First Foray into the World of Steeheading - Bois Brule, Wisconsin Day 6: Monday, October 19

Our final day to fish. Crazed for another bite, we had pre-packed the night before and awoke in the pitch black to prepare for one last shot at landing chrome. The mood was solemn but guardedly hopeful. One last cup of oatmeal; one last cup of Starbucks Via. We let the air out of sleeping pads. Psssssst. Commited. 

We crept out of the campground before first light and made our way to the parking lot that would lead us to Birch Pool where we had both caught fish and we had seen others caught. We figured that was our best shot only having a few hours to fish before going back to break camp and head to the airport. We were first to arrive at the pool and took up position, me on the near and David on the far shore. As light began to fill in, we cast. I know I wanted a pull so bad, I was somewhat manic. I cast over and over, in the bubble stream, in the slow back eddy, way out in the tailwater. I adjusted the distance between the strike indicator, the lead weight, switched trailing flies; I pulled out every trick in my limited steelhead arsenal. David was not having any better luck. With time running out, we swapped shorelines for refreshed luck. We fished for another 45 minutes and then threw in the towel. It was not meant to be. Later, in retrospect, we realized that our fish , and all the ones we had sen caught at Birch Pool, were caught in the afternoon. So then we wondered if some pools, because of depth and temperature, worked better at different times of the day. Hmmm. So much to learn! We headed back to Cooper Landing Campground for one last time. We took down and stuffed the tents, and packed away our rods in their tubes. I wrapped my wet boots in a garbage back, threw in my waders, and repacked my rolling duffel for luggage check-in. I crammed my carry-on to save on checked baggage weight (49 pounds, even with wet stuff!). After 4+ days of steelheading and cold-weather camping, my fingers were dehydrated, cracked, sore, and beat up. 

But it was so worth it! As David steered the car towards Minneapolis, the skies darkened and it snowed intermittently. It was in the high 70's in Virginia Beach, but in Wisconsin, the plows were out and at the ready. 

 

The drive gave us time to reflect on what an awesome trip this had been. I was overdue visiting the region of David's upbringing and that he loved so much. We got to explore new water and an area, now familiar, that he will have the opportunity to return to over and over again, hopefully with his son and daughter, hopefully with all of us! I cherish David's friendship and am grateful for the times we get to spend together. I'm paraphrasing Norman Maclean, I know, but... In certain matters pertaining to the universe, all good things, trout as well as eternal salvation, come by grace, and grace comes by art, and art is bound by abiding friendship, that does not come often or easily. 

 Peace. 

 

First Foray into the World of Steeheading - Bois Brule, Wisconsin Day 5: Sunday, October 18

Sunday, our last full day of fishing left.  Each day, we were getting up earlier and earlier so we could be first to the trailhead and first to plumb the depths of the pools.  We were getting up around 5:15 in the dark.  

David did a masterful job of getting the water boiling and we hurriedly made our coffee and oatmeal so we could get on the road.  My left hip and leg were still smarting from the fall the day before, but I could walk and so I could fish.  The mind is a powerful thing!

 

 Getting skunked the day before made for a good break from the nymphing and today we were committed to swinging flies.  Shit, I had 30-50 or so flies in the box, MOAL flies of all colors, a variety of sculpin flies including one recommended by the Brule River Sportsman Club members, tied specifically for that purpose and a wallet full of sink tips, half sink tips, etc.  Time to get busy with it.

Steve drove from Duluth to meet us again, but only had the morning to fish.  Based on his recommendation, we decided to explore north, starting at McNeil's landing and working toward Lake Superior.

David and I jumped into the car and made our way north. 

We met Steve before the sun came up and donned waders in the thinning darkness.  I think, based on the trail we took, we ended up near Dark Hole.  David fished the bend, and I followed the trail along the bank downstream.  Steve stayed ahead of us, moving to some holes where he had had success in the past. 

Man, the Brule is a beautiful river!

I think, just beause I had so damn many, my first fly of choice was a M.O.A.L. fly.  I started with a brown one, then switched to a white Rio "Make It Rainbow" fly.  David's casting technique was good and he was throwing beautiful loops.  Mine was more pedestrian, but I was quartering to the opposite shore well enough.  The pace and rhythm of the casting are mesmerizing.  We made our way towards Lake Superior, step by step.

Along the way, I stopped to capture the willow shoots coming out of this tree trunk - pretty cool.

