Scouting Trips

With the exception of a brief interruption this past weekend, we've had the longest stretch of sunny days that I can remember in all of my 36 Marches.  Thanks to my mom offering to have Luke overnight one night last week and Hayden overnight one night this week, I found myself with a couple of nice days where I only had 2 kids to tote around.  Since I can only fit 2 in the back of my Jeep with their car seats, I jumped on these opportunities to check out the lower end of the Grand River in neighboring Ottawa County.  My first trip took me along the north bank of the river, checking out launches on the side roads off of Leonard Street.  On my second trip I checked out the south bank and got a pretty good look at a couple of my prospective bayous.

I brought Hayden and Lincoln on my first outing.  From what we can tell so far, these two are just about exactly alike.  If they weren't my kids, I'd call them spazzy.  No, you know what?  They are my kids and I can't think of a word in the English language that better describes them.  Case in point; one of their favorite things to do together is scream back and forth.  They take turns yelling in one another's faces, getting louder and louder until I'm able to loosen my clenched jaw and yell, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?!  KNOCK IT OFF!"  I'm a calm guy, but when these two are in full swing, they can really get the old man's right eye twitching.  So, with the terrible twins in the backseat and a lot of miles and time to be logged on the road, I knew that things might end up getting pretty hectic.  I promised them McDonald's after we checked out a couple of launches.  I also brought Hayden's Hannah Montana CD along to keep her entertained.

We left the driveway happily bobbing our heads to "Hoedown Throwdown," but by the time we got to "The Climb" we found ourselves stuck in a traffic jam in the middle of downtown Grand Rapids.  As I stared at the rusty bumper of the old Ford van in front of me, I got sucker punched in the back of the head.  "Gungy, Gawgy."  That's Linc-lish for "Hungry, Daddy."  Shoot!  I was in such a hurry to get going I threw the kids in the car without giving them their normal after nap snack.  I had also packed like a dad.  I chucked a couple of diapers and a box of wipes on the passenger seat.  Never gave food a passing thought.  "Hayden, try to distract Lincoln for me."  "I can't, I'm hungry too."  Oh boy.

After about 15 minutes in the parking lot on 131, we finally got rolling.  With the car  moving once again and some new scenery in front of them, the kids luckily forgot about food for the time being.  It was tough going on Leonard until we put a little space between ourselves and the city.  It eventually transformed into a winding 2 lane country road.  We could occasionally see the river down in the flooded valley to our left.  After about 25 minutes on Leonard, we found the first launch.  Deer Creek Park is just west of Lamont near Coopersville.  It's basically some green space, a parking lot, and a launch.  The whole park was under water.  We could only see the tops of the handicap parking signs.  The kids weren't even a little impressed.  Still, I had an idea of how long it would take to get there from my house and I'd now be able to find it in the dark if I decided to head out early one morning this spring.  This will be my spring channel cat spot.  Mort and I are hoping to get into some of those fish that push 20 pounds when they make their run up from Lake Michigan.

With the kids begging to go to McDonald's, I pushed west towards the bayous and let them know that it wouldn't be too much longer.  The drive to the next launch was quite a bit further than I had anticipated and I was starting to get a little tense.  Lincoln was absolutely starving and had fallen into repeatedly asking where Mommy went.  Hayden was done with Hannah Montana and fixated on getting a happy meal.  I finally found the launch that I will use to get me to Pottawattomie and Stearns bayous.  It turns out that it's very near the Nunica exit on I-96.  I'll go after pike and bass in these bayous and see if I can figure out walleye in the main river channel of this area.  The launch is upriver from the bayous which isn't ideal.  I generally like to fish upriver from where I launch in case I have problems with the motor.  If I'm upstream, I can always float back down to the launch.  Still, I'm looking forward to getting in our boat and exploring this section of the river.  I'm thinking an early April trip is in order.  Maybe I'll throw in a couple of rods, some crawlers, and a tub of dip bait.  I did finally get the kids to McDonald's and they once again returned to their happy, spunky selves.  Despite my dumb dad stuff, the trip went very well and I got one step closer to putting my spring fishing plan together.

