Giving Up on Goodbyes

I found myself back in the Midwest this past week for the first time in 2022. There was an office furniture trade show that I attended in Chicago and I was fortunate enough to extend my trip to include spending the rest of the week at my parent’s river home in central Wisconsin. It was a great visit filled with family, friends, and of course, some fly fishing on two of my favorite streams.

On Saturday morning, I sat in the bed of my parent’s minivan at the public access point of one of these aforementioned streams in anticipation for another vehicle. Typically, one would be thrilled to be the only angler at their favorite stream’s prime access point, but today I would be joined by my good friend (and TPLFF contributor), Dean Kuettel. He had awaken that morning at a far-too-early hour and made the 5 hour trek from his home in Duluth, Minnesota.

At last, I watched as a sedan rounded the bend and turned into the small parking area where I sat. A hearty hug ensued, and soon Dean was offering me delicacies of his own creation; homemade wine and banana bread. A bona fide feast for two trout bums.

We geared up while catching up about life and our travels. Because I was confined to the space of a small suitcase, my gear selection for this trip required careful consideration. Luckily, with it being the summer months I was able to get by with my wet wading setup. This is the lightweight setup that I use for my hike-in fly fishing trips and I plan to go into this in detail in a future post. Essentially, you forgo waders (ie must be down with getting wet) while still maintaining the functionality and stability that wading boots provide. It has its downsides, but overall it was the perfect system for this trip.

Because of the small size of this particular stream and to maximize our time together, we chose to travel in a group as we waded; taking turns at each bend and pool. This allowed us to fish each section of water methodically, approaching each one as a riddle to be solved. We assessed the technicalities that each cast would require – the backcast overhang, our target landing spot, any obstacles in the way of achieving our desired drift path. Where a right handed backcast was desirable, Dean would take control and vice versa on the left handed side. We would stealthily situate ourselves in tight corners where only a bow-and-arrow cast was possible (which Dean impeccably executed, resulting in a colorful brookie to hand). And if we felt we had given a certain run a perfectly placed cast without producing a strike, we yielded the spot to the other. It was a very intentional way of approaching familiar waters. And for these efforts, we were rewarded with many of the small to medium sized natives that continually draw us back to this particular stream.

We continued on this way until the early afternoon, when the directly overhead sun cast its fish spooking shadows on even the lightest of tippet. We left feeling more than content with our experiences on the day and headed to a beloved diner in the nearby town for a hearty meal. We reminisced on times of old and speculated on when and where the next chance we’d have to hit a trout stream together might be; the north shore of Superior, the Olympic mountains, or perhaps somewhere else entirely. We departed that day with our souls and stomachs nourished from a quality trip. There are some people that I’ve given up on saying goodbye to, and Dean is one of them.

Two days later, on the morning that I would fly back to Washington, I returned to fish this same section once more. The daily highs would reach the mid-90s by afternoon, but in the early morning it was comfortable and shade covered. 

The caddis were quite active this morning and it never grows old watching them bounce across the surface as they deposit their eggs, often producing an airborne leap from a trout. I sat on a log observing this for awhile and journaling before taking a few trout to hand with a caddis imitation from this same pool. 

Despite the calm morning, my thoughts were dyed with a bittersweet quality. I love this place. Why would I ever choose to leave it? I found myself unable to shake this question. On a quiet stretch as I stood midstream and cast to subtle rises ahead, the answer was revealed to me; I left because of this place. 

This was the very stream that served as the beginnings to my adventures with trout back in 2016. The first stream that I felt that buzz of fresh exploration as I pored over its maps and studied its access points. The first stream that I ventured off to solo one Saturday morning in late May of 2016 to catch my first ever brook trout. This in turn gave me the confidence to explore further, making longer trips and drives in central Wisconsin in search of wild trout. Then later that summer, traveling many hours away to the Driftless region of southwestern Wisconsin. 

These adventures gave me the courage to select Ogden, Utah as my home base for the following summer, exposing me to the beauties and wildness of the West. This stream is where a deep appreciation for native trout was formed; an appreciation that fueled all of those far flung adventures in pursuit of Utah’s native cutthroat trout that summer. The summer that I would vow to return to the West someday as a resident. And ultimately, it led me towards the biggest adventure so far in my life, which is moving out to western Washington with Jill. 

I am convinced that none of this would have been possible had it not been for this catalyst, a humble brook trout stream in the central sands of Wisconsin. Overwhelmed by all of this, I sat on the shore for awhile and filled with an immense feeling of gratitude, I cried. I reminded myself that this would not be the last time that I waded these waters. And for as long as I am able, I will return to this place. There are some places that I’ve given up on saying goodbye to, and this is one of them. 

Eventually the time came for me to depart and after bringing one last caddis munching brookie to hand, I waded back downstream to the car. I returned to Washington that afternoon with a deeper appreciation for the people and places in my life and a renewed excitement for the path that lies ahead.