We continued north approaching one of the many Island Holes.  I made many casts, sweepng the fly right along the edge of the debris pile, but to no avail.

 

Just below Island Hole, as I worked a long run, the line did come tight and a big fish broke the surface with a big splash.  

 

He took an olive sculpin spey fly but instead of waiting, I think I tried to set the hook and pulled it out of his mouth.  The fish immediately came unbuttoned leaving me swearing like a sailor.  I spent a fair amount of time swinging in the same area.  "Where there's one, there's two."  I got no love, and, much as he tried,  David got none either.  Downstream we went.

I was on the steep, high west bank as I walked, and finally picked my way to some good looking water around Harvey's Hole I think.  After a short while, I headed back upstream to meet David and Steve, since Steve had to leave midday and our lunch was back in the car.  As I made my way back, I couldn't help but admire the mosaic of fallen leaves among the other plants.

We had our lunch and bid farewell to Steve.  The clock was ticking and we were running out of new real estate so we took our cue from our guide Carl who told us that fish were being caught and there might be less weekend crowding south of our Copper Range Campground, near Black Landing.

This part of the river looked very different - very narrow, closed in; the water was slow moving.  Nothing looked to promising, so David and I split up.  I tried to cast to a section near a log jam but with no luck.  The water was deep next to the shore.  This combined with lots of overgrown vegetation along the shore made it difficult to cast.  It was a beaver-infested quagmire!  I snagged and lost my rig in a tree on the recoil.  I re-rigged the leader, two nymphs (back to that), split shot, and Air-Lock strike indicator and moved upstream hoping to find better water.  Walking through the swampy thick growth was time consuming with a 12' rod!  I eventually did find one good looking stretch, but came up empty handed.  I found David and he had been having similar luck.  We decided to bail (no pictures) and reconsider what we might have done to Carl to have gotten that "recommendation".

 

We made it out alive, and headed back to camp to have our last meal around the campfire.  We boiled water and "made dinner" and enjoyed the fire as a field mouse darted in and out of the shadows to grab bits of fallen chips.  

After a long and arduous day, with some excitement on the swing, and after the food and beer settled in, it was finally time to let sleep in.  We would make one last ditch effort to finish with a bang.

First Foray into the World of Steeheading - Bois Brule, Wisconsin Day 4: Saturday, October 17

Saturday, we parked on the west side of the river near where Route 13 crossed the Brule.  We figured if we hit it early, we'd work our way upstream where there were a lot of pools with no other access nearby and try to reach Bozzo Run, maybe ever Trail's End, before having to hike out before dark.  

  

David had warned me that the weather was going to throw some precipitation at us today - starting with snow and then perhaps turning to rain.  Classic steelhead weather!  We didn't have to wait long before a steady light snow started coming down.   

 It did put a nice blanket on the trees and the shore and reminded this Virginia Beach-boy that I was lucky to be in the woods in Wisconsin.   

We continued to hopscotch our way upstream, passing Hair Pin Bend, Island Pool, and Magic Bob's.  The snow picked up, but we didn't pay it any mind as we tried to repeat the magic of the day before.  We continued to nymph, not ready to to switch tactics and swing big streamers. 

As the snow transitioned to rain, my old Patagonia SST jacket began to wet out, but we just keep on fishing and moving, casting, mending, drifting, and moving.  

  

At one point I had to get down a steep slope and the exposed clay trail presented a clear and present danger.  Even though I was careful and had anticipated vegetation grab bars to make my way down, I started slipping and could not slow my roll.  I tried to protect my telephone pole of a rod, but in the process, came slamming down on my hip - of course on the side where I've had hip replacement surgery.  I was banged up!  I limped along and tried to just ignore the pain.  

 

By midday, the rain had stopped.  I met up with David and we took a break and had some lunch.  He showed me how to catch snowflakes...

 

...and then got back to work.  

 

    

The pools are not marked so when we ran into the few other anglers we saw, we'd ask them if they knew where we were.  No one did.  When we ran into one pair and asked the question, they replied that they had walked from the next parking lot to the south so they figured we were both about half  way in between.  That would put us at Bozzo Run or maybe Little Dutchman.  We thought it was getting late and we would need an hour to make it back to the parking lot, especially in my gimpy condition, so we turned around.  David took this picture at Pyramid Rock, the one place we did know where we were.  Perhaps I selected the wrong photo, because from the right angle it does look like a pyramid.            

We continued north and I was somewhat dejected by my skunk.  David had caught a brown trout early so his string had not been broken.  Limping, I negotiated the couple of stream crossings and we made it back to Route 13.  We got out of our waders, and me out of my wet layers, and the car pointed itself to the Hungry Trout Inn.  They were out of the local beer on tap, so we had to get cans of lager for me to medicate.  Empty as on previous nights, I had wet jackets strewn about in the vain hopes they would dry.  

 

We got "Waino" burgers and fries again...

 ... and because it was still early, we played a couple of games of pool to burn some time before returning to the campsite and our sleeping bags.

 Before departing, I took a few pictures of the bar to document the gestalt of the place.

 

 

 Even thought the nights were in the low 20s, I was never cold.  I had purchased a silk sleeping bag liner and they say the liners add 5-10 degrees of warmth to any bag.  I'm a believer and would strongly recommend one for any cold-weather camping trip. 

 

We collected tinder for the breakfast-making fire, and then retired hoping that I would be able to walk and wade ably the next morning. 

First Foray into the World of Steeheading - Bois Brule, Wisconsin Day 3: Friday, October 16

Day 3

Today, we were on our own; fishing without a guide and using only the techniques and skills we had learned the day before with our able teacher Carl Haensel, www.namebini.com.

 

Based on some intel from David's college roommate, Steve, we parked off Tikkanen Road at the Bachelor's parking area. 

 

Steve said Bachelor's Bend was a good place to fish, so we headed downstream in that direction.  Turns out the day before was the "warm" day.  With clear skies overnight, the morning air was in the 20s and, along the river, the grass still wore a coat of frost. 

Here's the set up for the day - Vedavoo sling, Fishpond net, Echo rod, and a Rio Switch line on my trusty Tibor Riptide reel.

 

I think this was my first experience fishing with ice in the guides.

 There was an older gentleman at Bachelor's Bend, so we keep moving downstream.

David worked the bubble line on Long Run...

 Down below, I caught a little brown to get things started. 

 

In the cold, it was slow - at least for us.  As we walked to stay warm, we stopped to enjoy the signs of wildlife in the north woods.  I think David said this pattern in the tree bark was the handiwork of an ambitious woodpecker.

 

We made it to Trail's End and there were a bunch of downed trees and logs that provided structure next to the holes at the bend of the river.  If not for steelhead, this was supposed to be prime habitat for brown trout.  So I set up shop and started to cover the water with casts to put my nymphs deep in the pools.  The tools that our guide Carl had given us the day before paid off and I hooked into a nice fish.  I called to David downstream, but I don't think he heard me so I fought and landed the fish, barely, solo.  It was terrifying but also rewarding!

 

 David came back upstream to check on me just as I was landing this male and he snapped some pictures.  Spectacular!

 

 Turning the steelhead on its side really gave a sense of his girth; this was a solid fish!

 

 The release...

 The pattern and colors of the scales are a wonder!

After all the excitement, we retired to the bank to have lunch.  For today's fare, David had arranged for a delectable streamside charcuterie of soppressata and aged cheddar from Driftless Provisions.  Yum! 

The only thing that could have made this better perhaps would have been some warm glug wine.

 

We have to document at least one selfie per trip.  No so photogenic for me, but I was happy to be there! 

 

One of the mantras of the Bois Brule seems to be, where you catch one fish, you may very well catch another, so David stayed at Trail's End to try his luck while I moved downstream.

 

As I made my way to Little and Big Dutchman, I snapped a few pictures of this beautiful river.

 It was getting late in the afternoon, and Steve was late in leaving the river.  His wife had texted him to question if he had not fished enough already that day.   We all heard that dog whistle and hustled upstream only to find David tied into a nice fish.  I grabbed the Fishpond net and after a few misses, got the hen in the bag.

  

 

The mantra is right; where there's one, there's two!  We worked our way back to the parking lot and snapped one more picture of Bachlor's Run, leading up to the Bend.

 David posing at one of the river crossings...

 

 One last picture of the beautiful surroundings before leaving the river.

Once back to the parking lot, we executed one of our long-standing plans.  We stealthily deployed a "flybrary on the back side of the parking lot kiosk sign and stocked it with a few swing and nymph flies. 

"Need one, take one.  Have one, give one" For more information, see:  www.flybrary.com.

 

We decided to use the early hour to our advantage, and headed back to the Hungry Trout Inn for a socially distant dinner.  We split a pizza that was massive and we washed it down with some cold local beer.  

