The Rogue River, Salmon, Sandwiches and Soda

The Rogue River is more than just a river to me, it is a place of memories. When I was a young teenager my grandparents moved from the suburbs of Chicago to Belmont, Michigan. When it first happened it was an idea I did not like one bit. I have always had a very close bond with my Grandmother and saw her just about every weekend. Upon first visiting their new home I found that they moved to a neighborhood that was nestled away in the woods virtually free of the bustle of city life and crime. A short walk down the road was the Rogue River. I had never really fished in a river and the few times I tried it I wasn't overly fond of it. The river was darker than I imagined. I expected a crystal clear stream where you could see all the way to the bottom with fish swimming among the rocks in abundance. The color was always a bit stained similar to a light tea color and the bottom was often murky and muddy, but there were always the fish. Michigan was so different in many ways, everything everywhere was green. So many trees and the sound of the river especially when standing in it. You could feel the cool water on your skin as the warm summer breeze touched your cheeks. There was always the buzzing of mosquitoes in your ear, but it was one of those necessary evils.

Although we lived many miles apart, my parents drove to Michigan several times a year. Many Holidays were spent at my grandparents, but each summer me and my sisters took turns visiting, often times for up to a month! I fished to my hearts content. I made friends with a local youth and we hunted crawlers in the night at the nearby county club. I caught Smallmouth Bass, and Suckers mostly in the summer. There were very few trout to be caught in the area we fished. My friend told me stories of large reckless fish called Salmon and of the ever elusive Steelhead. I could not wait for my opportunities to battle such worth opponents.

We canoed down the river and explored every hole and run looking for fish throughout the warm, humid summers. We even caught a few walleye and my friend even caught a northern about 30" one afternoon while fishing under the bridge. The bridge was so close that we would walk back to my grandmother's house and she would have sandwiches made and a cold bottle of Towne Club Soda! I was always greeted by "How's the fishing Honey?" as I walked in the door. Summer was a great time. Although I didn't fish every day, I tried to. My grandma had me do chores and odd jobs where I earned a few bucks so I could keep up on fishing supplies. She insisted that I go to the theater with her on days it was too rainy to fish. She didn't have to twist my arm much, because she acted young for her age and took me to see science fiction or even scary movies.


The river was much as it is today, minus the Childsdale dam which broke during high waters and flooded the area downstream. The breaking of the dam opened the way for migrating fish to make it into the heart of Rockford at the dam downtown.. The upper river has a decent population of trout, but smallmouth, suckers and carps didn't give the trout a chance downstream so the DNR poisoned off the river. It was a heartbreaking moment when a youth watches so many fish floating down the river dying. I thought it was such a waste. We still fished and learned how to catch trout instead. We caught Salmon and Steelhead when I could come up during the runs in Fall and Spring. I longed to fish more and spend more time than ever on the river. I just lived too far away and had school.
Life is just funny sometimes. My step dad lost his job and found a new one close to my grandparents in Michigan. It was my senior year and the worst time to move. I had a job and a girlfriend and a great group of friends which I had to leave.I really did not want to go. My grandmother and the fish were my saving grace.

After moving to Michigan I tried to spend more time at my grandma's often fishing for Salmon and stopping by for lunch which brought a Huge smile to her face. The door was always welcome and she loved to see her grandchildren.

One year the DNR stopped planting the Salmon for the Grand River system in the Rogue and the Kings in the fall were like a ghost from the past. It seemed that there were always more fisherman than fish. I drove by less and less after my grandparents moved to Georgia.

There are more houses and even a nature trail and a dog park. The city of Rockford has a small touristy town feel to it that I am compelled to visit several times a year. I entertain thoughts that maybe I am like the Salmon and the Rogue is imprinted in me. I bring my son to fish for trout and my wife and daughter to shop and eat. It is always a great time, there are so many memories there from the past as I forge new ones with my family now. I even hear rumors, although since confirmed, the Rogue received planting of Coho this spring. Unfortunately being so close to Grand Rapids and the increase in population from years gone by has sometimes made the crowds too much for my liking, I will still visit again as I feel the urge to at this very moment.

My grandma has since passed a couple of years ago. It still pains me to drive by her house. It looks the same as it always had and sometimes I feel like that boy again with hopes that she would be inside waiting for me with a sandwich and a Soda...

Pure Mania

Disclaimer: If you have a weak heart, are feeble, afraid of the freezing cold or being soaking wet, read no further. Adrenaline, trail mix, jerky and some beverage can sustain you for days when upon this quest.

Steelheaders have the reputation as being a little off. I seem to fit this mold in my daily life so it is only natural that I am in the Steelhead Maniac category.