I had a feeling that my outing with Luke and Lincoln would be relatively stress free.  I fed them before we left and I threw in water bottles and additional snacks for the road.  Luke is a big Four Seasons fan, so we traded Hayden's bubblegum pop for some oldies but goodies.  131 was cruel to us again.  Someone had dumped a load of empty plant flats in the left lane.  Even though these things are just about as thin as paper, people were almost coming to a complete stop as they weaved through them.  196 and Lake Michigan Drive were all clear.  When I got out past Grand Valley, I jogged over to a road that runs right along the river.  From east to west the name of the road changed from North Cedar Drive to Green Street to Mercury Drive.  I found a couple of nice parks with launches, but they were quite a ways up river from the bayous.  I eventually wandered over Stearns and then Pottawattomie bayous.  Looking at them on a map, I pictured them as isolated and surrounded by desolate wetlands.  Both have homes on them and are in a pretty populated area.  I won't be quite as alone as I'm used to on the river, but if the fishing is good I won't mind.  I'm curious to see what kind of boat traffic and fishing pressure this end of the river gets.

We hit a park on the way home.  It was pretty windy and cold, but the boys had fun walking a trail and then playing on the playground.  On the way home "Walk Like A Man" played.  When it was done Luke said, "Hey Dad, you need to walk like a man, okay?"  I chuckled and said I'd do what I could.  He said, "No, you really need to walk like a man."  More chuckling, "Okay, buddy."  After a little pause I said, "Hey, wait!  Why are you saying that?  You're being funny?"  He remained completely deadpan.  "No, Dad.  You walk like a girl."  Not long after, another song started and Luke joined in, "Pretty as a midsummer's morn, they called her . . . Dad!"  How did Luke get so smart and where did he get such a smart mouth?  I always thought with my general love for the outdoors and my tendency to shave maybe twice a week that I had a certain rugedness about me.  Apparently I have some work to do to toughen myself up in my boy's eyes.  He later told me that he "was just trying to be funny like you, Dad," so that made things better.  I've got to hand it to him, he kind of had me going.  I didn't know that he had the aptitude to kid like that.

Nothing is stress free when it involves a couple of preschool age kids, but my scouting trips went very well.  I have a better picture of this new section of river and I know right where to go to get on it.  Time will tell  if my efforts translate into fish.  I think they will.  I can't wait to make that first cast.

Take A Kid Fishing

This is a noble mantra that is plastered throughout fishing magazines and is ritually cited at the end of a number of fishing shows.  It sounds good.  What can be better than a day on the water with a mini-you?  Before any of my kids were born, I pictured how it would be to share my passion for angling with them.  I'm sexist so the picture was generally of a little boy.  Detroit Tigers hat pulled tight and low over his eyes to guard from the sun, he'd sit next to me with fishing pole in hand.  All focus would be narrowed in on the end of that rod, and all conversation would revolve around the excitement of catching the next fish.  I'd look down at him with pride, and he'd look up at me wanting to make me proud.  It was going to be a beautiful moment between father and son. 

At the same time, I've always said that I wouldn't pressure my kids into fishing or any other sport or hobby.  I would support them in whatever interests they had.  The reality of it is, when Dad talks fishing, watches fishing, constantly tinkers with his fishing gear, and is gone on these mystical fishing adventures, the kids are naturally drawn to it.  My oldest son, Luke, was 3 last summer.  He started asking to come out on the river with me.  He seemed ready, so I came up with a plan to fish with him for a few hours one evening and then have my parents pick him up and let him sleep at their house while I stayed out to fish for cats.

I've heard that the key to any successful fishing trip with a kid is to stock up on snacks.  Luke and I stopped at the gas station on the way up to my parents' and picked up several kinds of candy and this sugary liquid called "Bug Juice."  This stuff made the whole trip for him.  Not because it tasted good, but because of the name.  I think he'd drink motor oil if they put it in a squirt bottle, covered it in cartoon spiders, and called it Bug Juice.

