The River Less Traveled

What are you like when you wait in line? Like at the DMV or the airport? Frustrated? Annoyed? Ready to kill the person behind you that can’t stop complaining so you start imagining the things you would say before the big punch like, “Eat my dust,” or “Bet you’ll be complaining about this when you wake up…in the hospital.” That’s it, you’re tough!

The patience of a sportsman is an acquired taste. The act of waiting is one regularly practiced by a seasoned angler. And the life of efficient endurance while muttering, “one more cast” over and over again is so habitually occupied by every fisherman that it begins to drain his mind of worry and angst like sucking poison from the body.

I pity the man who hasn’t learned what it’s like to wait and wait hard for something. The seconds, minutes, hours, days and years spent investing in the act of pure and unadulterated hope. At first, standing in that water, virgin to the thought of actually spending the whole day with a rod in your hand waiting for something to bite the other end of it all factored down to temperature of water, location, lure type, time of day, etc. What kind of  person spends their Saturdays off standing in the middle of nowhere hoping some prehistoric second rate creature is fooled by mass produced plastics wrapped around a metal barbaric hook meant to snag the poor creature and then dangle in mid air only to be thrown back in with the scars it carries only to forget minutes later due to shortness of memory as he yet again swims past a fluorescent yellow twisty tail attached a rounded, impossibly bulbous eyed bug that seems to be swimming at a trajectory course not physically possible for such an aquatic being to travel at and yet the fish says, “hmm, that looks surprisingly fake but delicious, I think I will go after it and …” OUCH! Take that 8^th grade English professor! See, run on sentences can be fun and effective!

But we digress. After all, when it comes to patience, digressing is a big part of it. Taking your mind away from the impatience, deviating from the pain of stillness and bore, immersing yourself and mind into something more enjoyable. And that’s what fishing has come to be. Spending a whole Saturday standing in water is the greatest test of patience and fortitude.

And the only reason we fishermen put up with the patience is because we are in love with the water. What other reason could a human have to wait so long standing for something?  Because of this great infatuation of some major cruel summer crush. The connection a fisherman has with the river is one of perfect compatibility. No one judges the other because of who they are or argues because of some silly issue. The river accepts man and man accepts the river. Just as a perfect relationship calls for. Give a little, take a little. Laugh at the falls together, bask in the warmth of the reflection of the sun against the surface. Man respects the river for what it is and the river respects man. A perfect balance of harmony that is fueled by patience. When the river is high, fisherman waits for it to lower. When the fisherman is working the weekends, the river waits for him. And when the fisherman stands all day in the hot sun wading miles for the perfect catch and that 6 o'clock shadow casts down on him as the river offers up the lunker of the week, well... that's just a match made in fishing heaven. Yep, that's where all the fish go. Your welcome....

AC with the Sunset on her back

One amazing shot of a bass emerging for a top water lure...

We started off with yellow and orange twisty tails on white jigs as we started reeling them in around 9 am. It was a steady 70 degrees all day with a few lingering rain showers here and there. But, nothing too detrimental. After all, what's a little rain when you've survived a few tornadoes...

Reeling them in on the flats...

He caught about 10 standing there and by the 6th one, he was just dropping them before I could shoot...

Like a Boss (Your Welcome Danny)

"Like a Boss" (Your welcome Danny)

And now for a quick intermission of something completely different.... A segment called, "Cars we see on the road that we think are pretty so we take lots of pictures of them." 

His and Hers

AC's favorite

And back to our usual blogging...

Dad decided to be adventurous and venture over to a side of the river we had never been too before. He made it there, reaching up to his armpits in water. Turns out it wasn't the deep that got him, but the shallows. As he was just about to step on the boulder you see below, he tripped and fell in about a foot of water. Our best falls are the ones in easiest wading. The river likes a laugh here and there and we sure had fun joining in as Dad stood up, soaked in river water. Still a trouper, he fished on in his soggy bottoms only to catch more fish than AC...Of course!!!

Patience really is a virtue. Because it’s worth it to wait for something good. Something meaningful. Something with a tail that likes to eat bugs! So, with dozens of smallies caught over a 10 hour period, we waded out, headed to the local reservation farmers market for fresh cherries and made it back in time (2 am) to well, hit the sack!

Until next time... We'll see ya on the other side of the river!

Cast Away,

AC & Dad

Top Of Our Game

When at his worst, a fisherman’s mind wanders to water. That 6 am, grave thick hovering fog above a glassy lake in the north woods. Where the sound of a phantom loon sounds the morning bell that day has arrived and the fishermen will come and play. The winding river in the mountains that labyrinths out into the plains as a trout breaches for a bug basking on a boulder side. And the sweet musk of the bitter salt that lingers in the ocean air off the coast of some sea fairing town where many of their sons, fathers, and brothers have perished under God’s perilous wet thumb they call the great wave.

