Me and Max fish the AuSable River

Besides trout, Max Donovan loved to hunt ducks and geese

Max Donovan, consumate outdoorsman and mentor, admires one element of the beauty of waterfowling.
photo Dave Richey ©2012

Some 55 years ago, my long-time mentor -- Max Donovan of Clio -- took pity on the scrawny blond-haired kid with glasses, and took me north to fish the mainstream AuSable River for trout.

"We're going to be fishing near a place called Wa-Wa-Sum," Max said. "It don't make no difference what fly is hatching today. We'll be using the Adams, a No. 12 or 14, I suspect."

Now, a bit of background history. Max was a hemophiliac, a bleeder. He would bleed for a week or more if he nicked his chin while shaving. He also was, at the time, the oldest living hemophiliac who had part of a leg amputated. His "wooden leg," as he called it, worked quite handily and he could wade well at the time.

He also had forgot more about fishing than many know

The drive proved a lesson in history about the inventor of the Adams fly, which we would soon be using. Max had it down pat.

"This here is my favorite fly and I can catch any kind of trout on it that rises to the surface to feed," and after having shared many fishing trips with Donovan, I knew he could do it. "This fly looks like many other flies, and drift it drag-free over a feeding fish, they will take it like they were starving.

"OK, Len Halladay of Mayfield (just north of Kingsley), invented the Adams fly in 1922 to fish on Mayfield Pond and streams such as the Boardman River. He named the fly after his friend, Judge Charles Adams of Ohio."

The fishing was perfect on a great day

Some feel the Adams closely imitates some mayflies and stoneflies. The fly, born at the Mayfield Hotel and first used on Mayfield Pond, has been imitated but Halladay's original creation, is a wonderful catcher of trout.

"Now, listen up, don't you worry about me," Donovan said after his Len Halladay-Adams  one-sided discussion. "I'm heading downstream. I know this stretch of water well, and know where the deeper spots are. I know where the trout hold and where they don't.

"Got any Adams flies," he asked, knowing full well I didn't. "Here are a half-dozen. Lose them all in the trees and it will be a long day. Watch your back cast, don't pitch the flies into the trees, and find a feeding fish. There will be a quiz later about what you've learned while fishing alone."

His lecture on the Adams fly was forgotten as I headed upstream

Off he went, with a little hitch in his git-along, and he would drill casts under over-hanging branches to fish water most anglers could never reach. I watched him fish around the bend and out of sight, and then headed upstream along the bank.

I was looking for rising fish, and soon found some. I'd work into position, cast so the No. 14 Adams landed a few feet above the rising trout. I mended the line like Max had taught me, and soon hooked a 12-inch brown. Into my creel it went, this being well before the catch and release restrictions.

Mind you, this was in the days of yore, long before this stretch near Wa-Wa-Sum became catch-and-release. For me, at the time, fishing was a philosophy of catch-and-keep.

The fish were fairly easy, and I caught several and put a few down with a sloppy cast. One was a beautiful 14-inch brown, and being young and needing praise from the master, the fish was kept.

Time dragged on as the sun started lowering into the west, and I fished back downstream to the end of Thendara Road where we had parked.

There was just enough rising trout to keep me interested

A good fish rose just upstream from the road-end at Wa-Wa-Sum, and I worked him patiently. I erred on the side of caution on my approach, and eventually worked myself close enough to the fish to drift a fly. I switched to a No. 12, a  larger fly, and knew I'd have but one or two casts.

The brown moved to the fly, tipped up and sipped it off the surface. The fish jumped once, settled into a midstream scrap, and he was finally landed.

Some clapping was heard, and Max stood by the car watching, and offered a "Good job. Let's take a look at him."

Max had a way of making me look better than him

He said he never caught a fish but I didn't believe him, but I showed off five fish including two really nice ones. He studied them and me, asked it I'd had a good day, and he was told that it had been a wonderful day.

Then came the quiz. "When did Len Halladay invent the Adams? I had forgotten about the date and the quiz.

"That's great," he said. "In view of your exceptionally good luck and my poor luck, and because you failed the test, I'm going to let you clean all those fish. We will eat them tonight as we think of our trout fishing day, Len Halladay, the Adams fly, and how you really made me look bad.

"For that, you also get to wash and dry all the dishes. My bum leg is getting a bit tender, so I have get off it, and because I'm all gimped up and can't get away, I suppose you'll torture me to death about your fish-catching prowess."