Luke was excited to drive the boat, so I put him on my lap and let him feel like he had full control of the great vessel.  Once we were pointed into open water, I let him push the throttle forward and more or less steer us up river.  I stopped at the first spot and helped him cast his Spiderman rod out.  I was so into this being a trip all about Luke, I even kept myself from fishing with my own rods and reels.  The line wasn't out for more than a few minutes before Luke declared, "I don't think this is a very good spot.  We better move."  "Really?  Okay."  Out came the half drowned worm, up came the anchor, and off we went.  I picked another spot that was a pretty good producer and got us all set up again.  "I don't think this is a very good spot.  We better move."  I was sensing a pattern.  "Why do you want to move again, Luke?"  "Dad, I don't really want to catch a fish."  "What's that?"

You know all of that mumbo jumbo about not pressuring my kids into becoming master anglers?  I was finding that easier said than done right at that moment.  Somehow, I was able to reach deep inside and not allow myself to get stuck there for too long.  I realized that Luke's favorite part about coming out on the river was driving the boat.  Sitting in one place must have felt pretty boring to him when he compared it to captaining the ship.  Out came the half drowned worm, up came the anchor, and off we went.  If this was an episode of Super Nanny it would be time to roll the credits as she squeezed into the back of her little car feeling all good about herself.  The ignorant parent had finally realized what a fool he had been and he had changed his evil ways.

I always wonder what really happens after the Super Nanny crew leaves those families.  I'm pretty sure that they all fall apart again within a few days, maybe a few hours.  I got it, Luke would rather drive the boat than sit in one place.  I let him.  You would expect that he would be just as happy as he could be.  Instead he got mad because we were going too slow.  "Go ahead and open it up, boy."  Pretty soon we were going too fast.  "C'mon, buddy.  Let's go ahead and get back down by the bridge and you can take a break and drink your Bug Juice."  "I've got to pee."

Throttle down, shorts down, hang him over the edge.  Like his dad, the boy gets the stage fright.  Everything has to be just right to get the stream flowing.  I guess spinning down a river with his dad hoisting him over dirty water wasn't Luke's idea of "just right."  I looked around the boat and my eyes landed on the Bug Juice bottle.  Luke wouldn't have any of it.  Finally, I had to get out my tupperware container that usually holds my cut bait.  I figured the flatties might like a little salt flavoring on their sucker backstraps that night.  This larger container allowed Luke to finally relax enough to flip that psychological pee switch.  We were both pretty relieved.

We finally made it back down between the bridge and the launch.  Our new plan was to use Luke's fishing pole to catch some suckers for Dad to use later in the night.  "Dad, I have to poop."  "Where's my cell phone?  I'm pretty sure that Grandma is ready to pick you up."

Take a kid fishing, but don't get too set on fishing.  Be ready for anything.  Despite my depiction of that evening, we really did have fun and Luke still talks about it.  Somewhere in there, he caught his first catfish.  It was a tiny little channel cat that jabbed me in the hand with its spine when I went to release it.  My hand swelled a little bit and itched for the rest of the night.

Just the other day, Luke asked me when we could go back out in Grandpa's boat.  "Really, you want to go fishing again?"  "Yeah, I want some of that Bug Juice."

Sideshow

If you do anything as much as I fish, you're bound to build a cache of stories about how things went different than planned.  I've found that the results can sometimes be scary, like in the case of sudden storms or running the river in the black of night.  They can also be kind of funny like when my dad absent mindedly released a hammer handle pike with the mouth spreader still holding his maw agape or when some old guy on the wooded bank caught me trying to sneak a pee in the middle of the river.  Here's a little mix of the scary and the funny.

