On Wednesday morning, very early in the morning, I drove north out of the city. The city is fine and useful and even necessary, but driving out of it is better than driving into it. The people, the sounds, the buildings — they are all very close to you all the time in the city. Up in the woods, the sounds are far. Wind might sound in the treetops, but what you hear is not the wind itself but the treetops’ interpretation of the wind.

For a certain person in a certain state of mind, trees are better to be close to than buildings or people. Other things to which it’s good to be close for a certain person in a certain state of mind: leaves, rocks, water, fire, firewood, books, supper clubs, brandy, trout, fly rods, radios, very old tools, axes, row boats, large spiders, deer, bears, wolves, lamps, matches, blankets, and windows to open at night and make the room cold so the blankets are needed. 

These two days I fished with silence in my head. I heard the wind and I heard the loon and I heard an occasional car in the distance and I heard creatures scrambling on the fallen dead leaves in the woods on the shore. I heard fish rise and even saw two trout launch themselves all the way out of the water, probably chasing down nymphs that were about to hatch into real live bugs and make a clean getaway into the sky. For them, the water is too close and the sky promises freedom. They return to the water to lay their eggs and then they fly away to die. The whole cycle happens in a matter of days.     

All the trout I caught were big, from 17 inches to 19 inches. They were thick, with broad dark spotted shoulders, firm bright silver and pink sides, and bright white mouths opening under water. The excitement of it is seeing something violent and seeing something you’re not supposed to see — a fish eating what it thinks is another fish, doing what it does when we’re nowhere near.   

I found them today. The fish. All the fish in the Onion. They were all in one spot. It's 10:44 at night right now, and I'm confident that if I wanted, I could still be standing there, making a moderately difficult cast, dropping a stimulator with prince dropper at the head of a pool that must have held, like, four billion brown trout. It was awesome. I drank large cans of beer and caught more fish than everyone else put together. There were a ton of dudes fishing the Onion today, but no one in the spot I was, which happened to be the spot with all the fish in the river. What a fine, fine day of fishing. 

There are many pleasing sounds for the trout fisherman. The subtle pop of a fish breaking the surface tension to take your fly. The hiss of snowflakes hitting the water all around you. The growl of the engine of an SUV full of dudes who just took off because they weren't willing to share a massive river with one other person. 

Now let me tell you about a bad sound. It's the snap of your Winston Vapor 8 1/2' 5-weight rod as you step on it while trying to climb down a steep little hill to the river.

This has been my go-to rod for a few years now. It's the only rod I've got that's not too fast and not too slow. Can be delicate enough for brookie streams and strong enough to cast big flies a mile on bigger rivers.

Dear Winston: if you're reading (and I'm sure you are), I'm willing to entertain offers to officially endorse your brand. I have no shame. You give me free gear and I'll use this blogging platform (with all its attendant social media) to say blindingly good stuff about you. Winston rods make you catch bigger fish. Winston rods make you sexier to the opposite sex. Winston rods make your hair lustrous. Winston rods make you sleep better at night. 

That's just a taste, just some stuff off the top of my head. Imagine what I could do if I really put my mind to it.

You know where to reach me, Winston. Until then, I'll be weeping, wiping the tears with the jagged edges of what used to be my favorite fly-rod.

 

 

Quite possibly last fishing day of the season. Spent it on the same water where the season came to life for me: a stretch of the Big Green where it seems I can do no wrong. Back in April, this spot produced in ways that seemed fictional. Yesterday wasn't much different.

Probably Van's last day of fishing before he and Lindsey leave for Germany.

A guest appearance by celebrity bait fisherman Nate Theis, who brought in the day's best fish: a 15" rainbow. 

Lunch at Sheddy's. Dinner at the Horny Troll. Choice beer and flies purchased from a nice guy at a shop in Fennimore. 

Trout eating many things, but the best fish for me came on a Griffith's gnat and a small adams. Van, too, reported great luck on a small adams.

But yesterday was different. In April, everything is clearly in front of you. In September, so much of it just isn't there any more. Five months go by fast, and that should be a reason for optimism. But winter drags where summer flies. Time is not consistent or fair. Time is a total hyprocrite.

