GreatMich.com Fishing Report and More....

The journey started long ago, long before my buzzing alarm clock reminded, not awoken me at 3:30 this morning. As I tied my estaz nuke eggs and stonefly selection my hands started to shake, maybe it was the $30 cuban and bluemoon, maybe it was the anticipation of the following days silver spelunk. With my cliffs bug caddies spewing with feathers I started my annual trek from Chicago to the Great north of the fine state of Michigan. Should I fish the waters of the winding White, Where I once landed a magnificent 11lb green gator. Should I fish the prestine froth of the Pere Marquette where so many of the fishing legends of yesteryear cut their teeth in. No, I think I will try my flip of the card on the once bountiful, since broken Betsie river. I had never fished this gem of a water sprout and figured it was about time I had softened my sundried simms guide series wading clogs in these fabled waters. The Volvo is gassed and I am burning up 31 towards my destination, nothing matters, I am lost in a steelhead utopia of my imagination. I take a detour to a must stop gas station, this is not just any gas station, it is the gas station/DUBLIN JERKY distributor located on the corner of 55 and 37. As I peer over the seemingly endless bags of jerky I find myself at a crossroad. Should I by the bbq elk that I have become to love, wait they also have jalapeno venison, OH MAN is that a bag of terriyaki beef I spy! There is no way on earth a man can walk out of that store with just one bag, it is not humanly possible I tell you. As I further my trek up 55 I strip a tuft of the bbq elk from the teeth ripped ziplock baggie and pop it into my mouth. Next thing I know I am driving down the homestead road and parking in front of the homo made eye sore of an anadromy blockage. There is no need to suit up as I have driven 5 hours in anticipation dressed as if I was throwing snap Ts all night in the snowy darkness. I pull my brand new Sage Z axis 9'6 6wt armed with a brooktrout anodized super 7 Abel and brand stinkin new teeny running line. As I walk down the trail I nab a flask that I had previously filled on a trip to the Jefferson that was still holding well in my vest. Jameson is suddenly warming my throat and soon my stomach has a warm sensation. I wander until I find a nice stretch of pocket water that obviously has a handful of these mystical chrome creatures stirring about in. I take 4 good strips from my reel and fling the lightly weighted estaz/stonefly dropper rig towards the eagerly shuffling steelhead. On my first drift I feel a good hesitation and haul back on the z axis like i am trying to pull start a lawn mower. Game on baby, game on! The fish is thrashing violently across the surface then peels off downstream ripping off 50 yards of running line. SNAP! Oh man! What a rush, first cast and I lose a big one!

Time is running short so I will share the end of my wonderful excursion at a later time.