The Opener, Conclusion
by Scott Alexander Burrell
Buddy had left, with, no doubt, food on his mind, a full hour before I gave
up to join the helter skelter supper drill. Ace had fires started in both the
fire pit and the fireplace. Buddy mixed drinks and marinated steaks. Chief
and I shucked corn and baked potatoes.
About 10:00 we finally sat down to a killer meal. Grilled trout might have been
more apropos and Hemingwayesque, but then rare whiskey and thick steaks
are tough to beat. While that rare whiskey warmed my spine, we had few
fishing highlights to review, but I did slip into contemplation about the
qualities of such a trip and the urgency with which strangers can become
lifelong chums if the chemistry is correct.
Standing by the river after dinner, Ace surprised me by excusing his utter
lack of decorum and dumping half his drink into the stream. He then genially
blamed our poor luck on his failure to bless the river and solemnize that
blessing with a decent sized whiskey dram. Somebody, half-drunk and half-serious,
then suggested that we all quit our jobs, move up to the AuSable, and fish for
a living. Demonstrating that the half-drunk was beating out half-serious by a
mile, he said, "we'll use worms if we have to! He also forgot that Michigan
in April isn't in the habit of doling out the crystalline gems we had just enjoyed
and that more often than not the weather is as bad as the fishing.
On Sunday we had another late mornng and my dad came over from Traverse
City to fish with us. Ace worked with Chief to straighten out his casting
problems and chief caught a glistening beauty on a nymph. I got a couple
of pocket water denizens to play with a beadhead hare's ear. Dad picked
one up on a streamer and Buddy cruised up stream and out of sight. We
got back to the cabin in the mid-afternoon and had the last of the food for
lunch then dad and I headed back to Traverse. My head buzzed with all
the fun I'd had and what I'd learned both about the AuSable and going
fishing with the fellas.
I fished the Boardman and the Platte morning, noon and night over the
next three days without once getting skunked and often landing over a
dozen fish. Were the conditions better? Maybe. Was fishing my home
water the key? Probably. Was fishing alone and stealthily more productive?
Certainly.
I didn't care because those were just fishing days, pleasant days for sure,
but days nevertheless. I had, however, spent the opener on the AuSable
as the guest of an entertaining new friend that exuded an incredible love,
knowledge, and appreciation for his special river. I hoped one day to be
nearly as fine a host. With another guy who I'm certain I'll never see
again, but who made me bust out laughing about a dozen times over the
weekend. With my best friend and with my dad.
"So what if we hardly caught any fish," I thought until the local paper
headlined "Trout Opener Best in a Decade" citing anglers reporting
prolific hatches and aggressive fish on all local streams, including the
North Branch of the AuSable. I read the article a second time and got
angry, then disdainful, then sad. Then, I thought, what about Chief, Ace and
Buddy? What about Ace rolling the window up on Buddy's hand? What
about the baseless Monopoly arguements fueled by nothing more than
boasts and bravado? What about the beauty of the AuSable and the
perfection of the weather?
Those fisherman quoted in the paper couldn't possibly have had as much
fun as Ace, Buddy, Chief, and me. Besides, I am confident that I'll be
around for plenty more openers and when I reflect back it'll be the faces
and jokes and antics and comradery that really stick in my mind. I am
confident, too, that someday it'll be me or Ace or Chief that winds up in
the paper saying "this year's opener was good, but it wasn't anything
like the one we had in '99." ~ Scott Alexander Burrell
Excerpt from The Riverwatch
The Quarterly Newsletter of the
Anglers of the Au Sable. We thank Bob Linseman for use permission.
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