Smitten by the Mitten

Apologies to the readership for the lack of posts lately.  Well, to be perfectly honest, I'm not sorry in the least, I hope you'll understand why.  Here is the result of a much needed trading of keyboard for cork-  sometimes you have to go off looking for something, anything, to get yourself lost in.  Sometimes you end up somewhere you've been a thousand times, yet, for some odd reason this time you've managed to dig yourself in deep.  The beauty of the whole game is evident when the best plans are reduced to shreds.  Here is a little bit of the latest romp through the great lakes state-

R4PB Trout Camp Video Diary from H.C. Foster on Vimeo.

The Local Fix

There is something magical about the "local" fishing spot- a favorite piece of water that is closest to where we lay our head. For the fortunate angler, this place may be as grand as a blue ribbon trout stream a few steps out the back door, or it may be a golf course pond full of chubby bucketmouths. Either way, the truly dedicated angler measures his or her domestic satisfaction in direct relation to the proximity of fish-holding water (not that it improves any other domestic relationships).

The advantages of living in close proximity to water are obvious: less travel, more gravel.  More importantly, this makes it easier to fulfill impromptu urges to fish.  Every piece of water is different. They all have little quirks and unique characteristics that make them special. Having an intimate relationship with a river takes enough time as it is- long travel times only exacerbate this. An overlooked justification is the skunk factor. A good skunking doesn’t hurt so badly when you only drove 5 minutes instead of 5 hours. It happens, and when it does, the faster one can return to their home and commence a remedy, the better.

I believe there are 3 types of anglers- those that took up fishing because they discovered they lived so close to quality water, those that have no other option but to travel long distances to fish, and those that choose where to reside for the sole purpose of being as close as possible to a quality fishery. I can brag that I've been all three.

Growing up in Michigan's northwest Lower Peninsula on the shores of Lake Michigan, fishing became part of my life because it was so readily abundant. Everywhere you looked; there was a plethora of freshwater game fish to pursue. There was everything from trolling deep water for Lake Trout, Salmon, Walleye and Whitefish to the shallow back channels and reed flats where Northern Pike and Small Mouth Bass call home. There were little farm ponds full of dinner plate Bluegills and last but not least, there were rivers full of trout. I had no other option but to enjoy this wonderful resource. Sure, there was golf- but after making a hole-in-one at age 13 (honestly) I had in my mind reached the pinnacle of my golfing career. I discovered, no- fishing discovered me- because I resided in an area surrounded by such extensive and diverse habitat.

When I left my home in Northern Michigan for college in Tucson, Arizona, proximity to fishing was not the first thing I thought of. Without a better cliché, I was a fish out of water. Literally. This is a point in my angling journey that I wish I could do over. I failed to pursue the opportunities to fish more in Arizona, New Mexico, and Colorado. I wish I could chalk it up to hormones and cheap booze, but since those still play a part in many of my decisions, alas, I cannot. Living in such an arid landscape, I sufficed by fishing back in Michigan every summer and spent my winters chasing coeds around the campus of UofA. Neither thirst was really ever quenched.

My college career also brought me back to my home state for a few years as I finished my interventional cardiology program, yet far from the angling that I longed for. My "local" water was still a 45 minute drive away and it was disheartening that many of these waters surrounding Detroit were polluted and trash filled with low fish numbers. One positive that came from this was my interest in rough fishing with my fly rod- however; it only came as a necessity because the closest piece of trout water was more than a 2 hour drive away.

Within the last year I was fortunate enough to find a job with a company that allows me to work from a home office, extensive travel, and also gave me the option of moving wherever I chose in the Midwest. I knew that wherever I moved would have to satisfy my fishing addiction much more bountifully than just Carp and Bass fishing. Lakewood only seemed the logical choice. Lots of hospitals for work, cheap rent, a great bar scene and last but not least, its proximity to great Steelheading. These shots were taken this morning 5 minutes from my pillow with two other anglers that are also completing their "local water" cycle. Zach and Dave are both anglers that I can find on almost any morning somewhere on the river. There is nothing better than starting your work day with a couple hours of flogging water.  I'll see you boys in AM.

So, which category do you fit in?

Good Buds

Hooray Steelhead! 

March Madness

Apologies for the delay in another edition of bourbon fueled antics.  The move went well, and I have sufficiently transformed this ghetto hole into somewhat of an urban fishing/gundog/whiskey-bum... well, hole.

The weather is turning and if you live in the midwest, you might notice an abundance of people standing outside staring up at the sun as if they were waiting for the mothership to beam them aboard.  And, if you're lucky enough you might be finding a minute or two to spend on a local river as long as it doesn't look like some wicked Willy Wonka flowage of horror. 

It has been an adventure to begin to dissect a new territory of water.  While I have not spent as much time putting theory to practice as I'd prefer, I have spent a lot of time riding around in "Porkchop" (my truck) and scoping spots.  Alas, my feet are ready to trade shoes for waders a little more often and feel the weight of new currents gripping me like a first handshake- firm, yet light enough to promote a friendly relationship.

It's also the start of the spring field trial season and the sight of post winter, couch surfing, out of shape and out of practice bird dogs is always a welcome sign that winter is letting go.  I know Chaps is ready to start our spring conditioning program as he made it perfectly clear in his 15 minute tour of the Clyma compound this morning- a 10 minute vanishing act followed by an unproductive on what appeared to be a deer bed.  Oh boy.

Despite the awkward embrace of this season we call spring, those who are seasoned in the transition are still keeping a weather eye.  Winter may have walked out the door, but I've found we share the same habit of forgetting our keys, phone, sunglasses, wallet, ect... only on the very rare occasion do we have a clean departure.

What's your favorite sign of spring?