Regardless of my reason for going (and you know it doesn't take much of a reason for me to go fishing) I know I was late leaving Saturday and not exactly sure of my destination. Would I head to the Bois Brule River and fish for Lake Run Brown trout (although it was probably still very high from the heavy rains the weekend before), maybe across to Minnesota's north shore and chase coasters, or Ashland, Washburn or Bayfield along Chequamenon Bay for splake. It was late afternoon when I left and very late when I arrived at the boatramp in Ashland, Wisconsin. Outside seemed cold and clear but it was cosy in the back of the truck, even though I slept very poorly.
When morning came there was the seasons first frost, a heavy frost, on the ground and the air was brisk. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and only the lightest breeze blew. My hands froze as I set up the boat and my bare feet lost all feeling as I walked from my parked truck back down to the boat tied up at the dock. I soon had the bow pointed out into the bay and winced in pain as the blood returned to my feet and the boiling heat radiated through them. From the Ashland (Eastern Side) of the bay I scanned the shoreline across the bay for dips that might indicated streams flowing into the bay, before zipping across to a promising stretch of water just south of Washburn. The depth sounder indicated vast schools of bait but numerous passes through failed to yield a strike. The sun was coming up and the trees were only days from peak colors. The water was brilliant blue, bathing in the rays of sunshine streaming down from above.
The shorelineAfter running along and looking at the leaf show, sandstone cliffs, and luxurious summer homes I ran the boat to the mouth of one of the streams that empties into the bay. Clearly I wasn't the only one with that idea as I was one of a flotilla of boats ranging in size from sea kayaks to 42 foot cruisers. Most were running the breakline out a few hundred feet from the mouth but I opted to head in closer to where the stream entered. With my 6 weight I tied on a clouser minnow fly to a sink-tip line and began slow stripping motions across the the first drop off. I had no action for at least a half hour and then, out of nowhere, the rod throbbed a couple of times, there was a short pause before the reel caught up and then screamed horror as a silver missile went airborne about forty feet from me. In the deep, open water this dime bright predator zipped about and I sure felt under-gunned with a 6 weight rod.
Some time later I had a fantastic Lake Superior coho salmon in the live well. Not more than ten minutes later her twin was flopping around on the deck. I was beginning to attract the attention of the trolling crowd and with each pass they got closer and closer. I was getting squeezed out and didn't feel like battling all the other boats. Amidst the boat traffic and with the sun getting higher and higher I fished for another half hour or so without any luck. I gave it up and decided to troll a little deeper using a downrigger and perhaps, I could get away from the crowds a little.
Coho Number 1
Coho Number 2The fight wasn't spectacular and I soon had the fish boatside but my mood rapidly went up when I got a good look. I saw the forked tail of a laker but the beautiful markings of the brook trout. It was my first ever splake. I'd been chasing this particular type of fish for three or four years now and finally getting open to hand felt pretty good. Admittedly it wasn't a large one but that was just fine with me. The trip was a success!
My first ever splake (brook trout crossed with a lake trout)With no clouds in the sky and bright sunshine the place lost that "fishy" feel. I trolled about for a while just out enjoying the fall weather before heading back to the ramp because I was getting hungry and tired. Back in Ashland I bought some ice to keep the salmon and splake cold then climbed in the back of the truck for a nap.
As the shadows began to grow longer I pulled out on highway 2 and headed west towards the Bois Brule River. When I got there I was very annoyed. With the recent rains every fisherman's car park was filled with fancy BMW and Lexus SUVs with Minnesota licence plates. The obnoxious, yuppy flyfishing crowd from Minneapolis had arrived in droves. These guys are completely outfitted in the best waders and brandname rod and reels but lack any sort of grace, appreciation or understanding of how to apply their art. If I had my way, stores wouldn't sell you this fine equipment until you demonstrated the ability to appreciate it's worth over cheaper varieties. Having said this, I wonder what equipment I'd be fishing with?
I drove all the way down to the river mouth and even it was stacked with guys. The mouth really made my laugh as five guys choked it and two of them had obviously (at least I hope that's their excuse) just bought new two handed rods and were trying to apply what looked like some sort of pathetic version of a spey cast. I sat watching and hoping for just one rogue gust of wind to whip through those five guys and tangle them up into a giant ball of mess but it didn't happen. I gave up hope and headed back towards the highway.
There is very little cell phone reception along the river and at one spot some came in. I had pulled off the road in this spot before so I thought little of it. However, the season was late and the grasses were high and somewhat masking the height of the drop. Also the rains kept deep puddles and the soft mud was slippery. My left side wheels slipped and down and across I was sucked into the ditch. The truck got to 45 degrees and over she rolled. Perhaps it would have rolled over completely had it not been for the boat and trailer resisting the roll. It took me a few minutes to register what had happened but luckily for me a couple stopped and helped get me straightened up and then inching forward he towed me up and back onto the road. A brief inspection of the truck and everything looked ok so I trundled off down the road, a little shaken but glad it happened on one of the less remote rivers I fish. You'll notice the vehicle that pulled me out was a pickup with Wisconsin plates and not one of the fancy foreign cars with Minnesotan licence plates. I will mention several of them drove past and did nothing. I guess it's hard to see stranded motorists on the side of the road with your head shoved up your own backside! Next time a pair of these guys (they rarely travel alone) drops in on a pool I'm fishing instead of just quietly walking away, I might just stand my ground and let them have a piece of my mind. Being an ignorant duche bag isn't an excuse for not having river etiquette in my mind anymore!
So with that little shake up I headed back to Plainview and another week of work. There was only eight days until my brother's arrival and I was certainly getting excited.
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