A Day's Wade

By the time I was on the water a "bluebird day in paradise" had turned into overcast with a very light mist. I doped up against the black flies and tied two soft hackles to my leader. The smaller fly was trailing the larger on a lighter tippet tied to the bend of the hook. Some writers call this "fishing in tandem." Out on the Big Horn where I first tried this rig it's called "double trouble," a more appropriate description.

With the river to myself, I fished the water carefully, glancing back ever so often from force of habit to see who was coming behind me. My lead fly was tied to represent the light Hendrickson and the trailer was tied to resemble the pop-corn caddis. I waded downstream past the Shoppenagon boat house to the lovely pool at the head of the old Bailey water. This is one of my favorite spots. The year before, I was fishing there with Pete, a professor from Central Michigan. At that time it was late afternoon when the low sun was filtering through the trees and its brilliant light was shimmering from the wings of mayflies and caddisflies during their final flights. Pete told me I wouldn't catch anything, that there no longer was anything there. I now had a chance to re-test the pool.

I cast the flies tight to the opposite shore, laden with cover, throwing mends to get the proper drift then letting the flies straighten below me. After a few casts I felt a tug and brought in a small, well-fed chunky brown. He had taken the top fly and in the throes of releasing the trailing fly it became well imbedded past the barb on the top of my left hand giving a proper meaning to "double trouble." With some concern, and serious manipulation of hook and hand, I managed to get released without much damage to my hand.

At the lower end of the old Bailey water another new experience awaited me. A sharp tug was followed by a strange fight. This time I had a trout on each fly. More meaning to "double trouble." However, the fish were small and easy to release.

With careful planning I was at my favorite lunch-spot at one o'clock: a grassy knoll where a small stream enters from the right side. I ate half a sandwich and exchanged greetings with two fishermen in a canoe. They were the first people encountered that day. The mist had now progressed to a light rain.

There is a run on the left side just above where the river widens to a great flat resplendent with cover. The run terminates below Jerome's dock at the "Beer Hole" where I vowed I would teach my children to fish. The fish had always been easy. In fact, I did fish it years ago with my youngest son. But, alas, now with grandchildren to teach the run has become barren and several passes with a brace of flies proved fruitless.

By now the rain had become more intrusive. Although I was encased in Gore-tex I thought it prudent to find protection under the cedars just below my "Children's Run." As I rested I was again struck by the river's serene beauty and realized how much I truly love this place.

I know the river no longer fishes the way it did when I was first introduced to it by Dick Young some thirty-five years ago. I was then an eastern import where my fly fishing had been on Catskill streams and Maine's lakes and rivers. There may be other rivers as lovely as the Au Sable in Michigan, but I do not know them, and certainly this is not the time in my life to start "dating" them. The one I know is well worth cherishing.

In my fifty-five years as a fly fisherman I have had many occasions to talk to people about what fly fishing is all about. In describing tactics and strategies, I like to make comparisons with golf. Waiting under the cedars I realized what a great difference exists between the sports. Whereas golf is best played in a compatible foursome, fly fishing is best in quiet solitude.

Downstream, the fabled water around Jerome's dock yielded little. As I passed the Beer Hole two fishermen entered the water, thankfully just behind me. I braced myself for the strong current in the narrows continuing to pick up small fish. Dennis came up behind me in his riverboat and in his booming voice asked me which way I preferred he pass. Greetings were exchanged. He was followed shortly by George and the party he was guiding. Just upstream from Whippoorwill the river was now getting crowded.

Past Whippoorwill I concentrated on some cover that had been good to me last year. Nothing. With the Vassar Club flagpole in view, as my flies swung straight a strong pull was felt and a good-sized fish was on. My new reel finally had a run made on it and as the line was stripped out I thought this reel sings "tenor." I played the fish on the reel and finally, after a couple of good jumps, a nice feisty rainbow was in hand.

By now there were several people on the Vassar Club dock. I came over their way because the old dock downriver was my take-out point. "Nice fish," one said, "about fourteen inches long?" I replied that it was only twelve. One of them told me he had passed me earlier upriver in a canoe. They offered me the use of their steps and dock to get out of the water. I thanked them: I had been on the river for six and a half hours on new titanium knees and could use all the help I could get.

When I got back to my room I poured myself a short one and sat at the vise where John had left me some burnt wings to transform into PMDs for my upcoming trip to the Livingston spring creeks. As I tied I remembered the conversation at the "opener" when I promised Ed I would write something for the newsletter.

At that time we had discussed the beginnings of The Anglers. I was disappointed to learn there has never been a meaningful study of the water. Much has been said about overbuilding, canoe liveries, military weapons testing, gas and oil drilling, and other threats. But also much has been speculation, possibly well-informed, but nevertheless speculation.

Over ten years ago we fought for mandatory catch and release as the answer to our problems. Has it worked? Have we considered what effect the wading and dragging of riverboat chains has had? Does the river need a re-colonization of a new strain of browns? But is all this just more speculation?

There are many organizations whom we should welcome to assist us. T.U. was started on the Au Sable. Should they be asked to help get a meaningful test of the water started?

Does American Rivers have a role to play? Should we, as the largest affiliate look to FFF for expertise? And I'm certain the Michigan Fly Fishing Club would want to be included in any efforts to improve the fishing on our river.

I propose the Anglers spearhead the formation of a coalition of organizations to further the health and well being of the Au Sable. We must get past the point of well-intentioned speculation and on our way to meaningful cures with no holds barred. RWOL

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