Offshore Lakers Moving In

Superior Labor Day Weekend

It was a great day on the pond.  The water was smooth like mercury with a nice onshore swell.  Surface water temperatures ranged from 58-63 degrees F... perfect for surface action on shallow swung out dipsies.  The day started with overcast conditions and occasional light sprinkles.  Then changed to clear skies, high sun, and calm conditions.  We adapted to the weather and dropped lines deeper in the water column as the fish sunk during the day.  The boat scored a "Superior Salmon Slam" catching humpies, kings and a coho...  supplemented with some nice wild native lakers.  

Kings...

King on the deck...

Unusual gill plate dimples... a mutation for improved aero?

Dipsy king...

Lakers...

Shark fins.

33-inch laker going back.

A beautiful 29-inch wild laker.  C&R.

Humpies...

A little buck getting his humpback.

Leopard spots.

The sandflies offshore were pretty bad.  But, it was one of those days you just didn't want to bring her in.

Riding mercury swells.

Coffee and tying tinsel fly rigs between fish.

Ricky Splake

It was one of those days where we just wanted to go exploring... with the float tubes and fly rods of course.  The morning consisted of lots of coffee, maps, DNR lake reports, and idle talk without reaching any conclusions.  The clock was ticking and if we wanted to have time for anything this day we needed to make a decision on which lake and what species.  After reviewing half a dozen small lakes on the map I finally said to my father, "Get your stuff together we're going for splake."  Not an obvious choice for early August flyrodding.  Maybe even slightly insane.  Splake are crosses between brook trout and lake trout; and, as a result like very cold well oxygenated water.  Ah, but I found a little lake.  One of those manageably sized lakes that are spring fed and not so deep that even a fast sinking fly line can't get to them.  In fact, this was a little lake with lots of splake, few fisherman, and far from anything.  A lake I'll call Ricky Splake... and I hear it's nice this time of year.

Hiking in to Ricky Splake.

After much driving we finally arrived at the trailhead.  We had bounced around on narrow, rocky, two tracks for what seemed like forever.  During the drive, our eyes were peeled for grouse and oncoming vehicles.  We passed the time talking about the disappearing moose--reminiscing on how much moose sign we would have seen here just a few years ago.  Today there was none; and, so we shifted our focus to mentally noting pull-offs in case we met any head-on traffic.  Fortunately, we didn't.

Once at the trailhead we unloaded our Fish Cats and put on their accessory back-pack straps.   Then, all the items we needed:  waders, fins, nets, etc. got lashed into the float tube void spaces and secured for the hike.  After a couple splashes of bug dope we put on our float tubes, grabbed our fly rods, and started the rough hike in.  The hike was quite nice taking us over exposed canadian shield rock outcrops and through northern white cedar and pine forests.  The wind was absolutely still and the conifers steamed in the sun emitting a wonderful pine scent.

Before long, we descended a steep rocky hill to the lake.  And there it was... Ricky Splake.  Like little kids we struggled against time getting our gear unpacked and on us. We'd rather be fishing than putting on waders and fins.  But, first things first... we'll get there.  With everything donned we found a nice flat rock outcrop gradually sinking into the lake.  This would be a good spot to launch.  From here, we carefully put in--the rock was slippery--and we kicked our float tubes out to prospect for splake.

The old man got hits right away as he entered the middle of the lake.  This was encouraging.  Then, to my amazement, large trout were surfacing everywhere:  in the shallow weeds, in the middle, a few feet from the tube.  Mind you, it's early August... and these are splake.  Previously, I have only caught splake on fly in the very early spring when they become gulpers on chironomids.  To see splake rising all around us was fantastic!  So we shortened up our sinking lines to 30 feet or so and began trolling our wooly buggers and damselfly nymphs along the drop offs.  It didn't take long.

The first fish was a rambunctious 13-incher.  It was just loosing its parr markings and had beautiful white edges to its fins.  The fish was pure char.  And, this brings me to my issue with the name splake.  Really?  Can we not do better naming such a beautiful fish of savory parentage?  The origin of splake is derived from the Canadien name for brook trout, "Speckled Trout" or "Specs"; which is then "crossed" with the "lake" in lake trout to get splake.  Seriously, we can do better.  The fish is beautiful and reminds me of the Dolly Varden trout I used to catch in Southeast Alaska.  Now, that's a fish that received a name for it's appearance; and the story of it's origin goes as follows written by Valerie Masson Gomez in 1974:

