Jul 30 2012 7:31 pm
We saw five or six lake trout or steelhead or coho or maybe big browns working bait against the inside of the break wall in Frankfort a few weeks ago. They were in about four feet of water and they would cruise along tight to the boulders and dart away and then back, occasionally turning on their side and slashing forward in a silver arc. I never saw anything like this in Ludington. I’m sure it happens there too, but I never saw it.
The two lane road from Thompsonville is in pretty good shape and rolls through old pine plantations, stands of big aspen, and some cedar swamps. It’s easy to hit seventy five miles an hour and it’s just long enough, about ten miles from there to here, to tune out. I was using the big dune buggy as a landmark. It sat exactly across the road from my turn. They wanted six thousand dollars for it. Someone must have paid them because it’s gone now. The other day I shot past my turn and hit 31 before I knew anything was wrong.
The roads to the upper Manistee are all gravel, dirt, chatter, and sand wallows. They eat trailer lights, wheel bearings, and license plates. The dust has worked its way into everything on my boat. It’s not easy to love, that river, mainly because it’s hard to get to. The lower Manistee is fine, I guess. It actually has boat ramps and paved roads and lots of smallmouth. But it’s big and everybody rips around it in their sleds like gasoline is going out of style.
I’m having a hard time tearing myself away from the Pere Marquette. Not like I have to, but I feel like I should. Not that I’m some old salt on the PM, far from it, but it only takes getting thrown into something big and intimidating to make me appreciate the human scale and the familiar.
I’ve moved twelve times since 1997. I’m pretty fucking sick of moving. I seem to be circumnavigating some point in Ohio, and not entirely on purpose. At least the last two moves have been in the right direction: north.
I’m still guiding. You should book a trip. I’m also working on a movie about cedar drift boats and mousing for browns with the hardest working guide in Michigan, Center City Philly Croff. Everybody relax.