The Honey Hole

Truly, the honey hole is a fisherman's holy grail. One can never have enough of them, and those held under hat over time allow for a true understanding of the river and its ever-changing nature. For me, I have found several different holes on different rivers and streams that would fall into the "honey hole," category. One in particular, however, stands out in the forefront of my mind. A close-lipped secret between my dad, myself, and some very close friends, we cherish this particular spot because of the indelible memories made there.

The spot gained its lore before I even fished it. When my dad used to talk about it, his voice would lower and he would get what I would describe as a twinkle in his eye. He would also get very serious. I never knew why he did this when I was younger, but as I grew older I soon understood.

Numerous fish over 18" have come out of the hole. When I was younger, my dad would usually bag a big fish out of the hole, and then he always told me about the story which involved him, the hole, and landing three trout over 18" without moving more than five steps. I caught my first 20"+ brown out of this hole. Trout slurped Sulphurs by the clumps in this hole. I landed an enormous brown trout, longer than my 24" net, in this hole. I love this run. A heavy riffle used to give way to a long slick, in which monster fish would rise. Since I could wade up from the nearest public access, I spent the vast majority of my fishing time here.

Now, don't get me wrong, its definitely a sizable walk from the nearest access. After all, that is probably why the fishing was so good there and the fact that it was almost always open. Fortunately, the folks that lived nearby were not fisherman, and the fish there were relatively unpressured.

I watched this hole evolve practically since my flyfishing obsession started. At first, there was a huge log jam that had "stuck" itself to the the south bank of the run. Untold 18 + inch brown trout lived under the jam, natures version of a man-made "trout hotel." After the jam washed out during a high-water event, my dad and I assumed the fishing would drop off, but it only got better. I have seen numerous jams move in and out of the hole since my introduction to it.

One year, about three years ago, I noticed something very different about the hole. Where one of my favorite eddies and a good brook trout spot was once located, it was now slackwater. As I looked closer, I saw that massive man-made "trout hotels," were put in spots that had essentially channelized the river. As nearby property changed hands, I noticed more and more of the man-made structure in unfortunate spots. Where I used to wade on small pebbles, I now waded in foot-deep muck. The man-made structures have ruined my run.

By and large, these structures have vastly improved both the Au Sable and Manistee river systems. For the most part they are put in good areas that attract not just trout, but large trout. In this case, however, I wish I would have known about the changes that were to be made in the name of trout habitat.

I have not given up on my honey hole. I still spend a lot of time here, but unfortunately most of it is spent reminiscing about past times. Trout still live here, and I am sure that it will someday be restored to its former glory. I just hope that I'm sitting on the bank when it does...

My Favorite Bug

Although the Au Sable and surrounding river systems have a good number of prolific bug hatches, one in particular jumps to the forefront. The bugs scientific name is Isonychia bicolor, but it is more well known as an Iso, Big Mahogany, or a White-Gloved Howdy. I began to tie up my summer store of these bugs today, starting with comparaduns and eventually moving to a parachute style bug and finally a spinner imitation.

So, you may ask yourself, why is the Iso my favorite bug? The answer is simple: both the volume and longevity of this particular hatch puts it squarely at the top of my list. A true size 10 at the beginning of the hatch, it is best imitated by a size 12 later on as the fish wise up. Starting in mid-June these bugs appear before the famous nighttime Hex bugs on an almost daily basis. On heavy gravel stretches of both the Au Sable and Manistee, anglers can sometimes escape the Hex madness by chasing around these bugs instead. This hatch lasts well into July, and they make a reappearance in late August and early September (usually in smaller sizes). Oh, and big fish will rise to them. Really big fish. In fact, I personally seen my dad land 2 trout near 24 inches on Isonychia patterns, and I know firsthand of a 25 incher taken last year on one by my friend Ken Mers.

They are a swimming nymph, which means that they swim onto shore, shed their nymphal shuck, and hatch on shore. This process is much different than the typical mayfly, which undergo the same insect metamorphosis only in the water instead of on land. Taking this into consideration, many people wonder why I tie the Comparadun and the Parachute in the Iso colors, as both of these style flies represent the immediate post-hatching stages of an insects life. The simple reason I tie them is that they flat out work, in all sorts of conditions.

I could tell you about days on the water landing 6 trout over 17 inches, or 50 plus trout landed on a single Iso pattern, but I won't. Instead, I urge you to look outside the box, take others advice, but also formulate your own original ideas as to how to imitate any given insect. In the case of the Isonychia bicolor , it has paid dividends for me time and time again.


These fish are the last Au Sable trout I have eaten, some five and a half years ago. The Brown at the top was the smallest of four that night, and all of the fish were caught on Isonychia parachutes.

Fathers, Sons, and Flyfishing

Everyone needs a mentor, someone to look up to. In my case with flyfishing, that person was my dad, who got me fishing at the age of 2 and flyfishing at the age of 7. I will look fondly back at the many times that my dad took me out in the riverboat or wading when I was younger. Almost everytime we went a-fishing, I managed to lose at least a dozen of my dads freshly tied or boughten flies. However, he was patient and helped me reach the point where I now take him fishing, and I enjoy watching him hook up even more than myself.

As a father of a 13-month old, I can only hope to pass on the same qualities to my son. Maybe some day I can get him to take me fishing. The other day, I was talking to my dad about one of my favorite stories involving my first nighttime "hex fish". It was by no means a remarkably big fish, but to a 10-year old, a fourteen inch brown trout caught in the middle of the night was a pretty huge accomplishment. Everything from that trip is stuck in my brain, from the smell in the air to the feeling in my young muscles when helping my dad lift our 300 plus pound cedar planked Au Sable riverboat onto our winchless trailer. It was one of those nights when time truly stands still. As we paddled up to the honey hole, I remember my dad saying something about catching big fish here in times' past. After we dropped the chain anchor, we waited for what seemed like an eternity until we could hear the ever-increasing pitter patter of mayfly wings. Hex flies. The very bugs that put an extra hop, skip, or jump in any Michigan flyfishers step. As they descended slowly onto the rivers surface, small fish could be heard feeding in the distance. When the flies seemed to increase in volume on the rivers surface, so did the rises all around us. My dad told me to pick one fish to cast to. I decided upon one holding relatively tight to some wood, making big, splashy rises. Dad put me into position, and then the work began. After casting over the fish for 20 minutes or so (while missing several rises to my fly), dad told me to give him a rest, and he changed my fly for me. Even though he knew that this fish was nowhere near the biggest fish in this particular stretch of river, he knew how bad I wanted this fish. He knew that this fish meant a proper introduction to nightfishing for me. He was right.

After several more minutes, I managed to hook and land the fish. As we stared at the gasping fish in the bottom of the net, I decided to keep it and we tossed it in the bottom of the livewell. By the time we finished with the fish, most of the other feeding had ceased. Dad and I paddled out at this point. I can recall all the thoughts that were going through my mind on the way out. Thoughts concerning anything from excitement for my first nighttime brown trout, to melancholy over not being able to experience this feeling forever crossed my mind. As a young boy, I was uncertain about a lot of things, but there was one thing I was certain about; that I was hooked on nightfishing. And I could only thank my dad for introducing me to what became one of my passions for what has been going on 15 years, and hopefully many more.


My son's love affair with trout has already begun ;)


My dad, the sole person I can credit with my flyfishing obsession