Sunday, August 7, 2016

GLSC Great Lakes Surf Casters

I am a fly fisherman.

I grew up throwing a spinning rod and reel but was never very serious about it.  
I'd go with a friend if he was going or fish off the dock at a family thing because there weren't any kids my age. I never had a huge desire to just go fishing. 

Flash forward 15 years I finished school and did a quick 8+ years in the United States Army and went west. Yakima, WA, it was a strange time but I wanted to fish. Fly fish. I was busy with work and kept thinking that these casting techniques  take a lifetime to learn, so I put it off, I didn't buy a rod a reel or even hold one. Then Washington was in the rear view mirror.

 Hood River, OR. Salmon season. I friend of mine, a spin caster, kept asking me to go fish with him but I didn't want to be just a "regular" fisherman I wanted to be a fly fisherman. I told him "no thanks" so many times I don't know why he kept asking.

 Turns out my moms husband had an old glass fly rod buried in the garage and a copy of the "Curtis Creek Manifesto" in the book case. In her back yard overlooking the mighty Columbia River I threw my first line and a tiny red yarn on the end at a bucket just 30' away.  It was October and only getting colder. I'm a Michigan boy but I had just spent the better part of the last 10 years in Georgia and North Carolina and my blood was thin. I hung up the rod determined that I would get to it in the spring.
I left the fabled Columbia River basin three days after the new year in the dead cold winter, never to stand in the river and wave a stick.
Back in Michigan it was cold but I was fixated on the task. I poured my self into the outdoors. I was single with no hobbies. Heavy boot foot neoprene waders and a shotgun, wait, what I thought this was about fishing, I was cold and there wasn't any way I was gonna get into some fridged half frozen river and shrivel up my ego.  Madd Dogg and Remington were my "gateway" gear, after that it was a slippery slope. 

 Snow shoes, back packs, ammunition, sleeping bags, tents, camp stoves, boots, etc. etc. and oh that's right the fly rod, the reel, the line, and all that goes with it? I don't know to this day if it's the gear or the lifestyle the gear allows that's the addiction?   No matter I'm an addict  one way or the other. 

I study and learn. I spend hours on the web looking at products weighing them against each other. Reading reviews and technical data and studying techniques for using said product. It's research. My wife calls it an obsession. Obsessed is a heavy word, but I guess I should embrace it, after all I've already admitted I'm an addict. 

I want more, I want more gear and I want to fish more. I want to make it my work but I haven't.  I'm 40 minutes to the waters edge rod in hand from the nearest trout water. I have three kids at home, all in sports after school and other extra caricular activities. I run my own business. I play hockey a couple times a week. I'm busy. I try to get to the trout water every other weekend, but it doesn't seem like enough. I want to fish more.  

I live 10 minutes to the waters edge rod in hand from the 5th largest body of fresh water in the world! Lake Michigan. Hmmm can you see where I'm going? I grew up walking distance from this lake and can probably count the number of fish Ive caught out of it on one hand. It's a travesty! 

I want to fish more.... And so began the investigation. 

My first thought was fly fish it, a Spey rod and some big bugs. There is a reference book already written. I don't know if any of my fly fish buddies are doing this except for carp in grand traverse bay and beaver island. The whole "fresh water bonefish" thing. I want salmon, steelhead, and Browns. Reaching those fish is a little more tricky. Casting distance and water depth are obstacles that can be overcome by fishing from the piers but that's not perfect either given the traffic of beach goers and "regular" fisherman. Top that, if I only fish the piers I have just eliminated 99.9% of the Lake Michigan coastline reachable on foot.

What's left?  I'm no ordinary "regular" fisherman. I don't know if I can stomach being the guy with spawn drifting under a bobber off the pier. I don't know that I want to fight that crowd. I don't know why. It's some sort of prejudice that exists in my head. I'll call it bobber fear.

Lake Michigan is big water. There are guys fishing in big water out east that aren't using a bobber. They are surf casting the Atlantic Ocean. Can I do that here?  How?

