Life between the lakes, part 44

The water parts to form a small circle, revealing the Royal Coachman’s tacit arrival into the Two Hearted River. The fly bobs once and then rests silently on the clear, smooth surface. The fisherman stands in the mucky sand watching the circle of waves widen and run toward him on shore.

A small hidden line runs straight toward him while the current gently pulls the Coachman downstream as he slowly creates slack by pulling the line from his reel and then releasing it.

A brook trout circles the coachman leaving and returning again so fast that all that is seen is a reflection of him in a beam of sunlight. He looked long and girthy, and the man’s heart rate quickened.

The fist circles again with renewed intentions, this time swimming straight up without hesitation and taking the red and white hook into his mouth, creating a flurry of splashing water.

The game is on.

The thin line becomes instantly rigid. The man bites down on the lip of his pipe and exhales the last puff of sweet grey smoke he has been nursing for the last twenty minutes. The trout and Coachman swirl to the surface of the water and then dive. The man pulls back on his rod, telling the fish, “not so fast” as he draws him to the surface.

The fish has other plans and replies with a lunge downstream as the reel whines with the fisherman giving him some slack.

The brook trout dives again and darts toward the butt end of a log sticking up out of the river. Behind the log the trout creates a temporary flurry of white water, signaling to the man that the fight is about to ramp up. The man tightens his line and pulls it gently, keeping it taut.

The fish returns the favor by darting toward a cluster of brush jutting from the shoreline, causing the man to give away some line. The man tries to gain leverage by carefully repositioning himself and pointing the tip of his rod away from the log.

The fish reveals himself, larger and with more girth than the man witnessed only moments before. His heart pounds as the fish breaks the surface in a flash before diving deep into an unseen pool behind a fallen cedar tree.

This exchange of wits, smarts and stamina goes on for a few minutes as the man reels fervently and plays the fish while the fish cleverly plays the man until the line goes limp.

The man removes the pipe from his clenched teeth. The tobacco has been reduced to ash and he puts the warm pipe in one of his many vest pockets while he retrieves his line, which now comes easily. To his amazement, the hook appears bent.

He shakes his head in disbelief and removes the pipe from his pocket, turning it over and tapping it on his palm to remove the spent tobacco, which quickly washes away in the current. He reaches into his pocket and retrieves another pipe. He packs it with fresh tobacco, cracking a smile in his defeat while noticing a vacant swirl downstream.

Just being there is a privilege and the fisherman knows this, but this day, the Two Hearted River owns the trout.

The man removes the needle nose pliers from another pocket and bends the hook back into shape. He knows the Royal Coachman will fight another day.

Life between the Lakes, part 43

 

My good friend Kevin Collard passed away last night. And though I am here, still full of life, I feel a profound emptiness inside.

 

His illness came on rapidly and he quickly found himself accepting the inevitable. He had guts and courage, knowing his time was short and he approached death the only way he knew how; through his faith.

 

Kevin was the guy behind the scenes talk radio on WJR and Christian radio, going back to his high school days. He was a brilliant guy, full of great ideas and an incredible sense of humor.

In a world of friendship through social media, he was a true go-to friend to me, because our friendship was genuine. 

 

While I mourn his loss I take joy in his deliverance. Please keep Kevin's family in your prayers.

 

Kevin was a graduate of Waterford Kettering High School (1985) and the Specs Howard School of Broadcast Arts (1986). He was a well-known radio producer in the Detroit metro area getting his start as the executive producer for Foster Braun’s “Love Talks” program at WWCM-Ypsilanti (1986-1993). He worked at WJR-Detroit from 1993 to 2009. He produced programs for Jimmy Barrett, Fat Bob Taylor, Larry Patton, Mike Whorf and Mitch Albom’s Sunday Sports Album. He was the executive producer for Ken Calvert, Paul W. Smith, David Newman, and Frank Beckman.

 

He later was the executive producer for Paul Edwards at WLQV-Detroit, Music Director and Morning Host at Proclaim FM in Toledo, Ohio, and Executive Producer for Stephen Clark & Joanne Purtan at WOMC-Detroit. He wrote the “Sounds of Faith” weekend column for the Oakland Press (1994-1996). In recent years he hosted a podcast, “A Soul Encountered,” interviewing guests about their Christian faith.

Life between the Lakes, part 42

 

There has been an increasing number of flying fish over Muskallonge Lake since the spring thaw. This is not a new species of fish, but rather the unlucky ones who end up in the talons of the Bald Eagles and Osprey.

From a distance, it’s easy to tell an eagle from other birds. While many of them fly by flapping their wings and going against the wind, the eagles appear to be the ones controlling the air. The way they rise, dip and glide above the tree line commands respect and leaves me in perpetual awe. But often I wonder if they take time to enjoy the view or are only on a constant search for food?

Trout season opened this weekend and currently, the folks at Pine Stump Junction are hosting a trout tournament, sponsored in part by Bells Brewery. The largest fish between now and next Saturday, May 1st, will be declared the winner. Please play fair. No stocked fish from lakes are allowed. Pine Stump also now has the Michigan lottery up and running. You can stop by and play Club Keno or to buy tickets for your favorite lotto games.

The Foster Camp at High Bridge on 407 was in full swing for the trout opener. As a kid I remember my Dad would always mention the great Ernest Hemingway as we crossed the Two Hearted River at High Bridge by their camp. And for years the story confused me and I thought Hemingway was the one who lived in the cabin you can see from the road. Oh, the sweet confusion of youth!

Fishing is on and live bait at Deer Park Lodge is back. They have crawlers, worms, spawn and wax but won’t be getting minnows for a while yet. The recent walleye survey of Muskallonge Lake was promising for anglers, showing significant growth in numbers for the mature adults. This week I got my fishing gear out of my storage area and hope to hit the water soon, though I am not sure exactly where just yet.

