The Hex
By Neil M. Travis, Montana/Arizona
It was a warm early summer evening along the banks of the South
branch of Michigan's Au Sable River sometime in the late 60's. Two
men were camped with their families at Canoe Harbor campground,
wiling away the late afternoon hours tying flies and telling lies while
they waited for the sun to begin to dip toward the western horizon.
Dinner was eaten in haste, then gear was quickly stowed in one of
their vehicles and they were off down the dusty road that leads up
the river. They drove passed Dog Town, the Chapel, and the High
Banks until they came to a faint track that was barely visible leading
out through the Jack Pines. Through the piney woods, down a hill
and across a dry swale to a sweet fern carpeted meadow where they
parked their vehicle, and quickly assembled their gear. A barely
discernable game trail directed the two anglers through the tangle
of tag alders that bordered the river, which was already bathed in
the twilight of a Michigan summer evening.
The river ran dark and silent belying the promise of what the two
anglers knew would transpire within the next few hours. In the fading
light of this summer day the two anglers waded across the river at the
tail of a long deep pool that was marked by a large logjam about
halfway down its length. Cedar sweepers hung far out over the river
on both sides of the logjam, and the water was dark and deep as it
swept under their overhanging branches and beneath the logjam. In
the fading light the anglers reclined on the far bank watching and
waiting, making last minute adjustments to their tackle, rekindling
their pipes, and exchanging small talk.
As the darkness deepened a faint sound of rustling wings began to
fill the silence of the night. From somewhere in the darkness a trout
rose with a splash, and each of the anglers stirred from their repose
wading carefully to their pre-selected positions along the expanse
of the pool.
Rummaging around in a box of long forgotten photographs I recently
came across a fading black and white image of a much younger
reflection of myself kneeling beside 4 large, but very dead, brown
trout. The grinning visage in the photograph is clad in a fly-fishing
vest, and is clasping a bamboo fly rod in one hand and a white
Mershon pipe in the other. The faint inscription of the back made
record of the date and the respective length of each of the dead
trout. The shortest was just over 16 inches and the longest was in
the excess of 20 inches. They had all been caught in the span of
one hour on the South Branch of Michigan's Au Sable River on
the night that is described above. I recall that I landed five trout
that evening, but I had released the fifth fish, a respectable brown
in its own right, in order to be able to say that I did not kill a limit
of trout on the Au Sable.
The purpose of this slaughter and resulting photograph was to secure
the coveted Notable Angler pin that Orvis® awarded to anglers that
made a notable catch using their rod. Despite the passage of over nearly
40 years that pin is still fastened to my hat.
Over the years the memories of those late nights deep in the Jack Pine
forest waiting for the magical appearance of those giant mayflies still
makes me shiver with anticipation. The fluttering of hundreds of wings,
the swooping bats, a good companion to share the experience, and the
slurping sound of a large brown sucking in another Hex is the stuff of
which legends are made. I'm glad I had the privilege of experiencing
those times. ~ Neil M. Travis, Montana/Arizona
From A Journal Archives
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