Most steelheaders battle weather and water conditions that would cause most people to seek the comfort of a nice warm couch with a blankie, or snuggie, and a remote control. Steelheading in Michigan can encompass any of the four seasons. Fighting the weather, the waters, and many times the crowds in a combat fishing environment can scare away almost any sane or wary angler.

The people that fish for steelhead are not the only nut jobs out there. The fish themselves are warped and twisted. They can strike with a violent savageness unknown in most other freshwater species. I have been lucky enough to have not lost a rod, but I have come VERY close on more than one occasion. The fish fight with reckless abandon when hooked and the anglers needs to be prepared. Frayed line or knotted leaders will result in ultimate failure as a trophy rockets away leaving your mouth hanging open in awe at the opportunity you just missed. Steelhead are powerful swimmers and can put any reel to the test. I prefer my drag to be set light to avoid break offs on the initial run. The problem with that is timber and anything else considered cover. I have seen bright chrome bullets shoot through log jams and run non stop downstream. At these times you know you have already lost, but some of my greatest battles have been chasing the impossible fish. I do not hesitate to dunk rod and reel under water and feed it through a log jam to keep up with the speeding freight train on the end of my line. If you do not like to get cold or get wet, please stay home. This fishing is not for you.

One you hook steel your life will change, your thoughts and dreams will float back to days on the river, the battles lost and won and the opportunities to fight chrome torpedoes again and again and again...

Here is a little video (metalhead) that will give you some insight as to what is it I speak of, but nothing compares to that tug on the line as the fish rockets skyward leaping, cart wheeling and somersaulting through the air multiple times. When the jumping stops you may think it's OK to breathe, but one again the fish goes skyward.

The King and the old man.

Since I started out talking about the river. I will write about several of the rivers I have fished in Michigan. I will start where it all started for me, The Rogue River.
The Rogue empties into the Grand River near the corner of Northland Drive and West River Drive. The river is slightly colored and with some rain it can get a tea like coloring to it. Since a kid I have spent many days fishing on this river from suckers, Smallies, Steelies and Salmon.
When I first was introduced to this river it was during a Salmon run in the fall of 1982. Some local kids a few years older than me where catching Salmon and when I asked what the were catching them on. They snickered and said "spoons...right in the side."
I was a little confused until I watched for a while longer and they cast to where the Salmon where spawning and let the spoon settle on the gravel near a fish and when it swam by they jerked, sometimes hooking the fish. I befriended one of the kids who lived across the street from my Grandparents who had just moved there.
After having several discussion with this kid, I was under the impression that Salmon do not feed and the only way to catch them was to snag them. I was young and naive at the time so I went along, but something inside of me told me it wasn't right.
So I went on a few excursions with them and played the game, catching some fish as well. Something happened on one of these trips that changes the way I would fish forever. On a cast in front of a bed loaded with kids my 2/3 oz little cleo spoon fluttered near the bed and a large male bolted towards the lure and struck it with such savageness that it it shocked me. the fish was hooked by it's own strike and in the MOUTH! The other kids whooped and hollered as I fought this magnificent fish. It ran a good 100 yards downstream and I gave chase. I didn't even own waders and the cold river chilled me to the bone as I was soaked from my waist down to my feet. My rod felt electric as I could feel it's massive head shaking as it sought to free itself of my lure. After about a 10 minute battle an older fellow fishing downstream netted the fish for me.
The fish was gasping for oxygen as I was gasping for air. The adrenaline was flowing through me and I could feel my heart hammering in my chest. I felt incredible!!!
The old man said something to me that was lost in the roaring sound of the river and my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. I asked him to repeat it and he said " now that is the way it's done boy, looks to be close to 20 lbs!" and he walked up to me and shook my hand. He then said "you should set him free." At first I was a little stunned, but I sat looking at this incredible fish that showed me a joy in my life I would never forget and figured it was only right.
So I said "OK!" and the old man smiled. I pulled the hook out of the Kings mouth with my needle nose pliers and untangled him from the net. The old man showed me how to resuscitate the exhausted fish and the feeling of setting him free was almost as great as catching him.
The old man patted me on the shoulder as we both watched the mighty fish swim into the dark depths on a deep run and out of our vision. He told me "they do bite ya know" I was a believer!
I talked to the old man and he told me a great many things about Kings, their life cycle, ways to catch them, how you can tail one. We must have talked about a good half hour because my friends came looking for me. They saw I had no fish and consoled me that I lost it. When I told them they I let it go they told me I was stupid idiot, that was a good smoker fish!
Needless to say I didn't fish with them much anymore and went on my own, trying to do it the right way. Although I never saw the old man again I will always remember that day and the talk we had. I never even got his name or properly thanked him. I will always try to honor best I can......

or watch on YouTube