My grandmother's family operated a summer resort at Upper Soda Springs on the Sacramento River just north of the present town of Dunsmuir, California.  She lived there all her life and related to us in her later years her story about the naming of the Dolly Varden trout.  She said that some fisherman were standing on the lawn at Upper Soda Springs looking at a catch of the large trout from the McCloud River that were called "Calico Trout" because of their spotted, colorful markings.  They were saying that the trout should have a better name.  My grandmother, then a young girl of 15 or 16, had been reading Charles Dickens' Barnaby Rudge in which there appears a character named Dolly Varden; also the vogue in fashion for women at that time (middle 1870s) was called "Dolly Varden", a dress of sheer figured muslin worn over bright-colored petticoat.  My grandmother had just gotten a new dress in that style and the red-spotted trout reminded her of her printed dress.  She suggested to the men looking down at the trout, "Why not call them 'Dolly Varden'?" They thought it a very appropriate name and the guests that summer returned to their homes (many in the San Francisco Bay area) calling the trout by this new name. (Dolly Varden Trout from Wikipedia).  

Okay, so like a contemporary version of the fisherman in the 1870s looking at the "calico trout" I too think this fish, the splake, should have a better name.  Perhaps something like the "Minnesota Char"... but Michigan and Wisconsin also are big fans of this man-made char.   The fish is rather dark... so maybe the "Black Char"?  Or, the "Minnigansin Char"?  Names anyone??  I like calling it a char rather than a trout... at least we should get this right--unlike our predecessors who erroneously named the brook trout and lake trout, which are really char.  And, I do like the geographic association started by the naming of the "Arctic Char" and "Arctic Grayling".  So, perhaps, we just go with the "Michigan Char" and call it a day.  The name generally places the fish species in the Upper Midwest slash Great Lakes Region.  And, the fact that overfishing, poor land management, and pollution sent the Michigan Grayling the way of the... well, the Michigan Grayling, we can fill a void created by previous human greed and stupidity and Michigan gets to yet again have a fish named after it.  Michigan Char it is; unless anyone can do better.

Okay, back to fishing.  Despite all the rising splake... ahhh, I mean Michigan Char,  there really wasn't much hatch activity.  I observed some caddis, sulphurs, callibaetis spinners, and terrestrials (like bees and such).  But, the one stand out were damselflies.  Lots of them.  Small bright blue ones.  So, this steered me to a damselfy nymph pattern and they really liked it... until I lost it on a big spla... Michigan Char.  But, my father didn't have such bad luck and managed to bring in a real nice deep bodied 18-incher.

And, then my camera died.  I could go on telling more of the story but really it only includes catching more 14-inch and up splake (Michigan Char) on fly rod in the middle of the dog days.  Size 6 black Wooly Buggers really did the trick.  So, I'll end here.  Except one more thing... the name of the lake.  I really didn't like that either.  So, we'll just stick with calling it Ricky Splake.  I hear it's nice there this time of year.

I'm a Michigan Char from Ricky Splake... unless you got a better name for me.

Float Tube Smallies...

Whitlock's Softshell Crayfish pattern and a full sinking line did the trick on backcountry smallies.

Pardon the neascus.

15-incher with an attitude.

Thanks for the water spots on my camera lens...

Plenty of 11-12" smallies... 

Cold Summer Weekend... Cold Water Species

When the weather forecast for a late July weekend includes highs around 50 degrees F.  there is only one type of fish to target... trout.  The logic being that cold weather is favorable to cold water species.  So, we headed up North and braved the wind, rain, and 40 degree temperatures.

There really was no need to get up early Saturday morning.  One look outside said it all.  Instead, it was   a great time to sleep in, sip coffee, swap out old sinking fly lines for new compensated tip versions, and spool up the click-pawl reels.  Did I mention sip coffee?

There were only so many "busy" tasks to keep us occupied until the weather got nice:  put air in the float tubes, check the fly boxes, talk flies, load up the truck, do dishes.  But, the weather wasn't going to change, at least this Saturday.   And, the sooner we accepted that the sooner we could go fishing.  So we did.

