A good fishing session

After some half hearted fishing for chinook salmon we got on the road for more aggressively feeding fish. We followed the shores of Lake Michigan before the short cut across the tip of the UP (upper peninsula of Michigan) to the two sister cities of Sault Ste Marie, Michigan and it's namesake on the Canadian side of the border. The two cities are separated by the St Mary's River and the locks that link Lake Superior and Lake Huron. The mighty river is now diverted to feed power plants on both sides of the border with gates regulating the flow down from Lake Superior and downstream of the gates are the St Mary's rapids. These rapids attract trout and salmon year round, particularly when spawning is on their minds. A few weeks earlier the rapids were choked up with pink salmon and a few chinooks. Now the spawning beds were blackened with chinooks and, as always they weren't eating heartily, but it wasn't them we were hoping to catch.

As we crossed international bridge Paul got his first look at the rapids and I wondered what he thought. I remembered back to when Ted and I first saw that water with high hopes of getting into some spring steelhead. A quick and uneventful passage through customs and we headed down to the rapids on the Canadian side. It was afternoon and we only had a couple of hours of fishing time before darkness would fall. On went the waders (and several other layers of clothes for Paul) and soon we were wading and casting in the crystal clear, cold waters tumbling down from Lake Superior. We waded straight past the gravel beds and the blackened spawning kings out to a rock that sat at the head of a pool just below the spawning fish. I was confident there'd be steelhead sitting in behind the salmon, feasting on eggs so I thought Paul was in the best spot C I could think of. Besides it takes a little time to get used to the heavy currents of the river and I wanted to give him some time to adjust before I had him wading in the more treacherous waters.

Coming up on International Bridge

I was just heading out to my favourite pool when I looked over my shoulder and noticed Paul's rod arched over and throbbing. I headed back through the fast water just in time to net a small steelhead for him, his first. It wasn't big at all but I was glad to be there. I was confident there'd be plenty of larger ones in the next couple of days. After a photo or two I headed back out to my pool and began swinging streamers with my spey rod.

Paul with his first Steelhead

As the light began to fade my rod bobbed and a few heavy headshakes preceded the bold leaps of a small atlantic salmon. Despite a gallant effort the fish was soon subdued. Paul and I looked over the relatively unexpected catch. It was only beginning to develop spawning colours and the brilliant reds, oranges and yellows of the sunset reflected along it's silver sides. We fished until nightfall but our two fish were a fitting way to start things for the trip.

A small Atlantic SalmonSunset over International Bridge

We stopped fishing and grabbed a bite to eat at what was to become our kitchen and dining room for the trip, the Wendys by the casino. Then it was back out to the discharge from the powerdam to flick the spoon about. I know this spot gets fished pretty heavily by the locals when the fish are in so when there was nobody about I wasn't too confident. We fished for a few minutes but it just didn't have that "fishy" felling and we were both getting tired. it was a short drive to the carpark of the casino and we crawled into the back of the truck, zipped up our sleeping bags and drifted off after checking in with our loved ones on the phone. I was feeling pretty good about things and it was good to have a couple of decent fish under our belts and two more days to really go after them. I'm sure I dozed into a dream about catching giant steelhead before entering a deep, heavy sleep.

Casting spoons at the power plant discharge

I must have subconsciously kept one ear open in case a policeman came around because I sat up when I heard the creaking open of topper hatch. Paul was already up and luckily he was more alert than I was. It took me a few moments to register what was going on. I just remember a shifty little short dude looking in at us with a hood on (pretty common in Canada) and then shock on his face when he saw us. He gulped and exclaimed "Dude, there's guys in there, eh!", before slamming the hatch down and running off. My mind hadn't even registered what was happening but Paul watched outside and saw him run off and which direction he went. Now we were both pretty awake and were trying to come up with legitimate reasons why someone would want to break into the back of a truck but were having quite a bit of trouble. The thing is that in the boat we'd left hundreds of dollars worth of fishing stuff just sitting there for shifty little hands to take off with. Maybe he was too short to see over the sides of the boat, or maybe he was just a little unprepared, or maybe he was just looking for a cozy place to sleep, but he sure took off like a bat out of hell when he saw us. As I thought about it the next morning I was a little freaked out about it, but at the time I remember Paul and I just joking about it and thinking nothing of it. We just kept repeating, in our best Canadian accents, "dude, there's guys sleeping in here, eh". But even that wasn't enough to hold us from slumber for too long and it was too cold to keep from snuggling cozily into the sleeping bags and blankets.

