Mid Michigan Outdoors

                                        Oh What A Beautiful Morning

    3:00 a.m. came extremely early, and as I woke my 12 year old son Bryan his first words were, "I am to tired to go", but I knew he would not miss the day we had ahead of us. Waking so early was a must as it was Saturday, September 19, and was the opener of the 2009 youth waterfowl hunting weekend and I was sure all Bryan needed was to wake up a bit and clear the cob webs out of his head. I had loaded all of our gear the night before so all that was needed was to get dressed and drive to Jays Sporting Goods in Clare, where we would be meeting my friend and co-worker Matt Miller and his niece Jordan. Jordan was just 10 years old and, from talking to Matt, she was quite excited about the days hunt. With the short drive from our home in Beaverton, Bryan and I arrived at Jays where we chatted briefly with Jordan and Matt then headed out for our 45 minute drive north to my favorite early season waterfowl hole.

    We arrived at the lake around 4:45, and as Bryan, Jordan and Matt unloaded our vehicles, I set up the grill and started cooking breakfast burritos. The grill was a welcome sight to us all as we were hungry and the kids were a bit chilly with the temperature holding around 40 degrees. As we all dished up a burrito and warmed by the fire, Jordan and Bryan loosened up a bit and began to chat. Jordan had said she really did not care if she shot a duck, she would be happy to just see one. I think she was a bit doubtful when I told her that not only would she see a duck, she would probably see a couple hundred ducks, and I was sure she would get her first duck. She just smiled and finished her breakfast. Bryan was a bit more confident as this was his second trip to this particular spot and he knew we would see plenty of waterfowl. Once we finished eating breakfast, Matt let his dog Sage out of the truck and told her to load up in their canoe while Bryan and I got into our 14.5 foot tandem kayak and were ready to lead the way across the lake to hunting spot in a small point of cattails on the west shore.

    As we pushed off shore and into the lake we were greeted with fog, thick, dense, white fog. It was like our paddles were cutting through the center of a 3 Musketeers candy bar. I can normally make the trip across the lake in 5 - 10 minutes but the fog was worse than I had ever seen  on the lake. Using lights to try to stay in the main river channel and avoid the flooded stump fields, we eased our way toward the west shore. We did get off track and into the stumps for a couple minutes but were lucky enough not to get hung up and were able to make our way back into the river channel. Once we entered the open water of the river, and it was heading west, I knew we were not far from our destination, and when the river made a sharp bend to the south, that was my clue to head due west for a 50 yard shot through the weeds and stumps to our hideout in the small point of cattails between a small bay to our north and another to our south. Just prior to the cattail point Matt placed decoys to the north and Bryan and I  placed decoys to the south. Keeping all the decoys within 20 yards would allow for some close range shooting for the kids once the sun started to come up and the morning flights took to the sky.

    Tucked into the cattails, we all sat quietly, just waiting for that first lonely hen to quack, or the soft whistle of a wood duck waking to the rays of the morning sun. With daylight starting to appear over the tree line across the lake, it was as if someone reached into the center of the lake and pushed the fog away just for us. As dark gave way to the pale grey morning sky we were suddenly able to see a half mile in any direction.   The first hen of the morning sounded her lonely just as a wood duck gave a subtle whistle.  Shortly thereafter the first ducks of the morning took to the air.

    "Get ready" whispered Matt to Jordan as a couple wood ducks made there way through the brisk morning air and headed in our direction.  Before Jordan could even think about a shot the little feather covered lightning bolts zipped by.  Just as fast as those appeared and disappeared a few more were in the air. 

    "Off to the right",

     "10:00 oclock high"

    "Here they come'

    In and out flew the speedy little ducks, some times only one, other times 4 or five at a time.  Once or twice they would drop into our decoys just briefly before jumping back into the air and heading to another part of the lake.  I was finally able to warm Bryan early enough when the next couple wood ducks approached and his little pump 20 gauge shattered the silence of the morning.  That was all it took to get him going.  Although he did not connect, he was now ready to roll and not shy about shooting.  When I said "take em" , he fired.  Shot after shot came unsuccessfully but he was not about to give up.  Jordan had yet to fire a shot when a nice little woody approached from the left and Matt told her to take it.  One quick shot and she had her first duck.  The little wood duck was able to make its' way into the cattails before Matt released his dog into the water, but Sage is a wonderful hunting dog and was able to retrieve the bird from deep into the tangle of cattails.  As Matt and Jordan came around the point of cattails from retrieveing her duck, the smile on Jordans' face was almost to big to fit on her face.  A moment I will never forget.