So began the research. There's not much info out there about surf casting the Great Lakes. A few videos of guys catching Browns from the beach early spring. I read from surf casters journal and joined som surf casting FB pages and hit the stripers online forum. Spent hours on the web "researching" I bought a big rod, probably too big, I bought a big reel, probably too big, and I got some big lures, probably too big.  There's just no info out there or its "fight club".

I'm breaking the rules, I want to wade to the second sandbar and throw a big lure 200 feet into the black night. I want to feel the tug of sport fish as they turn and run. I want to feel the kinship, the brotherhood, the night shift. GLSC,(Great Lakes Surf Casters) a FB group https://www.facebook.com/groups/332604083794042/ I made to gather info and knowledge, if it exists, or to document that it can't be done, which ever comes first.

Meanwhile, the waters warm and they say the salmon won't come till it cools and I am on the pier with my oversized gear drifting shrimp under a bobber and watching the guy next to me pull out catfish. 

Turns out, I AM a "regular" fisherman!

Monday, July 11, 2016

Past

Whiskey filled hearts of fire and cheeks burned by acid tears,
Distorted truths spew forth in agony,
Lies and anger crush worlds and futures,
Broken glass and plaster, torn photos and blood on the carpet,
The knock of an officer,
Remorseful sadness and regret tangled with reality.
This should have never been.

Sunday, January 24, 2016

this morning

This Morning

the snow encrusted earth rests silently this morning,
only the tick of the clock and the rush of air from the humidifier,
awaiting the rising sun, I am alone in my thoughts.

What temperatures will the creeping golden glow bring?
warmth for black Stoneflies at noon?
midges to small to tie bouncing along?
a snow covered drive that I should shovel and salt while its melting.

"too much to do", I hear my wife in my mind,
but she is off to work, only my sons here to discuss the should and shouldn't,
hmmmmm, can I squeeze it in before afternoon hockey?
I know better, A marathon fisher I am,

slow down and sip hot coffee,
build a fire in the woodstove and count to ten,
lower my heart rate, this will not be the day
copyright Nathan McLeod 2016

Wednesday, December 23, 2015

To Dream

To Dream

In a dream of warmth, summer came dancing towards me.
Her tender green kisses upon my toes.
Golden rays, a promise to my flesh.
Rhythmic waves whispered in my ear.
Woven cotton swaying in a gentle breeze.
As she draws nearer I lie motionless.
Brown skin bathed in her presence.
Anxiously awaiting her touch, a bead of sweat rolls from my forehead.
A shiver escapes me as I wake, only grey frozen earth.
copyright Nathan McLeod 2015

Thursday, December 10, 2015

To the Day

To the Day


In the silent tranquility of the early morn,
looking deeply into heart and mind.

Pain and suffering of past forlorn,
not what I was hoping to find.

From within these thoughts are torn,
twisting and shaping a brand new kind.

To the day fresh feelings born,
onward toward my daily grind.
copyright Nathan McLeod 2015

Sunday, December 6, 2015

Homecoming

Homecoming

Oh Israel, you are like a mother estranged,
A homeland to which I will return,
I am near you but broken and weary,
I am coming to you to kneel before my Lord,
Seeking him, asking so that I may receive,
His name answers me, "I am".
All illusion crumbles around me,
Through death on a hill, on a cross,
An east window curtain withdrawn in the morning,
His shining Grace resurrected for me,
Humble Tears wash accepting cheeks revealing my salvation.
copyright Nathan McLeod 2015

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

The Garden of HaShem




In Gods garden,
We live in the wilderness of the Lords creation.
I gaze upon all that he made for me.
I am awed by the heavens above,
Each pinhole in the night.
Frozen by the silent flight of an owl,
Every hand crafted feather that he created.
Trees singing in the wind,
Muddy soil between my toes,
Of them all, it’s the river that draws me nearest my Lord,
Cleansing waters of my salvation.
copyright Nathan McLeod 2015