Tripped Up
Jim Jelak
Once on the lake they cast wobbly spoons and noisy surface plugs. The Jackfish Lake pike are famished and unschooled in the way of anglers. It's almost too easy catch a thick pike on every cast. They laugh at the sheer joy of it.
Too soon the sun dips deep and the boys head back upstream to their Crooked Lake camp. A pair of mallards knife through the gathering dusk. It's been a good day.
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I make it through the workweek. I put in over 60 hours and I am beat. In an attempt to refresh my spirit I spend Saturday morning fly fishing a Lake Michigan tributary but the salmon run has not yet begun in earnest. I fish for a couple of hours then head home. My heart's not in it.
When I get home I have a voicemail message from Rick. I return the call to his cell phone and as he and Matt begin their trip home he downloads me on the details of the trip.
The weather, save for one rainy day, was spectacular. The campsites we circled on the map were available and among the very best he has experienced. The pictographs were awe-inspiring. They rarely saw any other people. He claims the fishing was slow, which surprises me. (I think that perhaps he is being kind and doesn't want to make me feel worse than I already do; I bet they hammered 'em).
How was your trip to Jackfish, I ask?