    We were barely able to enjoy Jordans success when Bryan spotted a duck coming in from our right and he put it down real quick.  A second shot to finish it off, and Bryan now had a wood duck for himself.  What a day already and it had been barely a half hour since we tucked ourselves into our hiding spot.  We were obviously well concealed as the morning flight continued right in front of us and offered many opportunities for shots.  A small group of wood ducks came rocketing in from the right and with a quick mount of his pump 20 gauge and a squeeze of the trigger one of the flock tumbled to the water.  The bird immediately uprighted itself and headed for some tall weeds.  I told Bryan to take another shot but it was to late as the duck disappeared.  Matt sent out Sage for a recovery but she was unsuccessful.  Even with our help the duck was not to be found.  Bryan was a little bummed but I explained to him that it will happen to every waterfowl hunter at some point in time and not to get to bummed about it.  With that said we made our way back to our spot for a few more minutes before Bryan and I took off for some jump shooting and hopefully to push some birds toward Jordan and Matt who would remain on the decoy sets.

    With Bryan in the front seat of my tandem kayak and his gun at the ready, we made our way through the many bays and canals around the lake shore.  Wood ducks and mallards flushed from just about every little nook and cranny offering Bryan a few shots and sending ducks in every direction.  From time to time we could hear a shot or two coming from the area of Matt and Jordan.  As we crossed the main lake and started heading north on the shoreline where our partners were waiting over the decoys, a nice drake wood duck bolted from the cattails straight in front of Bryan and he dropped it immediately.  A couple shots from Jordans area followed as a couple dozen wood ducks took flight along the shoreline in front of us.

    As we rounded the point of cattails we could see Matt and Jordan were picking up there decoys.  Bryan said that he had taken another nice drake giving him 2 ducks for the morning and with another big smile Jordan announced that she had taken her 3 wood duck limit. 

    I can honestly say there are very few moments in my life that have or will rival that.

                          OH WHAT A BEAUTIFUL MORNING!

    I am writing this for my son Casey who was not able to join us this year to get together with his older brother and my old school buddies. This would have been Caseys first trip to our annual outing and he was truly looking forward to it. Instead, he is in the middle of Marine Boot Camp in San Diego, California. I look so forward to his letters and am so happy to hear from him. I just received 2 letters today. Thanks Casey. I hope he, and anyone else who reads this appreciates it for what it is, and understands this is why I live where I do, and love the family and friends I have. I am truly blessed to have such a wonderful family, my lovely wife Dawn, and my three great sons, Matthew, Casey and Bryan. And to have such close friends for so many years is simply amazing, they are more like my brothers than my friends.

    Hang in there Casey, and hopefully you will join us next year.

    Semper Fi little buddy.

    Pulling into my son Matthews drive, my excitement level was really on the rise. My mind carried me back to a day 12 years ago when I was feeling the very same.

You see, 12 years ago I sent out invitations to several of my old school buddies to join me for a day of fishing on Wakeley Lake near Grayling, Michigan. Only 4 others were able to make it for our Saturday of fishing but we had such a great time it has become an annual event known as the Big Ass Bass Invitational.

    Over the years we have had as many as 14 friends show up, and every year has been as great as the first, although now several of us will go out Friday afternoon or evening and set up camp to stay until Sunday. The fishing is still only a Saturday event, giving us the remainder of the time for just sitting around and having a lot of good, fun, conversation.

    Bringing my mind back to the present, we loaded Matthews things and squeezed his little brother Bryan into the back seat. I felt bad for Bryan as he was stuffed between coolers, fishing poles, a cart for canoe transport, and whatever else would not fit in the trunk. His ride must have been terribly long because, though I hate to admit it, most of the conversation over the one hour ride to Grayling was between Matt and I, and was about the good times to be had over the next couple days. Bryan is only 12 and he knows it will be a few years yet before he can come along. I must give Bryan credit as he is a trooper and wished us both good luck as we dropped him off at his grandparents for the weekend.

    A short drive across Grayling landed Matthew and I at my long time friend and fishing buddy Luke Petroskeys’ house, where he already had one canoe and his necessary “stuff” loaded. Luke considered taking his “Green Box” full of the odd necessities that an unseasoned rookie might not think of such as, paper towel, utensils, paper towel, seasonings, paper towel. I am sure anyone who was there will understand that little one. For Luke to take his “Green Box” would sort have been stealing Mikes thunder, as it has been somewhat of a ritual for Mike to bring his “ Green Box”. Matt and I strapped Lukes other canoe to the roof of my Taurus and headed to the lake. Along the way we ran into a bit of rain but it was not enough for us to consider not going, and before we knew it we had both pulled into the parking lot at Wakeley Lake.

