“If you had to choose one fly for all occasions, what would it be?” I posed.

Often thought about, we each pondered a moment and gave up our preference.

“The Woolly Bugger is by far the fly that catches the most species of fish.” One retorted.

“Yes, true, but an egg pattern catches everything, anytime.” The second pitched in.

“I would have to choose the Muddler Minnow.” They both paused briefly and uttered a resounding~

“Good call.”

Many flies adorn my boxes, from pheasant tail nymphs, copper johns, little black stones, hares ears, to Adam’s, Hendrickson’s, BWO’s and a slew of streamers, but during my childhood adventures, I recall a late Saturday afternoon in September to which I base my loyalty.

Each year growing up, I eagerly anticipated the opening of trout season and traveling three hours north to Grayling to visit family and further explore reaches of the Au Sable not yet known to a fourteen year old. Something magical and mystical happens on your journey north. The elevation changes, the trees become more coniferous, the air more decidedly trout habitat. You know when you are in Grayling when the scent of tall pine trees mingles with the fragrance of fish pellets on your hand. A quick walk along the river’s banks in bare feet introduces you to the prickly needles dotting the trails and, if you pay attention, a trout rising in the bend behind the hospital. There is a section of river below the Fish Hatchery on N. Down River Rd. that was dedicated to Children Only (under 16) and I waded its cool waters as much as possible. It was in this beautiful stretch of river that I began my soon to emerge lifelong love of all things trout and flyfishing. Dozens of brookies, a few browns, and a fair share of rainbows enticed me deeper into the art and beauty of my leisure. It happened on the last Saturday of the season, after a semi-haphazard roll cast to a half submerged tag alder that I became enamored with the mystical power of the Muddler Minnow.
A sudden vicious grab and take startled me to attention. My 8’6” 4wt. silver fiberglass Abu Garcia doubled while the matching metallic Ryobi reel screamed off line like never before. Panic was my only reflex, fingers fumbled and knuckles were beaten until I regained control of my line and managed a beefy twenty-inch rainbow to the bank. I couldn’t stop my knees from shaking and in delirium ran back to my aunt’s house to get my younger brother, Barry, and coax him in to returning to the hotspot. He initially tied on a Warden’s Worry and I kept with what I was throwing. Not long after and I was into another hefty ‘bow from the shadows of the fallen shrub, and again a third, all nudging the twenty inch mark. Barry became perplexed and inquired as to what the secret fly was and I cautiously relinquished one of my #12 Muddlers to him. Moments later he connected with the monster of the hole and we both freaked. After a run up and back down the river, he finally guided the 23 3/4” brute to the net. It’s girth and magnificent color made my fish pale in comparison. The season ended that day with my brother only catching the one and I with four between 19”& 21”, but Barry decided to cash in on an offer my father presented to us both. “I will pay for each of you boys to have one fish mounted, but only one.” His offer still stood and resonated in the corridors of my mind some twenty plus years later.

Each year growing up, I eagerly anticipated the opening of trout season and traveling three hours north to Grayling to visit family and further explore reaches of the Au Sable not yet known to a fourteen year old.

The introduction of the Muddler Minnow happened quite by coincidence at our cabin in Canada just the year prior. Evenings become very dark, pitch black would be more appropriate. So, our family gathers each night to play cards, bantering about the day and planning the next day’s events. “A hike up to Rainbow Lake or Lost Lake? How about that porcupine we saw scamper across the train tracks today?” In the midst of one such evening, a gentleman from across the lake showed up at our door to say “Heh.” Friendly enough of a chap, he soon found out I had just

