Panic Stricken

            This past Saturday was a chance to hone my skills before I head North to what is fondly referred to as the “Tip of the Mitt;” Northern Lower Michigan.  It’s the traditional trip with some of my cousins to camp in the woods, and wade rivers, while fishing for trout.  What with the heat, humidity, and heavy rains, it’s the first time I’ve been able to go trout fishing since my Dad and I did two months ago, in early May (See past blog: “Blessings From The Trout Lily”).

            This time of the year I tend to get a little jittery, and border line panicky, as the date for this trip approaches.  I look forward to it so much, and find it both fulfilling and rejuvenating, that I can hardly wait for the date to arrive when I can leave.  I don’t wish my life away, as there are plenty of other things to invest in beforehand, but it is a highlight that fuels me for the upcoming school year.  This year’s outing up North will be unique and fun as my son Todd joins our “Band of Brothers/Cousins.”  Blood runs thick generationally.

            And so it was with these thoughts in mind that I woke at 4:00, hit the road by 5:00, and was standing in the water by 6:30 for my day to practice up before heading North.  Although in many ways it’s like riding a bike, I wanted to brush-up on sneaking ninja like in the water, be alert to my surroundings, react quickly to strikes, and hold beauty in the palm of my hand.  Having the temperatures in the low 50’s and wearing a long sleeve shirt didn’t hurt either.  Throughout those early hours, as the sun rose and the misty fog slowly burned away, I was nice and calm; having stayed up late preparing my gear and making sure I was set.

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            The mosquitoes were around but not too terribly awful when I was in the water.  In the surrounding woods it was a different story.  I put on some mosquito repellent, even though I typically hate to bother with it or be covered in it.  I decided it would help eliminate something to worry about.  Halfway through the morning, once the sun was higher, I added sunscreen to that.  I applied it because although it remained cool, the sky was bright and cloudless.

            Trout don’t really like being out in the bright sun, and I really had to watch the placement of my moving shadow.  I enjoyed the opportunity to be out there, however, and managed to catch and release around thirteen trout.  The average was around nine inches, with the biggest being 11 ½ and 10 ½.  I caught three more browns than brook trout.

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            Those were some of the statistics.  What I didn’t mention was that as I fished, my line was really starting to twist.  This of course can affect my cast and pitches, often snagging the handle of my reel in the process; causing a ricocheting effect back at your face at lightning speed.  Let’s just say that I had to duck and dive more times than I care to mention, in order to avoid the spinner’s hooks.  That’s what probably started my slight aggravation.  The fact that I only caught fish in sporadic sections of time over the many hours I was out there may have added to that, but it wasn’t terrible.  I had hoped for more, or a bigger one, but those types of things were out of my control and so I enjoyed the moments to be out of doors unencumbered.  At one point I ripped off about thirty feet of fishing line, but the line underneath soon followed suit and also became twisted.

            After fishing for about seven hours I decided to get out and head back to my old Jeep.  My wife and I were planning on picking up my daughter from a conference later that afternoon.  I wasn’t quite up the creek far enough to where I sometimes will fish to; where there’s the resemblance of a trail.  By getting out where I did I was going to have to do some bushwhacking.  I was pretty sure that by heading West by Southwest I could find that trail, and so I forged ahead.  I was getting hot but I kept my long sleeve shirt on; it helped protect me from the mosquitoes, deer flies, and poisonous wild parsnip.

            Starting at 2:00 I set forth; keeping the sun above my left shoulder.  The grasses I pushed though were at times taller than me.  These gave way to tangled brush, and then dense woods.  I took a quick video of this part of the venture for “fun.”

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            Several times my landing net, for softly cradling trout in its rubber webbing when I caught them, snagged on broken off tree branches and twigs.  It would jerk me back with a jolt as it was attached to the back of my fishing vest with a bungee cord.  I was doing this all in waders and boots mind you and as I started getting hot, bitten, and discombobulated, I started to get panicky and to lose it mentally.  I questioned whether I should keep pushing onward (Was I almost to a trail?), or should I turn around and either try a different direction, or find the creek and wade back down it.

            River miles are much longer than actual miles, and I had fished a long way up the creek.  It was now 2:18.  I needed to get to my Jeep by 3:00 so I could be home by 4:00.  I took a deep breath, looked down, found a deer fly embedded into the back of my hand, swatted it (which splattered blood everywhere), and started hiking back East.

            I couldn’t follow the same path I had made hiking in, because there was none.  Thorns caught at me constantly from the roses, gooseberry bushes, and buckthorn trees.  Yikes! I didn’t want to puncture my waders.  They are only two years old, and although I am sometimes hard on them with journeys through the woods, I didn’t want to wreck them if I could help it.  Did I mention that I was getting hot?

            After ten minutes my net caught again, and without thinking to stop and unhook it, I reached back with my hand and yanked it back to me.  I heard the netting tear.  Ahhh!  I had put a large hole in it; something I’d have to now add to my list of to-do’s and fix before I went up North.  I was getting tired.  I sometimes laugh that I run like I do to be in shape to fish like I do.  Perhaps I needed to rephrase that to say that I fish like I do to be in shape for when I run.  The element and pressure of time was causing me to make some poor decisions.  Being panic stricken was becoming a reality.  Was I lost?  I started mentally running through the gear I had with me, and remembered my fire starting kit.  Would I need to build a shelter, stay the night, and start a smoky fire to ward off the mosquitoes and flies?  Maybe the search and rescue helicopter would see the light from my fire.  “Good grief Rhines, keep it together!” I thought to myself.  I knew I had to keep my head in the game.  This was fun today right?

            Just about then I pushed out into a clearing of lower height prairie plants.  It broke the feeling of claustrophobia.  I decided to forgo continuing back to the creek and instead headed south to try to find the path I had originally come in on that morning.  After another five to eight minutes of keeping the sun on my right side I realized that I had happenstance upon what looked like an old trail.  It was overgrown, but was probably the one that the DNR mows once a year prior to hunting season.  We wouldn’t want hunters having to get lost and hike through thick shin-tangle!

The "Trail" That I Eventually Found

            With a pace of certainty, I pushed on.  With that pace I miraculously made it to my green Jeep by 3:00.  I stripped off my sweat soaked gear, threw it into the back, and texted my wife that I was on my way home.

            What a day!  What a mixture of emotions.  As the jittery feelings of anticipation blended with the panicky feelings that occur when my trip up North just won’t come fast enough, I allowed myself a smile.  Yes, I have a summer class to work on, and some household tasks to complete before I pack, but I’m ready.  Believe it or not, being panic stricken got it out of my system and put life back into perspective.  I’m going to enjoy this trip up North.  Thank you God for opportunities such as this.

            See you along The Way…