Somehow, I knew I'd get stuck with the cooking and dishes. But that was the price of admission to learn about trout fishing and fly-tying history from the master.

Bless him. He's been gone for nearly 30 years but it's amazing how many memories I have of me and Max fishing and hunting. All are treasured, and will be trotted out occasionally. Stay tune for another at some future date.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

The squirrel wars

Hunting squirrels after the corn picker comes along will work.

The fox squirrel was making his move. He was putting a stalk on our backyard bird feeder.

Squirrels must have poor memories. They spend all summer and fall hoarding food for winter, but they apparently forget where they left their stash of goodies. This bushytail was advancing on our bird feeders in a flanking maneauver, and I waited for him to start up the tree.

The door was rattled, and I swear that bushytail cleared 10 feet and hit the snowy ground running. He will wait until he can get away with it, and try to empty the sunflower seed feeder.

Black, fox, grey & red squirrels have a never-give-up attitude for our bird seed.

Squirrel season used to end at the end of December, but now the season runs through March 1. And it's a made-to-order hunt on those days when the snow is skimpy or nonexistent, and when the weather is warm on a winter's day.

Would I shoot one off the bird feeder? Of course not, but between chipmunks, red squirrels and their larger cousin -- the fox squirrel -- it has been a war around here for years.

Bought a 50-pound bag of sunflower seeds lately. How about thistle seeds or Niger seeds? No, well they are expensive and the prices for seed never goes down.

I don't believe there is any such thing as a squirrel-proof bird feeder. I've seen them shinny up a fiberglass pole attached to the railing. It was supposed to be squirrel-proof, but they figured out a way to climb it anyway.

One squirrel will make a mess of the bird feeder. If two or three nutcrackers move in, and nothing is done about it, they will empty a bird feeder every day. They run off, their cheeks puffed out with bird seeds until they look like they have a goiter, and five minutes later, they head back on another raid.

Deer hunting ended today amid a howling wind and snow. There is still snow in the woods for hunting cottontails or snowshoe hares, and it's over three months until the turkey season opens, so if you hanker a bit of excitement, go winter squirrel hunting.

Winter squirrel season never has to take you far from home.

There was a corn field near our house last summer, and some corn kernels still litter the ground. The corn will attract squirrels, but with the  earlier deep snow, bushytails found themselves out of a food source. Most of the corn from the nearby fields has been eaten by deer, geese and squirrels, and they are now looking for another free handout.

I'm tired of them at the bird feeder. I don't share the same opinion of squirrels as some people who have unsuccessfully fought squirrel wars for more years than they can remember. They call these critters tree rats or wood rats, and other less complimentary mixes of strong Anglo-Saxon words. which, I believe, has led to the longer winter season.

They are persistent little buggers. It's that nevergive-up attitude of theirs that makes them a nuisance.

The best way to fight the squirrel wars is to grab up the shotgun and head for the woods. Sit down near a trail of squirrel tracks, sit still, and wait for them to show their long tails. They never expect to be hunted during the winter, and it takes a while for them to smarten up.

Shoot one squirrel, and just sit still. Other nearby squirrels may chatter and carry on but soon their curiosity will get the best of them. They head out to get something else to eat, or to investigate the noise, and it's fairly easy to shoot five squirrels on a sunny and warm afternoon.

What works? Black-powder pistol or shotgun, .22 rifle or a shotgun.

Don't worry. Taking a limit of fox squirrels isn't going to hurt their population one bit. Shoot their numbers down, and you soon learn one of Nature's truisms: Nature abhors a vacuum.

Once some squirrels are taken, other squirrels move in to fill the empty space. It becomes a never-ending problem.

Years ago, when I was a kid, most people hunted nutcrackers with a rifle. The bullet from a puny .22 can carry over a mile if someone was to shoot at a squirrel up in the tree-tops. There are too many people around now, and the wide-open spaces of years ago are all filled up with houses and people.

Be safe and smart, and use a shotgun. Don't forget your Hunter Orange clothing, and you'll be able to shoot them on the ground or up in a tree. Use No. 6 shot, and it will be deadly medicine.

One thing about hunting nutcrackers. You'll put some mighty fine food on your table with five winter squirrels, and there will be fewer of the animals around next spring to invade your bird feeders.

And that's just fine with me.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors