mean. Of course you do. And yes, the zipper is completely waterproof. It can be a little stiff to operate, but you'd expect that in a waterproof zipper.
The Sonic-Pros in action. Alex Cerveniak photo.
I really like these waders. I have about 50 trips on them, with an average of 5+ hours per trip, and at least 50 dry hiking miles on them, much of that through thick brush and swamp. One of my first outings in them was a 12 hour streamer float on the Pere Marquette river with Steve Martinez of Indigo Guide Service. I spent the day with my knees propped against a metal brace in his boat and managed to fray the material, but the reinforced knees seem to work as these waders still don't leak. I have worn them under all conditions you can think of- winter and spring fishing for steelhead, night fishing for browns, bushwhacking in the UP (Upper Peninsula) for brook trout, stalking the jagged rocky flats of Lake Michigan for smallmouth and carp. They have relegated my other brand name pair of waders to the closet for back up.
Now comes the confession. As I was preparing to write this review, disaster struck. Two weeks ago I noticed that the zipper had a catch to it. The next day it failed completely. In consulting with Redington their reply was "Just be honest". Not that I wouldn't have been, but it was a difficult moment. I really like these waders and really like the zipper feature. It makes life a lot easier. I think I've outlined that I am really hard on gear (after all, I've broken 5 rod tips in the last year, one of them twice). It could be that I've over-stressed the zipper by having the camera shoved down the front. They're obviously not designed for that. In consulting with Redington they say that they have only heard of one other zipper failure, the result of zipping a stick into the zipper. I am constantly in and out of my waders (yes I take my cell phone fishing) and so such a scenario is also likely. I love these waders and love the zipper feature and would not hesitate to buy them- I'd just be more careful. After all, any mechanical device has the inherent possibility of failure. If the zipper is a concern to you then consider getting the regular Sonic-Pro waders as these have the same great style, comfort and features without the zipper. Redington stands behind all of their products with an outstanding warranty. You can check it out by clicking the link here. Redington's customer service and warranty department strive to help out any customer no matter the problem. They are really great to work with. (And just remember to say "no" if I ever ask to borrow your waders.)
The final analysis- These are tough, comfortable, and even stylish. The design is well thought out, and the sonic welding makes a noticeable difference in comfort. Extra touches like the wide elastic wading belt and shoulder straps add to the comfort. As the pictures show, you will catch steelhead, even where they don't exist (okay, now I'm over-selling it).
The Redington Sonic-Pro Zip Front waders retail for $379.95, which puts them in the middle of the pack price wise. If you fish a lot (or want waders that will last) and comfort and ease of use matter to you I highly recommend them.
Okay- here's your chance to win some swag. I have three Redington T-shirts, three fishpond hats or visors, and three Rio Powerflex trout leaders to give away as well as assorted stickers. Three winners will be drawn. The proviso is that the I have one XXL T and two Medium T's- I'll try to match winners with sizes, but you may get what you get. Swag is swag.
If you'd like a soundtrack for this, scroll to the bottom and click to play. Be warned.
It has been a long, busy summer. I've managed to fit a lot in, I'm not sure how. One thing that has eluded me is the night game. Driving home from work I decide it is time to go and find a big fish. I spend the evening running errands, cooking dinner, and keeping occupied, but one thing is on my mind- tossing mouse patterns for big browns, waiting for an explosive take in the darkness.
I finally wrap my deliberations up as the sun is setting. Conditions are perfect- no moon, warm evening and a high overcast. I'm looking forward to this.
I drive out in the gathering gloom to my spot. I had scouted it during the daytime last week and am comfortable with the water. Night fishing however, is always a game of nerves, so we'll see how long I last. I'm already seeing bears in the bushes. Much to my dismay, I discover I've left my flies at home, and must drive the ten minutes home to fetch them.
