I fished Black Earth Creek today
for what is likely the last time. I had not visited it for over ten years but it was all so familiar, for this is where I began my exploration of the wonderful southwest Wisconsin spring creeks. Known as the Driftless area because the ancient glaciers stopped short this region as they slid over other parts of the land, southwest Wisconsin is a wonderful collection of rolling hills, farmland and beautiful streams.My exploration of the Driftless area began when I moved to the mid-west
after college. Starting on Black Earth Creek, the Driftless area slowly taught me its nuances as I myself gradually drifted west and south over countless Wisconsin county-roads with names as simple as County Road A, or County Road TT.Today I pulled off of Highway 14 onto South Valley Road and parked at the bridge near the farm with the red barn like I had so many other times before. The rod I chose to use was not one of my many newer-technology rods that I had collected over the years but, instead, I reached for the same basic rod I used when I first fished this stream, my 8-foot Cortland that I also used through my teenage years in Pennsylvania. This rod provided me with three 18 inch browns on this stream within 20 minutes of each other at dusk one summer evening. It allowed me to enjoy my first 20-plus inch fish on a nearby stream, hex hatches at midnight, and to cast my reliable weighted black wooly-bugger quite well.
On the surface, today was like all of the other days I had fished this region, but this time I was more observant of my surroundings than I was when I first fished it over 15 years ago. Autumn had just pushed its first cool fingers into summer’s heat leaving the air dry, the tall weeds crunchy, and the crickets chirping at a rate somewhat slower than they would have in warmer months. The sun cast its comforting amber color across the landscape. As I fished, I felt the subtle, fleeting moment when the day's warm, dry air turned over to the chilly, moist evening and quietly slid itself around my body. When I left the river at dark, Jupiter was rising brightly in the ink-blue south-east sky.
I have always been drawn to rivers. I recall as a boy looking into a small “crick” near the neighbor's farm, its banks piled with thick, fresh snow as it passed quietly through a grey crab-apple thicket. At that time I mentally noted that, on the surface, a river seems to look the same every time you look at it, yet it quietly and slowly changes underneath as its water is moves away as it continues its journey to unknown parts. A good friend of mine once remarked, at the end of a long day fishing when I wanted to continue, that there is always another bend in the river. I have referred to both of these thoughts often as I contemplated life over the years.
Black Earth Creek looked the same today as I stood peering into it from the bridge on South Valley Road, watching the emerald green weeds sway back and forth in the current wondering what was underneath. I thought back about how things have changed since I first fished it. The exit off of Interstate 94 has grown, as predicted, with new building developments and road improvements. Fifteen years ago, I had to travel nearly 30 minutes away to find a bank that would give me money charged to my credit card because there were no ATM machines. Then, there were no cell phones interrupting the peace of mind, whereas today I always seem to be tethered to some distant place. Then, the rivers were just a body of water on which to be challenged and I would fish from sun up to sun down, intent on catching as many fish as I could and often not stopping for lunch or drink. Fifty fish days were at times the goal. Some days I would drive over three hours from Chicago, fish until past dark and then drive back again all in the same day. Today I caught fish like I did then, but at the end of the day I had to really think about how many I caught, and now it really didn’t matter anyway. Then, the river was not quite good enough and I wished I would find a better river. Today, rather than rush into the river, I took my time stringing my rod and found walking to the stream as pleasant as fishing itself. So much had changed in this river that looked the same.
Today the river was a work of art that provided me with a meditative experience even though I was only on it for a few short hours. As I stepped into the stream, slowly and cautiously, I felt 15 years of Driftless area stream teachings rushing at me at once. The hatches today were almost constant with midges, blue-winged olives, and caddis fostering all types of rises - soft sipping trout, confident heads bobbing out of the water, and aggressive slashers. This time I took the time to watch what was happening and patiently placed my casts. At the end of the day I walked up the road to the red barn farm, put some money in the lock box on the table and took away 12 ears of corn. Self serve style. It was that simple.
Today the river was a work of art that provided me with a meditative experience even though I was only on it for a few short hours. As I stepped into the stream, slowly and cautiously, I felt 15 years of Driftless area stream teachings rushing at me at once. The hatches today were almost constant with midges, blue-winged olives, and caddis fostering all types of rises - soft sipping trout, confident heads bobbing out of the water, and aggressive slashers. This time I took the time to watch what was happening and patiently placed my casts. At the end of the day I walked up the road to the red barn farm, put some money in the lock box on the table and took away 12 ears of corn. Self serve style. It was that simple.
Like the rivers, I have constantly been moving. Over the years since those first, simple days on Black Earth Creek I have covered more water than others only dream of. I found myself searching the waters of New Zealand, Argentina, central Pennsylvania, western USA, England, Wales, Scotland, and Sweden. Always casting, always looking, never really finding. Now, coming back to where I once was, I finally felt I had found it. It had been here in front of me all of the time and I never knew it. It's that simple.
I leave to move to Colorado soon. The result of chasing after something else – career or personal yet to be determined. I have the wonderful opportunity to learn about Western style flyfish
ing now, and indeed I am fortunate. I am fortunate that I now know that I don’t need the latest equipment, to catch the most or largest trout, or to find the perfect river. I know now that the experience is enough if you just let it be what it is.
ing now, and indeed I am fortunate. I am fortunate that I now know that I don’t need the latest equipment, to catch the most or largest trout, or to find the perfect river. I know now that the experience is enough if you just let it be what it is.It’s extremely difficult to say goodbye to a stream that's been part of your life for so long. Its more difficult to say goodbye to the stream that taught you so much, sort of how to grow up, especially when what you learned was not realized until it was over.
