Apple blossom in Bayfield

One of the hobbies of Jessica's parents is timing sporting meets and one of the more logistically challenging meets they do is a running meet in Bayfeild each spring. The problem is there is a three mile run and a ten kilometer run, both starting at the same place and time and finishing in different locations. This means they need some extra hands to help out and both last year and this year we came along to assist.

The town of Bayfield from the Ferry

Bayfield is a pretty town on the south shore of Lake Superior and a jumping off point for the Apostle Islands. It has sheltered bays and waters and means sailing is a big thing there. In many ways it's like a mini Door County. There are vineyards and plenty of apple orchards and when they're in blossom it's a great spectacle. After the drive from Plainview we arrived late Friday night at the beautiful guest house that had been generously donated to the race timers. It sat in some woods on a bluff overlooking Lake Superior and the islands and for a guest house I would have loved to live in it.

Natalya on the drive north

After staying up late catching up with family Jessica's dad and I were up early getting stuff set up while the girls (Jessica, her mother and sister) got the kids ready for the upcoming events. The wind was a little strong but apart from that the weather was perfect for a running race being a touch cool but with bright sunshine. The field wasn't Olympic standard but there were some respecetable times posted.

After heading back to the apartment for some lunch we headed down to the ferry to go across to Madeline Island. Jessica's father was asked to time a swimming race in August but wanted to check the site out before committing to it and we came along for the experience. Natalya loved being on the ferry and it was only a twenty minute ride. Once there we wandered up the main road and visited one of the parks so the kids could play on the swings and slides. Natalya especially had a good time. When Steve was done we met up and walked around a little until we found another park and Natalya convinced us we needed to check it out. We could only stay a little while as some nasty storm clouds were building and we only just made it back to the ferry terminal before the skies opened up.

Pierce and Jessica on the trip over to Madeline IslandMandi and Natalya at the PlaygroundNatalya on the slideThe ride back was a little damper than going over

Even though it was raining on the way back Natalya wanted to be outside of the crowded cabin and I agree it was a more pleasant setting. The evening was relaxed and we all had fun just catching up as families do. We did go down and cross a big old bridge overlooking a small tributary stream flowing into the big lake (there were no steelhead in it - I checked) and Natalya wore herself out showing us how she could run when we called, "ready, set, go".

Our Sweet Digs for the weekend

The morning was as relaxed as the evening and by noon we had the place cleaned up and we set off to check out the yachts at the marina. Natalya found yet another park and we had a great time playing before heading off for lunch at the"pink flamingo". The food was good but the real highlight is always the hand drier in the bathrooms which is more like a jet engine than a hand blower. The drive home was pleasant as the trees were in that light green shade of early spring. All in all it was a relaxing trip and just what the doctor ordered.

Yet another of Bayfield's Parks

Lunch at the "Pink Flamingo"

North Shore Steel '08

If you were going to search the Great Lakes region for the most challenging steelhead fishing you'd be hard pressed to go past Minnesota's north shore. Due to a combination of low fertility in Lake Superior, a the streams really make life tough on the fish. A steep decline from the swamps and bogs of the BWCA area makes for fast, strong water coming down from large catchment areas and the available stream is often very short before the fish encounter a terminal waterfall to stop their upstream migration. The terrain also dictates a dramatic lack of suitable-sized spawning gravel. All of this means the wild steelhead of this area have adjusted over the last century or so have adapted to a very tough situation. But if geography didn't make things tough enough, humans (as is their way) decided to "improve" the fishing by stocking genetically inferior kamloops rainbow trout in these waters that run the streams with the wild steelhead and the resulting mixed genetic stock have proven unable to handle the rigors of this challenging environment, leading to a dramatic reduction in what was never a great fishery. The small runs of fish stay in the streams for a very short time and river conditions go from frozen solid, to blown out with spring run-off, to good conditions, to too warm to hold fish in a crazily short time so timing the run here is almost impossible. I've heard stories of the run being over in a day or even a number of hours on certain streams!

Despite the challenging fishing and low numbers of fish, the north shore has charms of it's own that have attracted me for the last several seasons. With the limited amount of stream available to anglers there is usually a number of anglers to contend with and because fish are few and far between, sometimes fishing etiquette can be "questionable" with anglers with little steelheading experience but a tremendous desire to catch these magnificent fish losing all of their manners when they suspect you might be somewhere they can catch a fish. Fortunately, most of these guys focus on the terminal pools and the mouths of the rivers, but there are also a number of "herons" (my nickname for those guys that stalk along the bank looking for spawning fish to "catch"). For me though, there's serenity to be found fishing darker water and swirling water in the picturesque scenery of the north shore, especially if you get on the water early and late, when most anglers are driving to or from their distant homes.

This year I had only a couple of days and wouldn't have even had that except the run was very late on the north shore this year. The weekend before I'd struck fish running one of my favorite streams, the Stewart River but because I was "up north" to celebrate my wife's birthday I had only a limited chance to fish before a huge rainfall blew the streams out. After giving the streams a few days to clear I packed up the Jeep and headed north. The drive was uneventful but when I stopped in Hinkley for a meal I also stopped to check out a wood carving place. It worked out well as the carver was working on a nice bear eating a fish and I got to chat to him for a while and learn a little about the process. It was a good way to break up the drive.

A wood carver at work

I arrived at the Stewart river about 4pm and noticed their weren't many cars in the parking lot - not a good sign that the fish were in. Anyway, as I moved up the stream I didn't see any fish and the one angler I can across assured me the stream temperature was too high. I wasn't completely convinced but I was enjoying probing this delightful river as it's one of the few north shore streams with a decent stretch of river before the fish hit the terminal barrier. The sun got lower and lower and I eventually called it a day and headed back to the car, without any sign of fish. Then I had an idea.

A couple of years before I'd experienced the smelt run on the Beaver River and tied up a heap of smelt pattern flies I'd never used. Now was my chance to try out some of these flies, even if the chances were very low - at least I wouldn't feel like I'd tied them for nothing. The other thing in favor of trying it was that the Beaver River is close to Split-rock Lighthouse State Park where I intended to camp for the evening. So off I headed and I arrived there with the sun beginning it's decent over the Sawbill Mountains. I tied on my smelt pattern and began fishing. The conditions were great and not an angler to be seen. The water was lifeless but young families of ducks and mergansers were swimming around on the larger lower pool of the river. As I fished I wondered how late in the day the smelt began running but really I was just enjoying shooting my streamers out into some uncommonly large water.

The lower pool of the Beaver River

Slowly but surely I began to forget about the serenity of things and became more focused on fishing. I began to notice swirls and sploshes, some that could only be made from large fish. I began casting at these swirls as they became more frequent and they soon had my complete attention. I became convinced my clumsy attempt at tying a smelt pattern was too sparse in the water and switched to a fly with more profile in the now low-light conditions. It was only the first or second swing through the head of the pool when a strong shock traveled through the rod and into my arm. For a moment or two the fish didn't know what was going on but when it figured out the resistance of the flyline wasn't to it's liking it shot off downstream towards the big lake. The reel screamed and I headed off in pursuit. This fish gave a very good account of itself in water that was large and deep enough to showcase it's ability to run, jump and sound. I also enjoyed the fight because there was little chance of losing the fish in water with very few logs or other snags around. Although it feels as though time stands still when I'm fighting a big fish I'm sure it was only a few minutes until I beached a beautiful, spawned-out, wild hen steelhead. My heart was pounding but I soon discovered I'd left my camera in the car. So I left the fish in the shallows and ran up the steep hill up to the car and then quickly sprinted back down. After snapping a couple of brag shots I released her no worse for the wear and sat back as my heart really pounded in my chest. Despite the fish still swirling I rested my eyes. When I awoke a dark black sky surrounded me and the gentle whirring of the whitewater soothed the cool night air. The waxing moon was already high in the sky and after a brief fishing session I headed back to the state park to set up camp.