    Wakeley Lake is a national foot travel area so there are no vehicles allowed to the lake, which is about a half mile from the parking lot. Any boats, canoes, kayaks, and gear must be carried, pushed, or pulled to the lake. Over the past 25 years or so, since the property became public, we have figured out some unique ways to transport our gear to the lake with as little effort as possible. Back in the day we may have carried a canoe to the lake but now that we are all in our mid 40s, except for my son Matt, it is a lot easier to put our wisdom to use and save our backs, so carts are now used regularly. Matt, Luke and I pushed our loaded canoes and an extra cart of gear to the lake, where after some long minutes of trying to decide whether or not to use a different site, we settled on our usual spot.

    Camp Big Ass Bass has become an amazing camp over the years. We have used the same site almost every year and have figured out just how to set it up. With the tents at the up hill edge of the camp clearing, and our picnic tables at the down hill side, we have the fire pit stationed nicely in between and can use big tarps along the trees at the down hill side of camp to keep the tables and cooking items dry and out of the wind. As Matthew, Luke and I were finishing our set up another one of the guys arrived. Matt Keir was one class ahead of Luke and I in school and has known my son Matthew his entire life. Matt has attended almost all of the Big Ass Bass Invitationals and is always a welcome sight, especially since I forgot a tent and was hoping he would have room for one more in his. Matt, as always, was a great friend and said no problem while I helped him set up his tent.

    It was not long after Matt arrived when Mike Petrie, John Solmonson, and Jim Piper showed up. Mike, John, and Jim were in the same class as Luke and I and have spent many of hours on the water and in the woods together over the past 33 years. This was the first year for John, at the Big Ass Bass Invitational, so I was sure he was in for a good time and would be ready to come back again. After friendly greetings John, Mike and Jim placed their tents and unpacked necessary items, then helped in finishing up camp. Once the final poles were up, camp was officially complete and dinner would soon be on the grills.

    Dinner, or just food in general, is something that we never have a shortage of at camp, and our camp food is not just any camp food, oh no, we eat good.

Camp Menu

Friday dinner

Beef loin steaks grilled with marinade and fresh mushrooms and peppers

Shrimp and zuccini shish kabobs in a marinade with onions and fresh picked peppers

Saturday breakfast

Breakfast burritos with homemade venison sausage, onions, potatoes, cheese and eggs

Dawns homemade blueberry/pineapple bread (thanks to my wonderful wife)

Orange Juice

Fresh Brewed Kona Coffee

(sorry no pictures of breakfast)

Saturday lunch

Beef brats

Stadium brats

Cheddar brats

Potatoe salad

Saturday dinner

Pork loin, grilled over open flame

Fresh corn on the cob, grilled/roasted

That is only our meal menu. The snacks and other goodies are just about endless, so it is great that we never go hungry. Another great thing is that everyone pitches in and helps with the meals. Whether it is cooking, serving, or cleaning up dishes, it all gets done while having a great time. After eating and clean up it was time for a few games of washers and some good ole story telling.

TO BE CONTINUED......

    Mikes adventure on one of his last business trips came up as he told of looking out the window of the twin prop plane he was flying in and seeing the propellor on his side not spinning. Now that one sentence alone can create a good tale in itself, but to hear it told and animated by Mike is an adventure. The night when Luke sprayed himself with fish scent because he mistook it for bug spray was good for some laughs. And of course reliving the moments of past Big Ass Bass Invitational weekends. As the night grew later the tales turned to possible fishing strategies before we all began to settle down and crawl into our sleeping bags to await the mornings meal and Saturdays big day of fishing.

    Saturday began with a big batch of fresh cooked breakfast burritos and coffee along with some fresh baked pineapple / blueberry bread from my wonderful wife, and more coffee brought by our late arrival Mark Jacobs. A few shakes of the head to clear out the cob webs from Friday night was a great feeling. We then loaded up our canoes with fishing gear and drinks for the morning and pushed them to the lake. Of course leave it to Mark and I to liven up the morning with a slip of the canoe off our cart and me almost landing in the mud . We all had a good laugh at that one. Then, with a check of the watch, we decided start time would be 9:15 am and we would break for lunch at 12:30. At exactly 9:15 Mike and John blew a horn and the fishing was on.

    Mark was my boat partner and that was alright by me, it really does not matter to anyone who we fish with, as we are all experienced fishermen, any of the others would be great to have in the boat. In fact over the past 12 years I have had all of them as a partner at least once, with the exception of John who fished with Mike on this first year. We wished each other good luck and 4 canoes headed in 4 directions toward what we each hoped would be the hot spot for the morning.

