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

When the Hunting Urge is Gone

It's sometimes odd how these blogs come about. Sometimes they are planned long in advance, months before they are used.

Other times a note from a reader triggers the thought for another blog. Sometimes they just pop into my head while reading the morning paper over coffee.

This one, if we live long enough, will be one that each of us will face. A man wrote:

When do you know the urge to hunt has withered and blown away?

This loss can vary with people of different ages.

It seems a simple question with an equally simple answer. Live long enough, and the answer will become obvious.

The urge to hunt may leave any of us at any time although at age 71, I'm happy to admit it hasn't clawed its way into any of my urges and driven me away.

Age and health conditions can play important roles in when this question becomes a reality. A disability or serious health problem can slow or stop anyone. The natural attrition of hunters is due, in large part to age, feebleness, illness or some major injury that may make hunting just too difficult or painful as we grow older.

The average person, based on hundreds of conversations with other sportsmen, can begin to lose his/her urge to hunt anytime after the age of 55 years, and for some, even earlier. For many, they just get lazy and decide not to go out.

Health slowly eats away at a formerly active hunter, and more time is spent dreaming of the old days and not looking forward to future field trips. Often the hunter, growing older, may develop a heart or lung disease that makes it far more difficult to muster up enough energy to hunt regularly.

Some sportsmen may blame not having anyone to hunt with, and I'm indeed fortunate with my eye problems, that Kay is not only my best hunting buddy but my wife, and a person who enjoys bow hunting as I do. Some are not so lucky, and I know some older hunters who have taken young sportsmen hunting for years, but the youngsters forget who originally brought 'em to the dance. Now that is a sorry thought and extremely rude behavior for anyone.

The urge to stay home comes with the normal aches and pains of the aging process. Many say they no longer like venison, the woods are too crowded, too many small deer...whatever. There are millions of such excuses.

The aches and pains of aging often begin the downward slide for most folks.

There are usually a variety of reasons. Some folks fear falling from a tree stand, and pin their reluctance to hunt to a fear of falling. Some say they don't see or hear as well as 10 years ago but that happens to almost everyone during the aging process.

As this progresses, hunters begin making excuses for not wanting to go hunting. Reasons include but are not limited to:

• I haven't had time to sight in my rifle.
• I've found that my shotgun doesn't shoot as well as it once did (which means the hunter is really missing more often).
• Got me a hitch in my git-a-long.
• I had forgotten that this hill seems a lot steeper than it once was.
• I've been huffing and puffing for two years. Don't want to die and miss out on future hunts. Huh? Say what?
• The sun is too bright, not bright enough, and the  snow is getting deeper in the woods. etc. Snow makes it too difficult to get around, and I'm afraid of falling.
• Gas is too expensive. Doesn't bother them to go bowling, golfing or doing something else. But they are right about the cost of gasoline.
• Hunting just isn't as important to me as it was 20 years ago. Perhaps the most true of all of these statements.

Such excuses are just that – an excuse not to go hunting.

I've heard all of these excuses, and countless others, but the fact is the person is too ill, too lame or too lazy to exert the energy required to go hunting. It's not the hunting that is at issue here. It is the attitude of the sportsman.

The fact is that hunting can be hard, physical work, but those who stay in decent physical shape won't find it much different. The loss of a close hunting buddy often takes the hunting fire out of the belly of the sportsman who is left behind. Perhaps that is the time to find and teach a younger hunter about this pastime.

Sharing the wealth of a lifetime of hunting with a young hunter can help keep us young and more in touch with the seasons and the game we hunt.

We all grow old and we all grow tired, but hunting at one's own pace is available to all sportsmen. Take your time, remember those past hunts when the fire burned bright in our hunting plans, and we couldn't wait to get into the field.

Sometimes, a little kindling in the form of watching a young hunter develop their personal memories, is all it takes to renew our personal interest  and our perception of hunting.

It may be the start needed to rekindle the hunting flames of yesteryear, and bring some old-timers back into the hunting fold.