A beautiful north shore SteelheadCheck out the Smelt the fish regurgitated

The next morning saw me set up on the Splitrock River but after working it thoroughly I saw no sign of fish. I headed all the way up the shore to Devil's Track River and although the water temps were great it had too much flow to fish safely by yourself. I sat and thought about things for a while and realized I'd already exceeded my expectations for the trip. I pointed the car south and probed a few streams I'd never fished - the Poplar and the Cross - before heading home. As I drove past the Knife River I noticed there wasn't a single car. I knew water temps were way too high but I just wanted the chance to fish the once prolific waters of the Knife (I did wet a line there last year but it was PACKED with anglers then).

The Splitrock RiverNorth of Cross River mouth
I tied on my go to cactus fly with a pheasant tail indicator rig and headed downstream, probing only the most likely of dark water. I was scanning for fish and about two thirds down to the lake I noticed a hen actively spawning and a male behind her. I positioned myself for the drift and began running the flies though. No take, no take and no take with every drift meeting with refusal. Finally, I let me flies drift below the tailout containing the fish and into the broken water, as I tried to reposition a little downstream of where I was standing.

A pair of spawners of the Knife River

I noticed resistance on my drift and when I looked up to see which rock the flies were wrapped around I watched as the snag moved out and then downstream - Fish On! Unfortunately the dark fish didn't put up much of a show. He was beaten up from the rigors of the spawn and although he tried to run there just wasn't the ferociousness you might expect from a steelhead. He came to hand quickly and took a lot of reviving, and maybe he didn't make it. If I had to guess his story I imagine he might have been a prize fighter and was the dominant male of that stretch of spawning gravel but with each fight he lost some strength. Now he had been dethroned but instead of retiring gracefully he was sitting below the new king and queen eating their eggs. It probably isn't true but that's my best guess and I'm sticking with it. Although I took a picture of him it is probably the ugliest steelhead I've caught to date.

The beaten up steelheadI fished down right to the lake and never saw another fish and the spawning couple left their redd with all the commotion of my fish. With the sun directly overhead I headed back to the car and continued back home. All in all I was more than satisfied with my north shore trip.

Carp on the Fly

My quest for my first stream rainbow trout of the year was still alive and if I caught a brownie I wanted it to be big, so my decision of fishing location would obviously be in the Whitewater system. I elected to go down to the bottom of the main branch to some water that has held rainbows and big browns. It's a quiet place that sees very little pressure. I fished some good water without a strike and things weren't looking good. In fact, a substantial hatch of dark hendricksons were coming off but I saw no fish eating them in the dirty water.

Finally I hit a nice little rainbow as my streamer drifted under a logjam at the head of a deep pool. That was the theme of the afternoon as the storm clouds built all around me. I ended up with one more rainbow and a little brown trout broken up through the two or three hours I was out. At the final hole I fished I stumbled onto some trout that would consistently strike the fly but wouldn't hook up. After a half hour of frustration I gave up with the heavy rain and storm blowing in.

Finally my first stream rainbow troutToday's little Brown Trout

As I walked back towards the car I smelled the stench of decaying fish. I knew there was a small tributary ditch that drained a floodplain closeby and the local kids often speared the spawning carp as they ascended the shallow ditch. It turned out I had by 6weight rod and was fishing streamers so I thought I'd give it a go. Despite thunder rumbling around me and heavy rain falling, I peered into the small pool behind the concrete culvert under the road. It was full of big carp and the sound of them pushing through the culvert was loud and frequent.

