No Amount of planning can put you in the right spot at the right time. Period. Every year we plan a trip towards the end of trout season on the Trophy Water of the Au Sable. Every Year for the last five plus years we have planned to be there and have been there at the right time (legally), right at the end of the season. And this year just like the past years we would put flies in all the right places… again. This year, the first year of the new regulations, was going to be different. Its the first year that we could be there later. We could be there after Sept 30th. We could and would be there when the big trout would be on the prowl and in their pre-spawn mode. Feeding on and attacking anything that gets in their zone, their territory. This year the big trout were going to be reckless and stupid and eat flies no matter where the flies were placed. That was the plan until the weather gods came in and said “nope”, this is not your year. The weather gods decided that for our trip, the five days that we spent up north, the weather would be more than perfect… for every other thing that did not include fishing big streamers for big browns.The week before and the week after were perfectly miserable for everything else. Our week was perfect. Perfect for everything but trout fishing.

As any band of dedicated streamer fisherman would, we made adjustments. We took every one of those bright, sunny, warm and not so great days to fish for big trout days as an opportunity to hone our skills. We changed flies every ten minutes, came up with names for those punk ass browns that should have eaten the fly that they just took a swipe at, and drank more beer than we have ever consumed in a single weekend during this yearly trip. We made the best of a bad fishing weekend and turned in to a great drinking weekend. We spent the weekend doing target practice. We tried to put flies in all the spots you might never have thought of and rowed back to get them when they got wrapped in trees. We put flies in those oddball shallow water spots and caught fish. Small fish but hey, inches in the boat are inches in the boat right?

I will say with pride that, based on the other folks we talked to, we turned and stabbed more 16″+ fish than what we heard from anyone for the weekend. All in all, between two boats in five days, we did see well over a dozen 20″+ fish move to a fly. Of those I can say with confidence that over half were in the 24″ class. I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t know for a fact that five of those were my own. I got the skunk for the first two days but turned good fish on both those days. The trip wasn’t a total skunk. We did boat a few teeners. We didn’t spend a ton of time taking pics of those fish but they were there. They ate something and we were happy to have it happen.

The pics are here but if you come here often, you have already seen them.

I received the email below from Tom Buhr today. Tom is the president of a grass roots organization that focuses on the Au Sable river in MI. He is the man we all wish we could be when it comes to having the balls and energy to fight the good fights and get motivated on the conservation front. I’m sure he made Rusty Gates proud on many an occasion. His group, which we are big fans and supporters of, can be found here.

Here is the email:

Subject: Newsletter: Attorney General Mike Cox’s StopAsianCarp.com

Please let me know.
…
Department of Attorney General

Yes. Its a big deal. Check out the site. Sign the petition. Send a letter. Whatever it takes.

You shouldn’t have…

Don’t get me wrong here, I can appreciate the fight of a catfish. They are strong fish and from what I’m told, they are pretty damn smart or at least high ranking on the sensory perception scale. (If you look at them on a purely scientific basis they’re actually pretty cool.) Listen to the podcast in that link. He talks about the mighty cat about half way through and speaks highly of the fish as a predator and a game fish. Yeah, they’re great fighters if you like to slog it out with a fat, lazy old bulldog, a log, or a size 17 sea boot full of mud.  Personally, I say you can keep the slimy creeps.

It seems like every year, once a year, I manage to find myself hooked up to at least one catfish. I think the first time it happened, and most every time after that, I was fishing the Maumee River for small mouth. The Maumee is a big river that averages about 2000 cfs. Its a major tributary to Lake Erie and just about every warm water fish under the sun will call it home for at least a portion of the year and a lot of those will be resident fish throughout the year. You never know what you’re going to hook when you fish this river. To date I have caught small mouth, large mouth, and white bass on the Maumee. Freshwater drum (sheephead), bluegill, crappie, and walleye have all eaten my flies there. One day I saw a huge carp run a buddy in to his backing and put him in water up to his shoulders as he chased it downstream and stepped off an underwater ledge. It was quite a sight and to my buddies credit, he still landed the fish despite the soaker he received. I also witnessed another pal slug it out with a buffalo on a Winston 4 weight (while fishing for whities) that would’ve made any dry fly purist cry like a girl while watching that poor little Winston flex to the power of what was to this day one of the biggest and ugliest fish I have ever seen landed on a 4 weight. I have a pic of that fish and once I get around to scanning it I plan to send it to the Winston rod company and chuckle while I imagine the horror in the eyes of the makers of such a fine rod. Lets face it, 4 weight Winstons should probably never be subjected to such a travesty.

Anyway, if I remember correctly, the first time I caught a cat I was fishing a clouser in a spot where I normally do pretty well with the smallies when I hooked something that was surely not what I had in mind. After a few minutes and a nice little fight I found myself faced with whiskers, lips, and spines. Shit. Now what? There I was without a net (nets are bad luck in my eyes) remembering the warnings from my dad from so many years ago when my brother and I used to fish with worms and bobbers for what ever would eat from the docks around my dad’s boat. My dad was pretty good with his fish ID’s and taught us what was “good eatin’” and what wasn’t. He also taught us about the spines of those fish with whiskers and how he would rather not have to deal with one or both of us getting stuck and being miserable for the rest of the weekend. Once the old man was comfortable with the fact that my bro and I had a pretty good idea what was what in the fish world he would turn us loose and we would catch all sorts of crap. We did catch some catfish and never got stuck thanks to those lessons. So there I was, a grown man, looking at that fish, cringing at the fact that I might get poked by one of those spines. I cut my leader and said sainara to my clouser and didn’t tie on another one for fear that I might hook another cat.

I made the mistake of telling the stories of the other cats I have caught on flies at campfires to my fly fishing buds while on trips to northern Michigan chasing trout on the Au Sable. I have caught cats up to 30″ and these guys had even found a spot where they could target them and catch them on a regular basis. I thought maybe we were on to something good. I even tried to convince myself and the others after listening to the above mentioned podcast about the merits of catching this “prized” fish. But still I am left with nothing more than the memories of a slimy leader and fears of being stuck by those 3 awful, infection carrying spines that taunt me every time I bring one to hand. I should have known that it was the years of pissing and moaning about those slimy critters and how much I hate them that likely spawned the idea that I needed a hat that advertised that I am somehow a fan of the species. Now, thanks to Mike (aka “Phyllus”), I now own a fucking catfish hat that I will surely have to wear every time I fish a warm water stream where they may be present. Thanks for that “pal”. Fly fishing buddies are the greatest. Really.

I just can’t get in to them. I’m sorry. I’d sooner have to give the tongue to a dozen carp caught from a Wal Mart retention pond than have to handle another catfish. That said, I will wear my new lid with pride every time I get on the local warm water streams in hopes that it will protect me from the horrors of leader snot and a trip to the ER for a tetanus shot. You guys can catch them all you want. I’ll pass if I can. Not like I actually have a choice in the matter. Unfortunately for me I live in a warm water region and the little pricks are gonna be there whether I like it or not. I’m sure I’ll catch dozens of them now.

A fishing trip should probably never end in you being passed out in the ER or result in having weapons of limited destruction end up your boat in place of where a fish should have been. Not saying that weapons and passing out shouldn’t be a part of any fishing trip, just that they shouldn’t be an end to one.

Thanks to Maine Fly Castings  and Singlebarbed for helping with today’s story problem.

  Does this look like a tool designed for catch and release?