I try to keep some kind of watch on the weather before I set out for a long night on the river.  I've noticed that my dad does too.  He's pretty quick to give me a call if something is coming at us.  He let's me know when it's out over Lake Michigan so that I have plenty of time to at least get anchored under the bridge.  He's saved my hide, or at least kept it dry, a number of times.  The irony about storms is that when they're pushing into your area, the fishing generally gets pretty hot.  I don't mind rain.  I've got pretty good rain gear and the channels especially seem to turn on when the surface of the water starts getting pelted with big drops.  Wind and lightning are what I watch out for, but sometimes I'm stubborn about even letting these two dangers push me off of the water.

Two summers ago I was out on what started as a normal trip.  I had fished all day in the hot sun, chasing after smallies and getting a nice supply of bait.  I anchored up at The Elbow just before dark.  With lines out, I was enjoying the coolness of the evening when I heard a freight train coming through the woods immediately adjacent to my boat.  I was trying to get some kind of fix on the source of that thunderous noise when the trees on the edge of the water went into a sudden frenzy.  Without warning, I was blown off anchor and at the mercy of gale force winds.  Wondering how a storm of this magnitude could have fallen off of my own and my dad's radar, I scrambled to get my lines in and everything that wasn't tied down thrown into the bottom of the boat.  With the rain and the lightning starting up, I pointed the bow down river and drove that little boat as fast as it would go.  I could see huge gusts of wind sweeping across the water in front of me.  I found myself in a wrestling match, trying to keep the boat in the middle of the river and headed in my intended direction.  Out of nowhere I got smacked in the side of the face with a huge leaf.  It stuck there for a few seconds and I thought that it was a bat.  I'm glad I was alone because I screamed like a little girl and flailed at it with both hands.  I wasn't going to let that little demon get its fangs into my neck.  I finally made it to the shelter of the bridge.  Knowing that my parents would be worried sick, I called to let them know that I was safe.  Just a few miles away at their home, there was no sign of a storm and they didn't have a worry in the world.

Later that same summer, I was fishing the shallow snag halfway up to The Elbow when a good old fashioned thunder storm rolled in on top of me.  The rain was amazing.  Anyone in their right mind would have fled for safety immediately.  Both of my rods started jumping with channel cat bites, so I couldn't tear myself away.  The panic growing from within me was screaming at me to get off of the river, especially as lightning flashed around me and the thunder seemed to get louder and follow the flashes more closely.  I fought the panic for 10 or 15 minutes before I remembered that I have a wife and 3 kids who were planning on me coming home in one piece that night.  When I got back to the launch there was actually a sheriff deputy waiting for me.  He must have noticed the empty trailer in the parking lot.  He didn't bother to speak to me or even get out of his cruiser.  When he saw that this fool was safe, he showed me the tail lights.  Despite my rain gear, I was soaked to the bone.  So much so that I walked right in the river to get the boat on the trailer.  That poor little bilge pump was working with all it had to empty the swamped boat.  I helped it out by pulling the plug.  Hint, put those things back in right away.  I foolishly decided to leave it out until my next trip.  Of course, I forgot all about it and the next time out I was met by a half sunk boat after I launched and parked my Jeep and trailer.

Speeding back down the river at 2 AM after each trip is probably the most dangerous thing that I do.  I thought that it finally caught up with me late this past summer.  I dropped off of The Elbow and opened it up in what is probably the darkest section of the river.  Before I could react I was right on top of something.  For a split second I thought that I was slamming into another boat T-bone style when all around me was the explosion of wings and the wild honks of a flock of Canada Geese.  I didn't go back to see if there were any casualties, but I'm pretty sure that I tagged at least a couple of them.  I didn't sleep much that night because my adrenaline soaked heart was shaking the bed.

I fish alone a lot mainly because I'm selfish.  I absolutely love the freedom of fishing exactly where and how I want.  A few people close to me have broken through my guarded insistence on solitude and ventured out with me.  A friend of mine lives on a small private lake with a million 13-14" bass and just as many hammer handle pike.  A little 12-foot john boat came with his house when he bought it and I spent a lot of time in my early 20's fishing in this dingy.  My brother-in-law, Evan, came out with me one morning in early fall.  I remember it being cold enough that we wore jeans and jackets.  I think that Evan was used to larger boats, because he stepped off of the dock and into that boat like it was a 45-foot Bayliner.  The corner that he stepped in immediately went under, bringing in water by the gallon.  All I could do was yell, "Evan!"  To his credit, he made the split second decision to save me, the trolling motor, and the deep cycle battery, and without hesitation dove head first into the chilly water.  Talk about tough, he dragged himself out, shook the water off like a dog, helped me bail the boat, and got in to fish like nothing ever happened.

