The first group of anglers had camped out overnight. Their truck beds and backseats had been carefully prepared for such adventures. Pillows, sleeping bags, and power from sources other than car batteries were set up right alongside waders, jackets, and pre-rigged fly rods. It was less about comfort and more about sliding from a quasi-comfortable night’s sleep into the cold water of the river.
The salmon and lake-run brown trout of the Great Lakes tributaries are sought after quarry. Their seasonality, their size, and their relative scarcity flip a switch in outdoorsmen’s brains from late fall to ice-in. Fishing for them becomes a part of the weekly routine if you live nearby. Long drives for short days on the water are the burden of those who have caught the bug.
And, of course, there is the whole “combat fishing” aspect to the enterprise. When fishing public water, best case scenario involves standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Casts and drifts are synchronized to avoid tangles. Dozens of anglers effectively form an ineffective dragnet. Worst case scenario? Snaggers, fisticuffs, and a dangerous spike in the collective blood pressure. Thankfully, there is enough common grace for the former circumstance to be common enough.
Still, getting on the water first is the best way to enjoy the sportsmanship of one’s fellow man.
The second group of anglers’ headlights illuminate the groggy campers as they emerge, steaming from their makeshift lodging. There is a bit of resentment that goes both ways. Who deserves it more? The ones who slept in their cars all night or the ones who consciously left their comfortable beds at an unreasonable hour? Regardless, the commuters still have to don their waders and orient their gear. The campers claim the first spots and begin to swing flies first.
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