Apr 15 2012 12:58 pm
The mesh of dead gray leaves and brown sticks and briars, opossum bones, and everywhere leeks, the beacons of spring, they shine bright green through the forest. The mechanical power of cell division allows morels to push through the leaf litter and hold it up in some places. Blood Root and the Dutchman’s Breeches: that’s the name of our new band. We only play post-apocalyptic Celtic funk.
The small creek empties brown tannic water onto the turquoise flats of Lake Michigan and flows south tight to the shore for almost a mile. It was easy to stand on the beach on the weird 70 degree late March day and shoot big baitfish patterns out fifty feet and strip them back into the dirty water. Big fish rolled on those flies but they wouldn’t grab them, for whatever reason. It should be said, though, that rolling big salmonids in the surf is almost as good as catching them.
Then it got cold and the east winds blew and only now is the lake finally setting up again for good surf fishing. But of course this coincides with the arrival of my new boat, so I have to go fish the river.
Tough decisions. Don’t worry. I’ll make them.