This was from the first week of June. The annual trip with the boys to the U.P. place, the old man, my brother and I and the seven year old. I landed in Chicago at 5PM after 22 hours and three planes and 13 timezones, and put the boy in the car and headed north to the cabin at 5AM the next morning.
When we got there, the pink moccasin flowers were blooming.
Morning remains of one of the many lakeside bonfires.
These guys were popping out all over.
Went to the river with the boy.
He caught alot of these.
I caught a lot of these.
The one fishing incident of note took place here:
That grandfather rock in the middle of the stream has a set of submerged little sisters all in a nice row, about two feet below the surface. I can usually tag a couple of nice brookies here, off of the rocks, but got nothing. I swung a robo-tripper through the tag elders on the right and was feeling it tick along the bottom. It hung up - on a big brown - that came up and swirled on the strike, nosed shaking down into the river bed and ran that tippet along each of the edges of those submerged sister rocks. Me and the fly parted ways. I saw the fish on the swirl at the surface. It would've been the biggest trout I ever caught on this trib of the Escy. If you're ever in the area, it's a small trib that flows into the branch that comes from the north out of Gwinn, about 8 - 10 miles on the second dirt road past the cemetery road turn off. There is a spot where the road does this funny sort of not needed hairpin, after the soil changes from really red and sandy to just sort of red and sandy with maybe a hint of ochre and if you walk about 200 yards through the woods, that fish is still there.
Of course, we ate these.