MYS T ERIES Outdoor Mystery: The Making of a Fly Fisherman

Last fall, I asked Canadian Lakes resident Pat McNulty if he would like to go fly-fishing. He said yes. When I asked him if he had ever been fly-fishing, he said with a smile, “No, but I’ve watched ‘A River Runs Through It’ so that makes me an expert.” retired Detroit city firefighter’s dreams of catching a trout on a fly. That was last fall when most of the fly-fishing action was done for the year. Since that time, he’s shot a grouse or two over my birddogs, and killed his first wild turkey with my help. We’ve become good friends.

By Chris Zimmerman

If you haven’t seen the movie, it’s set in Missoula, Montana, in the days between WWI and the Great Depression. The scenery, the fly-fishing action, the escape from reality is what pulled Brad Pitt and his on-screen brother, Eric Sheffer, to the river. Once there, they handled a fly rod with grace and majesty. Their fly lines swish and loop overhead, around rocks, and clear of overhanging branches. Of course, the trout Pitt and Sheffer pursued were eager to bite. Hollywood is good at suspending reality if it makes for a good story.

The romanticism of fly-fishing depicted in the movie is that it’s the sport of kings. Casting a fly is a form of art. When performed by stunt doubles in the movie, it’s a sight to behold.

Of course, the judge and jury to McNulty’s “expert” claim would be the fish themselves. Far be it from me to quash a

Part of our friendship comes from what we have in common. We both spent part of our lives in the Detroit area, before settling in Canadian Lakes. Detroit butcher shops, restaurants, politicians, and TV personalities are topics of discussion when we get together. Rest assured there are a few laughs along the way, at the expense of the people who once dominated the headlines. In a lot of respects, we sound like old-timers the way we tell stories about our lives downstate. McNulty is in his 60’s. I’m not that far behind. We have both had several joints replaced, which makes us a lot less nimble when traversing the streams and rivers around Canadian Lakes.

Fast forward to spring, 2023. McNulty is loaded for bear, with a new set of waders, fly rod and vest. We set out for the Pere Marquette River, with hopes of witnessing the gray drake hatch and trout sipping them off the water’s surface. Gray drakes are about the size of a marble. They hatch out of the river bottom, swim to the surface where they are most vulnerable to trout. Our flies (made from rabbit fur and bird feathers and tied on a small hook) would imitate the naturals, floating past the trout.

As luck would have it, the gray drakes didn’t hatch in great numbers on the evening McNulty and I tried our luck. We saw a few drakes, but that wasn’t enough to pull the trout out of cover. McNulty took that opportunity to work on his casting. In no time at all, he was flailing his fly rod back and forth, just like in the movies. I gave him pointers on the timing of his cast, when to mend the line when it hits the water, and how to set the hook when a trout takes the fly. We had a good time, in a picturesque setting, in spite of the lack of feeding trout.

In late June, we went back to the Pere Marquette, which is the traditional time for the “hex” hatch. Hexes get their moniker from their scientific name, hexagenia limbata. Most hexes are over an inch long, and are without question, the biggest, juiciest mayfly on the Pere Marquette. They hatch in great numbers, spend a day in the foliage on the river’s edge, then return to the river to lay their eggs.

Trouble is — for beginners like McNulty — the hex hatch happens after dark. On an overcast evening towards the end of June, McNulty and I claimed our spot on the Pere Marquette near a tangled mess of fallen logs. We sipped a cold refreshment, chatted like old friends do, and waited for dusk. The mystery of the hex hatch unfolded subtlety at first. We could barely see them flitting past the end of our rod tips as they gathered for their mating ritual over the river’s surface. As darkness cloaked the setting, and whippoorwills swooped high above the river flat, the hatch gained momentum.

Trout were tuned into the hexes, too.

All at once, the peaceful river setting took on a violent, crazy tone. Smaller trout splashed in the shallows in an attempt to pull a hex fly off the surface. Medium sized trout stabbed at the flies in the river flats adjacent to deep water. And then, there were the biggest of all trout. I had two of them in front of me, one upstream of a log jam; the other behind. Imagine casting to the sound of a cinder block hitting the water’s surface. Ker-pow! Twenty seconds later, they rose again. Ker-pow.

“Hear that?” I asked McNulty. “Oh yeah,” he said, casting in their direction. It was just about then that a couple young men drifted past us in an inflatable river boat. The smell of cigars preceded their arrival.

After complimenting them on their watercraft, I asked the man doing the rowing if they had been fishing the night before? “Sure did,” he said. “We landed nine trout. The biggest was over twenty-five inches.” “Excellent,” I said. “Between 2:30 and 5AM, we had great action,” he added.

The two young men drifted round the corner, out of sight. I asked McNulty if he heard what they had said. “Yes. There’s no way we’re staying out that late.” “C’mon,” I said laughing. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

McNulty chuckled, and in true Canadian Lakes’ retiree fashion said, “I have to golf in the morning.”

Chris Zimmerman is a resident of Canadian Lakes, a small business owner, and the author of six Michigan-based mysteries.