In his defence, it was a cold morning, but I hadn't driven all the way to Sault Ste Marie to sit in the truck during prime fishing time so I left Paul to his warmth, donned my waders and headed out to my favorite pool. I fished without a fish for a good hour or more before I noticed Paul stumbling out to the rock he'd fished from the day before. I was unaware that he'd gotten lost and been struggling to find a shallow spot to get out to the berm wall for the last half hour and been frustratingly watching me but unable to get to me. When he finally did manage to get out to the berm and over to his rock he was wet, cold and out of cigarettes. Did I mention he had the net. In my mind he had just been lazy and disrespectful of my efforts by sleeping in the back of the truck instead of coming out and fishing. At this point I was losing respect for him as a fisherman and thought he was a weeny because he couldn't handle the cold. I made a mental note to put a teaspoon of cement in his coffee that evening to toughen him up.

Well as luck would have I finally got whacked and cartwheeling up came a fine atlantic salmon. That was the only time the fish broke the surface but the violent headshakes and dogged runs were very characteristic of atlantics. But although I didn't get a good look I knew it was a big fish. I fought the fish out and when I did get a good look my heart came into my mouth. It was indeed a big fish. A huge fish. I was in the low teens (pounds) for sure, deeply coloured with a huge formed kype. It hadn't fought with the zest of a silver summer fish but it was certainly a trophy. Now Paul had seen the rod and me fighting it (eventually) and, to his credit, was doing his best to wade through the heavy current and he'd never done it before so he had no way to know which way was safe to wade.

The fish was played out and beaten, now gliding as much on it's back as upright and I swung it around into the shallows waiting for the net to arrive. Well the fish had one more headshake with that big kype and that was enough to dislodge the fly. All I could do was watch as my exhausted fish floated back through the heavy water and off towards Lake Huron. I was frustrated and upset and the bumbling, struggling net man was the perfect candidate to blame for my failure. In hindsight I was an arse for letting him have it but it's not like he just rolled over and took it anyway. But for a couple of Wilkes' it was a pretty mild dummy spit and we got over it in a few minutes.

Perhaps what helped most was the two of us went down to a spot known as "atlantic alley". To get there yo have to go through some deep water (but not much current) and you have to have a fair bit of faith in the guy leading you to do it. To Paul's credit he trusted me and we were soon fishign side by side and joking around again. We hadn't been there five minutes when Paul informed me he'd been slammed but didn't hook up. He cast back to the same spot and BANG fish on. The fish struck a long way out and in some heavy current so it took Paul some time to seduce his first Atlantic salmon. We did the usual congratulations and all that jazz but it was short lived as we both wanted to get back to it.

Paul's first Atlantic Salmon

A couple of casts later he was on again and before I got my fly wound in I was hit. The sky above us was looking foreboding, dear and heavy and I hoped there was no lightning in it as we were very exposed and couldn't get to safety quickly if the weather went bad. Paul landed another nice atlantic, a little larger and somewhat fresher than the first. As you'd expect it also fought better and gave him a decent workout.

Another atlantic for Paul

Minutes later it was my turn and the spey rod bobbed and waved under the strain. Line peeled from the reel and once the fish made it into the heavy water it was a chore to turn him. This atlantic was still pretty fresh and gave a good account of itself and although it didn't dull the pain of the earlier lost fish, I was happy.

First Atlantic in my hands for the day

The next few minutes were crazy. A storm front pushed through and dumped hail on us, then heavy rain but while that happened the fishing was insane. We were getting hit every drift and it was just a case of getting the fly into the water and it was "fish on". So much for atlantics being hard to catch! First Paul got a hook jawed male then I hit a larger fish that brought a big smile to my face. From there we just stopped taking photos and enjoyed ourselves. It all slowed down after twenty minutes or so and then we fished for a half hour or so without a hit. We decided to check out another spot.

