This was going to be the first year that I did not buy a Wisconsin non-resident fishing license.
All of the Covid hype last spring had us convinced that while we should participate in outdoor activities, we should do so close to home. Once my 2019 license expired in March, I made the tough decision to pass on fishing across the border this year. I’m personally not too worried about Covid, but figured keeping my Minnesota plates on this side of the river would be a good move this year.
But something has been bugging me. For a while, long before this Covid thing showed up.
You know the Jimmy Buffett song called “One Particular Harbor?” He sings of a place, maybe in the south Pacific or the Caribbean, where no matter what is happening in the rest of the world, there is shelter and relief and calm in this hidden bay. Love that song. As it turns out for me, there’s this one particular river. You know the one. It flows north. Presidents have fished there. Wild trout and salmon abound. There’s something about this place, a feeling you don’t get from other rivers. The way the river sounds. The way the woods smell from the aspen leaves.
I used to go up at least 3 or 4 times per fall, and the comradery with friends was as much a part of the fun as actually catching the fish. But times change, and what used to be a trip I would make several times a year became once a year, and now in 2020 I realize I hadn’t walked the red clay trails since 2017.
I made my first trip up here in the spring of ’88. Took a few years before I ever actually caught anything, and a few more before I really had a clue. Now, 30 plus years later, it is somewhat likely, but still a long way from a guarantee that I’ll bring a wild steelhead to hand on any given day.
So I decided- Covid be damned, I’m heading up. And if I was going to do it, I wasn’t going to settle for a day shot or a weekend. No, I wanted a midweek, 2-day shot. Getting time off from work was no problem, getting time off from home was a little trickier, but I was granted a 2-day pass. I also bought a short-term Wisconsin license, the first time since I turned 16 that I didn’t buy an annual license.
Gunnar is almost always up for these trips, and we left my driveway at 5:30 am. There was a time when we would have left at 3:30 am to ensure being on the river at first light, but I’m getting too old for that shit. They’ll have to bite when we get there.
The days we had slated out for our trip coincided with the onset of winter. Forecast for the trip had highs in the mid-30s and plenty of opportunity for snow. We’ve seen worse. We’ve done this enough to know how to dress for the cold, and the inclement weather might discourage others.
We found ourselves at a familiar parking spot at about 8:30 am. Dashboard temp on the Ram said it was 33 degrees. The snowfall from the night before weighed heavy on the boughs of the spruce and pine, as well as covering the ground. I was suited up and ready to go in a few minutes while Gunnar took a bit more time.
Ironically, he often complains of other fishing partners putzing around with their gear, taking forever to get ready. Well apparently it takes a while to find just the right balance of Marlboro lights, Funyuns and spawn bags to bring down to the river as he sifted through all 6 duffel bags he brought with. No worries, I was in no particular hurry. And the waiting gave me time to contemplate days spent on this river.
In the early 90s I was lucky to have my friend Scott Schumacher allow me to accompany him for a couple of days. This was the turning point for catching fish with any consistency here. Turns out there are no secret flies, no secret rigs, no secret colors of yarn, no secret spots. Instead, he showed me where to park, where the trails go, the kinds of spots to fish, and where exactly in those spots that the steelhead were likely to be. Every corner, every hole, every run has a name, and someone catches fish out of every one of these spots. I know this is one of the many reasons for this river’s allure. Walk up to group of steelhead anglers from this area and say “Sauna Hole”, “McNeill’s”, or “Bachelors” and you’ll have everyone’s attention. These spots were probably named before anyone on the river today was born, and will continue to be known as long as the silver fish with the pink stripe make their migration.
As I said, I used to go up several times a year, maybe 3 or 4 times in the fall and sometimes once in the spring. Somewhere along the way I realized that the spring fishing up there didn’t do it for me. Get up there too early in the year and you might find the snow to be neck deep, get there too late and all of the fish are on the spawning gravel. Then the 3 or 4 fall trips turned into one fall trip. And then this fall I realize it was 2017 since I last was there, and maybe 2015 since I had been there with Gunnar. When you are young and hear from men with families talk about how hard it is to get away it doesn’t make sense. It makes sense now.
After 5 minutes or so Gunnar’s vest was balanced and we were heading down the snowy path.
