“That river — that Brule — sweeping for 66 miles from the heart of Douglas County, Wisconsin, to Lake Superior. I’ve already said too much about it … I must be cautious, but it is hard to even think of it without accompanying rhapsody. But maybe it’s not a bad thing to fall in love with a river.”
I went to the Bois Brule because of Gordon MacQuarrie and the Stories of the Old Duck hunters. Mac and Hizzoner’s exploits on the Brule were legendary, and steelhead are the fish of dreams. When my college roommate was getting married in Minneapolis, I decided to tack on an extra day in a foolhardy attempt at fishing such a distant, historic river with no prior experience or guidance.
It’s a long drive- I can admit it- technically over a day. I had two hours to go when I woke up at the wayside in Northern Wisconsin. In my first glimpse of the river, it was everything I hopped- picturesque and approachable, but formidable looking enough to portent a real challenge. Moments after passing the river I saw a strutting tom. Though a bit unexpected, it would turn out to be a pleasant recurrence on this trip.
I wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or a bad sign when I pulled into the first access point and found no other cars. I saw the standard fishing access sign posting regulations and a local map, and the river was right there, so I didn’t waste any time getting started.
Where I was in the lower stretch, it was a relatively tame river that seemed generally wadable, with the exception of a few random pools. Lined almost entirely with pines in this section, I fished upstream and downstream of the access point for about an hour with no bites and no signs of fish.
I moved to the second spot on my list, this time, an access point that required a little and somewhat unclear walk to the river. There were multiple intersecting paths that lead to different points. I attempted to follow the most prominent path, and waded out into the river to fish above and below a large beaver dam creating a slack-water pool to the side of the main flow. Again finding no fish I decided to move on the the next spot on my list.
As I got back to the car, I noticed there was another car parked beside me and an older man getting ready to head down to the river to fish. “Giving up already?” he asked. I told him that I wasn’t really familiar with the area and wanted to at least explore some different spots so that I’d have a better plan if I ever return. He told me the spring run was almost over and that the last run of fish was pouring out of the river. And then, as Gordon MacQuarrie himself put it- “On this day my friendliness paid dividends.”
When I asked if he thought I should just try for smaller resident trout upstream, he looked to the side and said, “This is against my better judgement, but if you don’t have anything to do and you want to come with me, I guarantee I’ll put you on fish.” I was astonished- that is not something fishermen just say to each other- not just offering to put a stranger on fish out of the blue, but being certain you can do it. He explained that he had driven three hours to fish there yesterday, and then again this morning, he was that certain the action would be good. Needless to say I jumped at the chance to follow him.
We walked back to the exact same spot I had been fishing, and continued right across and up the river. We talked about turkey hunting and his 40 years of experience coming up to fish the Brule with his dad, who had been coming there for 40 years before that. He showed me the spot where he hooked his first steelhead. We talked about the turkeys I had seen, and the turkey hunting he had done across the midwest. Craig was a true sportsman.
Approaching a small dam we crossed the river again, and he explained that up and downstream for a few hundred yards was a fish refuge where no fishing is allowed. When we passed the refuge we approached two large successive pools each around a quick bend in the river. Starting in the upper pool, Craig showed me how to fish his rig- it was a simple close-range drift. He hooked and lost a fish on his first cast to demonstrate.
Within a few minutes of fishing he had caught several fish. Not long after, I hooked my first steelhead- an absolute dream. It took drag and made several leaps, fighting for 5 or 6 minutes before I got it to the net. Not large by steelhead standards- only 17-18″- but the largest trout I had ever caught, and that one fish alone made the excursion smashing success. I continued to fish and lost another, far smaller fish, as Craig hooked fish after fish on a nearly identical rig, but instead of a fly on the end of his line, there was a bare hook onto which he was sticking whole night-crawlers.
After his fourth of fifth fish, Craig insisted that I try the setup with a nightcrawler, and I moved down to the seemingly more productive section of the pool he had been fishing. Before long, I was hooked into a tremendous fish. It fought for more than 10 minutes. Took drag again and again, and leapt many times. When we finally got it in the net, I had landed a 27″ steelhead. It was an absolute beauty. After a few quick pics, only one of which turned out, I was releasing that beautiful fish back into his magical river.
After that I sat back on the bank to have a snack and watch Craig fish. I tried to just take it all in, and revel in my unbelievable fortune. I decided I should at least make a serious go of using my own tackle, and spent the next hour and a half throwing my fly rod to no effect. In my defense things had seemed to have slowed down for Craig also by this point. As my thoughts turned to my final destination in Minneapolis, I decided to leave him to do his thing in peace. I thanked him profusely, and promised to pay it forward- a promise I intend to keep.