Posted on November 08 2008
Lately I've been replaying a memory sequence which takes me back to a crisp southwest Michigan afternoon over a decade ago on an out of the way river.
A friend and I were swinging spey flies through riffled runs for steelhead when my line went taunt and minutes later a silver and beige hued lake run brown trout was tailed with a black hackled fly hooked solid in the jaw.
This was the first fish I had taken on a swung spey fly and the experience will always come flowing back from the recesses of my mind when the leaves change from green to gold and I hear rumors of large brown trout, salmon, and steelhead rushing into those Michigan rivers from the big water of the lake.
A friend and I were swinging spey flies through riffled runs for steelhead when my line went taunt and minutes later a silver and beige hued lake run brown trout was tailed with a black hackled fly hooked solid in the jaw.
This was the first fish I had taken on a swung spey fly and the experience will always come flowing back from the recesses of my mind when the leaves change from green to gold and I hear rumors of large brown trout, salmon, and steelhead rushing into those Michigan rivers from the big water of the lake.