begun to take to flyfishing and he offered a feathered combination from his worn bushman’s hat. “This here is a Muddler Minnow, eh. Its all you need up here for dem specks.” Apparently, across the border, brook trout become ‘speckled trout’ and lakers become ‘greys’. After that, the solo canoeist slipped into the darkness and cut a smooth ripple into a black hole. I had done very well on previous trips up to Camp Grayling, throwing the very trusted Panther Martin in yellow with red dots into the mouth of any tributary on our vast lake, but the art and act of enticing the trout with a fly- that was the beginning of the end. Our ventures took us to a beaver dam above a favorite waterfall we would often tease 7-inch brookies with our gold tru-turns adorned with leaf worms. The Algoma Central Railroad had slated to blow a dam that had become too large and posed a threat to the train tracks and the bridge below if it were to go on it’s own someday. Tales of beaver ponds as large as football fields and loaded with eager brook trout were the stuff of lore and fiction I had read in other anglers journals, a treasure of this magnitude had to be found. We trecked, sweated, hiked, and moaned about the weight of our gear and raspberry scratches from the bush. Bitten and swollen from black flies that somehow elude your attention when we finally discovered our personal Holy Grail.  This was like finding the Great Wall of China. Poplar, birch, beech and assorted pine with the engineering detail of an MIT grad. Multiple beaver families had amassed a complex network of mini dams that consumed more than a football field. I had on my lucky Mickey Mouse T-shirt, yet to discover the wonders of Simms and other industry standards we have today and as soon as my fly hit the water, it was spanked by a parr marked stunted brookie, then another, and another. I don’t believe any of the specks we caught that day broke the 8″ mark, but they were too colorful and I too enthusiastic to care. That dam was blown out shortly after our discovery, and we like to believe all those malnourished adolescent brook trout found a new home in our much roomier lake. To this day, I never had the chance to say “Thanks!” to the man who gave me that fly which caught well over 30 fish that day.

I have had the pleasure of fishing much of Michigan’s waters, some of Canada , and a trip to Belize for Bones. For most of my freshwater excursions you will be sure to find a Muddler in various mottled turkey colors and sizes in my box.  I am still waiting to catch a true ‘trophy’ fish, but will indeed need to have it mounted on my own dime. My father passed away last April, the week prior to opener, and I hadn’t yet taken him up on his offer.

Tight Lines,
Koz

[Age, wisdom and personal growth have brought me to the stage of appreciation, conservation and education of our limited natural resources. While in this day and age it wouldn’t be PC to stuff a creature merely to hang it on a wall. I rather take a few quick pictures and relish in the reward of releasing a creature that he/she may pass on their beneficial genetic make-up for the next generation. The memory of those moments, and others like them are more than enough to keep the spirit in me alive.]

As I am sitting at Christmas Eve service, my mind reflects on the past year. Some memorable fish, excellent trips with good friends, and stellar moments on the water. Coupled by bitter-sweetness in the loss of my father and the wish I had more time spent on the water with him. Then I think about salvation. I would like to believe if the rapture were to occur next week, I would have a better than average chance of ‘getting clearance’ — not because of the good deeds I have done or the quality of life I have led, or even the benevolence I have shown towards God’s wonderful creatures; but because I have spent countless days learning patience while casting my 3-weight at dozens of upper-class trout that would have no part of my offerings. Along with the many hours dedicated to helping and sharing my passion with family and friends the art of the fly, maybe this is the repentance for the multitude of hours I formerly squandered in dirty bars of my younger days?

This all began when I received a Christmas card a few weeks back. In it were the words, “Too bad every time we talk, all you can talk about is fishing. Like that’s all there is in life.”

Funny, but not. I have been dwelling on this for days. I know I should not let it rent space in my head, but then other things people have said pop into my brain. Things like, “I had to delete you from my ‘friends’ on Facebook because all you ever post is about fishing or rivers or tying flies.”

I was OK with that and have  not accepted friend requests because they didn’t have proper fishing credentials to be allowed in the circle, so they were permitted to deny my ‘friendship’ status. But the Christmas Card — that struck a chord, and it was becoming a tenant in my head. HAVE YOU MET ME?

Whenever I drive by an empty retail shop,  in my head, I already have the layout for a fly shop, where I can set up the TV monitors so we can have TU movie nights and extra tables for a Tie-One-On! fly tying nights. I have gone over countless inventories for the start up materials needed for a successful shop — it needs a good balance of high-end and entry-level equipment, it needs to have monthly events to draw in people and a warm staff and fresh coffee always brewing. On the flip side I would give up this life in paradise tourist town to live in the mountains along some stream with hopes of starting a lodge or B&B to invite others into my world of addiction. There, I said it. I have admitted I am addicted to all things FLY.

This all began when I received a Christmas card a few weeks back. In it were the words, “Too bad every time we talk, all you can talk about is fishing. Like that’s all there is in life.”

Last week it became all too clear. Channel 34 — Discovery, it was after work and I enjoy a diet coke and slowing down from the hectic pace of taking care of everyone else’s needs and desires. The program was on Addictions. These people were legit crazy. They had given away everything. They would work every angle, every minute, to find a way to their next high. I am grateful I am not like that  [or am I?]  I do think every minute about how to tie that Hendrickson pattern a little better or a stronger material for that upright wing, but will still float it. I go over and over in my head that one cast I sent in the cedar above that 20 incher that sent him/her for cover and how I could get a do-over. For the Meth/Crack/Cocaine/LSD addict — they are “Chasing the High”. A term used  to refer to the first time they used — often unattainable and the cause of their repeated search leading to death, delusion or confinement. I am on a search for that first time, however, I believe in the purity and beauty this addiction has rewarded me with a quality of life I would rather not replace. A short decade ago, I too was living on the streets looking for something — chasing a high that  would not have a beneficial direction for my life. I am thankful I found my way back to the Tying Vise — and making it my only vise, others are not so fortunate.

A newly made fishing friend from FB mentioned on his status something his wife said — and my wife completely agreed. She hinted that their family Christmas photo should be a postcard of her and the two girls and the Dad in the river holding a brown from the Rogue in Rockford. He jokingly said that was cool. I do envision a family photo of my troop, all in waders in the middle of the Thompson or the Blue Rivers, with heavily padded and flocked trees in the background. Someday.

My wife is a blessing, as is my entire family — truly. She doesn’t totally understand the addiction thing. She can have a glass of wine and leave it on the coffee table 1/2 full She is kinda crazy like that. Chocolate and shopping are the only things that might be considered her vices. I only qualify shopping as her addiction because few ‘normies’ actually plan on going shopping at midnight on Thanksgiving and shopping all evening into the next morning with pre-arranged intervals of juicing up with Redbull and Monster drinks. Who would chase sales and deals for nearly 18 hours on end? INSANE! or is it? I have worked all day and gone Hexing into the wee morning hours for nights on end, and when that was over — it became Mousing Time. In the end, it is all about your passion. What is your passion? I am very happy to have found mine swimming in the swift currents of any river that is cold and cool enough to dangle that carrot before my face….

Manistee River

The warm weather the past seven weeks should make this year’s opener one of the best in years. Water temps are in the 50’s and the fish are out of their post hibernation-funk and eating streamers and some dry flies. The insect activity has been sporadic thanks to the cooler nights of late, but look for black stones, Hendricksons, black caddis, black quills/borcher’s drakes on the Upper Manistee. The Boardman – running cooler – has had some “henies” coming off too, but not many fish eating them. This time of year, insect activity is best when the temps are warmest so look for sun, light winds and mild overnight temperatures – the rest of the time, fish streamers and nymphs.

If you are heading out this weekend, have a box of big streamers to tie onto your sink-tip line if you are looking to score the bigger, more aggressive fish. Be around gravel and riffle areas on your favorite section of water for the best Hendrickson activity; the nymphs call that water home and the spinners come back to it when depositing their eggs. Fish a nymph and or wets – down and across, or, when you see some surface activity or an emergence tie a wet or a nymph behind a dead-drift emerger. The fish haven’t seen much activity for a while on the closed sections so use some stealth when fishing to keep fish happy.

Steelhead fishing is still going, but is winding down. Since it has been such a strange spring for steelhead, who knows what will happen – especially after our next rain. Some fresh fish are still trickling up the Manistee, Betsie, Boardman and Platte Rivers, but in small numbers while drop-back females are slipping back to the big lake. Many people are willing to subject themselves to the cold weather of winter steelhead for a chance at a few fish, but it amazes me that more people don’t pursue drop-back and the remaining fresh running fish this time of year in the warmer weather. With the warmer water, it’s the best acrobats and fighting fish of the year. Lots of Oregon Cheese eggs patterns, larger hex nymphs and steelhead buggers have been working in the deeper water with the small, pale colored eggs, small stones and caddis around gravel. With water temps in the mid 50’s it’s not necessarily a bad time to swing some flies looking for non-spawning fish to eat your bigger presentation of streamers and spey flies.

Often out of the lime-light for fly fisherman are all of the lakes in the Lower Peninsula and the other seasons that share the same opener: Pike, Musky, Walleye and catch and immediate release Bass fishing starts this Saturday, too. See the MI-DNRE for specifics on regulations.