When I get back, I tie on a big black foam gurgler, getting my Rapala knot right in the darkness. This is going to be good. I decide to leave my light off so that my eyes can adjust, and walk into the slavering night.
fly selection in the black of night
No sooner do I start down the trail than a horrible commotion erupts, piercing the night air, stopping me in my tracks. Some animal is braying in terror in the darkness. I've heard this before- two raccoons fighting. They make a horrible sound, a snarling mixture of growls, shrieks, and crying. This one is close, very close, and the bad part is that I'm walking toward it. I pass within thirty yards, and shout into the dense brush, but it never pauses, never lets up. As I pass by the sound changes to crying, and I realize it is not raccoons but probably a fox kit. It keeps up this incessant caterwauling all the while that I walk past. At the closest point I pause. What if it is a rabid fox, crazed and suffering, foaming at the mouth, biting everything in its path? But no, after the initial scuffle there is only the sound of a creature crying in the dark, pitiful, sad, plaintive. It's starting to sound like your new puppy when you made it sleep by itself for the first time, crying half the night in its loneliness.
I move on to the river. The sound never abates, just recedes into the background. It is a welcome relief to wade into the cool water, as if I've dug a moat for myself, the waters protecting me from that awfulness in the dark. I wade upstream to my starting point and wait ten minutes. Still this horrid creature cries, and now I hear sounds of movement on both banks. Perhaps some big boar coon whose motto is "carpe noctem", or some possum that is suddenly un-dead. Speaking out loud, I warn the creature on my side of the river not to come closer. This seems to work, but on the far bank the movement continues. I can imagine every set of ears for a mile around pricked in my direction, every set of night vision eyes gleaming with anticipation. Some creature out there isn't happy, and either through inexperience or injury it is an easy meal. It is only fifty yards from me.
The sound never stops. I'm not thrilled with this situation, but staying in the river at this point seems like a better option than getting out and walking back toward the miserable creature. The boreal glow on the northern horizon is starting to wane, and the surface of the river flows like polished black granite, and so I start to fish, more to distract myself than anything.
I toss my fly upstream, let it drift all the way below me into the bend, then lift and toss it back up, like the worlds slowest metronome. I tire of this and try chugging my fly or retrieving it. I roll-cast, snap-T, and even overhead cast at times, slapping my fly on the surface with force trying to elicit a response. I also hope to make enough noise to alert any critter on the banks to my presence.
That infernal noise continues.
Ten minutes after I start fishing I hear a frantic scuffling, much closer, and a squeal of pain. Then a new sound, very close, guttural and deep. "Huh, huh, huh, huuuurrrrrgghhhh...... hurrrrgggghhh...huh, huh, huuuuuurrrrrggggghhhh...."
Another yawp and all hell breaks loose. That very deep growling accompanied by a snarl, the scuffling of leaves, breaking limbs. The animal is definitely canine, probably coyote, but the sound is so deep that it could be a wolf. They are fighting (or killing) only about thirty yards away on the far bank. The other creature is still crying in the distance, and now yet another creature is squealing in the dark as a much bigger something is obviously giving it a thrashing. It seems to go on forever, ten minutes, but it is probably only five. Then silence, followed by the sounds of running in the forest.
That blasted crying doesn't let up.
What did I do? I kept fishing. I didn't want to draw attention to my position. I stood there in the darkness choking down the rising bile in my throat, fighting the urge to flip on my light, to scream into the darkness, or to run down the river and back to my car. Everything in the dark seems wicked now- every sound, every rustle of grass, every croak of a frog, and even the birch limbs lying in the water shining whitely in the dark seem skeletal. Every muscle in my body is taut, every nerve set on edge, and the only thing that keeps me sane is to keep tossing my fly upstream.
Ten minutes after the closest fight ends, my line swings out in the current and comes tight. I hear a small bloop and my line jumps in the darkness. So do I. There are fish here after all. Five casts later and it happens again. Downstream I hear the bombastic slap of a beaver tail on the water. Stink. There goes the fishing. It happens again. And again. My poor sorry screaming companion is starting to sound hoarse. It also sounds like a child drifting off to sleep as it cries. I'll never know if it fell asleep, died, or simply wandered off.
This infernal noise lasts 45 minutes. I only last an hour. Another larger fish hits twice, but it's still not the one I'm after. The woods have gone quiet, but I'm thoroughly rattled, and now my next fear takes over. I've fished to the bottom of the familiar water, and now I have to navigate a stretch of water that I've only waded once before. It is deeper, the current a little faster, and there are submerged logs and a couple of right hand holes to avoid.
I can't do it.
I turn my light on and head back to my car, grateful I've left it unlocked. I don't even bother to take off my waders. I start the car, flip on the lights and head home.
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