A hook jawed maleA nice one coming out of the netNot a bad atlantic so I'm all smiles

We made out way all the way up to the gates on the American side of the rapids and within a few minutes Paul was hooked up. This time his reel was screaming adn he was in a dog fight. The fish shot out of the water like a torpedo and it was clear to see it was a coho that was still pretty silver. Paul has a good time with it and I informed him these things are the best of all the salmon and trout to eat. Consequently it went into a shallow rock pool for later.

Another first for Paul - this time a coho salmon

Another ten minutes or so and I was hooked up with good coho and then Paul with another small atlantic. It was getting almost too easy. The Paul was onto another nice coho and we had some nice fillets of coho flapping about in that rock pool. We also got a few smaller atlantics but we weren't even counting them at this point. We could see large salmon and steelhead porpoising up at the very heads of the gates and despite our best efforts we couldn't get our offering up there. We just kept hoping they'd cruise back into our range. Unfortunately they never did and eventually hunger and nicotine cravings forced us off the water. It had been a great session and I was so glad I'd made the long trip worthwhile for Paul. I felt a heap of pressure had been taken off me.

Me with a cohoYes, Paul caught the biggest cohoOne of the many smaller atlantics

After a surprisingly long time to find a place that sold cigarettes we were back at Wendys and reliving the memories of the morning. That was some good fishing and we'd pretty much had the place to ourselves. Once lunch was done we headed over to the local flyshop and got chatting with the owner. While we were there a friend of mine who I've met on the river a few times came in. Keigan is from Nova Scotia and has fished some pretty amazing rivers for atlantics. He has a wealth of knowledge. So poor Paul had to sit and listen to us talk about flyfishing for hours before keigan decided to join us and head down to the river for the hour or so that was left in the day.

We really didn't have long to fish as the sun was setting fast so Paul headed to his rock and I went out to my favourite pool. As usual I was just swinging away and out of nowhere was a savage slam and off charged a heavy fish. This fish had some weight to it. It kept deep but the solid headshakes suggested it wasn't a steelhead. the runs just weren't as explosive as fall steel. I was getting frustrated and wondered if I didn't have a big king on because I just couldn't make headway. But the fish did tire fighting the heavy current and the big rod and when it did roll onto its side I saw that I had a BIG atlantic. Not the size of the one I lost in the morning, but still a big hen atlantic. I netted her and took her across for Paul to have a look at. He suggested you buy atlantic at the store so it must taste pretty good so we might as well throw it in with the cohos. I've never taken an atlantic so I figured why not give it a try for a change. My buddy Johnny was on the bank with clients and needed some spawn for his clients the next morning so I let him clean out my fish and we were on our way as it was certainly dark an getting cold.

A good female Atlantic Salmon

I'm pleased to say that night went without being interrupted by anyone. We ate a nice meal in the casino and Paul stayed and played for a while. I just headed back to the truck for some welcome rest and alone time. When morning came I decided I was going to rig up specifically for steelhead. The previous evening we'd talked to Johnny and he said the fish were just starting to trickle in to the rapids and most of the larger ones were down at the base in the deeper water, still staging. But the fish he had been getting were in behind the chinooks and specifically targeting eggs. It was time to resort to indicator fishing on and behind the redds. I started riht up on the beds in with the salmon as first light began to poke into the sky. I hooked up once but came unbuttoned after about 20 seconds or so. In the low light it was hard to see and I fouled a salmon or tow, luckily though they just pulled off easily.

As the sun came up I moved down into the darker water behind them and again the line came tight again and shot off. This time the small steelhead came clear of the water before the fly pulled free. Before the sun rose too high I hooked up a third time, this time on a five or six pounder, but again I couldn't drive the hook home and stay connected. I was pretty frustrated with myself at this point. With the hgiher sun the strikes slowed right down and Paul and I headed back out to the deeper water of my favourite pool. Paul did hook up with a bullet of a steelhead that hit like a freight train and lept two or three times before throwing the hook. It was a decent fish and it was a real shame for Paul that it didn't play the game for a little longer. Still a few minutes later he was on again, this time with a big, deeply coloured buck with a fully developed kype. Being a bigger fish it put up a good show took quite some time to come to the net. It was a fitting last fish, deep and heavy.

Last fish of the trip - a big atlantic

It was raining and getting colder. Paul's hands and lips were freezing and his resolve was weakening. I headed back up behind the reds for one final attempt at an egg-eating steelhead. Finally the rod doubled over but as the fish shot past me I saw it wasn't a steelhead. In fact it was a giant chinook, still clean and somewhat silver. It was mouth hooked and I almost couldn't believe it. It was also one of the most stubborn fish I've played up there. Whenever I thought it was beat it would shoot back out into the heavy water and dig it's nose down. I fought that thing for over 45 minutes and several times Paul headed out to net it. Each time it saw him or the net and took off again. When the drizzle started to freeze and both of our hands were freezing I began to get more frustrated. It was just a chinook after all. I tighten up the drag and palmed the reel. Under the pressure the tired old buck circled back into the shallow water. he did this a few times and each time I shortened up on him. Finally though, I got just too heavy handed and the hook pulled free. Oh well. My back, shoulders and arms hurt. My hands and face were frozen, the wind was coming up, and my stomach was grumbling. I looked at Paul and his fishing spirit was nowhere to be seen. It seemed we were done.

We grabbed one final meal at Wendys and, after a brief heart attack when I couldn't find my green card, headed back across the border into Americaland. we did have one final sidetrack before heading back though. Paul wanted to pick up trinkets for his family and I wanted to show him the mighty mackinaw bridge so we headed south to the tourist trap on the other side of the bridge. I'm always impressed crossing that thing and Paul had a great time blowing hundreds of dollars on an assortment of momentos and toys. The store owners loved him. We flirted with the pretty gas station attendants again but aside from that it was an uneventful drive back. The kids were very excited to see us the next morning but it wasn't easy getting out of our beds to play with them. All in all it had been a pretty successful trip.

Pit stop on the road to the Soo

After saying our goodbyes to the kids at Wisconsin Dells Paul and I were again on the road in search of adventure, fun and a few fish. It was only a couple of hours to our destination but we required a lengthy stop to try and determine the cause of some faulty trailer lights. Still, it wasn't a big problem. We did have one memorable moment though. We were arriving at a four way stop and rolled to a stop (and yes, it was a complete stop in case you're wondering). To my right was a group of three or four guys out riding their harleys all dressed in their leather chaps and bandanas. These weren't the serious biker type but more the try-hards with a few too many dollars and desperately trying to fight off midlife, dorkiness, balding, erectile dysfunction, failure to attract a sexual partner, or some combination of those things. Even if my description is lacking, I'm sure you all know the type (and if you are one of them and reading this - piss off I don't like you!).

Anyway, I'm not quite sure exactly what was their thinking but I was at a complete stop, had waited for someone crossing the intersection from my left and oncoming, and now entered the intersection. These guys were still slowly motoring up to the stop sign. For whatever reason as I passed through and (and I think this is quite telling of the degree of manhood these guys had) had cleared the intersection one of them yelled and gestured towards me " you asshole" at the top of his lungs in whiniest American accent. I looked at Paul and neither of us could figure out what he was so upset about but I went to pull over and get him to either put up or shut up because I'm not willing to take shit from some pathetic, middle aged loser that thinks he's more than he is just because he's on a bike that sometimes are ridden by guys with balls. Paul took a more comical view of things and urged me to keep driving and we began joking about the situation. Although I must say, I kept secretly hoping I'd see those guys cruising past one of the country roads we were on, especially when we were pulled over dealing with the trailer light problem.

But as usually happens with such things the event faded as we joked around and flirted with girls in the gas stations (using our heaviest accents and australianisms) and deliberated over the important things in life, such as which chocolate bars were the greatest ones in the world and whether or not one type of cheese had a greater capacity to generate gas when eaten than another type, or if perhaps genetics played some role in the extent to which various cheeses could predispose one to gaseous buildup. Despite some serious time spent on the subject we never did shed light to the answer on this most perplexing problem. Perhaps we had spent too long in the truck together? Paul and I never were ones to spend too much time trying to solve the world's problems or get too nosey about the many complications in one another's lives.

Considering the conversation topics it was probably good that we good to the Manitowoc River late in the afternoon. There weren't many people about and we didn't have much light left in the day so we rigged up quickly and headed down to hit the stream. The water level was ghastly low and warm and there weren't many fish about. We had to walk quite a way downstream to even find a few fish. When we did spot some fish Paul got into position and began trying to seduce an American Chinook salmon. It didn't take long before he was hooked up to a small buck. I netted it for him, we took a couple of pictures and fished a little while longer. The few fish we found were stale and spooky and highly stressed from the high water temperatures. With the fading light it wasn't hard to convince Paul to head back to the truck.