Good luck this weekend and be sure to be considerate to other anglers you encounter on the water – we made it through another winter and opener is another confirmation that spring is here!

The steelhead fishing has slowed the past week and last week’s rain didn’t bring in a push of fish like most hoped for.  Still, there are some fish moving up and down the Manistee and Betsie Rivers right now but fishing is spotty. Most of the fish are on or near gravel and are skittish to say the least after angling pressure has taught them to be nervous. Targeting drop-back fish has provided some good action and has also produced some fresh fish on their way up to do their spawning thing. I imagine fish will continue to trickle into the river for a few more weeks, just not in the numbers one would expect when looking at the calendar.  Eggs in Oregon Cheese/Orange, and in Sockeye, have been the better egg colors with black stones, hex and steelhead buggers for the nymphs.  With 50 degree water temps, look for fish to be there one day and gone the next — proving, yet again, that steelhead are predictably unpredictable. One thing you can count on are hard-fighting and jumping fish — thanks to the warm water.

The good news about the warm water and early spring is that the trout fishing has been good. Water levels are about right and the angling pressure is light on certain sections of water that are currently open. Streamer fishing is the method to use the majority of the time right now, giving those well-rested trout a mouthful. Tans, browns, white and olive patterns have been the better colors with some larger baitfish patterns provoking territorial aggressiveness. If you are fishing water stocked with trout, now is the time to fish with patterns that resemble the bait – TA Bunkers, Deceivers, CF Minnows and Fin Clips.  Keep an eye on the water’s surface too as there has been dry fly action on the surface with stones and Hendricksons popping off and some fish eating. Look for the dry fly action and hatches to build significantly thanks to the weather forecast.

Ted Kraimer is a professional guide and fly tier, owner of Current Works Guide Service, and field editor for True North Trout. His fishing reports will continue to appear in T|N|T and on his website.

With spring comes hopes of summer.

The rain we needed finally came along with a little snow too. The grass has turned from brown to green and the rivers have a little more chrome/silver in them.

Steelhead anglers will find the Manistee and Betsie rivers to have some fresh fish coming through since they have been waiting out in the big lake for a push of water. Decent numbers of fish have been in the rivers doing the gravel dance and a lot of the females that have trickled in the past two weeks have come and gone with many of the darker males sticking around. So, right now it’s a mixed bag – some fresh, some not, but look for this rain to be just what we needed as far as fresh fish. To boot, the “by-catch” has been varied with suckers, carp, lake-run browns, smallmouth bass and buffalo eating our “steelhead” flies – I think the unusual warm water of 50 degrees for this time of year has a lot to do with this.

Look for fish in all types of water, with each day being different. On and around gravel will be best for spawning fish with runs and holes for fresh and drop-back fish coming and going. Flies have been a mixed bag – mostly smaller eggs (Oregon cheese being a favorite) and medium sized nymphs, but look for all that to change with the water having color to it…. It will be time for bigger yarn/eggs and some nymphs with a little sparkle. Just as you change the type of water you are targeting, don’t hesitate to change your flies up too.

Trout fishing continues to be good on the upper Manistee for those looking to cast streamers all day along with a dry-fly rod rigged near by. The warmer weather and subsequent water temps  has made it a good spring for some nice fish. The warmer water temps have provided some early dry fly fishing at times; look for little black stones, small BWO/Baetis and, yes, a few Hendricksons on the surface. With the cold snow and rain, look for the hatching to be tempered a bit until the warm weather forecast for next week continues to influence our early season. Successful streamers have been mixed, but with the rain, I would look to go with dark patterns and some with some flash – obviously, mix it up as yesterday’s hot fly was yesterday’s hot fly – not necessarily today’s.

Ted Kraimer is a professional guide and fly tier, owner of Current Works Guide Service, and field editor for True North Trout. His fishing reports will continue to appear in T|N|T and on his website.

It is hard not to love a spitting sulphur hatch in the fading light of a Michigan early summer, fishing through the silence of the upper Manistee, a contrail etching the sky. They are actually beautiful bugs, and bring eager strikes from the soup line of hungry trout. We’re mostly past the Hendricksons of middle spring, but a few here and there are still making an appearance, and the trout were taking those, too. Bryon caught “a smelt platter” (his words) of little trout on a swung soft hackle. We finished the night over Spikeburgers in Grayling. What a treat.