    The mornings fishing started out quite eventless for Mark and I. Not much for bites, several switches of lures and what seemed like hours went by before Mark finally put a decent bass in the boat. Well that at least put one of us on the board and got the skunk out of the boat. A short time later I put a decent 12 incher in the boat so I at least had one, even if it was a little one. Now when I say put in the boat I simply mean landed and measured, then immediately released due to the fact that Wakeley Lake is a catch and release lake only. There is also no live bait allowed on the lake and no motors of any kind. My hopes of several in the 17 - 20 inch range were not to be, as small fish would be all I would catch. I did not put one fish in the boat over 15 inches. Mark on the other hand was well on his way to a great days catch as he reeled in his second fish, a nice fat 15 inch largemouth bass. By lunch break Mark had 6 fish in the boat with 2 of them over 15 inches. How the others were doing we were not exactly sure.

    We knew Matt and Luke had a few fish because we saw them land a couple while we were fishing just a short ways from them. It appeared that they did not have any real big fish. Mark and I enjoyed the view of a great rainbow that hung over both Luke and Matts’ canoe, and Mike and Johns canoe . We heard from Mike that he had a 23+ inch pike, which held out to take top pike honors at the end of the day, but their bass count was pretty low. I was holding onto the big blue gill as far as I knew with a 9 ½ incher, but we had yet to see or talk to my son Matthew and Jim. Another honk of the airhorn sounded our 12:30 lunch break. Fishing stopped and we all made our way toward shore.

    Once at the landing we heard that Jim also had a 9 ½ inch blue gill so he and I were tied at that point, but the big story of the morning was my son Matt. This is only Matts second year and so far he has done well. Last year he actually had the biggest fish and the top 5 bass total, so as far as bass go he was the new master, and it was looking like he might be well on the way to doing it again. His first four fish of the day had only one under 14 inches with one 19 inch hog in the mix. As Matthews father, I could not help but silently hope for him to do even better during the afternoon and put a whoopin on everyone, including me. Even with his great catch Matt would not take home sole honors of Big Ass Bass Master do to the fact that this year I switched it up a bit and decided to have it a team event for the top 5 bass. The catch was no one knew who their team mate would be until the end of the tournament and that would be decided by the numbers we all drew at breakfast. Matching numbers, from two sets of 1 - 4, would be combining to pick out their top 5 fish between both catches. The morning was a success in that everyone caught at least one fish and was ready to head back out after lunch.

    My afternoon went about as well as the morning as far as fishing was concerned. A lot of fish, but nothing of any real size. Marks afternoon started well with a few quick fish in the 12 and 13 inch range, but the real excitement came when he set the hook on his 4th fish of the afternoon. His pole doubled over instantly as he set the hook on a big bass. The fish made a leap as if just to show Mark what he was dealing with. As Mark fumbled around trying to keep track of the fish on his line and get his other rig out of the way, the bass dove under a stump. Things were not looking good for Mark but he held steady and managed to land the 20 inch largemouth. What a great catch and a tough one it would be to beat for big bass honors. Before I knew it the 6:00 horn sounded from Mikes boat, signalling the end of the tournament. Now it was just a matter of going to shore and seeing what everyone else had done, and, finding out who our partners were for a chance at the top 5 bass.

    Well Mikes 23 ½ inch pike held on to take the big pike win. Jim and I had our thought s of sharing the big blue gill win until Matt Keir told of his fat 9 ½ incher. Of course Marks 20 inch largemouth took top honors as big bass and the surprise team of Matt Keir and my son Matt combined to take the top 5 bass win with 5 bass that measured 90 inches. The funny thing is that later Jim and Matthew told me that several of Matthews fish may have been longer than what were written because Matthew was measuring them wrong by using the upper jaw and open tail rather than the lower jaw with a closed tail. The difference in jaws alone can add as much as ½ inch, and the tail can be from 1/8 to ½ inch longer when pinched together. If Matthew had measured all his fish properly he might just have had the big bass also, but he really did not care. We just go to have fun and do a little fishing. A little friendly competition, yes, but nothing serious. Congratulations went around with some chit chat about techniques and baits before we pulled our boats and gear back up to camp and prepared for another great meal and tales by the camp fire.

    While Matt and Mike gathered up some wood from the area for a fire Jim and Luke ran to a friends house to acquire some good campfire wood to get us through the night. I met Jim and Luke up at the parking area with my cart and Johns bike to help them bring the load of wood back to camp. In the meantime, the others had a good fire started and were just waiting for the start of dinner.

    It has been a tradition to have Pork loin for dinner after the tournament and this year we stayed true to our tradition. While one whole loin and 3, 2 inch thick loin chops, were put on the tripod grill, 2 dozen ears of corn were removed from the water they had been soaking in and placed along the fire ring to begin cooking. As the corn finished cooking we just could not wait for the loin and we all helped ourselves to a couple ears of fresh roasted corn on the cob while we waited for the loin to finish. Now most people would agree that corn on the cob is a wonderful vegetable, but unless you have had it by the lake, roasted by an open fire, with a bunch of friends, you are missing out. And with that said, the loin finished up and was brought to the table.