 

Back at camp, we collected tinder for the morning fire that would prep our oatmeal and coffee, and then hit the hay.

First Foray into the World of Steeheading - Bois Brule, Wisconsin Day 1 - 2: Wednesday-Thursday, October 14-15

My friend David and I make good fishing fishing partners.  I bring age (negative, not a postive!), enthusiasm, gear, and fly tying prowess and David brings equal amounts of enthusiasm, youth, cat-like reflexes, a watchful eye, imperviousness to cold, and an anglers' rabbit's foot.   We both love to camp and we are always up for an adventure.  I am grateful for his friendship.  

 

This partnership most recently manifested in a planned trip to the Bois Brule River in Wisconsin, a tributary to Lake Superior, to try our hand at steelheading.

 

As part of the adventure, we each purchased switch rods, fly lines to swing flies and started practicing spey casting.  We hired a guide, Carl Haensel, www.namebini.com, and, as instructed, started tying pheasant tail and prince nymphs, Superior X flies, and M.O.A.L, trout spey and traditional spey flies.  Big brown trout inhabit the Bois Brule, so I even tied some Galloup sex dungeon flies.  We had ideas of trying for browns at night so I even tied a few mouse flies.

 The week before meeting in WI, I started packing and realized my switch rod, even though it was a 4-pc, would not fit in my rolling duffel due to its near 12' length.  Panic set in.  Thank god for Amazon and their fast delivery.  I got a cheap rolling duffel that could accommodate a 40" rod tube and my newly acquired Fishpond Nomad net.  I packed extra waders, spare rods, camping gear, and multiple raincoats.

 The weather was forecast to be cold - 30s in the day and low 20s at night.  Rain and snow were likely.  Accordingly, I also bought a silk sleeping bag liner and I am now a firm believer in it's heat adding properties.  I was comfortable every night.  

 

Preparations complete, I was ready to go.  I took a Lyft to Norfolk International Airport for a 6:45 am flight to Charlotte and then on to Minneapolis, MN.   Flying into Minneapolis, you could tell the land use was very different from that in coastal Virginia. David picked me up at the airport and we caught up on family, experiences, and talked fishing strategy as we drove through grey skies to Duluth and then on to the Superior Fly Shop for some last minute supplies.  We picked up some flies, I got Simms gloves and some extra boot studs, we talked about what to expect on the river, and then we were off to the Copper Landing Campground in the Brule River State Forest.  We had to wait for some lingering campers to clear the site, but then set up our tents and headed just down the road to the Hungry Trout Inn for dinner.

Upon entering, we found we were the only ones wearing masks.  However, the place was so empty on a Wednesday evening, that we could easily eat inside without fear of properly socially distancing.  After ordering some burgers, we excitedly talked about our guided fishing the next day.  One new patron came in as we were ordering and demanded SOUP!  I WANT THE SOUP!  Our friendly bartender, told him to wait, she was busy, and then when he asked for a jack and coke she told him NO! and, I think already drunk, he stormed out the back door.

Stomachs full and tired, we retired to the campsite and settled in for a restless night, dreaming of steelhead.

 

Day 2

 

We woke at 5:45 am and made a simple breakfast of oatmeal and coffee with sweetened condensed milk and then hustled off to meet our guide on the river.  

The Brule River Sportsman's Club sells a must-have map that shows all the pools and runs along the river.  Buy one before you go!  The pools are not marked on the river itself so you have to interpret the shape of the river's turns and runs to get a sense of where you are.  Asking other anglers where we were was a frequent conversation opener.  A frequent response was "I don't know".  Without the map we would have been totally lost!

 

We meet Carl, our guide, at the parking area at the end of Koski Road.  We were there first, but lingered as we waited for Carl and another truck pulled up, two guys jumped out and they hurriedly donned waders and shuffled down the river trail.  This was our first clue of the combat-nature of getting to preferred fishing holes and it was only a Thursday!  Carl arrived and we suited up and, using his experience, took us down a side path that led directly to his first choice pool that morning, Power Line Hole.

 As we approached the river, it lay out before us in splendor.

 

 Carl rigged up our leaders and taught us how to drift and mend to keep our flies in the bubble lanes.  As he attended to each of us, he was willing the fish to take, but they did not comply.  A guy upstream hooked and landed a fish.  Damn!

 We let Carl down at Power Line Hole and eventually moved on...

  

  ... admiring the handiwork of the beavers active in the area.

