Jackson: Finding comfort in a Wisconsin stream
AVALANCHE, Wis. - It was like sitting on one of those uncomfortable benches in the downtown area watching humanity walk by. I had to keep reseating myself kin order not to slip into the water.
I could almost taste the air, mixed with freshly hatched aromas of evergreen with a dash of rich soil tossed in for good measure.
While compatriots skirted the usual hot spots for the slab crappies on Lake Geneva, I decided it was time for me to explore waters I hadn't fished in many years. It led me to this unincorporated area in southwestern Wisconsin.
For quite a while my life has revolved around remembrances of past adventures in which the late Daily Herald photo chief Mike Seeling and I hid in the scruff alders for fear of being discovered by big bears and other critters.
Together we stalked brown trout in this region and laughed when each of us stepped in to quicksand-like mud holes, where we almost lost our waders.
But this foray was a solo job, and I came armed with my 4-piece Grandt dry fly rod, patchworked waders, trip-worn wading boots, moth-eaten fishing vest, and my trusty, ragged sun visor hat. I could have passed for an East Coast trout bum working the gravel sections of the Beaverkill River.
The only parts missing from my "survival kit" were my ultra-thick peanut butter and jelly morsels stuffed with smoked bacon sandwiches. Sorry, not this outing, I'm sad to report.
My two bottles of frozen water had partially defrosted, allowing me a refreshing bit of thirst quencher.
And then it on to the fishing.
I suspected I could sight-fish the big female spawners, but I was wrong in that department as well.
So I sat down again, taking a streamside perch with all its earthiness and wet grasses.
My watch revealed a late afternoon window of opportunity, so I prepared to seek out cruising fish and insects.
And then a brief hatch unfurled itself as the sun's rays kissed the wings of the air floaters while they gently sat down on the surface.
"It's about time," I whispered to myself.
I was prepared with a No. 12 Caddis fly despite being unsure if I was matching the hatch or just hoping for a miracle take or even a stupid brown trout throwing caution to the wind or stream.
The fly floated for several seconds and then disappeared in a flurry of bubbled water. The battle was not a battle at all, but rather a minor skirmish producing an 8-inch brown trout.
So fragile are these youngsters of the pool. Not only must they be wary of fury predators and birds of prey, but they also have to practice survival skills in hopes of not being eaten by one their own.
It was somewhat of a shock to my senses to feel the stream's cold water against my waders. And yet that helped me to realize another season was upon me.
I got out of the water and slowly walked upstream. The current flow went around a protruding boulder. It was there I spotted a male (smaller than the female species). I got down on my painful knees and made a short cast. After a third flip I decided to take a break and give that trout another chance to make up its mind in my favor of course.
It was cast number five that did the trick, and 12 inches of beautiful trout slid into my net. I caught and released three more from that area. I had enough for one day and was glad I stuck it out.
Even though I truly enjoyed being alone, I confess it's not a good idea working any river or stream without a partner. One never knows when an emergency pops up or you need someone to take a picture of you and the fish.
• 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 www.mikejacksonoutdoors.com.