Heading downstream looking for good waterThe water was low but colors were OKPaul's first American Salmon

I moved the truck up to another part of the park so we could access some new water in the morning before we munched down on some canned food (I can't remember exactly what it was) and lasagne. After a couple of days with the kids at the waterpark we both collapsed into heavy sleep. We were woken up at 2am by a loud thumping on the truck. I was ready to get out and kill the someone shining their torch into my truck but that mood changed when the topper opened and I saw the cop and his badge. He wasn't happy that we'd disobeyed the "no camping" sign and didn't buy our excuse that because we didn't have a tent we weren't really camping. He became less serious when he'd checked our stuff and found we didn't have any fish on us and weren't out netting or otherwise poaching fish but was still a little pumped up on badge power for my liking. Still, he gave us the option of driving away or staying and sleeping. However we could only stay is he wrote us up a ticket for a couple hundred dollars. That sounded fair and we opted to get out of there. The river was in crap shape anyway.

We were still tired and I knew once the adrenalin left we'd again be sleepy so I opted to park the truck behind a 24 hour gas station just a few minutes up the road, right by the Branch River. We slept until the sun had cleared the horizon before casually making our way down to the river. From the path along the river there had been a lot of foot traffic over the weekend and the way the fish were acting they had been "fished" over a lot. This was prime gavel-raping water but we did find a few spooky fish to cast to but they were spooky. One fish shot off into the shallows and Paul caught it with his bare hands. So yes, it seems Paul is very good with his hands!

A hand caught king salmon

As we came to some prime gravel we found a local fella there with his gravel-raping gear set up with a heavy sinker followed by a stout treble hook. No doubt these fish had seen a lot of that over the lat couple of days. I was pretty pleased when Paul mentioned he'd had enough of fishing to crusty, stale kings. It was on to greener pastures.

Away we go along Lake Michaigan

Kalahari Water Park

up north

After a successful trip to Iowa and a visit to Cabelas it was time to head off seeking fish a little larger than the trout we'd caught a day or two before. The only problem was the unseasonably warm temperatures that would have shut down the salmon run pretty much everywhere. If we had any chance it would be as far north as we could go. So a little after midnight Paul and I were in the truck and driving north in Wisconsin towards the Brule River. The target would be early season steelhead or lake-run brown trout.

But fishing the Brule was just a step on the way further north, all the way up to Nipigon. The two of us made it a couple of hours north before we had to pull up on the side of the road for a couple of hours sleep in the back of the truck. After a couple more hours we were back on the road and off. There was a short, unscheduled, emergency bathroom stop along the only stretch of Wisconsin highway without a gas station or rest stop or some kind of bathroom, (not to mention the harsh, scratchy weedy plants that lined the road). Of course my brother delighted in holding out on delivering the toilet paper until my final desperate shrills and I'd exhausted every bush within stretching reach. Clearly he was confident he wouldn't be caught in the reverse situation.

As the sun began coming up we drove through the township of Brule and on to the river. My butt was somewhat raw and shared space in my underwear with an assortment of bark chips, grasses, twigs, dirt and various other sharp and unpleasant materials. But I knew better than to voice one word of discomfort - that would just fuel my brothers sense of accomplishment and probably egg him on to grander pranks. I needed time to plan my revenge first. There were plenty of guys out (mainly in fancy cars from Minnesota). Paul and I hit two spots, one I've fished a lot and another I've never fished. Both spots I fished swinging a spey rod and Paul went with spinning tackle. We worked the water pretty thoroughly and managed only a few small stream trout. However, Paul did agree it is a pretty river and fun to fish, even though there are probably less fish swim in it than fishermen that fish it.