    Jim properly let the loin rest for several minutes before putting the knife to it. We all began to gather around the platter of loin just waiting for that first cut, those sweet juices to flow on the platter, mixing with the special rub, to create an amazing dipping juice right before our eyes. As Jim began to slice the loin, hands and fingers came from every angle to sample a piece. There truly is nothing like open wood fire grilled pork loin, piping hot off the grill, dipped in its own juice and eaten with the fingers. Did we all have a little fish slime still on our hands? Probably. Did that matter? Definitely not.

    Between the corn appetizer and loin entree we were all stuffed to the “gills” in no time and ready for some relaxation time.

    As we all began to unwind, the stories started to flow like an unobstructed river. Luke tells of being a chaperone on the 8th grade canoe trip and taking one for the team, as he was the only caught, or “singled out” as he put it, by coach Ferguson for hanging out at the girls camp. Ole “swisher sweet” Petroskey comes through again.

Mike talks of a day when he and a friend are going to the tallest building in South East Asia, but they can not find it. They do however run into a drunk Korean stumbling out of a bar so they decide that would be a good place to go and chill out. Good choice “shotgun”. How about the blue Monte. The Great White Buffalo. If you want to know the rest of this one you will have to get with Mike.

    How about the racing canoe that was broke in half by John and another of our class mates while floating down river. A bolt from an old bridge piling put a hole in the cedar strip canoe and before they knew it she was sunk and split in half. The front of the canoe and half of Johns things slowly made their way down river while John and Grant had to ride on coolers in another canoe for the rest of the trip.

    Lukes new nickname “chili” leads him into a conversation on advertising and product recognition. Why? Who knows! But he does have the courtesy to let us in on his own motto for the Comfort Centers. You will have to get with him if you want to know more.

Then it is the Ozfest which Jim attended. 5 years worth of heavy metal in one day was almost more than he could handle. Then he catches a drumstick along with two other people in the crowd but hangs on enough to end up with it. Although not without losing his Harley hat for a short time and being pushed into the mosh pit.

Tales like these went on long into the night until our ears were worn . Sunday morning came all to early.

    The sun rose over the lake Sunday and greeted us with a clear sky and chilly morning. A bit of coffee and some cheese danish was enough to get some energy and tear down camp. We always hate to see it end but are equally glad it is over for a year. It might not seem like it,but a weekend at the Big Ass Bass Invitational can take a lot out of a bunch of guys in their mid 40s.

Am I glad I went?

Absolutely!

Did I have a good time?

The best!

Will I do it next year?

Most definitely!

Thanks guys,

Frank “no longer the Big Ass Bass Master” Krajenka

P.S.

We missed ya Stan.

     As many of you might already know, I am definitely not a handyman.  Tools and I have never really gotten along, and building things just has not been something I have ever done.  Well I did build a fish shanty once, but that is about the extent of my building experiences and my use of tools.

    Speaking of tools, I do not have them.  I own a hammer, and a extending limb saw for clearing shooting lanes, oh, and a screw driver, that is it.  So how did I build this blind you might wonder.

    First I laid two of my 2x4x10s about 6 feet apart, with the bottoms even with each other.  I say about 6 feet apart because I do not own a tape measure.  I then took one of my ten foot long pieces of slab wood and nailed it to the 2x4s about 36inches from the bottom.  Then I nailed a second piece of slabwood right next to the first.  I scooted this near where I was planning on placing the blind and dug a hole about 15 inches deep where the bottom of each 2x4 was now laying.  Then I simply stood up the beginning of my first wall, got it somewhat level, and filled in the holes.  I did the same thing to create another wall of approximately the same dimensions and stood it up about 4 feet from, and parallel to the first wall.

    I used my limb saw to cut off the excess 4 feet of slabs from the six foot walls.  Then just started nailing and sawing.  When i figured it was high enough needed a window I simply skipped a space of slabwood and then began again, slowly working my way around all for sides, and the roof.  I left the roof as ten footers figuring the shade would not hurt.

    As luck would have it, there were about a dozen slabs, in the bundle I purchased from the local amish, that were only about 1/4 inch thick there entire 10 lenth.  These thin slabs were used to fill in the gaps on the walls and roof inside the blind to help keep out the weather and create a darker interior.

    A total of about 6 hours, a hammer , a limb saw, some nails, and some cheap lumber from the amish, and I now have a great blind to keep my 12 year old and I out of the weather this fall and winter.

    Yes I am a Polock!!