It was as close to fishing for king salmon as I've come across and it was impossible not to foul them. I landed a few of the suckers and redhorse that were also in there but had pulled out of the carp I'd fouled. Finally, I watched as my bright streamer was sucked up into the mouth of a big carp. I set the hook and it set off in the only direction it could - down. They do run and fight but it's more of the dogged battle of a black salmon than the electric fight of a steelhead. Finally though I landed my "prize". A few minutes later I was hooked into another one but when a loud crack of thunder let me know a storm was right on top of me I figured two carp was enough to satisfy me.

A big, ugly carp - at least they fight well

When I got back from the north shore I did go out to see if I could hook another one but all I found was beaten down grass and a heap of dead carp littered around the creek. I did manage to hook a two foot longtom-like fish that leapt clear of the water like a crazy thing but I guess the local boys had their fun and cleared the place out.

Can't touch Steel

With all that's been going on with my health lately we decided to get away for Jessica's birthday up to her parents in Grand Marais. It also just happens that steelhead should be starting to run the midshore streams...............coincidence perhaps? Anyway, after arriving very late on the evening of the 30th I set out for the Splitrock River at 4:30 the next morning. There were plenty of deer feeding on the new grass in the ditches and I even spotted a moose with her calf in the dimness of first light. I arrived at the Splitrock River early and fished it hard for a few hours but didn't see a fish but the water was a little high and colored. So it was off to the Stewart but on the way I developed the need to go to the bathroom so I stopped at Gooseberry State Park. After doing my business, I figured I might as well fish the Gooseberry River for a while. A few guys had been getting fish but with the high, bright conditions I didn't. It was nice to be fishing in such scenic conditions though.

Some nice riffles near the terminal falls of Gooseberry RiverLooking back to the falls on the Gooseberry

There was a few guys around, especially herons, (guys searching for bedded fish) but I worked the dark water. I walked quite a way and when the sun got directly overhead and there wasn't a cloud in sight I sat down in a shady, mossy spot, ate a snickers bar and took a little nap. With the hustle and bustle of all the things going on it was great to relax and listen to the water streaming across the rocks on their quest to get to the big lake. The smells of spring were pushing through the stale winter air and birds could be heard through the evergreen forest. This was what I needed!

I decided to head back to the car but I fished and kept a careful eye out as I went downstream. I passed several fishermen on the way down but at a small pool I noticed a single fish digging a redd. It was a shallow tailout with tree branches dangling right above it, right down to touch the water. It would be a tough spot to get a drift but I set up. I had a bright nympho fly tied on and despite many drifts the fish didn't want an part of that fly so I switched to a small pheasant tail. The problem here was that I couldn't see the fly and although I think I saw the fish eat something I wasn't sure and didn't set the hook. Then I decided to tie on a bright fly ahead of the pheasant tail. This worked well and I could see my drift. In a couple of drifts I watched the white of his open mouth as the fly was eaten. The fish quickly zipped down and then upstream and in a few seconds the fish was gone. I was devastated but figured I'd rest the spot for a few minutes.

After ten minutes or so, either the same fish or a new one (it looked more silver and a touch larger) moved in to the same tailout. This time the point fly was a hare's ear and again it only took a couple of drift in the right place before I hooked up. This time the hooked pulled out in only a second or two and within a few minutes the fish was back. I retied my rig and this time again tied the pheasant tail as the point. First drift....BANG this time the fish scooted down over the rapids then turned on a dime and raced upstream. The fish was securely hooked and was into the pool above the redd. After about a minute or so of furious, chaotic, all-over-the-place battling the fish raced into the log cover and my bright "indicator" fly fouled the log and I busted off my fish. I rested the spot for over an hour and that fish didn't return. I had high hopes of fishing him again in the morning but it was Jessica's birthday and I promised myself I'd spend it with her. That afternoon the skies opened up and it poured, turning every stream on the north shore into a raging torrent and blowing things out for days. Oh well, it had been great to get out and even better to get a chance at some Minnesotan steel, but I certainly felt I'd been bested by that fish.