Paul on the banks of the Bois Brule River

After we'd broken down our rods it was time to break out my first attempt at revenge. My brother likes spicy food and prides himself on "the hotter the better". There's a new variety of Doritos on the marker that are labelled as third degree burn and they are HOT. I opened the packet and covered the label with my hand and let him dig in. He grabbed a large handful and shoved them in his unsuspecting mouth. To this day I can't tell you exactly how his mouth felt but there was several moments of silence and although he kept a stoic face, behind his eyes betrayed the effort he was putting forth to maintain his calm exterior. It was only a few moments before he regained enough composure to casually say "they taste good but they are fairly spicy". He waited just enough time so as to make it seem he was just casually reaching for a drink to cool his thirst but I suspect it was to subdue the last of the flames smoldering away on his tongue. He did reach for more of those chips but certainly they were only eaten a few at a time, and always with an open beverage close by. I turned and examined his face closely. His sly grin admitted I had gotten him but he hadn't cracked enough to give me any gloating rights, but we both knew I'd exacted a little of my revenge.

Moments later we were driving west and before we knew it we were crossing the at Louis River and entering Duluth and heading up the north shore. Although we hadn't been driving long fatigue was beginning to set in and by the time we made it to Tettagouche State Park I couldn't keep my eyes open. Despite a well-drilling rig a few meters away the two of us fell into a heavy sleep for a good few hours. The sun was out and it was quite warm.

Crossing into Duluth

The sun was dipping low in the sky as we pushed the last couple of hours north to the border. The crossing into Canada was easy and the drive up to Nipigon uneventful. We hit the turnoff from the border towards Alexander's Dam and there was some pretty heavy fog, blocking the starlight and scenery. We got to the boat ramp and climbed into our sleeping bags, ready for a decent chunk of sleep for the night.

Mist over the NipigonPaul rises, looks around then lights one upDead salmon carcasses line the river upstream to the dam

First light came and went without the two of us rising. It was just too cosy under the blankets and things to climb out into the fog and cold. Finally I couldn't take it any more. Paul seemed dead to the world as I got up and rigged up the a two handed rod rigged with classic spey flies. I went upstream and there were gulls, bald and golden eagles everywhere, feeding on the spent salmon carcasses along the shore line. Deep bodied chinooks porpoised in the current but seemed oblivious to my numerous offerings of the fly-clad type. Although I would have been pleased by the unexpected strike of an aggressive salmon, what I was hoping for was an early season steelhead, laker or even a coaster. I fished without success for some time before I saw Paul strolling along the river, spinning rod in hand. We both fished lucklessly for some time before heading back to the ramp and putting in the boat. I'd never been downstream and it was fun to explore the heavy currents and seams. We started to notice a number of the river bends with rocky gravel held significant numbers of spawning chinook salmon up on their beds. We closely inspected a few of these and soon found one heavily loaded with these brutes. Downstream slightly was a sandy section of shoreline out of the heavy current so I pulled the boat in there and the two of us walked upstream to where the fish were in the shallows.

A small stream tumbles into the main riverA bald eagle watches on

As it turned out the crystal clear water was deeper than we thought and the fish were in at least 60cm (2 feet) of water. It was difficult to get a good drift or cast so as to get out offering close to the fishes mouth. While I swung streamers out in the current, Paul focused on the spawning fish. It was his first time fishing to salmon of any sort and it wasn't long before he was hooked in to his first. Unfortunately it, and the next few, liberated themselves before coming to the net. Finally though he got a spawned out hen to the net. She was dark and in poor condition, as well as being one of the smallest fish on that stretch of gravel. Still, it was Paul's first salmon and all of the fish in this river are wild and many generations removed from stocked fish.

Sorry to say it Paul, but that is one crusty salmon!

The salmon were dark and clearly the run was winding down. Although there was probably a few fresher fish around that might eat, by far the majority of the run were intent only on spawning or spawned out and just waiting (and hoping by the look of a few of them) to die. They seem to be tough to kill on this river as it is the only one I've caught a fish with it's eye already pecked out by seagulls. We fished until lunchtime and then decided to give it up. We only had the day and there was other sights I wanted to show him. There was no point wasting our time fishing to stale chinooks all day. We took a few photos of the spectacular landscape and ate a lunch at a peculiar diner in the township of Nipigon before arriving at our first stop, the Jackpine River. We walked, chatting, joking and searching the pools, tailouts and runs for fish. There was no sign except a few of the dead pink salmon on the banks, remnants of those that had choked up the stream when I was there only a few weeks before.