    At 20 minutes till 8:00 am it actually hit me that I was about to attempt a 100 mile bike ride after only training for about 3 1/2 months.  I figured I could do it but was skeptical about doing in the course of a day.  My goal was simply to finish, but I really wanted to do it in 10 hours or less, which is actually quite slow considering that more than half of the 300 bikes to enter would be finishing around 5 hours.  As I look around at all the bikes lining up, it become apparent to me that I might be the only one crazy enough to try it on a mountain bike with offroad tires.

    At 8:27 I lined up with nine other bikes and began the journey.  A steady pace was all I wanted and was not brought down as bike after bike that started behind me made their way past me.  In fact it was quite a sight to see some of the better riders all lined up, front tire to rear tire, drafting as if they were on a nascar track.  One line of bikes that went past was about 12 bikes long and sounded like a car coming up behind me as they pushed the wind in front of them and made their way past, giving the biker at the end of the line a free ride for a short time before that individual would pull out and make their way to the front of the pack and let someone else have their turn in the draft.  As they past the wind from the pack shook my handlebars like a car on the expressway when a couple semis go by. Simply amazing.

    Approaching the first feed stop, about 30 miles into the ride, I felt great.  The steady drizzling rain helped to keep me cool and the training was definitely paying off.  My legs and back were holding up great and the couple hills so far were not even a challenge.  A couple pieces of melon and a muffin and I was on my way.

    The next 15 miles or so were up one hill and down the other and I realized that the hills were not as challenging as I had expected.  In fact they were my strong point.  On the flats the people in front of me would slowly pull away, but when the hills came, the crest of the hill would put me almost even with them again.  And though there were only a couple riders as far back as me, it really felt good to know that I could keep up with a couple. 

     As I closed in on the 57 mile mark it was a welcome sight to see my mother in law coming down the road to offer some encouragement and some fuel for my body.  A quick gatorade and a stretch of the legs and away I went.

     My legs were now starting to get weary and I knew there was a giant hill to come.  My mother in law had informed me that a big percentage of the riders walk a portion of this particular hill so I should not be to concerned if I needed to do the same.  I was hoping to not have to walk any of the hills but would not feel bad if had to be done, and at just 80 yards from the top of the monster at Alcona I had to get off the seat and walk it the rest of the way.  I still can not figure out why my body would let me push the bike up the rest of the hill but would not allow me one more pedal.  Huh?

    After cresting the hill I was able to enjoy a nice coast before having to continue pedalling.  My next break would come with about 25 miles left, where my wonderful wife and son were waiting for me with a couple of the volunteers.  I indulged in a couple more muffins and some fruit, stretched once more and off I went.  Now wearier than ever and wondering what I had gotten myself into.  I was sure I could make it now, but my legs and butt were really starting to feel the ride and I started to question myself as to just how sure I was that I could make it.

    Just 8 or 9 miles down the road wife and son waited again, and wished me well as a grabbed a drink and a couple crackers before heading off on the last 11 miles.

    The final 11 miles was by far the hardest 11 miles I have ever spent on a bike.  I could sit not more than a minute or two, then I would have to stand and pedal.  Alternating between sitting, stand, pedalling, and coasting, that last section seemed like an eternity.  I was never going to make it.  Then out of nowhere a car came by and slowed down by my side.  The passengers of the car cheered me on and said I could do it, only a few more miles, great job.  That was all I needed and before I knew it I could see my family and the timing lights at the finish line.

    8 hours 59 minutes and 56 seconds after starting I crossed the finish line.  Legs aching, neck sore, and fingers numb, but I made it.  As my son kindly loaded my bike into the truck and I sat in the car a chill came over me.  I had not really paid any attention to the fact that it rained, a cool rain, for the past nine hours, and now that I was not moving it was actually quite chilly.  Or maybe it was just the simple fact that my body was drained.

    A motel room was calling, and do not get me wrong about this because I am definitely not a bath man, but the next twenty minutes soaking in the warm tub was one of the most wonderful feeling I have ever experienced, and was enough time to convince myself that I really did it and was definitely going to do it again next year.

    Thanks to my wonderful family and friends for all the support.

    Easing my kayak down the rocky bank and into the river, my mind instantly began to wander.  Thinking of the peace and quiet to be had over the next several hours as I glide silently along, no worries, just me and the river. 

    Shortly down stream a large blue heron wades stealth like through the shallows, searching for an unsuspecting fish or crayfish.  Not more than an hour into the float,  I round a bend and surprise a doe whitetail deer standing on a shallow gravel bar in the river with her triplet fawns.  In between observing the many wonders nature has to offer, I spend some time tossing a fishing lure and letting my mind wander.

    It is easy for the mind to wander when there is literally nothing to have to really think about.  No traffic, no crowds, just me, the river and peace and quite.  The quite might be broken on ocassion by the quack of a mallard duck who is startled by my sudden appearance, or the caw of a crow allerting the rest of the flock of my presence, but these are wonderful and peaceful sounds.  Sounds that I can live with day in and day out.  My own little piece of Heaven.  But like most good things, they never seem to last long enough.