We often bring multiple rods down to the river. I usually bring two, he brings two or three.
My rods to choose from include:
Nymph rod, 9’ #8, rigged with floating fly line and strike indicator. There is no more lame way to fish for steelhead than this. We pretend we’re fly fishing but in reality we’re just bobber fishing with a fly rod. It takes the least amount of skill too; just roll cast your ping pong ball sized cork up there and watch the bouncing ball. And repeat. In clear water conditions, this works well. I still hate it. As a protest to this stupid way of fishing, the rod I have rigged for this is my shittiest eight weight, and the reel hanging on it is nothing special. We first saw the effectiveness of this technique when we snuck up on a legendary Brule steelheader [you know who you are!]. We knew he had a fish on before we could even see him in the run, as we could hear his fancy clicker drag reel squawking like a crow every time the fish took off. We helped him land the fish, and he actually seemed a little embarrassed. When I went to unhook the fish for him the reason for embarrassment was obvious. At first I thought his split shot had slid down to the fly, but no, turns out he tied his nymphs on little jig heads. Now all the fancy Euro-nymphers have special hooks to fit special brass beads to tie up fancy jig nymphs.
Drift rod. 9’ #8, rigged with a running line and slinky, yarn fly on the end. This has become old school, not many guys do this anymore, but it was what dominated in the 90s. For some reason it doesn’t seem to work as well as it used to, but I still like it; get into the top end of a run, pitch your rig up and across and feel the slinky tick through the rocks. If it stops set the hook. It’s usually going to be a snag, but those times when that snag pulls back…
Swinging rod, 9’ #8 rigged with a sink tip line. Arguably the most satisfying way to hook a steelhead, as there is nothing like the WHOMP! when you are swinging a big black bunny leech in a tailout and a big chromer grabs it. Plan on a lot of time in between grabs if you decide to fish this way though, and I wouldn’t bother unless conditions are prime: clear water, good numbers of fish around, 40 degree or warmer water, and not too many other anglers frothing the water. Pretty easy way to fish—cast, mend, let it swing. Contemplate your existence. Look at the birds. Look for a squatch. Notice how the sky up here is the bluest blue there can be. [Sidebar—I used to think that the sky really was bluer up there, maybe due to the big lake. Turns out that no matter where you are the sky actually looks bluer in the fall. Google it.] I remember one trip when I landed three big ones swinging flies. I was talking pretty smart around the campfire that night. Probably didn’t catch another one that way for two years.
Spinner rod. Haters are gonna hate. And they can suck it because this is one of my favorite ways to fish for steelhead. Turns out I would rather catch a steelhead on a spinner than nymphing. I like spinner fishing because it seeks out active fish, I never cast to the same spot twice. Cast. Step. Repeat. You have to pay attention; you have to keep the blade spinning, keep it down in the strike zone, but not too deep or you’ll get snagged. I attribute all success I’ve had on swinging flies to what I’ve learned by catching them on spinners; a steelhead that will grab a spinner just might grab a well-presented fly instead.
Gunnar’s quiver is a mix of long spinning rods, and a few fly rods. He cares even less about what people think about his fishing techniques than I do, so the fly rods don’t get a lot of play. My favorite is his Loomis GLX fly rod with an Abu Garcia Diplomat fly reel from the 1980s on it. It is stupid how many steelhead he has caught on the $30 reel. Diplomatic Immunity? It’s just been revoked. If you ever find yourself in a situation where you must produce a Brule River Steelhead or face dire consequences, you would be wise to subcontract the work to Gunnar. Drive him up there, but stop at the Bait Box in Superior so he can stock up on flatfish and spawn bags. Send him down the river with a flatfish on one rod, and bobber/spawn on the other. Follow with net and camera because some shit is about to get caught.
On this session I had my slinky rod and nymph rod, Gunnar had 2 spin and 1 fly. We fished through many favorite spots without much to show; I caught a 12” resident brown on a moss green yarn fly and that was it. Despite the cold and snow there were a few other anglers out.
We decided to change to a different section of the river, so we headed north, down to a favorite parking spot along the gravel road that goes to the mouth. The snow concealed the trail that neither of us had been down for a few years and we ended up bushwhacking until we ran into the river. We worked our way up without any action until in a non-descript shallow run [I’m sure there is a name for this spot, but I don’t know it, and I have yet to check The Map] I had a savage strike on a spinner. It was so hard and fast that my line pretty much broke on impact, it was as if I had been bitten off by a pike. I speculated this out loud, Gunnar pointed out that there was only two feet of line hanging off the end of my rod tip, so how could it have been a bite off? I concluded it must have been a bad spot in the line. While I rerigged, Gunnar got busy with a flatfish and came up with a nice chromer on his second cast.
After fishing all day without much action and then running into two fish in succession convinced us we had run into a pod of chromers fresh from the lake. It must have been a pod of two, because nothing else happened. We hiked out before dark and headed back to town, dodging deer all along the way, with one really close call in town. We secured lodging for the night and walked down to the bar. As a younger man I would sometimes stay here until after midnight. On one wild night we somehow forgot to pay our tab. I realized this the next morning on the river. “Did you pay the waitress? I didn’t. Uh-oh.” We sheepishly showed up around noon, “Hey, we did a bad thing…uh…last night…” The barmaid on duty was already reaching for our tab. We left a big tip.
This night it was pretty quiet, we chatted with the few locals that were there. When a Neil Young song came on the radio Gunnar asked the barmaid to turn it up. We then all talked about how awesome Neil Young is instead of listening to the song. The guy next to me told me a tale that involved a Neil Young concert and a Scarface style pile of cocaine. And then someone’s phone rang; the ringtone was John Cena’s theme. You can get bacon cheeseburgers anywhere, you gotta go to a small town bar for this kind of entertainment.
We didn’t bother getting up early the next day, waiting for the temp to crest the thirty-degree mark. After our brief flurry of action in the lower river the night before we decided to head back to that general area. Proved to be a good decision, as we each caught a nice one in the bottom end of a long run. I caught mine on a shiny new Vibrax, and it provided an epic battle, the whole time I was thinking about the “bad spot” in my line the day before. I was surprised when I finally got it to hand that it wasn’t bigger. We taped it at 25”.
There is a certain amount of relief that comes with catching a steelhead [or muskie or other trophy fish], after a dry spell. I’m pretty sure that the last time I caught a good-sized steelhead here was five years ago. And after another day of not catching one I was starting to think that maybe I should stick to crappie fishing. I always seem to be able to catch a boatful of those without trying too hard. Now I was all grins, and didn’t give a shit if I caught another fish or even made another cast.
We fished down through a few more runs without incident, other than a dead porcupine on the river bank. Not sure what did it in, but there were quills scattered all over the place. Snow was starting to fall as we climbed up the steep hill back to the truck. I wasn’t really keen on staying until dark, nor did I want our next sesh to be a death march to get in and out of. We decided on a parking spot higher up that’s pretty much at the level of the river. There were four cars parked there already, but we knew where most of them would be. There is a popular hole 5 minutes from the parking spot that had a conclave of center pin anglers working it. This is what we expected, so we kept going up the trail. It was snowing steady by this point, making the trails greasy but at least we could see tracks from other anglers; they were all heading towards the parking lot. We settled into a nice corner hole that I have fished many times before. This spot looks great but I’ve never hooked a thing here.
I had my nymph rod with, and I started working the top of the run with a version of a “Superior X-Legs Nymph” that has been tied on to the 4x tippet since the last time I was up here. In 2017. Same fly, same tippet, same knot. After a half dozen casts my giant orange indicator was yanked under. I set the hook and a big bright steelhead flew out of the water. I took it easy while fighting the fish, what with the three year old tippet, but actually landed the fish in less time than the one on the spinner that morning. Even though I caught it on my least favorite way to fish I was plenty pleased with myself and I took a seat on the bank.
Gunnar jumped in where I had been standing and hooked up right away. Turned out to be a 20” brown; a nice fish, one that would be the fish of the year in the driftless streams.
It was now late afternoon and the snow was really starting to come down. Leaving now would get me home before eight.
That Superior X-Legs is still tied on my nymph rod, hanging on pegs in the garage. I bet I can catch one on it next year. Without re-tying.
