I
was beyond excited; for the experience of an adventure of course, but even more
to simply have the opportunity to “Get out of Dodge.” It’s probably been said that, “Too much of a
good thing is too much.” I’d been
feeling that way about a few things all school-year long; especially in regard
to things that were once considered good.
So when the chance to finally take a personal day presented itself, and
when I found that it could be spent trout fishing with my Dad, I jumped on it.
Following
a good service at church, my wife and I came home, ate lunch, and went to
school to work on lesson plans while preparing for the week. It seemed to take forever while the clock on
the wall announced each individual second with a tick. I finished what I needed to do and set it all
up accordingly, after more hours than I care to admit, but not before my Dad
had already arrived at our house and was sitting in the driveway waiting for us
to return.
I
mention these things only to show the anticipation that was building. I grabbed my gear that was already lying out,
and then quickly packed a bag while heating up some food to take with me for
dinner. We planned to drive North for a
couple of hours, spend the night in a hotel, and then finish the last bit of
driving in the morning so we could be standing in running water shortly after
the sun rose over the horizon.
After
saying goodbye to my wife, my Dad and I hit the road. We talked most of the way about what was
going on in our lives. We slept well,
and were the first ones to arrive at the continental breakfast in the
morning. We had to lift the chairs down
off the tables, and the gravy for the biscuits was still cold, but we really didn’t
care; those were simply the details of what actually did happen.
When
we arrived at our destination, after a beautiful drive along high ridges and
deep valleys, it was with a sigh of relief.
Two days out from the opening day of trout season in Wisconsin, and we
had the place to ourselves. It’s one of
the blessings of going fishing on a weekday.
The
walk down to the creek is on a footpath that hugs the East side of a steep
ravine. Water trickled along the vertex
to the angled sides, and when it opened up into a level valley floor, spring
wild flowers abounded. Most notable was
the skunk cabbage in the soft, wet soil, but along the slightly higher ground
the trout lily was also in full bloom.
It’s a small little plant, but it makes up for it in its beauty. The yellow flowers go without saying, but the
two leaflets that form the body of the plant are colored a mottled brown and
green, much like the markings on the back of the speckled, brook trout; hence
it’s name.
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| Flowers Of The Skunk Cabbage |
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| Skunk Cabbage |
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| The Trout Lily |
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We
spent the better part of the day fishing; by that I mean from the early morning
to the late afternoon. We ate our packed
lunches after each of us had caught a nice sized brown trout. We ate sitting on a sandy bank while
listening to the gurgling water that swirled against a rock walled bluff. Once we finished, we walked around in the
bright sun, capturing its welcome warmth.
It was then that I took some pictures of the trout lily.
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We
totaled ten hours out along the creek that day; most of it was spent
fishing. I assured my Dad, shortly after
he commented about the day, that I doubted too many 78 year olds could do what
we had done. To finish the endeavor we
had about a 40 minute hike up a hill, and out of the valley, to get back to his
car. It’s a trek; let me tell you,
especially in waders!
We
each did well that day. Dad caught 8
fish, and I caught 12. All of them were
good looking brown trout. A majority of
them we released, but we did keep a few to share as a meal with our families
later this spring.
The
highlights were numerous. Most notable
was the scenery and setting. It’s one of
my Dad’s favorite places, which is why we went.
The fishing was decent too; just enough action to keep us going. The birds and spring peepers provided the
behind the scene symphony; an encore to the blue skies. A marked first was the discovery of the
Northern Brook Lamprey; spawning in groups along the gravel bottomed
shallows. It’s a native to these waters;
small, a filter feeder, short lived, and interesting to watch. The pinnacle of the fishing came on the last
straightaway before we got out of the water.
I was up on a high bank scouting ahead of where my Dad was casting. Following a near hit when a 12 to 14 inch brown
trout shot out, took a swipe at his lure (missing), and then sulked away, I could see he
was approaching a nice run that had some depth to it. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a
flash of gold in that very run. I was
sure there was a slab of trout in that section.
I told my Dad I would help guide him into position; where to stand, and
where to cast. I had an excellent view
of the situation from where I was standing back on the bank. His first cast went through the tail of the
run without any action. His second cast
landed in the middle of that run where it was a little deeper, and he instantly
had a hit from the brown trout I had predicted.
I hopped down off the bank onto a sand bar, and scooped it into my net
for him. It was a great way to end our
day in the creek; a last fish on the last cast.
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| The Northern Brook Lamprey |
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We
arrived in a small town for a late night dinner. The burger tasted delicious after a day spent
outside. We arrived at my house a few
minutes before 11:00, and Dad was home by 11:20. I made it to bed by midnight after putting my
gear away.
It
was a much needed day. It was a good day
too; a blessing in a lot of ways. Etched
now in the memories of my mind, I will consider that day fishing with dad a
blessing from the trout lily.
See
you along The Way…
