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.