So the Thursday before the trip our lab got together and hashed a few things out where I realized the views displayed by certain members of the group differ, depending on the company they're "performing" for. Although it wasn't unexpected, it was still a shock to see the extent and to actually witness it. That left a sour taste in my mouth. Still Friday morning, bright and early we set off for Sheboygan. When we got there things looked grim. It was hot (probably high 70s) and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The river was low and there didn't seem to be much catching going on, despite the small army of fishermen.
Ted and I didn't have much choice so we rigged up in order to give it a go. It didn't take long to realize there weren't too many fish in the system and the few that were there were stressed and spooky as hell. In the deeper pools fish were jumping and zipping all about. No doubt they'd had an endless number of hooks dragged across their backs and endured countless wader-clad legs pushing through the holes they were trying to sulk in. After some fruitless time on the stream Ted and I met up to discuss things. Ted relayed that he'd seen a guy pull up, stroll down and hook up on a bright silver salmon on his first cast. That guided my decision as to my tactic. I decided to throw big streamers in the hope that some stray fresh fish just entering the river would smash my fly. Although there were plenty stale fish in the river I figured there was virtually no way of catching these fish, at least fairly so I'd take a chance.
Well we both fished hard all afternoon in temps well into the 80s with no cloud cover. There was a group of guys from Minnesota stalking there fish in the shallows (and I mean shallows). They collected a few fish and at the end of the day they all held up there black prizes proudly for pictures. They seemed genuinely pleased with themselves, and their techniques, but I can only imagine how much they'd enjoy the fight and sense of achievement of a fair-caught fish. I felt a little sorry for these guys because I'm sure if they'd gotten to experience conditions with better fishing they might also realize that catching salmon could be so much more.
As the sun dropped behind the trees I was still throwing a large, black sculpin pattern, sometimes swung downstream and sometimes stripped back from an upstream cast. I walked well upstream away from most of the fishing pressure.I was moving up through some shallows, still amazed by how few fish were in and saw a big, shined up redd. I couldn't see anyfish on it but the water behind it was dotted with stones but deep and fast enough to hide a spooked fish until nightfall. I cast well above the redd and stripped it slowly along, just to the right edge of the polished gravel. When the fly got to about ten feet in front of me I saw a dark shadow zip out from around my legs, straight over to nail the fly. I didn't have to do a thing and the line defied the current and ran upstream. It wasn't the blistering run I'd expected but dogged. The fish fought well but, like most spawning fish, didn't really have a strong inclination to leave the pool. A few minutes later I had my first king salmon of the season. It certainly wasn't silver but hadn't taken on too much color. Although I doubt it had been in the river long it had been for a while as the peduncle (skinny bit where the tail attaches to the body) was well worn from scraping redds.
Later in the evening I hooked up again on the same fly (I didn't see the take) and it screamed upstream then slammed on the brakes and headed downstream like a freight-train towards Ted. It was only a few seconds before he was two pools downstream from where I'd hooked him and I was chasing. Ted had gotten out of the path of my fish as it jumped well clear of the water. It jumped a few times and on the last jump the bend in my rod died. The fish was gone.
We fished as late as we could then headed back to the motel. It was grim.
The next morning we gave the Sheboygan a quick try then decided to head north to seek out cooler water. When we reached the Kewannee River both Ted saw things we'd never imagined. This river is quite intimate in the spring but in the fall during a drought it was tiny. You'd think the skinny water would mean no fishermen wouldn't you, but no. There were "fishermen" everywhere. Groups of people were walking (driving fish) upstream in the ankle deep water (the deepest pool I saw was less than two feet deep) with the "anglers" waiting at the top of the pools. I feel sorry for some jaggers, but these guys weren't even trying. Now I've heard many (often myself included) that some of the ethnic groups partake of this kind of fishing and ruin it for everyone else, while the familiar ethnicities were well represented, there were plenty of guys of all walks of life doing it. I even saw fly-fishermen outfitted with the finest equipment at it. The levels had been low for a while and any fish that were in the river had been well cleaned up days before, and the few suicidal fish that had tried to push up overnight would have been ripped off their redds at first light. On the way out there is a large, shallow pool over which the road bridge traverses. There were cars everywhere so we just had to stop.
From our vantage point we could see a few highly-strung-out fish swimming about with huge chunks of lead and treble hooks being flung at them from all directions. Many guys weren't even trying to disguise their intentions and the hooks were naked (they could have at least attached a piece of yarn to perhaps pitifully represent a lure of some description). At one spot a group of about six guys had managed to corner a moldy salmon and now stood shoulder to shoulder blocking it's only escape route and pitching their hooks and lead at it. It was the most amazing thing! Every now and then y0u'd see the familiar upward yank of the wrist as the hook passed over the fish but, amazingly, that fish laid there. I could only imagine the pandemonium that would have ensued when one of those guys finally did hook up. Amazing as it was we could only watch it for so long.
Now that's Fishing!!!!From Kewaunee we headed south and examined the Twin rivers at Michicot and Shoto. Michicot was bunch of locals sitting at the dam quietly soaking spawn sacks while the heat-stressed fish swam around in circles. Shoto on the other hand was another spectacle. They were having their salmon extravaganza and people were everywhere. There were only a few fish and again people weren't even trying to pretend not to jag fish. There were black fish on stringers and loud speakers playing music and deckchairs, beer, sunburn. It was lunchtime, temps in the 90s so we decided we might as well have a few beers. We met a young guy on a six day break from serving a twelve month stint in Iraq. He had an interesting story to tell.
Dam at Michicot
Trust me, you can't even see most concentrated area up closer to the damAnyway, that pretty much sums it up. When I called home Friday night I'd found out both Australia and New Zealand had lost in the rugby, I watched every team in the baseball playoffs I was supporting (except the red-socks) lose, I watched the Packers and Badgers lose. We did stop and briefly fish the Manitowoc River. No fish to report but we were the only guys out and the fall colors were nice. All-in-all, not our best trip.
Fall Colors on the Mantiwoc River
No comments:
Post a Comment