The Brown Trout Moon Dance

The late October day had passed all too quickly. The thrill of fly fishing northern Michigan during the peak of the fall salmon and trout spawning runs had been a mesmerizing experience.

The setting sun had brought to a close an award-winning episode on Michigan’s famed Platte River. Longtime friend, guide, and outdoor writer Dave Richey and I had been guiding clients from Iowa. That day had found us in the midst of a heavy run of chinook and coho salmon and some huge brown trout.

We had put our clients into a mind-boggling number of fish, and it had been a truly legendary kind of day. We fished a stretch of river that looked yellow-orange because of the spawning colors of lake-run brown trout scattered throughout the river.

Big brown trout were everywhere!

I witnessed savage runs of these powerful fish, and watched them break 10-pound test line like it was sewing thread, leaving clients drop-jawed and speechless. But now the day was over, and our clients had returned to their cabin.

They were sated from numerous struggles with big fish. The year was 1971, and they complained of sore arms and wrists, but their smiles stretched from ear to ear. They had brown trout, Chinook salmon and coho salmon carefully wrapped and padded for a taxidermist, and they would be frozen solid as they headed for home in the morning. Their salmon and trout fillets were packed away in the deep freeze.

Our waders, rods and tackle all rested in their proper places, and we were on our way to dinner. We were lean and mean in those bygone days, and one meal a day was normal for us. Now, after all the day's work was done, we were on a bee-line for some hot chow.

After a great meal and one sundowner, we talked about the unbelievable number of big brown trout we had encountered that day. Dave and I couldn’t shake off the intensity of that outing, and the number of big brown trout we had found. This was a day around which guides and their clients build fishing dreams around.

Perhaps, deep down inside, we knew the odds were very good we'd never see a river filled with browns like that again during our lifetime. Some of the gravel spawning beds had held 10-15 male and female browns, and more kept nosing their way upstream in their search for a spawning site. The same was true on most gravel bars up and down the river.

It was 10:30 that night as we left the restaurant and the night sky was filled with the energy and light from the Rutting Moon. We looked at each other, and then I said: “Lets go back after ‘em. They will still be there.”

Dave put the car in gear and we were heading for the Platte River. I'd noticed that his Black Beauty fly rod was all set, and knotted at the end of the leader was a No. 6 Dave's Favorite that had been tied by his twin brother George.

The big brown trout spawning session was still underway.

We found a crystal-clear river, filled with trophy-sized spawning brown trout. The night sky, energized by the light of the full moon, provided great lighting, and we were as giddy as school girls.

We soon reached the river, parked the car and walked slowly and softly down the bank. The shallow gravel beds, fanned hard and shiny with overturned white stones, glistened in the moonlight. The river was choked with big browns that held downstream from spawning salmon. They were suckers for orange or pink flies.

A pathway, clear of obstacles, lay alongside the spawning trout, and it provided perfect casting opportunities. I tied on one of George’s Platte River Pink flies, and the first cast retrieved across the gravel bar triggered a strike that sent a huge brown trout tail-walking in a moon dance of silvery spray across the shimmering Platte River. Two fishing guides had arrived at Fly Fishing Heaven.

A hook-jawed old male brown trout (right).

I hooked a big fish, a male with a kype as big as a crooked little finger, and the fish took me down the river. Dave shook out line through his fly rod, shot a cast across the river, and as it swung in the current, another brown trout hit as the line straightened out below him.

For two hours we danced one brown trout after another across the moonlit river. We were in our individual thoughts during this piece of time. Just us and the fish that took us there.

Dave then worked a big brown down the river, and I sat on the bank, unable to cast again. I was shutting down alongside the river that gave us the greatest single night of brown trout fishing ever.

This had been a day & night to remember. Many fish were caught during daylight as well.

I awoke to Dave’s voice: “ Hey, partner, I almost stepped on you! You had enough for one night?”

“ Yeah”, I replied, “Let's pack it in. We need some sleep before meeting our new people in the morning.”

We walked back to the car, stowed our rods, and as I looked up into the night sky, I knew we would never forget the Night of the Brown Trout Moon Dance. Every one of the golden male browns and silvery females were released.

And you know what? We've never forgotten that one night in our shared lives when the brown trout fishing was twice as good as anyone could ever want.

Editor's Note: John McKenzie was one of my fishing guides from 1968 to 1976, and this is another of his stories from an event that happened 39 years ago. He still loves river fishing and whitetail hunting, and he, like I, remembers the old days with great fondness because they may never come our way again. Dave's book Great Lakes Steelhead Flies, a limited edition leather-bound book, contains the patterns and photos of the flies mentioned above and many other early steelhead ties. The books are mint, numbered and signed, and are long out of print. He has a few copies left at $60 each plus $5 shipping and handling. Make checks payable to David Richey, PO Box 192, Grawn, MI 49637.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors