Mike Jackson on the outdoors

I was eager and getting ready.

I'd just finished cleaning three spinning reels and was about to work on some fly reels when the thoughts hit me like a freight train.

The most blatant rudeness I had ever encountered was on Bangs Lake some time ago when I had two my daughters in the boat. We slowly drifted over a long patch of weeds and were having a good time catching bass and big bluegills.

The loud noise behind me caused me to turn my head. Two jet skis were quickly approaching. The got within 15 feet before turning aside, causing a huge rooster tail of water to envelope the three of us. Why these idiots had to do this was a mystery to me. I guess it was just a reflection of today's societal derailment.

And then I fast-forwarded to the hundreds of expeditions to streams and rivers. These are the places that are able a far cheaper substitute to the high cost of psychotherapy and couch time.

Over the years I had forced, or rather trained myself, to learn the ways of moving water. I had always felt intimidated by trying to understand current areas and where fish could be hiding. I was also nervous about slipping in to deep holes and wind up being washed downstream.

The lessons came hard and fast, and I finally felt confident enough to venture out on to my own.

It was a small stream in Wisconsin where I found a combination of semi-clear water, gravel bottom, gouged-out bank side holes, and smallmouth bass willing to be fooled.

My leech imitation hit the surface and then disappeared to the bottom as it skirted some overhanging grass on a nearby bank. I felt the telltale, sharp pull of a take and lifted the fly rod. I was greeted by a savage run and a jumping smallie. My trout net came into play as I lifted the fish out of the water.

“Need any help, friend?” came the call from behind me.

I politely thanked the stranger and unhooked my prize.

“Nice catch,” he added. And he went about his way downstream.

I don't know why, but politeness and a touch of kindness has always surfaced for me on a stream and river when I've been wading. I could be playing head games with myself, but I imagined a different strain of angler roams the moving waters in search of tranquility and satisfaction.

Conversely, it's rare to find these conditions on our area lakes. My attitude developed not out of bitterness, but rather a curious discovery coming from encounters with those who don the waders and hip boots while searching for their own Valhalla.

I was trout fishing a stream near Baldwin, Mich., not too long ago when I decided to take a break and drink some coffee while sitting on the bank. I took out my fly box and was deciding which fly I was going to use when I got back in the water.

I heard footsteps behind me and a soft voice sending me a greeting.

“I've always had good success with a stonefly pattern on this stream,” my visitor proclaimed as he sat down nearby.

He reached into his small fly box, opened the lid, and handed me one of his creations.

“This should work for you,” he said. “Go over to that big tree and lay the fly right under the branches,” he added.

I thanked him, tied on the fly, and made my way to the big tree. On my third cast a big brown trout grabbed the stone fly and headed up stream. After a 10-minute battle I hefted a 5-pound trout in to the air to show this stranger my catch. But he'd already left without a word.

I may be a tad too judgmental about certain elements of fellow lake anglers but I have yet to discover an unkind and uncaring stream fisherman ripping by me on a jet ski or drag boat while tossing beer cans to the wind.

Ÿ Contact Mike Jackson at angler88@att.net, and catch his radio show 6-7 a.m. Sundays on WSBC 1240-AM.