Putzing Around with Bill

by Dan Drislane

[Reprinted from The Riverwatch, Spring 1990 issue.]

Founding member and long-time catch-and-release champion Bill Lippert succumbed to cancer this past February after a six-month battle. The Anglers and lovers of the Au Sable have lost a good friend. He was my fishing buddy.

Without wondering about too many of my civilized problems, Bill always did a bang-up job of making me realize why I left Detroit each weekend. Of this he wasn't aware, I'm sure. But fishing with Bill was a soothing pastime—a quiet time on the water.

Bill Lippert was vested. He paid his dues. Having retired several years ago from the family truck dealership in Barberton, Ohio, Bill and his wife Nancy were able to spend most of the spring-to-fall season at their cabin along Big Creek. And that's when the putzing started. True putzing. He'd putz with Nancy to look for birds. He'd putz over to Rusty's shop on his errand runs to town. He would putz around with his basswood carvings. And he'd putz with me and my friends.

If this enviable pastime ended as he stepped into the river, I'm not sure. Bill wasn't much for talking when he fished. Balanced me just wonderfully! In fact, on our midnight forays to the High Banks, I'd rely on the seemingly regular reports of "fish noise" coming from where Bill was and I wasn't. Bill caught more fish than I. Always. It was all that putzing!

The High Banks of the South Branch are really Bill's Banks. My quiet friend caught every brown trout in that stretch, including the two foot grand-daddy he landed (putzers don't lie) on a Muddler two seasons ago. That's not to say he didn't fish elsewhere. Many times Bill navigated the stretch below Potter's on the mainstream, or waded the North Branch; but left to his own devices, Father High Banks could be found blessing just that.

I instinctively gravitated to this man. Most of all, he reminded me of my late father, right down to the waxy white hair, ruddy face and freckled arms. Sort of a throwback to the wonder years of my youth: fishing with Dad. I also like people who don't say much, except only when they need to. Bill was a true listening man, and as a board member of The Anglers, that was a gracious—and rare—commodity.

My admiration for Bill is summed up by his laugh. It made you feel good. You really knew the quiet putzer was enjoying himself thoroughly. The eyes twinkled and the spirit was never more alive.

The River is safe with my friend as it is with others before him and as it will be with us one day. Fishing buddies, and why we fish with them; that is what it's all about. Tight lines, Bill.

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