A Platte Bay Reunion

The waterspout dipped down out of a nasty looking storm cloud over East Platte Bay  that day, and we watched the water-borne tornado for two minutes before it lifted off the water and disappeared back into the black clouds.

"Neat," said Jack Duffy of Leland. "I've seen a fair number of them while chartering out of Leland for lake trout and salmon, but I've never seen one on Platte Bay."

The waterspout was the spice that comes from spending time with a good friend, outdoors at a location that we both truly love, and we were there ostensibly to fish for steelhead off the Platte River mouth. Actually, fishing for steelhead was just an excuse for the two of us to get together to spend part of a day at a place that holds many dear memories for both of us. This episode happened two or three years ago, and I just remembered it.

Late-fall can be a good or bad time for steelhead off the Platte River.

Duffy and I have been friends for more than 40 years, and we pioneered brown trout fishing back in the late 1960s and early 1970s when he lived in Midland and I lived in Clio. We fished those brown trout hard, and caught hundreds of fish to 20 pounds at a time when no one knew they existed, and then one day Lady Luck smiled and he caught a 31 1/2-pound brown that set a state record.

He was the only guy I know who  has caught a coaster brook trout off the Platte River mouth, and it weighed about five pounds. We've seen the Platte Bay fishery rise and fall over all of these years, and whenever we return to fish, we are really returning to a place where some great fishing dreams once came true. Granted, that doesn't mean that new dreams can't be realized but the  fish simply are not there in heavy numbers as they once were.

Duffy had two lines out with spawnbags fished just off bottom in the river current. It's a technique we've used all these years to catch steelhead, but the fish seemed conspicuous by their absence. They lay out there drifting with the river current, and nothing bothered them. He was using an old Shakespeare rod that he used to catch his former state-record brown trout in an attempt to relive some of his old memories.

Casting small spoons sometimes pays off but not on this day.

I cast Devle Dogs in several colors by wading out into the lake and casting into deep water. Enough casts were made to make my shoulder sore, and there were no hits, no runs and I made no errors. The steelhead, if any were present, were not interested in our offerings.

We discussed the places we fished in Platte Bay for browns, and noted that the Lombardi poplars that once lined the shoreline of  East Platte Bay are mostly gone now. They provided great landmarks at a time when landmarks played an important role in fishing. Duffy, like me, has aged and those memories of long ago are important to both of us. We discussed, in depth, the many brown trout we'd caught trolling on the bay.

We'd wade  into the surf, and I'd cast my lures  while he checked his spawnbags and replaced them with a new one. My lures were switched, and fan-casting them and varying retrieval speeds and sinking times were tried. The steelhead ignored our offerings as if there wasn't a fish in the area.

Our stories were told, we caught up on each others families, and discussed his chartering business and my writing business,  and decided that we are both fortunate to have a vocation and avocation that is the same: fishing. Duffy pulled his first line, and we were wrapping things up. We had shared yet another precious memory from this hallowed spot by seeing the waterspout.

He grabbed the other rod, and felt a slight pull, and I heard that old familiar squeaky voice I remember from nearly four decades ago: "There's a fish  hitting this spawnbag," he squeaked, giving the fish a bit of line. "He's taking more line out. Watch out there when I set the hook."

The rod tip came back, and the fish was hooked. We then talked about how many last-minute fish he and I have caught while fishing together, and it's a large number. The fish ripped off a bunch of six-pound line, jumped twice, all bright silver and glittery in the pale sunlight. Again the fish jumped, and he began working the fish back only to have it take out more line.

Slowly, and gradually with a minimum of pressure, the mint-silver steelhead started to lose the battle. Duffy played the fish gently, and led the fish up to the beach to a gentle landing. It was a hen steelhead with a small head and bright silvery flanks, and little did she know but this fish was the climax to another in a long line of unforgettable days we've shared.

A typical Lake Michigan brown trout like this were common may years ago.

Really, what can top a morning of fishing the surf of Platte Bay, remembering my brother George getting hooked in the head by an angler who only knew how to cast sidearm. We removed the hooks, and the wound bled hard, but it finally stopped, and we continued fishing. We discussed the big browns we once caught like they were hatchery trout, and we recalled those days, like today, when we had the whole area to ourselves.

We recalled. with great relish, that there is much more to fishing than catching fish. That one steelhead was about six pounds but it was the capstone to a wonderful day filled with great camaraderie, grand memories of other earlier times, and one nice fish. Seeing the waterspout was simply a bonus.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors