Happy Thanksgiving

I have a lot to be grateful for this year. I spent more time on the water than ever. I became friends with the waxwings. I  felt blessed by every trout I caught. I was invigorated with every watched sunrise and reflected at more sunsets. I learned that I had been my neglecting the need for my heart to break from the hustle and bustle to hear nature's whisper. To find peace.

It can be hard to convince others of the intrinsic value of the time spent communing with nature. It's about conquering this mountain, bagging a trophy, or even an exercise. We break near perfection to fulfill our selfish needs. Too much time viewing the earth as something that must be conquered. I hope we as a species can learn to express our gratitude for the earth that bares and sustains us.

Happy Deer Season

Be safe out there!

A little better

It was a rough week. A lot of changes in the country, my community, and in my life. It was one of those weeks where getting up and going through the motions seemed to be the only thing that kept me from unraveling. Thank God, I was planning on going up north.

Two  beautiful mornings of duck hunting, without a duck bagged. I shivered in my waders as we threw decoys into the gray chop; my bare hands stiffening with each dunk into the murky water. A drive to scout around confirmed our suspicions that minimal ducks were present.

Pleasant weather brought about thoughts of global warming, changes in migration patterns and the realization that we'll be celebrating yet another deer season without snow.

I hiked and scouted and hunted for grouse. I was graced with one and missed  a few more. Chasing grouse through the woods, I was reminded of a more carefree version of myself, 20 years younger. For a while my other worries seemed distant. I smelled leaves, listened for the flutter of wings, and studied the forest for movement, all the while clenching the worn wooden stock of my shotgun. Distracted from my fears, little else mattered and I was happy.

With the moon rising over the lake, I finally  sat down. Ice cold Leinie's is the the taste is want after a long day I'd hunting. I sat out on the porch on my jacket and studied my grouse gratefully. The meat will make a delicious supper, the feathers will become flies, anything I can't use returned to the earth. My mind drifted back to troubles, but this time a little better.

A friend in the sky

It is four in the morning and I'm driving north towards a preferred patch of marsh. I always look forward to seeing Orion, the hunter, in the sky. Is it a coincidence that we are greeted by Orion during hunting season? I don't know, but I like it. The familiar picture in the sky helps me stay oriented while pounding through the brush, under or over caffeinated, with a dull headlamp made more useless by creeping fog, the mesh bag of decoys clinging to the buck-thorn, while my feet seem to find every mud puddle, causing me to trip and second-guess this route. Stars fade as I throw out the decoys. The walk back will be easier.

Thoughts

I spent last weekend in Northern Wisconsin. I hunted ducks, cleared some brush, got some odd jobs in, did some scouting, looked for grouse.

Saturday morning was the stuff of legends. Cloudy sky. Heavy winds. Black silhouettes of migrating birds whipping over head, across the decoys, and sometimes appearing from nowhere. I bagged a drake wood duck and a drake gadwall. Beautiful birds. The flight was done by 8:30 and we moved on with the day. On another lake I tried to stalk a flock of woodies, but I was forsaken by the wind dying down 60 yards from where they were floating.

Cutting brush and splitting wood is cathartic work. Hard on the body, but bt golly it feels good.

Norman Maclean wrote about the relationship between grace and trout, something that was on my mind as it was the last day of Wisconsin's inland trout season, and I had some considerations of heading out. It is fall, the days are shorter, and it is hunting season. My continued pursuit of trout will have to wait about 10 weeks. We went for a walk looking for the ruffed grouse a.k.a. partridge. My brother prefers to refer to them as ptarmigan. I can't help but relate Maclean's words to the pursuit of partridge. To bag a partridge you truly need a Goldilocks moment. I work hard for trout, I work hard for partridge, but do you ever really truly deserve to catch or bag them? They pop out of no where and if you are not prepared you will jump about 5 feet before you can get your shotgun up. I can't help but feel lucky every time I bag a grouse. So yeah, I didn't get a grouse, but I had fun finding them. 

Next morning, ring bills. Sunny. Fog on the water. Wind still. You could hear ducks flying in always before you could see them. There was also a Hooded Merganser seen and missed, the first I've seen this fall.

I went out Monday after work close to home. I saw all of 4 ducks during shooting hours. Then shooting hours ended and I saw about 100 mallards fly in. They know better.

Oh, September!

September was such an awesome month for trout. I forgot to share this beautiful 16" brown from Richland Co. about a week before those brutal flooding rains came in. Peacock and yellow.

I also got wet while landing this fish.

Banner day

This was a few weeks ago, on September 24th, but it ended up being one of my best days on the water all year. I went out to a small creek less than an hour from home. I fished copper johns, scuds, beetles and BWOs all day with continuous success catching. It was beautiful, cloudy, 60-70 degrees, and I almost managed not to get wet. Almost.

 Lots of Browns. I even caught a sunfish, that was weird.

