Shale walls rise up all around me, in some spots close to 500 feet high, a landscape formed by glaciers and time and the river I am standing in. Crisp autumn air encourages the changing of leaves on the trees scattered throughout the valley. Bright yellows, reds and oranges contrast the monochromatic landscape. October clouds billow above the canyon walls.
Fifteen miles away lies Lake Erie, the smallest and shallowest of the Great Lakes. “Little” she may be, she still has the personality of an ocean and the potential to cause massive storms along her southern and eastern shores. Seven and a half feet of snow over the course of 36 hours? 60mph winds and whiteout conditions, winter windchill in the -20’s and -30’s? Yep, there is a reason they call them the GREAT Lakes.
About 120 years ago someone had the bright idea to put steelhead in the tributaries and so began the Great Lakes Steelhead fishery, which is what first lead me here. At this point I’d like to think that I would know this place even if it weren’t for the steelhead. The chalky emerald pools are entrancing especially, when swinging a fly through them. The hypnotic rhythm of the stepping and swinging game can make days disappear like seconds.
When you finally get that grab from a bright, hot, fish you’ll have trouble walking away. The anticipation with every swing fully expecting a fish to hammer the fly, the surge of adrenaline when that connection finally is made, and the moment of awe when you see those perfect translucent fins, a full adipose and that gleaming bright metal. Its just a fish but it is much more than just a fish.
For three months the routine is the same, you spend every minute that you can on the river, you lose sleep staying up late tying flies and leaving for the river long before dawn. In the end your feet are cold, the leaves have all fallen, winter is moving in and another year has passed. You look forward to spring…