Hoxeyville

Thought For The Day

The first time I ever went trout fishing was with Doug Jensen and Fred Doerr, friends from my church. So when Doug suggested the trip to me I simply told my parents who I'd be going with and it was an automatic OK. My parents were not big on authorizing trips out of town.

I grew up in Saginaw, Michigan, a town built on the back of Michigan's forests. When the area had been stripped of it's trees a new kind of industry was taking shape. General Motors foundries and steering gear manufacturing facilities were beginning to spread across the landscape. But, that's another story. Michigan was a natural wonderland for hunting and fishing. Just an hour or two north of Saginaw there were forests, lakes and rivers in abundance. That's where we were headed.

Fishing had not been a big part of my life. I had done a little fishing at Boy Scout camping outings but that was either from a boat or a dock. What Doug was offering was wading in the stream and fishing. That sounded interesting. It also sounded strange. My parents were deathly afraid of water. I never saw them swim, ride in a boat or dangle their feet in the water. If any of their children got near the water they panicked. That had made natural water sources an unknown to me. I took swimming classes at the YMCA but that was entirely different. I began building danger into the adventure.

Doug explained the fundamentals of trout fishing to me. He said we would use spinning rods, split shot and hooks. Our bait would be night crawlers. To fill out our equipment package we needed old tennis shoes. They would protect our feet while we waded. He said that trout had a soft mouth. I had no idea what that meant but he explained the process to me. It basically meant we should not jerk hard on the line if we got a bite. If we did we would likely pull the hook out of the trouts mouth and injure the fish.

I asked Doug where we were going. He said we'd head up toward Cadillac and look for a good place near there.There were lots of streams in the area. At that particular time in Michigan many people had cottages in the north country. Many of them were small, primitive buildings. That offered only minimal sanctuary, but a chance to be in a natural setting before returning to the factories. that made it possible for them to afford a home away from home. Cadillac was an area with a lot of these cottages.

Doug said we would find an area that had a river by watching the terrain. When we saw a valley, we knew there would be water at the bottom of the slope. We'd look at the area and decide it it were primitive enough for us to set up camp and do some fishing.

It might help if I told you a little bit about Doug and Fred. If I don't you won't believe a word I say.  And, believe me what I am about to tell you could test our relationship. But I promise, it really did happen this way. I'll tell you about Fred tomorrow.

©Herb Ratliff, July 16, 2012, All Rights Reserved 

The First Opener on the North Branch

Thought For The Day

Thirty one years later: August 2008

 back row l to r Paul Stenglein, Dave Stenglein, Jim Trembley, Jim Allerdyce, Me

Front: Jeff Stenglein, Bill Stenglein

During the winter of 1977 Jim Trembley and I had bought a piece of property on the North Branch of the Au Sable. A large section, about sixty acres had been split up into parcels, we had gone to Grayling, MI and got five of them, acres, with a little over two hundred feet of frontage on the river. We couldn't see it very well, it was wooded and pretty steep but it was ours and we were anxiously awaiting a chance to see it in the Spring. So on the Friday before the opener, it was the first official Arbor Day,  we headed north to our new spot to investigate.

The drive north is about two hours. We were pretty worked up about seeing it. We talked of building a place that overlooked the river, teaching our kids how to fly fish, lunkers just waiting for our mighty fishing skills and all the years we would get to fish together. When we finally arrived we were out of the car like a couple of kids going into Disneyland. The land looked absolutely pristine. I felt like the lord of the manner, OK, co lord. It was beautiful. The land sat near the foundations of the halfway house where the road crossed the river. It was a rest stop between Grayling and Mio. The fireplace stood high even though the hotel was long gone.

We wandered down by the river. It was difficult to walk because the ground was knotted up with grass and bog, a minor inconvenience. The stretch of water was straight, flat and deep, a perfect place to watch the surface dimple when the trout were feeding. We were mesmerized. It was getting late and dark and we had to find a place to spend the night. So we headed back toward the car. We were going in a different direction than our trip in and so we ended up passing near a cabin. A man was standing in the doorway. We waved and Jim said, "Let's go introduce ourselves." That shocked me because Jim was not the most social person I knew, especially when we were fishing. But, I said sure and we walked over to the house and met Bill Stenglein, the owner of the cabin.

He invited us into the cabin to have a beer. We said yes. We ended up having a pizza, meeting his sons and some family friends, spending the night and becoming life long friends. Telling you about Bill Stenglein and his family will have to happen another day. They deserve a lot of space. Enjoy the weekend friends, I will miss being there with you.

 And to you Bill, what can I say? I've never met a better fly fisherman or a better man. Thank you, my friend.

Herb Ratliff, April 27, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Old Friends and Old Habits

Thought For The Day

Jim Trembley

The last Saturday in April is the traditional opening of Trout Season in Michigan, a day that I looked forward to above all others for many years at least for my own benefit. The long, cold, grey winter could not diminish or dilute the longing to enter the river, fly rod in hand to test my skills against the wary trout. It was one of those spiritual moments when I became a part of the water, the environment and the promise of life's goodness. Here began the soft music of the fly line whistling through the air, the soft gurgle of the river, the ambient sounds of birds and insects all arranged in such precision that I felt weightless and intractably immersed in pure harmony.