Back in our early river days my dad had a rather small boat with an oversized motor that was as loud as a jackhammer.  My brother came out with us one morning.  After still fishing for awhile, we decided to try our luck at trolling.  Mike was in the front of the boat and I was right behind him.  Noticing that his line was stretching right past me, I became giddy at the thought of giving it a good pull to see his reaction.  Mike went from half asleep to standing at attention and reeling with everything he had.  When nothing was there, he simply said, "That was a good one." and sat back down with a shrug.  I waited a few more minutes and gave it a good triple yank.   He jumped like a hornet had stung him and started in again with the speed reeling.  This time he was shaking his head and muttering to himself like a schizophrenic homeless fellow.  It's a good thing that the motor was loud because I was convulsing with laughter just a few feet behind him and he had no idea.  I got him a couple more times before mercy prevailed.  To this day, Mike doesn't know that his encounter with a river monster was really just his immature brother acting on an impulse.  If the fishing ever gets slow and you find yourself with the opportunity to pull this little prank, I highly recommend it.  I found it to be extremely entertaining.

I'm feeling a little guilty about telling stories on family, so I better end with a little story about myself.  In the first few months after I started having some success with catfish, I brought my dad out to give him a taste.  We were fishing in the basin just up from the bridge when I tied into the biggest flathead in the river.  My fishing pole bent and strained with the weight of this behemuth.  Feeling my oats, I stepped right up on the bench to increase my profile as I went into battle.  The guys in the boats around us stopped fishing and turned to watch the show.  Traffic on the bridge came to a stand still as people got out of their cars and lined the railing to see what wonder I could have sunk a hook into.  After a long, muscle straining fight, a huge dark shadow began to emerge from the depths.  What finally broke the surface was not a flathead at all, but a hissing, sputtering leatherback turtle.  Luckily it was only in my "Ralphy" (A Christmas Story) like imagination that all of those people were watching me.  My embarrassment was really only met by my dad's chuckle as he reached for the needle nose pliers.

I'm sure that if I thought about it a little longer, I could come up with a few more.  Instead, I'll save them and maybe come back to this topic again sometime.  By then I'll probably have a few new ones to add.  I just hope none of them are about that time I hit a log and sunk the boat in the middle of nowhere at 1:30 in the morning.  I might be writing that one from Heaven.

Sophomore Blues

I couldn't get those muskies out of my mind this weekend, so I went back after them on Sunday afternoon.  The only way that I could justify going again so soon was if I brought my two oldest kids.  I should have known that I was biting off more than I could chew.  I think that I even had a nagging voice in the back of my head, but I was too focused on getting another chance.  

With minnows, gear, Gatorade, and snacks loaded on my back and in each of my hands, we headed out to my spot.  The walk in is about a quarter mile.  I tried to be patient as we slowly plodded along.  Both kids went down hard at least once and I had to keep reminding them to stay on the snow covered sections.  We eventually arrived at my little transition area drop off.  I went to work setting up my tip-ups and two jigging rods.  Besides the joy of hanging with my kids, bringing them along offers the opportunity to fish an additional 6 lines.  I only made use of one line for each of them, figuring that we probably wouldn't stay a real long time.

I have to say that overall, the kids did really well.  They both had every single pair of mittens that I packed for them wet within the first half-hour.  My son couldn't stop reeling up the line on the jigging poles even though I told him repeatedly that I had them set just where I wanted them.  He pouted and talked about wanting to go home a couple of times when I asked him to put the rod down.  They both devoured their Gatorade and M & M's as soon as we got settled.  But all in all, they stayed busy and simply had fun.  My daughter showed a lot of interest in catching fish.  She wanted to sit down and jig one of the poles, and she did a good job with it.  When interest in the fishing waned, they wandered around and practiced "ice skating" in their boots.  Best of all, they seemed to stay warm.