 

We tried Teacher's Hole, then Deacon, but to no avail.  Our inadequacy left a thick pall in the north woods.  After hours of unsuccessfully drifting nymphs, we finally broke for lunch.  Carl walked us up past our entry point to show us the May Ledges, the largest elevation drop along the river.  

 

We all munched sandwiches as Carl mentally pressed the reset button.  Ever positive, he renewed our faith.  He told us, every bump of the strike indicator could be a fish; we just had to believe.  Once again, we did. 

 

Carl took us to another parking area, and we found our way to a large deep pool - Birch Hole.  He got me set up and told me where to cast and then took David upstream to Pipeline Hole, 

  

then crossed the river and worked their way back downstream so they were opposite me on the other shore.  

 

He had David fishing a fast riffle section.   On warm days, sometimes the fish would work up out of the pool and feed in the riffle.  David drifted a nymph with a trailing orange egg pattern.  

 

After a while, Carl came back to me.  We chatted as I repeated cast and drift, cast and drift, setting the hook downstream at each twitch of the strike indicator.  

 

Carl watched David mistake a fish for a rock hangup and that livened up the banter for a while.

 

Every once in a while we would see fish porpoise in the slow back eddy water.  I assumed they were brown trout.  Carl said it was a boring drift, but I could try it.  David hooked up in the riffle and Carl raced back to cross the stream and land the fish for him like his life depended on it.  Success!  David caught a beautiful chromer!  A fish that recently arrived in the river from Lake Superior -still bright and silvery and not having attained the darker coloration of the longer resident fish.

The skunk was out, but I felt the pressure squarely on my shoulders now.  After pictures, Carl returned to my side.  Cast, mend, drift... cast, mend drift... repeat.  At one point, a fish porpoised a rod's length to my right.  I asked Carl if I should cast to it.  He said, yeah, why not.  Next cast - BOOM!  Fish on!  I assumed it was a big brown, but Carl said he saw it and it was a steelhead.  It had taken the lead fly, a pheasant tail nymph, not the Prince trailer.  Before long, it was in the net and the weight of performance was lifted from all our shoulders.

 

 It was a lovely female, "hen" steelhead.  High fives all around!    

 

 

Once all the pictures were complete, I threw a couple casts back to the same area.  I think on the second cast, I hooked up again.  This fish screamed back into the pool.  Nervously, I adjusted the drag so as not to break him off on the 0X leader.  I played the fish for a little while, then he headed straight for a set of rock obstructions Carl had warned me not to get my casts tangled up in.  I tried to apply the heat to keep the fish out of there, but all of a sudden the line went slack.  I figured I had broken him off, but when all the flies came back, I realized in my faulty play, I had given him just enough slack to free himself from the barbless hook.  My bad!  After that, the pool gave us not more love.  Didn't matter, we were both pretty amped - steelhead virgins no more!

 

Carl took us downstream and we crossed the river on a cable bridge with some damn rickety looking railings.  We crossed one person at a time.  

 

 Carl wanted to show us the Sauna Hole - aptly named.

 

 The pool was vacant, so he told us to take some casts.  "Never pass up a chance to cast into the Sauna Hole".  I gave David the honors.

 

 After a short while we decided to call it quits.  We were both happy and Carl had clearly earned his fee.  What a great guide - in knowledge, personality, and service.  We couldn't have been better taken care of.  Carl led the way back to the parking lot, we got some tips for the coming days of DIY, settled up, and bid farewell.

 

After sampling the fare at the Hungry Trout Inn, David and I decided to check out the other known fisherman's hangout - the Kro Bar, in Brule.  It was still early and a Thursday and we hoped, like with the Hungry Trout, that we could get a meal while socially distancing.

We lucked out, it was pretty empty so we settled in at a small table.  I got a cheese steak sandwich and David got some soup and something healthy, I forget.

David recognized a couple of women that Carl had introduced us to on the river and one of the ladies had caught her first fish on the swing so we bought her a drink.  We then hopped into the car , still early, and drove about 45 minutes to Duluth to meet up with David's college roommate, Steve, for a quick tying session and some sharing of intel.  Steve would be joining us on Saturday.  As they talked, David tied worm flies and I tied up a batch of jig hook pheasant tail nymphs.  It was a fun tying session!

We only stayed about an hour, then made our way through the ink black Wisconsin night to our campsite where the stars were brilliant and in full effect.  He hopped in our sleeping bags and sleep came easily.