I walk my retired Greyhounds, Jack and Needa twice a day along County Road 407.  They always identify areas along the road where animals have crossed and Jack never misses an opportunity to lift his leg and mark a spot. I hear animals in the woods and sounds I cannot explain along this road. I’ve heard trees fall in the forest, when no one was there to hear them; thus answering the age old question.

In years past, the lake often looked the same to me every day but since the thaw, it changes every second. The water lapping on my feet today is the same water that I swam in as a kid, replenished by snow, rain, and underground springs and purified daily by God.

On Wednesday morning, during sunrise, there was a cloud-bank that resembled a chain of humpback whales, parked in mid-air over the south side of the sky. They played follow the leader, inching westward at their own pace.  At the same time, the blinking communications tower I can see on County Road 410 went from red to white and the yard became alive with winged movement as a new day was ushered in.

I could do many birds a favor by taking out the bully raven who hogs the bird feeder. But I won’t.

When he leaves the birds hiding in the trees rush to the feeder. Maybe they have an arrangement that I am not aware of? Maybe he protects the smaller birds from other prey, but I tend to doubt it. After all, every bird on earth has the same motive; survival.

Each day I am introduced to a new bird call and a new burst of color in the forest catches my eye. The birches seem whiter. The pines look a little greener and become more fragrant. Early ground cover is springing up all over the place along with the daffodils and crocus.

But I am greying. The faces of my dogs are turning white while the birds outside never seem to age.

 

Life between the lakes, part 41

 

There are only two establishments that are consistently open and qualify as social stops between Deer Park and Newberry. The first is the famous Deer Park Lodge at the east end of Muskallonge Lake, which I have written about before. They offer cabin and boat rentals and have an amazing general store that can accommodate almost anything you need within reason. The second is another famous stop along County Road 407 called Pine Stump Junction.

Prior to the Drink Shack/Cookery that currently operates there, the history of pine stump is simple but fascinating. In the late 1800s, while many areas had post offices that were inside a saloon, store or other structure, Pine Stump was an unmanned post office while the “Rural Free Delivery (RFD) system was implemented.

Located in a remote part of the Upper Peninsula, the junction was marked by a huge pine stump with a big iron mailbox attached. The mail that arrived via-Newberry (the closest town about 20 miles to the south) was left in the box to be picked up by people from the camps along the Grand Marais-Paradise road that ran east-west and the Deer Park Road that ran north and south.

Sidebar.

Seriously. I wonder how many love letters were intercepted in those days and how the absence of return mail impacted the lives of young adults. Think about it.

When the settlement of Deer Park was established they formed their own post office and the service between the two points continued as a north-route from Newberry to Lake Superior while the east-west route remained in place.

This week I went to Pine Stump to have a couple drinks and let someone else do the cooking for a change.  I sat at the bar and ordered a round and it wasn’t long before an older couple I knew from down the road came in, said hello and immediately began socializing. The wife sat down and began a conversation with the waitress/barmaid while her husband chatted with me. A few minutes later a group of men entered and sat down at one of the large tables.

When the waitress came to take their drink order my friend politely excused himself and walked toward the table.  I heard him ask if any of them were former military and could tell by the responses that some of them were. I heard him offer to buy them a drink as a small token of appreciation for their service to our country. They all sat and chatted for a while. I tip my hat to you Jim. You are a great American.

He returned to his wife’s table when their pizza arrived. I was at the bar so I turned around and formed a sociable triangle with them. Between the three of us and the waitress, the four of us chatted for a while about nothing in particular other than the, occasional power outages, the largest snowfall of the last 20 years and the way the northern lights can turn the sky from green to dark-red, to white before disappearing after their shimmering display of beauty is complete.

The bar/grill know as Pine Stump has gone through several owners during its existence. It has turned over three times in about the past ten years with each new owner bringing their own energy and visions for improvements and prosperity. It is a hotbed in the summer and offers occasional live entertainment.

The menu has also undergone some changes which have not been popular with  me and those who have taken my informal survey as well as insider information I gather during my stealthy recon missions. (Bring back the Jumbo Chicken Wings Rob, and make your pizza great again.)

I realize it is a difficult task to leverage a restaurant in the middle of nowhere. The food supply is limited and the rising cost of getting items from one place to the next can be staggering when you are trying to make payroll and post a profit, especially with the challenges of Covid.

They’ve been doing an incredible job at Pine Stump during the pandemic, especially during this year’s short and less profitable snowmobile season. I will continue to patronize this great place even if some of the items on the menu fall short of what my pallet desires. After all, the atmosphere cannot be beat!

In the old days, resorts, tourist attractions, hotels and places like this used to have guest books, where people signed in, putting a stamp on the arrival of their vacation. It was done mostly as formality and also because it was a fun thing for families to do. Pine Stump used to have and use them but the tradition seems to have become lost.

While I was there I went through some of the old guest books. Unfortunately, they skip around a bit and there are big chunks of time missing in the volumes. All of the entries were etched on the parchment, either in pencil, pen, magic marker or an occasional sharp crayon.

I found several entries from my family that occurred between 1989 and 2013. When I flipped through the pages, I saw what seemed like almost every city in Michigan but still managed to learn a few new locations.

There is something magical about this area. Whether you call it “up north,” or “the UP,” it holds a magic and beauty that is easy to recognize yet hard to define. Many people return to the area because they’ve never found another place like this. I believe them and I know why they return.

There are sacred family stories etched in these books with very few descriptive words. It doesn’t take much to create a lasting memory in these parts; just your name, your hometown and the date you were there.