We arrived at the landing after a short drive from the cabin.  The lake was blustery, it rained, and we had it all to ourselves.  We suited up in our waders and flippers, threw on our raincoats, hopped in our float tubes, and cast off.  We began in search of trout.  I donned a size 8 hexagenia limbata nymph imitation on a full sinking line.  My father tied on a large black wooly bugger and also used a full sinking line.  We trolled... and we trolled.  I managed to get a strong hit on the nymph but didn't close the deal... that was it for awhile.  The fish were simply not biting... uhhum... at least that's what I told myself.  But my father had other ideas; and, managed to find consistent action using the black wooly bugger.  After he landed five or six trout between 13-16 inches it was apparent I needed to abandon the nymph and go back to the old stand-by black wooly bugger.  Only one problem... I didn't have any.  So, I improvised and tied on a purple version with an orange thread "bead head" I conjured up specifically for rainbows.  We have had some banner days on 20 plus inch rainbows with this fly in the summer.  Though the fly slightly resembles an egg-sucking leech pattern, the small orange thread bead head suggests the mysis shrimp commonly found in the depths during summer.  In fact, any colorful fly usually does the trick once the 'bows start slashing clouds of mysis in mid to late season.  After making the switch it wasn't long before making contact with trout.

15-incher.

The wooly buggers.

Gray day trout scales.

Another rainbow trout going back.

Sunday was a better weather day.  We decided to range out and explore--taking the same gig to another trout lake located farther into the bush.  We were rewarded with hard-fighting rainbow trout between 12-13 inches.  Seriously, these fish fought way bigger.

On the drive out we met one angry hen grouse with chicks...

     

Never get between a grouse and its chicks!

Tactical flanking maneuver... 

Damselflies are Hatching...

Damselflies have been hatching for a few weeks now in the Northland.  Using flies that mimic these in their nymphal stage have been solid stillwater patterns.  Give them a try on your next outing to a trout or panfish lake.

Click here to find out more about this beneficial "mosquito eating" insect that fish can't resist.

More Canoe Bass'n

The 4th of July weekend holiday presented more opportunity to wet the canoe and fly-cast for bass in remote places.  The challenge would be four lakes in four days.  For the most part, the tackle would be nothing more than a 5 weight fly rod and a handful of foam poppers.

The first lake we explored is notorious for its quality panfish... but its bass fishery (both largemouth and smallmouth) remain, by-and-large, a mysterious potential.  Weedbeds in this lake are numerous.  A look over the side of the canoe revealed sparse curly leaf cabbage, broadleaf cabbage (with stalks piercing the surface), lush pompous coontail, and various other wispy submergent vegetation species positioned on the lake's many mid-depth flats.  A narrow band of lily pads ring the shoreline.  Turtles croaked in the shoreline vegetation.  Blackbirds chattered in the marshy surroundings at the back of the bays.  Rocky points jut out into the lake and fall into the depths beyond the weeds.  Rumor has it smallmouths up to 5 pounds have been caught here.  And, the largemouth potential is virtually unknown to all but a few.  A few drifts over the mid-depth weed beds casting a large Hare's Ear nymph on a floating line yielded a half dozen 8-9 inch bluegills for dinner.  Then, the switch to bass tackle was made.

We started casting poppers to the banks and managed to raise some smallmouth bass of very modest size.  Not the size we were looking for; but, we could put a check-in-the-box for smallies.  Then, drifting across the deeper portion of a point, a suspended smallie of substantial size was hooked.  The fish bent the rod to its maximum strain.  It stayed deep and swam with authority.  The canoe pivoted in the wind on the fish.  The weight of the canoe blowing in the wind put pressure on the fish.  It defied by staying deep, turning sideways, and pumping its broad tail---sending large boils of water to the surface.  The water was dark and the fish not yet visible.  The pressure stayed on and the fish changed tactics... suddenly launching vertically into the air with a high arching head to tail leap. Showing its size and dark bronze color to us for a moment, the fish splashed back into the water and the hook let loose.  The rod pointed toward the sky, unloaded.  The line hung limp over what was left of the splash.  And, the four pound smallie became nothing more than a memory.  An intangible.

Then, the crappie started to turn on and we managed to catch and release a few as incidental catch.  One of the crappies was a true slab.  As the last drift of the evening neared its end at the shoreline pads I decided to throw one more cast.  The fly unfurled on the cast and landed inches from the outermost lily pad.  I stripped a few times and the line went taught.  The fish was strong, not huge, but strong and animated on the 5 weight.  It vacated the protection of the pads and swam out toward the lake with authority.  The fly line sliced through the water putting out a small wake where the surface water parted around it.  I became impressed.  The fish then rounded the back of the canoe and my fish fighting position became awkward.  I put pressure on the fish by holding my rod high over my head.  The rod tip pointed directly behind me to a spot unseen.   I stripped.  The canoe turned.  And, the fish came back to a conventional position.  With a proper rod angle the fish was soon boated.  Where the water splashed at the end of my fly line, near the side of the canoe, I reached down and put my thumb into the mouth of a nice 12-13 inch largemouth bass.  I lifted the fish vertically out of the water, admired it for its pristine coloring and strong will, turned the fly from its jaw, and slipped it back into the lake.  It swam away with the same attitude it hit the fly with.   I reeled the fly line in and hooked the fly to the keeper on the rod.  We paddled in just before dark.

