Jackson: An escape to Wisconsin to ponder the future

Fishing and politics, a heck of a combination to ride along with me.

Instead of clicking my heels, I honked the horn three times when I crossed into Wisconsin. I wanted to catch some stream fish. I hoped for a stretch of moving water where a soft bank could accommodate me if and when fatigue would latch on to my waning energy as I valiantly tried nursing my throat back to some level of normalcy.

I had been on similar trips whereby an unnamed, miniature "flowage" popped out of nowhere. And to my surprise I discovered this water had all the elements of a potential happening.

There was a bridge that crossed main street. Rock piles sat midstream, creating a few slack-water areas. Water clarity seemed passable, even displaying a shallow-enough section that could fill the bill for me once I slid into my waders and boots.

My plan was to make good use of my nonresident Wisconsin fishing license because I don't cross state lines often.

The Hollywood production of autumn in the Midwest was in high gear, with the deciduous trees showing themselves to be what so many of us have come to expect - a bedazzled time of pure Technicolor.

I tied a tiny in-line spinner to the end of the 4-pound test mono. I eased into the water with a stealth-like entry. The chill of the stream was my wake-up call that I'll have to wait until next May before I feel the warmth again.

I plunked myself down on a slightly sloped, grassy bank and pondered the reasons why I abandoned my home waters and drove here to seek peace and salvation.

The answer became quite clear when I spotted a fly fisherman 50 yards upstream. He touched the brim of his wide hat when he glanced my way. A salute, Wisconsin style. And then he hooked and landed a small fish.

After a while he eased his way over to where I was sitting and proceeded to tell me very few people ever wade the stream let alone catch any fish. He told me he noticed the Illinois plates on my truck while also offering a welcome. And then he was back to his own exploration.

That was all he said.

So I extended my wading staff and moved downstream and slowly made my way to where a small rock pile sat just a foot or two from the opposite bank. There was enough slower, slack water to allow the use of a surface popper. My third cast brought a strike and a chunky rock bass came back to me.

The scene repeated itself a half-dozen times. And then a smallmouth bass decided to become a player instead of a spectator. It was a junior smallie, close to a pound, but it was packed with enough energy to power a small village.

I came across the state line because I felt abandoned by the Illinois DNR and state legislature. The political budget squabbling has left many of us disheartened. We're facing massive cuts in the Illinois DNR conservation officers division, as well as tough decisions everywhere else in state agencies that obviously have more negative impact than hunting and fishing pastimes.

So I made another cast, only this time I'm using a small minnow-like stick-bait. The lure lands just outside the farthest edge of a large tree branch barely skimming the water's surface.

Two quick cranks on the reel and I watch as a small northern pike surfaces and inhales my expensive offering. One head shake, and a sideways jerk, and the fish makes off with the lure.

I'm back, sitting on the bank and wondering if anything in Illinois will ever be right again, or whether I should move someplace where children eat all their vegetables and state officials behave like standup citizens.

• Contact Mike Jackson at angler88@comcast.net, catch his radio show 7-9 a.m. Sundays on WGCO 1590-AM (live-streamed at www.1590WCGO.com) and get more content at mikejacksonoutdoors.com.