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

Fishellaneous

Preference is inevitable. Chocolate or Vanilla? Cubs or Sox? Star Trek or Star Wars? Beatles or Stones? Ketchup or mustard? Fly or Cast?  Bass or Trout? You can’t love both. You can LIKE both. But, one will always sit a bit higher than the other on the podium. How exactly do we best explain this? Duh, with ice cream of course.

Are you familiar with the “DQ doctrine?” Let us start from the beginning. You’ve been outside in the summer’s heat where the pavement is bursting and the brick is bubbling under the sun’s watch. Standing in the river for 12 hours, working it like the dedicated angler you are. A few sips of water here and there but we all know the best anglers only fish in the stuff. If you’re really thirsty, then you ain’t fishin hard enough.

The sun is casting its shadow against the bank and you realize it’s time to head out of paradise. As you begin the trek back, your partner stops to look at you and you do the same. Without a word, without a nod, you have both decided… to go to Dairy Queen. The mother of all that is creamiest. The protector of the cold saturated fat. The redneck cousin of Ben and Jerry. The runner up for all heartbreak spanning from your high school sweet heart to your third divorce. You’ve been without food, without water and without cold for the whole day. The only thing that can put out the fire is a milkshake. A Dairy Queen Milkshake. But you don’t just order any flavor. Oh no. You order your heart’s desire. You order your habit of choice. Right when you think you’ll try something new, you cave, and go with your safe, reliable, ever so delicious, and glutton quenching [Fill in the blank].  

Like we said, preference is inevitable.  So, due to over flooding, we head to a smaller stream called the North Branch River in North Branch Wisconsin. Access was tight, but we found a parking spot close to a bridge and stuck close the water line as we waded in. You can only imagine our surprise when we expected and preferred to catch smallies, where instead we caught that and just about everything else. 

Yes my friends. While AC caught about 4 decent sized small mouth, Dad caught 5 small mouth, 2 steelies, 1 trout, 1 northern, and a bottom feeder. A cornucopia of fishellaneous catching and reeling. From one cast to the next, we were’nt sure what was going to bite.

With temperatures in the near high 40s and the sun beating down we spent a good 12 hours in the river and hiked back along the highway a good mile to return to our car. What did we use? What didn’t we use. From the steelies hitting Dad’s black and yellow glitter meps to the bass hitting AC’s white softbelly with yellow crawdad leg patterns. From the northern hitting Dad’s chartreuse spoon to the well, another bass hitting AC’s red bellied softbelly with fast action swim tail on a white, red eyed jig head...

Pre River- Bundled Up

With 2 sweatpants, one under armor with a t-shirt and wind breaker soft shell, AC was prepared to brave the chilly 40 degree weather.

Post River- "like Dad, so not in the mood right now"

Dad Hooked on Something

Netted Trout on Mep 

A Beautiful Brook Trout

A Graceful Release

AC's Country Home

This northern is lucky to be alive. Notice the gash it has from escaping predators

Poor Northern...

Bridge Bum...AC caught her smallie just off the corner here

The Riverbums about to walk under a golf course bridge..

Now that's a tree house!

Wading Out After a Great Day

So, as much as we prefer smallmouth bass, a great pint of guinness, and one hell of a Dropkick Murphy's concert. Sometimes, switching it up can be fun too. A trout, a glass of fine chianti, and Eric Clapton unplugged live. What can we say? We will always have our favorites, like Dad's vanilla and AC's cherry ice cream. So, the next time the person at the DQ desk asks, "what can I get you?" Try something new, take a chance. It may be cold out there, but a top water might just work! Sure, it's not what you usually prefer....but tastebuds change my friends, oh do they change!

Cast Away,

AC & Dad

A Trout Above The Rest

It turns out we missed blogging about a very special riverbum escapade from last year. You know you fish a lot when a whole trip goes un-noticed. We figured since our rivers are just recovering from watergeddon, now would be a good time to reminisce about it.

Of course, how could we forget such a trip? For this one was a significant one. September 8th. Unusually warm for this time of season. Our last successful day in our favorite river of Wisconsin, ********* -******* ( You should know better by now, we'd have to kill ya) And one very special fish.

No, it didn't have an extra chromosome or the ability to make out how many toothpicks were in a pile on the floor. We mean special like those rare occurrences when you sense an eagle is near and look above as you stand knee deep in a river somewhere as it glides steadily at a regal pace sure to make any average hawk or crow envious.

Special like those fairytale moments in time, as you rush for your train in the depths of the city, listening to your iPod and you suddenly spot him, a sharp-dressed man with the clean cut face rushing towards the same train, with the same iPod and you both slow to allow the other on with blushed cheeks and shy voices and you stand for a moment on that train trying to catch your breaths and suddenly realize you are listening to the same song with one smooth glance as the doors shut on the scene.

Special like the hard working, ambitious, and dexterous entrepreneur who chooses to stay involved in every project because he loves his business that much and although he won't admit it, every time he picks up a tool, labor fills him with that feeling of ecstatic resolution that he succeeded in his American Dream and pride gravitates through his every crevice as he and his team pursue and pursue well.

Special like that couple of 20 years that like to argue about fixing the garden during breakfast but secretly enjoy the sounds of eachother's voices because they only have so much more time to listen to them. She likes gardening, he prefers watching the game, she goes out to the movies with her girlies every Monday night and he joins his guys for bowling every Tuesday. But, each night they come home like the typical 20 plus year couple that has endured the best and worst of times, get ready for bed and turn off the lights. You wouldn't know from the outside though, that as they fall asleep he reaches for her hand and she does the same, for every night they fall asleep hand in hand, as if customary for those victims of everlasting true love.

So what makes this fish, this seemingly mediocre trout, the one Dad happened to net on a whim hope of his last summer smallie, so special? It pursued a dream not dreamt by most trout. It enacted a fad that would soon stand the test of past time, nay present and therefore future. This trout swallowed whole a top water torpedo. Don't believe us huh? Well, you can bet we have the proof to back up our story with ever so breathtaking imagery. After all, we are fishermen, and all fishermen are liars, but we do it with poise and poses...

AC with her first smallie of the day

And now for something completely unique...Drum roll please...

Dad with his Top Water Trout 

A Trout Above the Rest

A Trout with a hefty appetite

Last photo of the summer in our favorite river

Whether stuck in a love that can withstand anything good or bad, a chance encounter with romance, a moment in time with nature's treasures, or the dream of a lifetime...making it special is really up to you. That trout knew the lure was too big for him, but he was different than all the others his size. He took a chance, something set him apart, something special just made him a little better than the rest!

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

Cast Away,

AC & Dad

We're Back...

We’re back. Like the walking dead, furbies, 90210, Rambo, boomerangs and a good hunting dog. We always come back!

Yes, it’s true. We have emerged from our snowy veiled cocoons of wintry lives filled with numerous business trips, chilled waters, and the occasional social appearance. From Thanksgiving until now, Easter Sunday, we had been imprisoned to do everyday common human deeds. Forced to clean and organize. And you know even contemplating cleaning on a good weekend for a Riverbum is torture. Compelled to accept invitations to parties since our typical excuse of “gone fishing” was seasonally useless. And our friends know it! Summoned to dating. Friday double date dinners with friends, late night movies, strolls through the park as AC runs to the nearest fountain and peers down in hopes of seeing a fish, just one lousy fish God. Please!

But, the good thing about dating and being a Riverbum, is the excuse. Yes, we have another excuse. Cause once the weather breaks and the rivers run their wild flocks free for anglers to prey upon, we dump our significant others. I mean, let’s face it. Friday nights are truly meant to relining reels, packing the car, and mapping out river spots. There’s no time for dating when fishing season is open. But, don’t worry, our dates know that. We put our Facebook status on single and dating in late fall and post it as “complicated” when April hits.

We did manage to escape, a few times, from our hibernation in January to fish the Pere Marquette, even though frozen solid and empty handed most trips. Can’t blame us for trying. Organizing the screws in Dad’s toolbox was looking tempting and AC actually participated in yoga, twice. Our minds were slipping folks, we had to do something.

Which brings us to today. This post, here and now is dedicated to a resurrectional fishing trip. The rise of the Riverbums on a most holy day of days. AC caught the last big fish of the year with her first salmon on Thanksgiving day. Which means, it was only casting karma that dad should be the one to last the first real lunker of the year on Easter Sunday. And so he did…

But first, we packed up the car, left at 4 am sharp Saturday morning and arrived in Newaygo County, Michigan to fish the White River all day. Stocked with steelie lures like our orange bottom medium soft belly strung through flat head black jigs which turned out to be the trophy snatcher of the day. But, why have you read more about it, let us show you...

We thought a salute to America by a nearby tank would be good karma for the start of the season...

Saluting to a new road trip

We had gone about a mile until it was too deep to wade. So, we had to get out and walk for a bit. The weather never got over 45 and with the water temp still low, AC was sure to wear her winter waders with 2 sweats underneath. But, the bulk didn't stop her. For it's never too early to start bushwhacking. So, AC took to the forest and was able to maneuver her way easily around this commune of wood.

She'll bushwhack anywhere to get to a spot

The 6th hour rolled around with just  a few hits here and there. We were in search of a nice early spring steelhead. We came across the biggest hole of the day in this particular region of the river. As 5 fly fishermen, 3 float boats, and 2 kayaks tried their hands at the massive hole, we patiently waited  just a curve of the river away for people to clear. When all were gone, we moved in. Optimistic that something, just something was left to be caught after so many had tried...

Fish On!

And it was a beautiful hit! For within just a few casts in this hole, Dad hooked a steelhead and took a good 15 minutes to fight him. He would drag out line with the current and then chase back towards him. Like Tom and Jerry, the brawl continued, giving quite a show for the other fishermen who came by to watch the Angler and his catch of the day in the ring...

Breaching

The Money Shot!

Readjusting him to the water for release

We were covered in bugs all the day with this prime early Spring hatch. Perfect timing to match the hatch...

Dad's HATCHING more than just good casts...

Our Path Home

It seems holidays are our specialities. The lunkers must be ones for festivities too as they seem to bite the best for us then. First Thanksgiving, now Easter. Next up is Mother's Day. But, let's hope we get out before then and get in some more catches. 

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

Cast Away,

AC & Dad