The trouble started when my daughter announced that she had to go to the bathroom.  No problem at first.  I grabbed some of the gear that I didn't need anymore, figuring that I could make my last trip off of the ice a little easier, and started back to the outhouse at the launch with both kids in tow.  They were pretty horrified by the outhouse, but both kids successfully made water.  Back we went.  My boy, who at this point tends to be a bit of a couch potato, got a little whiny on me as we walked back to our spot.  Wanting to keep him in the game, I put him on my shoulders for the majority of the walk.  He enjoyed this.  I was good with it until he began calling me his horsey and forbade me to speak because "horsies don't talk."

Here's the kicker.  Within about 20 minutes of getting back to our spot, my daughter announced again that she had to go to the bathroom.  I couldn't imagine making that journey all over again, and so soon.  I also couldn't believe that she could have to go again so quickly.  Horrible father that I am, I told her that there is no way that she could already have to go.  I watched her dance for about 5 more minutes when I realized that this was the real deal and I'd better get her back to the outhouse.  I told her to get a head start, I checked over our tip-ups and gear one more time, and then threw the boy back on my shoulders and headed out after her.  I was fully aware that we were heading into the most productive time of the day, but I tried to ignore this thought as I walked away from my tip-ups and rods.

I rounded the corner into the public access site just in time to see her heading into the outhouse.  The door didn't make it all the way closed before I could hear her wailing away.  At first I thought that she was just singing, as she's prone to do, but I pretty quickly realized that the poor girl was sobbing and screaming, "I didn't make it!" at the top of her lungs.  Just my luck, a couple of grizzly old ice fishermen were just getting back to their truck.  You can be sure that they weren't used to witnessing the drama that a kindergarten age girl can produce when she finds herself suddenly soaked in her own urine.  Feeling the burn of their glare on my back, I bent down to my daughter to try to comfort and quiet her.  I wasn't successful at either.  She only screamed louder.  She wailed over and over, "I just peed on myself!  I don't like it!"

Eventually, the gruff old boys moved on and I had my daughter calmed down to a whimpering mass of misery.  Still, there I was with a wet daughter, a boy who was quickly catching his sister's defeated spirit, and all of my stuff a quarter mile away on the ice.  I decided that I'd better just lock them in my Jeep and get my gear as quickly as I could.

Ever notice that hurrying makes you go slower?  I got two of my tip-ups tangled up, so I had to just throw the mess into my bucket.  My answer to the 8 pound test on my jigging poles, mentioned in an earlier entry, was to go to 20 pound Berkley Vanish.  What a mistake!  That stuff was literally jumping off of my reels in huge loops, even with the bail closed.  Of course, my worst tangle came when I was trying to hurry back to my kids.  I took out the scissors and made fast work of it.  I've since changed those reels out with 50 pound Power Pro.  We'll see how that works.  With fleeting disappointment over what a bust this trip turned out to be, I quickly made my way back to my kids.

When I finally made it to the Jeep I could see that the windows were all steamy and you could faintly hear both kids crying.  At least there wasn't a CPS worker waiting for me.  When I opened the hatch, my daughter said that she thought that I had gone out and kept fishing.  My son had just dropped his bubble gum and couldn't get to it because I had buckled him in.  I recovered the gum for the boy and he was good.  I took a little more time with my daughter.  I let her know that, first of all, I would never just keep fishing if I knew that it was causing her to be miserable.  I also apologized repeatedly and made it very clear that this whole thing was my fault and not hers.  She gave me a brief lecture on how I better listen to her from now on.  I humbly promised that I would do just that.  That was all she needed, except a bath and clean clothes.  She even asked me when we were going to come back and try it again.  I told her I didn't know, but our next trip would be to Grandma and Grandpa's where the bathroom is close.