Van, I'll miss fishing with you. I hope you find trout and Old Milwaukee Light in Berlin.

One of the best things about fishing a good river is hiking downstream, seeing all the good holes, and wondering where to put in. There's a greed to it. You could stop at the first good hole or the second. Or you could walk a half mile and know that you've got hours and hours of great fishing ahead. It's especially good on a stretch of river you've never fished before.

That was my day yesterday on both the Green and the Blue. Parked at the usual spots, but pushed farther downstream than usual before getting my boots wet. And the extra walking paid off. So many fish. No monsters, but plenty in the 13" range, which is big enough to keep me happy. Caught them on nymphs mostly, but some on dries, too.

Made friends with some horses. Drove home happy.  

Thanks to Mr. Len Harris, I had a chance to check out some new water in the hallowed Driftless Area last Friday. In the course of one day I added four new names to my list of rivers fished, including the famed West Fork of the Kickapoo.

It was a long day, too. Waking up before 4 a.m. on the East Side of Milwaukee puts you on the water near Viroqua around 8 a.m. And, of course, that means misisng maybe the best three hours of fishing in a day. But the Driftless is kind and, on this day, rewarded my buddy Van and I for simply keeping our eyes open. As we were leaving creek #1, we crossed a tiny tributary. It wasn't water you'd look twice at, but if you did look twice, you'd see brook trout. A bunch of them. And for the next two hours we had great brookie action on dry flies. Van even caught a nice brown who'd been hiding in an undercut. Not bad considering we didn't even know what stream we were fishing. 

A 7'6" 3-weight rod is the right tool for such water, but it's all wrong for the West Fork of the Kickapoo. I know because I hooked a solid brown there later in the day and promptly lost him when he used the current — and my ill-chosen tool — against me. He rose, mid-afternoon, to a mutant fly: some sort of stimulator with rubber legs that must have looked something like a hopper. Weird fly. No idea where I got it. My boxes are full of such oddities.    

We finished the day on another small, random stream where Van and I both caught respectable browns. I caught mine on a giant white hopper with orange legs. Were there white hoppers with orange legs in the streamside weeds? No. Have I ever seen a white hopper with orange legs? No. But this particular brown thought the fly looked good. So there you have it. It was that kind of day. 

Sunday was no day for trout fishing. Much too hot, much too sunny. So I went trout fishing. I worked much too hard to catch one brown. Difficult casting into a difficult spot just beneath a dilapidated little bridge. But he was a fine little brown, worth the effort. He ate a tiny elk hair caddis which I drifted over his deep and shady hold.

Plenty of fish were rising on the Onion. More than I would have guessed. But they were finicky at best. I hooked up with several, but caught just the one. What they were rising to, I have no idea. I've found those situations on the Onion are usually best answered by an elk hair caddis. 

The trout shut down completely by 10:30 a.m. And so did I. 

In other pictures you'll have the pleasure of seeing some stupid bass I caught up north. And some flowers. And a loon who taunted me for a few hours one morning. And a spider's web. And some other stuff. 

 

 

 

Friday in the Driftless. Lots of browns and a few rainbows.

Saturday up north. Bass and bluegills.

Nice job, Wisconsin.

 

Great day yesterday. Hardly anyone around. Felt like I was in a weird dream. Thought it might be because I'd gotten almost no sleep.

 

Almost stepped on a fawn on the banks of the Blue. Sorry, fawn.

 

Caught a beast of a rainbow. A legitimate trophy.17"? 18"? Somewhere in there.

 

Caught a lot of fish on PTs and princes underneath a dry. Caught plenty on mayfly dries. Caught a few on a Hornberg.

 

 

I've been bad at keeping up this blog. I'm sorry.

There hasn't been a ton going on. Been out to the Onion a few times. Caught a few fish, including what looks like a weird rainbow/brown hybrid.On Memorial Day, caught a nice rising brown on a caddis pattern.

 

Got up to the East Branch of the Eau Claire last weekend and caught nothing but chubs.

 

Itching to get back to the Driftless.

 

That's all I have to say tonight.