The second lake of the challenge was one I have become fond of.  The bay I like to fish is bass heaven.  A large creek arm with floating bog, wild rice, shoreline lily pads, flooded timber and brush; and, broad, weedy, mid-depth flats with cabbage poking up.  But, the largemouth bass here seem to relate to the pads the most.  The wind was light in a direction that would gently drift the canoe along the edge of the pads.  Almost like floating a river for smallies, I cast as I went, drifting along the edge firing poppers into the pockets of the pads.  The fishing was good.  Over a dozen largemouths were landed on fly in the 2-3 hours of fishing.  The 5 weight held its own on bass up to 15-16 inches; but, that was the limit.  Three bass between 18-20 inches were hooked but lost in the pads.  The 5 weight, no surprise, simply doesn't have enough oomph to yank these quality fish from the cover.  And, the heartbreaking experience of watching a 20-incher go air born after throwing the hook in the pads had to be swallowed.

Lily pad bass on poppers.  

Other than being under-gunned for the cover, the fishing didn't go without challenges.  Thunderstorms raged on the horizon only to catch us 2 hours into fishing.  For the next hour and half we sat in the canoe just off shore, hunkered under an overhanging, short, and bushy yellow birch tree with a thick canopy; and, waited out the rain.  We were sure to look around for the tallest tree (which was a large White Spruce that towered above the protection of the stout birch) and stayed within the cone of its protection.  Boy did it rain... and thunder.  It was one of those tropical rains that comes straight down, evenly, with rain drops the size of hail.  We easily got 1-2 inches of rain during the storm.  The monotony of waiting it out was taken up by constantly bailing the canoe.  Aside from storms there were pike to make things interesting... and to steal flies.  The largest of the day came close to 30 inches.  Fortunately, most flies that were sliced off by pike floated up to the surface shortly thereafter and could be scooped up and salvaged.      

The thief of bass flies.  

The third lake we explored has a history of big fish popping up every now and then.  Mostly smallies.  So, that's what we headed out for.  We set out for the evening popper bite along the rocky shorelines and points with fallen timber.  The smallmouth action was steady with numerous fish between 8-13 inches.  The 5 weight was simply too much rod though for anything under 11 inches.  And after all, we were looking for more quality fish.  But, the 13-inchers showed up enough to make things interesting and their fight on a 5 weight was nothing to scoff at.  But, the best fish of the evening would belong to a largemouth, not a smallmouth.  As we rounded a classic rocky point at the mouth of a bay we noticed a series of fallen trees and flooded brush along the shoreline.  These would make great casting targets but as we worked them they turned up little.  However, one flooded bush stood out as looking "fishy".  I whipped a series of false casts to measure distance to the bush and to build line speed for accuracy. When I was ready, I laid the fly down a foot from shore and just inches alongside the flooded brush.  Two strips on the popper and it disappeared in a large swirl accented in the middle with a splash.  The fight was on and the bass burst into the air in a series of gill rattling leaps.  It was a much heavier bodied fish than the smallies I was catching and I knew it was different.  The fight on the 5 weight was impressive. The bottom was clean and rocky and I didn't have to worry about getting weeded up with light tackle.  I could simply put efficient rod angles on the fish and enjoy the fight.  Soon, I hoisted the fish from the water by its lip and measured it around 15 inches.  A pleasant surprise.  

Coaxed out of a flooded shoreline bush with a popper. 

Distant thunder and a serene paddle back before dark.

The fourth lake of the challenge.... well I'd rather not write much about it.  The lake was heavily bog stained, had wild rice, lily pads, and reeds. Unfortunately for the 5 weight, the large bass in this lake found the dense impenetrable reeds their favorite cover.  The day was mostly spent listening to huge bass kill things at an alarming pace in the reeds while pike stole poppers along the weed edge.  The handful of poppers were quickly depleted.  I looked at my fly box and noticed the lack of flies... which served as very real tangibles.