Just for Old Times Sake
By Neil M. Travis, Montana
We would look forward to it for months, and during the last
few weeks the anticipation was nearly unbearable. We would
consult the weather reports, read the outdoor pages in the
newspaper, and check and recheck our gear. Then it would
arrive, the opening day of trout season, Christmas, the 4th
of July, and Thanksgiving all rolled into one day.
Back in the 60's I lived just outside the city of Detroit,
and heaven on earth was nearly 200 miles away near a town
called Grayling. Within 20 miles of that small northern
Michigan town the three branches of the Au Sable River flow
away toward Lake Huron, and from its tannin stained waters
fabled hatches of insects lure trout to the surface to feed
with reckless abandon. Canoe Harbor, Keystone Landing, McMaster's
Bridge, Dogtown, High Banks, and Conners Flat, and Hollow Leg
were as familiar as my backyard.
It was a forgone conclusion that come opening day of trout season
I would be somewhere on the Au Sable River. In the early days it
was Canoe Harbor on the South Branch, and in later years it was
Keystone Landing on the Main Branch. Since opening day of trout
season always happened on the last weekend of April it was a good
bet that there would still be snow drifts back in the woods, some
of the back roads in the Mason Tract might still be impassable,
and there would be places where you did not dare to wade. Rain
or snow, come H... or high water come Saturday morning I would be
somewhere on the Au Sable fishing for trout.
I was never alone in my pursuit; in fact looking back it was the
people that made those days so memorable. Some of my fellow anglers
I had not seen since the close of trout season the proceeding fall,
and it was always with some apprehension as we waited to see if
everyone would return for another season. It was like old home
week as each car pulled into the campground, and each old friend
stepped out with an outstretched hand, reaffirming the bond that
was forged over campfires, and long walks through the dark woods
after an evening of fishing.
Me, JC, Dean, Tom, Bob, et al, were there as much for the camaraderie
of old friends as for the fishing, which, on most occasions, was
problematic at best. Those were the days without the Internet,
instant stream reports, and the like, and what the conditions
might be in any given year was a subject of much conjecture. At
best we could hope that the Au Sable was wadable, and that a
sufficient number of warm days had melted most of the snow out
of the campground. If we were real fortunate we might be able
to find a brief hatch of Hendrickson's or some Chimarra caddis,
and a few trout rising for them. We all knew that the fishing
would be better in a few weeks, but it would not be spring, it
would not be trout season, and it would not be right not to be
on the Au Sable on opening day.
Today we live in an era of year around angling. Few streams ever
completely close, and the idea of opening day has lost most of
its importance. In this modern day of instant communications,
and live stream reports via the computer or cell phone few people
would waste their time to set next to a swollen stream on the mere
chance that something might happen. But there was a time when, like
children anticipating the arrival of Santa Claus, we counted the
days until we could pitch our tents on the banks of the Au Sable,
build a campfire, and await the arrival of old friends. Somehow I
wish we could do it all again. ~ Neil M. Travis, Montana/Arizona
From A Journal Archives
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