And there above the lake, within the river and drowned among the ocean's chosen victims is the mind of a great fisherman. Summoned to each nook of mass of water to fish and fish on. A hobby, sure. A curse, indeed. But, a love. A love of hope and faith and curiosity. Most definitely. For no cast is the same, no fish the best, and no moments in time worth more than the moments spent fishing.

So it is only natural that a true fisherman's escape is that of H2 Oh so splendid of places that it takes a road trip, a plane, a train, even a horse back ride over a 9,000 foot mountain in the Bob Marshall wilderness of the great back doors of Montana to find it. Find what you may ask. A cure. A cure to life's BS. A cure to all the drama. A cure for the worst of times. Your job killing you? Good, go fishing. Your wife cheated on you? Fine, go fishing. Your daughter wants to be a stripper? Send her to military school, then go fishing. The sport of angling is just that. A sport. And what's a sport? Well if you look 3rd down in the dictionary, after a physical activity and particular form of competition, it says it's a diversion.

A diversion you say? That's just what I need. I need to go. I need to go to a place where no other man has boldly gone because unlike space, this place has boundaries, and gravity holding down the holes, and weeds, and pools, and wood, and bugs, and rocks, and peddles, and boulders, and sand, and muck, and slate, and fish. Oh does it have fish! I want it to be hard to get too. Hard for others to find. I want fishing to be all mine. Because it is mine. It's my game baby. Anyway I want it. I can choose my arena; river, lake, ocean. I can choose my artillery; fly rod, casting reel, kayak. And then I can choose my opponent; Smallie, largemouth, trout, sturgeon, salmon. But, then again, we can't always choose our opponents. Never really sure what's going to bite that lure and take you for a ride.

And that's just half the fun. Ah, what do we know? Probably shouldn't trust our word anyways. we're fisherman, after all. Riverbums the name and Fishing is our game. So, let's dive into last week's play by play....

With a steady temp of 85 degrees and not a cloud in the sky we fished our favorite of rivers in Northern Wisconsin. Of course, we would have to send a trained assassin to your door if the secret were ever to be divulged of the name of that river. And well, where would we be without our readers? So it shall go unnamed for now.

Indeed, we were at the top of our game as we started off slowly 7 am with yellow twisty tails and white jig heads. But, then we found that top water would be the delicacy of the day as green and orange chuggers with some occasional torpedoes were used till the sun went down... 

Below is one of AC's favorite photos of Dad. Blue sky, Green, trees and the unknowns of the river...

AC may have caught the largest of smallies but Dad sure had the bulk of the day with over 55 smallies caught trumping AC's 45. We were sure at the top of our game as the heat seemed to summon the fish to the top grasping for those invasive torpedoes. Our go to weapon of choice!

So whether your ultimate fix is that of the great big blue wet thing or a private stream in the middle of no where, remember that in the worst of times, stuck in an office cube, by a dying friend's bedside, or stuck in a build-a-bear factory with your kids, let your mind wander to water. Because soon, it won't just be your mind that does the wandering. Until we meet again, river.

Until next time... we'll see ya in the other side of the river!

Cast Away,

AC & Dad

We'll Settle for Unsettling Waters

Never settle for less. Less than you deserve. Less than your worth. Less than extraordinary.

But, it sure is easier said than done, isn’t it? We settle all the time. Settle for the last donut that’s stale and smudged multi colored because all the other donuts have rubbed up against it being pulled out of the box.. Settle for the worst plane seat because it’s cheaper. Settle for the first paycheck that comes your way because you are fresh out of college and terrified for your life. Settle for the first parking spot because you are “so sure” there won’t be one closer and yet you’re not even in the same township as the event you are trying to attend. Settle for that one person because you think you won’t meet someone else in time. That or you don’t deserve someone better.

But, you do. Dammit, you deserve the creamiest of donuts and who cares if it adds another tire round you, go get it! That plane may come crashing down like Sinatra in May so go first class, order some nasty airplane champagne and pretend like you own some extremely lucrative startup techy company as you nerdly ask the cute flight attendant to show you where the lavatory is. Good, you should be scared leaving that cocoon of comfort and paid-for appreciation called University. Now, take what you learned from it,  buy the best looking suit, book every interview from here to there and make them want to pay you more because you are from the privileged generation and by God you come from an era where an Asian man pretending to ride a horse is called dancing and hats with straight bills and the price tag still attached is ridiculously cool.