    After several hours of what seemed like Heaven, I was suddenly tossed into the midst of Hell.  You see, it was the 4th of July and I was now leaving the river and entering the lake into which the river flowed.  What had been a quite, lazy float had now become a torrent of crashing waves, loud motors, and people, lots and lots of people.  Jet skis race up and down the now 150 yard river, dodging between pleasure boats, pontoons and boats with motors that sound like they belong in Nascar vehicle.  Rarely was there a gap of more than 75 yards between watercraft, each creating its own set of waves.  Waves, waves, everywhere were waves.  Big waves, little waves.  Waves with sharp breaking tops.  Slow rolling waves.  More waves and boats and noise than I had ever pictured on such a small, narrow section of water.

    My little 14.5 foot kayak was more like a big fishing bobber than a boat.  Tossed up and down, side to side, I keep my attention on the next set of waves or where the next boat might come flying by.  No longer could I just let my mind wander.  Concentrating on staying upright was consumed every thought for over 1 1/2 hours until I made it to the far south end of the lake, where it was wide enough to allow some of the waves to subside.   I pulled up to the shore and beached my kayak for a moment.  I stretched my legs and had to laugh about my day.  It was like I had been through Heaven and Hell in the course of 8 hours. It might seem strange but that is exactly why I love living in Mid Michigan.

Being an avid outdoorsman it is no surprise that my three sons are fond of the outdoors and all the great activities it has to offer.

Fishing for bluegills and crappies is definitely one of their favorite outdoor sports, especially for my 12 year old Bryan. He has been fishing by my side since before he could hold a rod and reel and it is quite obvious that he paid very close attention to what was going on. At 12 years old I can count on him to help fill the freezer with fillets any time, and would bet on him any day to match a lot of tournament anglers catch for catch when it comes to panfish.

In the summer of 2006 , when he was just 9 years old, Bryans skills as a crappie fisherman would be put to the test. While picking up some snacks at a local store we noticed a flyer advertising a kids crappie tournament on Wixom Lake. It would be open to kids of all ages up to 16. Bryan was immediately interested so we signed him up . Being in the mid range of the age class I figured Bryan would do well but reminded him that no matter how he does it is all for fun and it would give us something to look forward to in the next couple weeks.

Well the following two weeks passed ever so slowly. Everyday was talk of nothing but crappie. Checking tackle. Checking line.

Looking over the lake map. Going over in his head where we had caught crappies on the lake in the past.

"What time are we going to get to the lake DAD ?"

"Hey Dad, what should I use for my first lure ?"

"What is the weather going to be like? Are they going to be deep or shallow? Fast or slow???????????????????"

When tournament day finally arrived Bryan had his plan all set. He would start casting his favorite jig and soft plastic combos under one of the bridges and around the rip rap. Since we do not have a boat he would have to fish from shore, which is usually just fine except this day would have the wind blowing from the west and making it difficult for him to cast and for the fish to stay close to the east shoreline that Bryan was fishing. After 2 hours of fishing with only 2 small crappies in his basket I asked Bryan if he wanted to try something different for the last few hours of the tournament to see if he might be able to get into some good slabs. He was more than willing to try anything.

Just down the road was a small bait shop that also rented boats, which I figured might be just what Bryan would need to get him into some serious fish. Man was he happy, and I was right. Shortly after we anchored in the first bay Bryan picked up a nice 10 inch crappie, but was not getting them as fast as he would like. Somewhere in the midst of his first 20 or 30 casts in the boat Bryan figured that it was to windy for his 1/32oz lure to make it to the bottom so he grabbed a 1/8 oz jig and rigged it with his favorite plastic minnow. His new rig no sooner hit the bottom and Bryan lifted his rod tip to set the hook on what would be the first of several nice slabs. A great 12 incher would top off his basket, leaving just enough time to make it to the marina for the 1:00 pm weigh in.

As we approached the boat ramp and weigh station Bryan noticed that there were about 18 kids waiting, with several of them in the teen ages. I once again reminded him that we had a great time and his 10 crappie were great for a nine year old. When we tied up to the dock one of the other kids hollered to the rest of the crowd, " Hey he has some nice ones!"

When Bryan lifted his basket to reveal his catch he received immediate congratulations from the other kids as well as the parents.

And then a barage of questions about where he caught them, what was he using, live bait or artificial, etc. Although he was only 9 at the time he was as tight lipped as the 30 year veteran when it came to giving up his secrets.

He asked me what all the fuss was about his fish as this was just another day of fishing for him. Well as it turned out he was the only kid to catch any crappie so he won the big fish and total weight competition.

