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.