This one was pretty content to hang out in my net for a while.

I was calculating. Focused. I planned out every move so that I could get to each lie without ever having water go over the top of my hip boots.

Then I got wet.

I was hitting a couple spots on my way back to the car fishing a terrestrial + dropper, when all of a sudden I felt a thud. Surely I had been snagged on a log. Then I saw a flash of red. Then, throwing all my previously mentioned caution to the wind, I jumped in, there was no way of landing this fish on a 5x tippet without some serious maneuvering. Finally after s getting completely soaked, I netted this rainbow on the fourth attempt. My largest trout of the year and ever on a fly. 17.5" rainbow. She was truly the queen of this stream. We had a nice hang out while she recovered and after about 5 minutes she took off in a flash. I still smile thinking about this fish. 

In Defense of Hip Boots

In other words, Wet Wading 101

Soft hackles strike again!

The creeks have been running a little higher than normal with the extra rains we've had recently. However, in spite of this, the creek I stopped at yesterday had exceptional clarity. I did choose to wear hip boots instead of my chest waders, which with temps in the 80's seemed okay. This quickly turned into an extreme form of wet wading with added resistance of water filled boots. I did catch browns though, working my way to holes that few anglers would dare to approach. After working a spot for a sufficient amount of time, I would simply sit upon the bank and drain each boot by laying back and raising each foot up. This is a good way to stay cool, considering the water here is well covered from the sun and stays below 60 in the heat of the day. My dear rubber hip boots also provide excellent leg cover from thorny brush and are impenetrable by the vicious swarms of mosquitoes I've been encountering. In an emergency they will make nice water buckets for making camp. All hail the mighty hip boot.

The leaves are beginning to hint at fall. Green grasses have begun to golden. The sun in the morning mists hints at the changes coming soon. It has neither the freshness of early summer nor the crispness of Autumn, but is unique to now. It is not tired, but life in transition. Birds are hustling. I had a hummingbird fly right up to me yesterday and inspect me for a moment. I could've reached towards it, but I was just pleased with its company. I saw two fawns and a family of wood ducks. The fawns only recognizable by the fading spots on their sides. The wood ducks now hard do distinguish juveniles from adults at a distance. 36 days until duck season, but I'm not ready.

8/16

I went out yesterday to fish a different section of a stream I've been frequenting this summer. I was pretty slow getting out so the sun was pretty high by the time I was on the water and had to hike quite a bit to find undercut banks and lies that were out of direct sunlight. This stream does get hit pretty hard on the weekends, so I hike a lot to get away from regularly fished areas anyway. Nothing big, but great energy and beautiful colors.

First Post-Summer 2016

Hi there! I'm Jeremy. I play trombone and I'm an avid outdoorsman. I'm crazy about Bach, Mahler, Stravinsky, Xenakis, ducks, and trout on a fly. I truly believe that nature has perfected what we try to achieve in art, and I seek its lessons as often as possible.

Little jewel of a brookie on a hippie stomper.

I'm at home in the driftless, spending most of my adult life in the middle or on the border of it. This year I've covered many parts of the Wisconsin driftless chasing brook trout and brown trout with feathers tied too hooks. In the past I had only fly fished for panfish, but for reasons too long to list, decided it was time to make the deep dive. Pardon the pun: I'm hooked. Not that it hasn't been without frustration. I've lost a lot of flies, been skunked a lot of days, gotten insane wind knots, and walked through long lengths of brushy woods only to arrive at silty, stagnant, mosquito packed pools without so much as a chub in sight. That said, I always feel better for the adventure each time I go out. I love the zeal with which small trout fly out of the water after a dry fly, and the fight and challenge of landing a bigger brown...Okay, I haven't landed many big browns this year, but every fish I've had on has been a blast.

Soft hackles have been my jam for browns lately. 

Not that I'm a purist and only fish for trout and only use a fly rod. If I know that a stream is going to be inhospitable for fly fishing, I'll still bring a spinning rod with a gold panther martin. I won't catch a trout on a worm. I've had some great bass days on my fly rod this summer. I have yet to catch a northern pike on a dare-devil up in the Northwoods still this year. One of those things that just needs to be done. I like hardware, and save the worms for sitting on a boat with a bobber after bluegills.

My main gig is being a musician and music educator. I play classical, jazz, rock, latin, whatever music ends up on my stand on a given day. I am passionate about instilling young people with a life long love of music. I play in a rock band called The Lower 5th. We are currently raising funds to record an album. Our sound is best described as "Midwestern Soul," mixing elements of Americana, Reggae, Rock, Blues and R&B. Playing with this band has pushed me to explore some different aspects of my musicianship from my classical heavy background. It's good to grow.

That's all for now. Was last out fishing Tuesday, getting antsy to go back, but the rain is keeping me in. Guess I'll tie some san juan worms.