Sometimes I got immersed in the river. Wading in a stream is an interesting way to spend a day. It is not without problems and surprises.

When I graduated from University of New Mexico and moved to Flint, MI I met a man who would become my closest ally in the world of fly fishing. Jim Trembley had grown up in Flint and in his pursuit of his goal of Eagle Scout had been exposed to nature in the best possible way, through the leadership of men who cared deeply for a good design for living, respect of people and the environment and a love of nature. Jim and I became frequent partners on the ride to the Au Sable  River. We would often take off on Tuesday evenings and drive north to the South Branch and fish the Mason Tract late into the night. We would fish all day Wednesday and return that evening. We rode together, had lively conversations and then fished alone and met at an agreed upon time to discuss our results. Sometimes the results were less about fish and more about how many different kinds of larvae live in the river that you can see quite clearly while sitting on a log by the bank or the richness of bird and animal life in the area.

Jim also ties flies and provides me with an endless supply them. Truth be told, every fish of size and memory that I have ever caught has been deceived by Jim, but he's a lawyer. What can I say?

Saturday I will not be fishing with Jim but I will be thinking about him and all the openers we spent together, I am in Atlanta, GA now and he still lives in Flint. Hopefully we will get together this summer for a fly fishing appreciation day if he isn't too old and tired for it.

Herb Ratliff, April 26, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Nymphs, Midges and Streamers

Thought For The Day

You can: 

let go, 

drop,  or toss, 

throw out, cut off, or  abandon,

back out, bail out or bow out,

flake out, fly the coop, or give up the ship

quit, run out on or storm out,

take a powder, take a walk or wash your hands of,

leave behind, relinquish or withdraw

 but the truth is it's probably

a lot better to

just 

release gently.

©Herb Ratliff, February 10, 2011, All Rights Reserved

Baby, The Rain Must Fall

Even the bird songs drip.

The rain, ceaselessly saturates the ground, the air, my thoughts.

There is no sunshine, no wind, just wet.

Can you imagine forty days and nights?

What is gopher wood anyway?

And what is a cubit?

The sun is waiting,  like me

for a better day,

for a bluer sky,

fly away.

Herb Ratliff, January 27, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Little Girls, Fly Rods and Early Mornings

Little Girls, Fly Rods and Early Mornings

Anyone who knows even a little bit about me knows that I love to wade streams and tempt trout with hand tied flies. It has been a part of my life for a long time. So it would probably come as no surprise to people that wanting my children to join me in such an activity would be a logical next step and they would be spot on. The story begins with a trip the family took to Frankfort , Michigan sometime in the seventies, my guess is about seventy six. That would make Bud six, Julie four and Lindsay a coming attraction.

We were to be there for a week and the weather had been very nice. Bud and Julie wanted to get up early and go trout fishing with dad so we planned for each of them to have their own morning to go alone with me. So far, so good. Bud's morning began with twittering birds, light on the horizon, the sun's head just beginning to rise and so we went to a dandy little breakfast place and had hot chocolate, pancakes, sausage and the lot. We trekked off to the river and gathered some trout and went back to the cabin for the cheers of the waiting crowds of expectant, adoring fans. We were not disappointed, they treated us like royalty returning from battle, victorious.

Julie's morning was somewhat less idyllic. It was raining torrents, we could barely see out the window. I meekly suggested we put off the adventure for a better day and Julie howled her disapproval and demanded we not let a little rain stop our adventure. What could I do. I did not have appropriate rain gear for a four year old or sufficient creativity to come up with a reasonable alternative plan to satisfy the desire of a four year old to go fishing with her dad. (This single minded determination was not a single incident. Did I mention that she is a CPA?) I tried a variety of approaches all designed to try a delay but that was useless. Finally, I had to come up with some kind of plan that would come close to keeping her protected from the elements. I searched through my fishing equipment but sizes were simply not compatible and so I had to take another tack. 

Garbage bags. Yep, that's what this great mind came up with to solve the problem. A cutout for the head and arms would work for the torso, the corner cutoff for a hat, a small bag tied at the thigh for each leg, (wading) and sleeves fashioned out of other bags. You've heard of  "The Man From Glad"? This was a little twist on the theme.

Dressed and protected, at least momentarily, for the elements we took our gear to the car and went as fast as we could to the little breakfast place for hot chocolate and warm food. I won't detail the fishing because what I remember most clearly is that I was with my little girl dressed in fly fishing gear and we were on our way to a glorious adventure. And do you know what? That is without a doubt one of the finest fishing or fathering experiences I have ever had.

©Herb Ratliff, January 26, 2012, All Rights Reserved

River Magic

River Magic

You'll find me sitting by the water,

staring in it or around

watching all that starts

or ends there,

with or without any sound.

In the Spring it's mayfly hatches,

rising off the placid surface

while the trout's now lurking shadow

waits to dine, his only purpose.

Then the summer's rich delivery

when fish and insects do abound

I'll seek the shadows haunts to sleep in

hearing only water's sound.

Fall begets the tiny midges,

dragon flies and water sprites

then I fear that winter's coming

shorter days and longer nights.

Bundled up in downy vestments,

mesmerized by bluest skies

I think of all the trout engagements

ending in a sweet good bye.

©Herb Ratliff, December 5, 2011, All Rights Reserved.