And lastly, but most importantly…Don’t settle for him. Don’t settle for her. Settle? Why does anyone want to settle? I want life to be unsettling. Full of surprises and obstacles at every corner. Like stolen kisses because the girls worth kissing are the hardest to kiss. Hard to place casts that land you a fish even when someone told you the river was barren. Hugs from behind because it was the spur of the moment. A wade through stormy weather after a hot and humid day. And your handsome and friendly neighbor shows up after hearing you were sick to take care of you, watch some chick flick called Miracle (okay, so it says its about miracles and had cute boys in it), tells you your beautiful without all that girly stuff and at your worst, and whispers in your ear when he thinks you are sleeping that you’re the most important thing that’s ever happened to him. Ah, sorry been cooped up too long. Someone contact the weatherman and tell him people are suffering here from lack of fishing.

Settle? Hell no. Not when unsettling moments like that, the ones meant to stir the pot, make things messy and well just keep life extraordinary are way too much fun! Like all this unsettling flooding we’ve been having. We missed a few weekends, cooped up in the rain. But, we were sick of being held back and settling for nothing but bad weather. We decided to take a chance and dirty the water. Actually, the water was already pretty dirty. Chocolate to be exact as we took last weekend to hit the South Branch Kalamazoo river in Michigan and then journeyed the latter half to our most prized possession of rivers in Northern Wisconsin, the *********** river (sorry to be unsettling but we would have to kill you)…

Bridge Bum in Michigan

The waters in Michigan were clearer as we fished the day in this South Branch for trout and bass. Storms this summer have seem to bypass most of these inland rivers and keep the levels lower and still cool enough for trout. However, rivers like the Shiawassee and Grand were still at flooding levels and just too dangerous to wade. So, we stuck to the Kalamazoo where Dad landed a tiny brookie and AC caught herself a bass both using yellow twisties with white jigheads.

AC casting on the South Branch River

Perfect hiding spot for Brook Trout

We traveled on in hopes of more surprises. Which we encountered in a parking lot in Western Michigan where we ran into some car show guys displaying some funky rides that weekend...

Ford Meteor

Our favorite river's waters were, to be consistent with the theme, quite unsettling with chocolate tint and high levels of 8.20 where the average is about 7.30. We braved it anyways. Knowing there would be little chance of catching, we were pleasantly rewarded with 20 bass in the day using our trusty usuals of orange and yellow twisties with mutli colored jigs...

A Smallie Selfie from Dad

AC's first bass in the money hole

Twist and Smallie

She'll settle for that one...

Lunker of the day

Dad Hooked

Yet another trout

One hiding under the wood...

The face says it all... "AC, save your film..."

Ok, so sometimes you have to settle for whatever river you can get. But, before you say yes to the dress, make sure you aren't settling for Mr. right now.  Before you say no to opportunity, think about all the possibilities. Before you say maybe to that loser, look in the mirror and see how amazing you are, then turn the corner, something is waiting for you. Something unsettling. Maybe there's a fish there, maybe not. But, you got up, left the house and discovered for yourself. It's okay to make a mistake, just don't make it again. Oh, got to go, someone just brought in donuts and well, we ain't settlin for just any old one. I am going to unsettle for the best.

Cast Away,

AC & Dad

River Buddy: A Note From Dad

No man really wants to have daughters.  

If they say they do then they were born post 1950 and are lying.  They’re lying because their wives are listening and they still want to have sex once in a while without having to watch “Pride and Prejudice” for the 10th time while simultaneously assuring them that their new yoga mat doesn’t make them look fat.  The first thought a man has when confronted with “Oh honey let’s start a family!” is sure, that’s a great idea.  He’s thinking, hey why not. We’ll have sex a whole bunch of times for months (mornings included) without having to light Jane Austin gift candles or apologizing for falling asleep afterwards. Then she’ll start getting bigger in really cool places while the two of them are scarfing down deep dish, Italian beefs and birthday cake.  He’s thinking he’ll be able to go out to the bars with the guys more often now having the built in excuse that he’s way too kind and caring to drink around his ever increasingly beautiful "little" bun oven.  

Then a few months down the road he’ll have a little buddy (maybe two) with his name so it’s easy to remember.  Some one just like him to help with the lawn, take out the garbage, hang out with in the garage while discussing the pros and cons of radial arm saws vs table saws. A dad clone born with a Cub’s shaped birth mark and a voice strangely similar to Kirk Goudy’s hauntingly romantic whispering phrase “And before too long we were pulling them in”.  Yes sport fans, something even more important than another player who gets the never ending game of “Got You Last". Finally some one else to blame losing the incredibly stupid “Who Left the Toilet Seat Up or Down” girl thing game (I can never remember if it’s up or down that finally wins), somebody who’s good at peeing in the woods.  Every real man dad’s dream..a built in fishing buddy.  That little "another you" to wake up at 3:00 AM and head off into the great wilderness and do the greatest sport in the world.

