This is why. Tomorrow I leave along with Will and Brian to meet our closest friends deep in the Northwoods of Wisconsin for an adventure we recreate and reinvent a handful of times each year. For all of us, it’s a moment to pause. There is something about the northern latitude with it’s stunted trees, utter silence and at night, a darkness that only your ancestors could have ever known that brings a smile to my face. I smile because the trees, though slightly diminutive, still outrank me and because there is no silence as the pines creak and twist and the water babbles downstream. Because the darkness is interrupted by a highway of light tearing the night sky apart. It’s about a place that was there before you and I, and will be after. It’s about a river that will break your heart and raise you up in the same afternoon.

The gang and I fish all over and have differing tastes when it comes to the fisheries we enjoy. But we gather in this place and at the predetermined time in hopes that we might glimpse an eagle, watch the trout, share a fire, sip whisky and bicker beneath the stars.

There’s never been a better time. These places exist in all our lives. Go now, go yesterday. I find something new out there every time I make the trip. And what I find comes home with me in head and heart to nourish me for years to come.

Autumn in the Northwoods

I found myself with Thursday, Friday, and Saturday off this week and thought, “Fantastic! Midweek fishing! Who wants to come with me?” Unfortunately, my fishing buddies all have “traditional jobs” and it can be difficult to even schedule a weekend for us all to fish. I began to crunch the numbers for a solo drive (and solo lodging…) up to the Driftless and just couldn’t justify the cost and the gas usage for just one person.

I feel like all of us living in Chicago-land have muttered this to ourselves, “There has GOTTA be somewhere closer to fish!” Listen, I’m not above fishing for Bass, Northern Pike, or Panfish — hell, I kinda want to catch a Gar sometime on my fly rod.

So where do you go within 2 hours to pass some time away on the water?  Do you secretly head off to a Forest Preserve? Do you have a favorite State Park near by? I’ll confess, I’ve even fished the pond at Humboldt Park before!

Tell us your favorite local (non-trout) water in the comment section below.

Get out and fish.

Let’s have a frank discussion about our quarry. Anglers are incredible stewards of the environment and passionate about river ecology and yet by in large, we prop up non-native game fish. Take the venerable brown trout. The yellow bellied wild man is so ubiquitous in Wisconsin as to earn the name “German Brown”, a dual homage to its genetic homeland and to the early settlers who brought the fish to our streams. There is surely a difference between wild and native. Some of our brook trout populations are both wild and native. Brook trout in the Driftless stretch back at least to the last Ice Age.

To what extent to do we prop up non-natives? This is a question that applies to many of the greatest trout fisheries across the United States and abroad. Tailwaters, man-made reservoirs and similar constructed streams bring this question to light. But so do the vast majority of free-flowing cold water fisheries. Spring creeks, high mountain streams and freestone rivers all are subjected to various stocking regimen. If they produce wild trout now, one likely won’t have to look too far back to discover a time when stocking and put-take strategies ruled the day.

This writing exercise is not one concerned with the ultimate aesthetic of our sport. So while I think there is something incredibly pure about catching the true native, born wild and free, genetics unbroken for a millennium, I won’t advance that argument here. I’m more curious about the world we are seeking to create as anglers and sportsmen.

Aldo Leopold, a hero of mine came of age in an era when modern conservation did not yet exist. In the early part of his life, management of nature was the order of the day. Getting the forest to produce more abundant lumber, deer populations more trophies and streams more catchable fish were the goals. But something would happen to Leopold causing a massive shift in his worldview. The dam and subsequent flooding at Hetch Hetchy, Yellowstone would convince Leopold that something was going to be lost. In this calculus of progress, nature had no primacy.

Leopold rejected this and famously penned his Land Ethic essay. Greatly simplified, the land ethic simply states that the natural world has an intrinsic value. Having wild things and wild places is an end unto itself. There is no easily measurable economic value of species that have little utility to human beings. The rare whale population half a world a way provide little utility to me, but I’m quite sure that my world is better for having them.

As anglers, I don’t think there is anything wrong with our long tradition of stewardship and fisheries management. There is a major caveat though. We must continue to support efforts to maintain or restore the truly wild and native. It is imperative that we do so, because to lose these resources is irreversible. There are few opportunities to go back. Restoration of Driftless Area brook trout streams as well as the mountain brook trout streams of North Carolina are shining examples of this sort of progressive management.

Anyone who has followed this site for a while or has fished with me knows I’m an outspoken fan of Wisconsin. Johnny and I talked about this fact on the way up. We each grew up on the north side of Chicago and retreated north to Wisconsin growing up. Wisconsin is our backyard. The places are familiar, the water less of a mystery. Ritual in an already ritualistic sport. But for the past two seasons, I’ve made a concerted effort to pry myself away from the spring creeks I hold so dear to explore daunting systems in Michigan. My first real exposure to Michigan was fishing for steelhead. This fishing is thankless in Wisconsin and is unsurprisingly, thankless in Michigan. Not the hook I needed.

Last summer Joe and I fished the hex hatch for three hot days in July. We hit the Pere Marquette, Manistee and Au Sable in one long holiday weekend. The prehistoric hatch was enough to finally pique my interest. When the opportunity arose to fish a much anticipated Hendrickson hatch, I decided to cast in my lot with the guys and head across the Big Lake.

My first real exposure to trout fishing came in upstate New York. The Au Sable reminded me much of those Adirondack rivers that are sometimes humbling and sometimes alive with mayfly and caddis. Saturday was productive enough and as the sun began to fall from the sky and the day was at it’s warmest, the Hendricksons appeared. The waiting game is truly some of my favorite time on the river.

Knowing, but not truly knowing what will happen that afternoon. At first you see a bug on the water and then a few more. Soon you watch as the Hendrickson sailboats cruise downstream, wanting so badly to see them disappear in oily swirls or perfect rise forms. For a few hours, the river let’s its guard down. With a high temperature of 55 degrees or so, 3:00 pm seemed to be the magic hour last weekend.

We split into pairs and headed up and down stream to see if we could spot a nose or beak poking through the tannin stained water. As Will and I sat and watched a glassy run flowing past a tangled dead fall, we noticed a subtle rise. This was not the excited sort of rise made by a young trout. The movement was mechanical and carefully controlled. No wasted energy. The water swirled and bulged as the bug disappeared.

As the rookie on this river, Will kindly gave me first crack and it wasn’t long before I managed to raise a couple of small brook and brown trout. I couldn’t seem to raise what we had assumed was the big fish in the group though. Eager juveniles would climb aboard my patterns but I was repeatedly snubbed by the trout I was after. We heard an explosive rise just upstream from where we were fishing and took turns covering that trout too. This trout was feeding more aggressively and broke the surface as it tried to gobble mayflies.

Frustrated, I headed back downstream and had Johnny head back up with Will. They continued to work the fish for a good while. I went downstream to see what I could see which was not much. Realizing I had left fish to find fish, I hightailed back upstream, weaving my way through the creaking pine all the while hoping those giants were still rising freely.

The guys were working the same fish when I arrived and had raised him a few times but had yet to put any steel in the trout’s mouth. In a futile act, I had tied a spinner pattern on to my line though I had not seen any natural spinners on the water. The guys yielded the pool to me and couple of drifts later I was into a good fish. It was a fitting end to the day and soon the hatch wound down and it was over as quickly as it had started. I’m eager to return to these waters for drakes and hex. It won’t be long.