THE LAND NORTH OF SUPERIOR

 <o:p></o:p>

When spring comes not only is the dedicated fisherman’s mind set adrift from everyday normal events, but often youngsters sitting in the class room seem to find their thoughts staying from the reading, writing and arithmetic.  I had those difficult days from creek opening to end of school, and my boys went through a similar time.  Even back then I found it is much easier to give in and enjoy the land north of Superior, why fight a good thing?

 <o:p></o:p>

Spring came warm and wet that year.  We had snow piled on top of snow piles.  The ice had been thick enough that many a fisherman had to get extensions made for their ice augers.  The snow banks slowly melted and we had a 10 day runoff.  Mud everywhere from youngsters, our dog and yes even I would forget to take my boots off bringing groceries into the house.  Fishing reels were stripped and respooled with new line, tackle boxes were cleaned and lures polished.  That everything was ready to go with nowhere to go only made things more frustrating.  Then I heard the good word at work one day, a five pound steelhead had been taken from the river.  Saturday was automatically a fishing day!

 <o:p></o:p>

Our two sons, showing bicycle splatter where their jackets hadn’t protected them, told of great big rainbows attacking anything thrown into the water.  Super was used to pass on the daily events and happenings of the day, especially during cycle/fishing season when people could be going in several different directions on the same day.

 <o:p></o:p>

“Jimmy says he’s coming fishing with us tomorrow�? our oldest boy yelled as he disappeared out the door with bat, ball and glove in hand.

 <o:p></o:p>

“We got a pickup game at the school.  I’ll dig some worms in the morning from around the house!�?SPAN>  Our youngest, carrying his ball gear, slammed the door shut only a few steps behind his brother.

 <o:p></o:p>

“So where are all you guys going tomorrow?�?SPAN>  Questioned my wife as she started to clean super dishes from the table.  “When I looked out at the bay this afternoon the ice is pushed into shore, you may have to look for open water.�?/P>

 <o:p></o:p>

“I took a short drive before coming home.  The lake is open about ½ a mile up, so we’ll try the river mouth in the afternoon.  A steelhead for salting would sure go good about now!�?/P>

 <o:p></o:p>

The next afternoon found us taking rods and reels from the back of our pickup by the highway bridge.  The sun was warm and hardly a trace of wind could be felt.  The climb down the steep bank caused lots of laughter and one boot had to be emptied of fine sand at the bottom.  Spinners were quickly tied on and earthworms hooked for the first casts.  Even though we were heading to the river mouth the huge back eddy on this side of the river often yielded fish to the knowing angler.  Twice the boys had steelhead on.  The old black reels just screamed as the heavy runners stripped line against the drag system.  One fish got off after his second electrifying jump for the skies; the second got into the fast water and there was simply no way the turn it around, he was heading back to Lake Superior, the line snapped.  Most of the line was recovered as the line parted close to the fish and only the spinner was lost.

 <o:p></o:p>

Around the corner a crystal wall, alive with sunlight and reflections from the blue water made us pause.  We clamoured up unto the piles of ice and found spots to cast from.  Far across the bay the little white church stood gleaming against the brown and rock of pregreen trees.  Transport trucks of every description and colour silently snaked their way along the winding shoreline road.  Giant splashes of brilliant light flared out to us when the sun struck at the right angle.  There was some evidence of others before us, foot prints in the fine shore sand, a fire pit with blackened sticks of unburned wood, and several pop tins around it.  Those were later crushed and went home with us.

 <o:p></o:p>

For an hour not much happened, I had one strike but couldn’t get it to stick.  After another half hour we all decided to take a break.  The fine shore sand made an excellent bed, with the sun beating down.  A piece of light tan drift wood served as a back rest as ham and cheese sandwiches disappeared along with several cans of soda pop to wash everything down.  It seemed like I must have had the perfect position because the next thing I remember was spirited yelling.

 <o:p></o:p>

“Tony’s got one on!

 <o:p></o:p>

The bite improved after that lunch break.  We landed my oldest son’s five pound steelhead after an aerial display that scattered showers of glistening water in all directions.  Two more strikes with negative results finally gave me a chance to show off as a beautiful eight pound silver warrior was netted carefully.  Nobody wanted ‘the salter�?to get away.  Jimmy not to be outdone landed one just slightly smaller for his family super table that night.  Henry, our youngest, had the most hits but his luck didn’t improve after that first fish that went looking for Lake Superior.

 <o:p></o:p>