Then all of a sudden the dream is crushed! The man’s “little” bun oven brings home some pink stuff for the soon to be new little fishing buddy’s super cool bedroom. “Hey what’s with that,  bun oven dude?”  “That’s not chartreuse!”  “Nobody’s ever gonna catch anything with that color!”    “What?”    “No way!”   “What do you mean there’s another gender?”  “There’s another gender?!” “ Nobody ever said anything about another gender!”  Oh my God she’s got me using the word “gender”.  I’ve been duped.  How could this be?  No more little buddy.  No more garage buddy.  No more Kirk Goudy sound-a-like early morning catch phrase voice little buddy.  Back to playing “Got You Last” with the dog (he doesn’t get it ether but at least he gets excited about the whole thing).  Oh my God, now all that stuff in the bathroom’s gonna double.  Now I’m gonna have to memorize another girl’s name.  Damn, I just learned the wife’s name.  Now I’m gonna have to kill somebody else's little buddy who’s coming over to see …to see…my daughter.  There I said it.  My daughter!  And 24 years later, after raising three girls by myself, I ended up with what I wanted. What I helped make. What helped make me….Three little buddies.

And the fears, the worries, the sleepless nights, the happy things, the sad things, the triumphs and the failures seem to mystically parallel the universe of river fishing. I would venture to say that most fathers pray that their daughters won’t show up on the cover of a man’s magazine, but then again most daughters don’t fish like this one...

My little fishing buddy.  Though not that great peeing in the woods.     

So,if you haven't guessed already. AC made the cover of a fishing mag. Yes my friends. A cover I can be proud of. She was featured in the Spring issue of the ISA Bronzeback Bulletin with a 4 page spread on our tornado alley fishing adventure. Below are a few screen shots of the article. Need I say more about how proud I am....

Opening to AC's Article

End of Article

Cast Away,

Dad

LOCD

Do you get easily distracted by shiny objects? When at a 4 star restaurant, does the resplendency of the metallic plated utensil that we so simply call a spoon remind you of a spinner bait? Do your girlfriend’s dangly earrings send you into a frenzy of tying nostalgia as you envy her ability to adorn hooks all day long and secretly loath her in jealousy because she can use a hook in more ways than you can? Does your boyfriend’s ability to cast farther than you backhanded make you want to push him off the boat?

Great, then it’s not just us. 

Ok, so that last one doesn’t really have anything to do with our theme this week, it’s just a thought that has crossed every female angler time and again. But, if shiny objects do interest you then you have LOCD. Lure Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. And no, it’s not curable. That will be 5 cents. Ah, shiny nickels. How we love the sight of shiny nickels. Oh that sight, that wonderful sight. 

Sure, you can lessen the side effects. All you have to do is avoid every Cabelas, Erehwon, Uncle Dans, Gander Mtn,  Outdoor world, Bass Pro, Orvis fly shop, Gas station near body of water, junk mail fishing catalogs, and fallen fur (for those avid fly tiers). You can even focus your attention on something else. Like trying to crochet or yoga. :)

But, eventually, you will start to get the itch, feel the force of a nearby fishing shop, and stop where you are. Then, you will enter that fishing shop with a pedigree of previously subdued fervor that is now raging as thoughts of lures begin to cloud your mind. You walk up to the desk in a panic sweat as you try to find your voice in front of the shop owner who has seen this rebound more times than he would like to count. And you look right into the shop owner, right into his eyes. And you know, the thing about a starved lure fisherman...he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes. Like a doll's eyes. Until he spots the lures, and those eyes roll over white as his cart fills to the top and beyond with lures and most of them just for the sake of it. That's right, we just quoted Jaws, your welcome...

There's just no getting over it. Those that can't get out to fish, buy lures. Women have their shoes, teenagers have their phones, and anglers have their lures. So, this weekend we dabbled in just about everything. From using our spinning rods with interchangeable black, gold, yellow, and orange spinner baits to our casting rod with softbellies and jigs to swim baits. We were sure to put our LOCD purchases to good use as we visited the North Branch River for the 3rd time...

Smallie on the North Branch River
(Dedicated to my super girl in MN! From the Queen of the smallies to the Queen of the sunnies)

Dad on our fav river...

AC fishing below the Dam on the Manitowoc in Wis.

It's a bit flooded...

Old Army Ambulance

It's a long way down to the river...

Spawning Bed

The North Branch River

boulder casting...

International Treasure! 

Just off the beds...

Ultimate spawning, scattered thunderstorms, and still very flooded waters only produced us about 10 smalls. But, it was still fun to get out there and indulge our LOCD by testing out different lures and different spots. Like we said, there is no cure for what we have. So, we're just going to enable it till we're broke and living in our canoe...

Cast Away,

AC