Of course, I forgot it was Palm Sunday until evening. But it was, indeed.
The afternoon felt downright chilly. In the 30’s. Brrrr…. You have to layer your exterior clothing again. First, find a hooded sweatshirt. Then wrap the fleece around it. Find a hat. Dig out your new soft brown work gloves, with which you can easily operate the camera. (Don’t despair! It will be in the 60’s later this week! Don’t despair! April is peeking at us from Thursday, luring us forward like the fish at the bottom of the Huron River.)
Off we drove to the Big Huron River because A) Barry needed to take photos for our weekly newspaper. One of his reporters was writing a fish story and he promised her the accompanying photos, and B) We have lots of fond memories of traveling places together last year in order to fulfill the 365 day outdoor blog commitment and C) hey, didn’t it sound like an easy half-way interesting blog for Palm Sunday? (That is, until the beet blog upstaged it…)
Every year the fishermen descend upon the rivers this time of year. The steelhead trout swim up the streams and rivers to spawn. It’s an age-old tradition here in the North Woods. Men, women, and children scurry to the river and throw in a line. Everyone wants the Elusive Trout.
Some folks fly fish, dancing their bait atop the swiftly moving water. Others spin cast, throwing their line into the depths with spinners, spoons or bits of red or orange yarn. People camp out at Big Erick’s Bridge, returning season after season. Some folks build fires along the river. Camaraderie abounds.
Fisherfolk are friendly folk. That’s what my husband tells me, and he should know. Although he doesn’t go river fishing much, he likes to fish so much that I keep watching to see if he’s growing fins. He walked up to the first fisherman we saw, and started a conversation while I lingered in the background, nonchalantly snapping photos and thanking all the Fish in the Sea that I don’t have to write factual journalistic stories here in this blog. I can create a mood and talk in a chatty style and write blogs about beets boiling over. And still get readers who want to read!
You can hear the murmur of conversation as you admire the rapids and the fishermen and blink your photographic eye to capture the interesting shots.
“Doin’ any good?” “It’s pretty slow. Caught one this morning. 25 incher and released it.” “Are you crazy?”
We crossed the bridge, stomped through some mud, and wandered down along the northern shore of the river. Talked with some more fisherfolk. I even conversed with a fellow from Negaunee. He’d been fishing here forever.
All the fisherfolk shook their heads and complained about the level of the river. Way down this year. Not good. Fish bit good Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. Nothing now.
I knelt to photograph the underwater views and gasped to see the trees reflected in the water. Of course, you might as well not even look at the camera to review the pictures. Half the time they look good on the computer when you thought they were duds; the other half the time they look awful. Might as well wait until you’re home to assess.
We lingered on the bridge to say goodbye to the river. I remembered last year’s excursion to the Huron in October. Click here if you would like to see the river in another season.
On the way home we split a Payday bar (a big treat!) and some lemonade. What a good Sunday adventure. A good Palm Sunday with fishermen at the Big Huron River.