Time Seems to Fly By

I didn’t understand it and still don’t entirely. I had to gain a better understanding of the allure of fly fishing for trout. It’s written about from a romantic’s perspective, is touted as more of an art than a hobby, and inflicts its addicts with such grandeur that they often never recover. Fishing has been a part of my life almost as long as I’ve been on this planet. Even into my 40’s the mystic of a trout on the fly has evaded me. I’d trout fished and fly fished, but never at the same time.

My fly fishing was performed on a few small ponds with little poppers for bass and bluegill. Using a very rudimentary and self-taught form of the standard cast (combo of the back and forward casts) I managed to get a cork a few feet in front of me where I was able to coax a few bites which turned into exciting fights on a fly rod. My trout fishing was performed with spinning gear on the relatively large Muskegon River where we bounced spawn bags and yarn balls along the bottom in Spring currents.

I absolutely enjoyed those experiences and wouldn’t hesitate to head out again tomorrow to do the same thing. However, I’m also always up for a new adventure and trying something I’ve never done before, especially something as highly regarded as working a fly line for trout. It just so happened that for Spring break this year, my family and I decided against the conventional trip to warm sandy beaches and instead headed for snow-covered slopes. We set our sights on the Northern Lower Peninsula of Michigan as our destination and booked our lodging. Now that we had a location set, I wanted to research the area for additional outdoor activities for myself and my family. I had initially intended on taking my kids out on the ice for perch and splake but due to an early Spring, the ice was not safe. I attempted to book a charter to take us out, but even with the warm temps, nobody had their boats in the water. With all this, it looked like our long list of activities would not include family fishing of any sort.

As our departure date neared I took one more look at the map and realized there were several rivers within very close proximity to where we would be staying. A little more research showed that they were trout streams with some decent stretches open to fishing in March. The final two pieces of the puzzle came together when my wife said I could go at it alone for a few hours as there was plenty for her and the kids to do.

Lastly, Boyne Outfitters had an opening on what may have been the most beautiful day of the year up to that point. And like that Spring Break was now complete with a little something for everyone, snow tubing, swimming, hot tubs, snowboarding, hiking, relaxing and reading, and some fly fishing. I was soon in contact with my guide, Matt Robinson who was out checking the waters for our upcoming outing. When he went to what he thought would be our best chance he found the water to be milky with poor visibility due to the ongoing winter runoff. Any fishable water on choice number two would likely be full of other hopeful anglers so we opted for door number three. Approaching the fly shop in an Austrian-themed village a young man stepped from one of the nearby stores decked in waders and telltale polarized glasses. I followed him to the shop looking like an extreme tourist with wader pants tucked into my socks, a camera around my neck, and a ridiculous hat shaped like a fish. When I asked if he was Matt and introduced myself, I’m certain he immediately wrote the day off as a loss.

The fly shop was easily identifiable even while being tucked between trendy shops and ski lifts.  

Enthusiastically I spoke with Matt and fellow guide Drew Oliver about my lack of experience in what we were about to partake in but, was hopeful my exuberance would overcome any shortcomings and make for an unforgettable day. Thanks to the abundance of aquatic resources in the state of Michigan we didn’t have to drive far till we reached what we hoped to be a lonely bridge crossing. As luck would have it no one else had the same thoughts as us so we parked and I began quizzing Matt immediately on how this was going to go down. Equally as excited, but maybe just a little less spirited, he calmly explained what fly we would start with, pulled his rods from the rooftop holder, and began to get things set up. As we slipped down to the water’s edge, in true professional fashion, Matt offered to teach me a few tricks before we entered the thickly forested edges of the river.

Variety is the spice of life.  My guide had a multitude of flies that I hoped would coax a would be bite on the river that day. 

Here’s where things broke from what I had been envisioning vs. what reality would actually be. The epic scenes you see in the commercials of a man standing knee-deep in a rippling stream, whipping the neon line back and forth before presenting it perfectly to a slurping trout would be playing on another TV. With deep pools, fallen snags, overhanging branches, an engulfing coniferous forest, and a narrow target I would be getting schooled in Northern Michigan inland trout fishing. We spent 10 or so minutes working on what would be my primary method of bait presentation, the roll cast. I had never heard or seen of such a thing but Matt made it look effortless and precise. I on the other hand made it look taxing and obnoxious. I was good with it though, you have to start somewhere.

The guide gives a demonstration of a roll cast which is a staple for any fly fisherman and paramount in tight wooded banks.

Before we headed into the bush, I had one more lesson…streamers. Going against all fly fishing concepts I thought I knew about, a second pole was presented with a weighted line. “It’s supposed to sink? What is that monstrosity on the end of the line?” I was informed that after delicately displaying a fly multiple times with no luck, sometimes you could entice a strike by stripping a streamer through a fish’s living room. Often it would be more of an annoyed, agitated attack, but a chance at a fish nonetheless.

We were fishing on public ground open to anyone on this trip.  This required hiking through dense pine forest and tight riverbanks to access target holes.  

With my newfound knowledge and a few minutes’ worth of practice, we began our riverside hike. Before we had even gotten to our first spot both of us caught unnatural movement along the bottom of the river. The crystal waters had afforded us a glimpse of a nice steelhead that had spied on us as we crept along. Watching intently, he traveled upstream and into some dark water. We would give him some time to settle down and target the hole on our way back through. Confident there was at least one fish in the river we continued weaving through and stepping over the dark timber. After a short time, Matt stopped, glanced intently into the water, and said this would be our first stop. The whole river looked fishy so I would take his word that this location was the fishiest we’d come to so far. Loaded with a fly rod and reel, strike indicator, and fly-simulating fish eggs I was ready to give it a shot. The guide pointed out a few underwater features and the varying currents across the width of the stream. Having been given specific instructions to start casting close, gradually working my out further, I went to work.

Shallow water ripples on one bank often led to deeper cuts under protected outcroppings on opposite banks during this trip.  I was advised to start close and work my casts further way as to not spook nearby fish without first giving them a chance to bite.

A deep bend in the river was protected from behind by overhanging limbs.  Not wanting to wade out too far and spook fish, my newfound casting skills were put to the test.  

It was ugly. Matt was encouraging and patient. Eventually, I was able to make a few roll casts that put me in a position to possibly catch a fish. With great hope, I watched as the indicator floated downstream with the fly in tow. Then came another valuable lesson in the fly fishing world, mending the line. After Matt suggested I mend the line, naïve to what that meant, I stared at him blankly. Of course, he took a moment to demonstrate and explain that you wanted the fly to lead the way rather than the line. By mending the line you would position the line upstream (behind) the indicator and fly as to not alert or spook the fish ahead of the bait arriving. As we walked away from the first location fishless, I was feeling good about this latest episode of my fishing career.

Time on the river was better than therapy.  I had no worries.  Just send the best cast I could and hope there was a hungry fish.  If there wasn't a bite, try again.  Repeat.  It was a simple formula.

After moving downstream a bit we repeated the recent happenings, with my casting continuing to improve in minute increments. After we felt good that I had presented the fly thoroughly to any fish present in the immediate vicinity, I was handed the second pole with the streamer and weighted line. The casting would be similar but rather than allowing the line to carry in the current, the streamer would be stripped through the water. To the layperson, such as myself, stripping is kind of like reeling in a lure on a conventional rod and reel combo. In the fly world, you don’t reel it in, you use your hand and draw the line toward you, thus stripping in the line. I am oversimplifying all these tips and tactics, as each could certainly qualify for its own article and a lifetime of practice, but I wanted to at least educate you on what to be looking for, asking about, or practicing should you find yourself on your first fly fishing trip. There were no takers on the streamer and our voyage continued.

Eventually, we came to a nice bend in the river where we changed up our setup a bit to accommodate some deeper and more open water. We abandoned the egg and a combo of a stonefly and attractor nymph were tied on. By attaching a length of tippet to the first fly, a second fly can be added approx. 15” away. This would give us two chances to display an alluring meal to any nearby trout. Try as I may, even after doubling my offerings, no fish cooperated. Again, we moved downstream and started over. At each new location, Matt pointed out what we were looking for and specific “lines” or “runs” to target. Our hopes were for brook, brown, or rainbow trout hiding amongst the currents. After exhausting our time on one side of the river we headed back to the bridge to cross to the other side. Due to the forest density and impending snags, it was nearly impossible to fish the stream in its entirety from one side.

While I didn't believe this river was navigable by boat, I was assured that it was.  I can only imagine the skill level required to traverse such tight spots.  Regardless, the mosaic nature had created was worth the price of admission.  

We first looked for the steelhead we had seen early in the trip but he was successful in evading us. We hit up a couple of holes on our way back down to the large bend I previously mentioned. Here I arguably experienced my first bite…and miss. Way too much slack in the line and my trigger finger was not pinching the line against the rod. So, when I did attempt to set the hook (with way too much motivation) nothing happened since I had 5’ of slack to burn through and even when the line may have gone taught it continued to feed off the reel since I didn’t have the brakes on. You live and learn.

I wish that I got to elaborate on how the fishing got smoking hot and we couldn’t keep them off the line. On this trip, that would not be the case. If you noticed though, I didn’t lead the last sentence with, “Unfortunately, that would not be the case”. In my eyes, there was nothing disappointing about this trip. No fish? No problem. Learning a new fishing method and multiple techniques was a success in itself. Add in the chance to meet, interact, converse, and spend some time with a quality individual who has a passion and love for fishing. It’s an instant classic in my mind. Traipse through some tranquil public land pine forest and wade a clear north woods stream. It was like winning the outdoor lottery. Adding a brown to your list of species caught would have been a momentous occasion for me without a doubt. The thing is though, catching that fish (or not) didn’t really change the outcome of the day. I returned to my family recharged, excited, and with a renewed outlook on life. It may have only been a handful of hours, but it’s all about perspective. Next chance you get, grab a rod, hiking boots, or a friend and hit up one of Michigan’s spectacular outdoor amenities. It may just be the attitude adjustment you’ve been needing.

Here I use the current to drift my fly into likely spots fish will be.  Unfortunately for me, they weren't there on this day!  Maybe next time!