A typical view into Nipigon BayThe Jackpine River

As the sun got lower we gave up on the Jackpine and there was one place I really wanted to try. I read about it but the last time I was here the wind and waves were too much to make it practical but the wind was dead calm and it was still warm enough to give it a try. The gravel river itself doesn't really provide much of a fishery but at the mouth is a vast, shallow sand flat. These flats attract cruising pods of steelhead, lake trout, coho, pink and king salmon as well as coasters. In many ways it's similar to a type of fishing I grew up doing in Australia and I wondered if Paul would enjoy it equally. When we got out on the water the sun was setting and throwing a brilliant orange and red sunset. I had a great time wandering around on the flats, scanning and casting for those cruising fish. Paul and I stayed close enough together to talk and laugh (mostly about the fact he was losing feeling in his hands and wondering just how cold they had to get before frostbite set in) and it was really a good time. We had a great time but did we catch any fish? No, but would I write about it here if we had??????

Just me on the flatsPaul enjoying himselfA pair of Aussies in Canada

As the sun set it did get cold, especially as a slight land breeze set in from the north. When my feet were numb in the waders I headed out to where Paul had long since taken refuge. We headed back to the truck, recovered the landing net I'd left along the Jackpine River and headed back for the border. We arrived at the border late and weren't really in the mood for problems. But, as luck would have it, the bored American border guards decided to make us come inside and answer a heap of questions while they searched the truck and boat. Paul swears it's because my long, unkempt hair and beard made me look like a drug lord and by the way they singled me out for most of the questions I think he might have been right. Luckily for us there wasn't anything problematic for us to be found and we got on our way.

Unfortunately for us though that wasn't the last of our dramas. I somehow let the fuel level get low on the truck and, knowing the north shore pretty well, decided I could make it to the next small town. As it turned out there was no gas station at that town so I had to hope I'd make it all the way to Silver Bay. Well, we were running on fumes when we made it and finally saw a gas station. We both sighed a huge sigh. When I got out I discovered it was not pay at the pump and the station was closed. I said a few choice words and we headed into the little town in search of another one. We found one and it was pay at the pump and out nervous laughter rang out. It nearly turned bad when my Cabelas card was denied. As it turned out the people at Cabelas had cancelled it because it had some charges from Canada and they cancelled it as a precaution. But at the time I was one unhappy camper. When the second credit card worked Paul and I were both silent and the sound of the pump filling our tank with fuel was music to our ears.

Coming into "the cities"Crossing the Mississippi and on to the last stretch of the drive

We still had five hours of driving to do and we had to take two or three sleep stops on the way so we could make it back to Plainview so we could pick up the kids and head over to a waterpark in Wisconsin Dells, and from there, jump off onto the main fishing trip of Paul's visit.

Paul's First Day

My brother Paul arrived in Rochester at around 2pm on Monday and we immediately headed out for a meal and I began informing him of his fishing options. Of course, in order to be sanctioned by the keepers of the family budgets, this was officially a family visit and that was the number one priority, but fishing needed to be discussed early on in the trip.

Fresh off the plane and discussing fishing plans

Tuesday morning we were driving south into Iowa (Minnesota trout season was over) and looking for likely spots. On the way I showed his some of my usual fishing haunts just to give him a picture in his mind when I'm telling him about the multitudes of fish I plan to catch there in the coming years. We didn't really know where we were going (short of Iowa) and planned on taking highway 52 until we hit a decent trout stream. We did end up deviating slightly before we found a little stream that looked pretty good. We'd taken a leisurely pace and fished a few streams with only a little brown trout to our names so it was early afternoon when we got our first casts into the water. First cast about five fish came out and attacked Paul's spinner. A couple of casts later he had a nice stocked rainbow in his hand. It was time for me to put on my waders, grab the flyrod and join him.

A stream on the way

We got into a heap of fish, mostly cookie-cutter rainbows probably stocked in the last stocking but the stream was pretty and every bend looked as inviting as the last. We caught rainbows at will and a number of brook trout. Paul caught a very nice one and yes, it was larger than any of the ones our father caught (I wrote that just for you Paul - not that he's competing at all).

A nice Brook Trout

A typical example of the rainbows on offer

It was almost a shame when it got dark and we had to leave but Paul was proud to leave a piece of himself in Iowa, even if it was up the bank and covered in leaves. Hopefully I'll get back to that stream at some point. There was a nice park running along it with picnic tables and a walking and biking path. It was a good way to start the trip.