Of course I was the big winner of the day when Bryan gave me a big hug and said thanks for taking me dad.

    As my son Casey sits in the front seat of my kayak, he casts a Texas rigged Senko toward the outermost lily pad sticking up off of a submerged point on Stevenson Lake.  We are nearing weigh in time on our Slow Boat Shootout bass tournament and have 4 nice keepers in the live well , (aerated cooler).  Just 50 yards to our West is my son Bryan who is partnered up with one of my co-workers.

    I can see Bryan working his lure when all of a sudden he reals down, loads the rod, and with a quick, and solid, backward sweep of the rod, he buries his hook into a fish.  In an instant the surface water comes to a boil as Bryan does his best to prevent the fish from breaking the surface.  The big bass gets the best of Bryan and manages to leap high into the air but is not able to throw the hook.  It is a big bass, in the 4 or 5 pound range.  As Casey and I look on, and he remarks that it is neat to see his little brother doing so good, he feels a slight tick on the end of his line.

    Before we know it, his line is heading for deep water and Casey puts a power hook set into the fish.  Immediately the bass jumps free of the water.  With a mighty head shake and flip of the tail, the lunker largemouth makes it obvious that Casey is in for a fight.  But who do I watch.

    Both my boys are in a major battle with a bass that could win it all for the night.  To my West is my youngest, putting all his 12 years of experience to work.  In my front seat is my 18 year old, and my partner, doing everything he can to land his magnificent bass.  My head swings back and forth, keeping track of both boys, hoping for each to land his fish.  Both boys eventually land their fish and give each other a distant high five congratulations.  With no time to spare we all head into the weigh in.

    Back at the ramp Bryan approaches Casey and I and informs us that he and Tom also have a 5 fish limit.  What a great evening for all of us.

    So who would be the  actual winner?

    Well me of course!

    Not with the most fish,  but  with the best experience I could imagine.

Sitting here at the computer while updating the site a little story popped into my head form quite a few years back.  Why I do not know, but I thought it might be something you would all enjoy.

Its mid June and my Polish fishing buddy and I, also a serious pole, are night fishing from shore on one of our favorite large mouth lakes. The weather is in the high 70s and the mosquitos are terrible, but the fish are hitting so we do not let the pesky bug interfere. As I am kneeling down loading up one of my favorite ten inch black crawlers with some game fish juice my buddy asks "Hey you got the juice?" So being the nice guy that I am I hand it to him. After about 30 seconds and what must have been twenty squirts of the juice I had to wonder why Luke was using so much. Maybe a secret he was not letting me in on?? As I look up at him I can see a shiny, oily glow reflecting in the moonlight off Lukes face. I did not realize he meant the bug juice. Instead of bug spray he had covered himself in a fine sheen of slightly licoricey, yet faintly gamefishy oil. I do not think he had any more bites, as we were laughing to hard to fish and he was to slippery for the mosquitoes to get a good grip.

    Ten minutes into the tournament I had a nice 16+ inch largemouth in the kayak and was seeing several nice keepers cruising the edge of  a shallow water break.  It seemed as if a 4 or 5 fish bag would be a sure thing with all the nice fish we were seeing in the area..

    My son Casey and I are fishing a 4 event bass tournament which takes place every Tuesday, beginning last night and through the next three Tuesdays.  No big money involved, just a good time with some good guys.  Yeah, the idea of winning is nice.  Fishing hard to take home top honors is definitely my plan, but not my number one priority.

    We did bring in a couple nice bass to weigh.  We managed not to take last place.  Yes, I caught the biggest of our fish.  But none of that really mattered.

    You see, in just 4 short weeks my son Casey is leaving for the Marines.  It was not more than six months ago that my oldest son moved out.  He was my first true fishing buddy.  Yeah I have friends that I have fished with for more than 30 years, but there is nothing like teaching your own kids to fish and spending time with them on the water.  Now when my oldest moved out it was tough, but he was only moving 25 miles away so we still see each other a couple times a week and can fish together regularly if we choose.  Casey, on the other hand will be in California for at least 13 weeks and then who knows where.  The likelyhood of seeing him more than a couple times a year is pretty scary,and knowing that fishing with him will be a rare ocassion for the next several years is a tough pill to swallow.

   So the next three Tuesdays will be greatly cherished.  I do not care if we catch another bass, come in last, or beat everyone, I just want to fish with my boy.

    Thank god I still have a 12 year old son at home and a 3 month old grandson. 

    Being tired from having just finished some garden work, I was not really enthused about taking my 12 year old son Bryan and his friend Wyatt fishing.  Even less thrilling was the fact that it had been drizzleing, or down right raining all morning.   But none the less I really have a hard time telling my boys that they can not go fishing so we loaded up our gear and headed for the lake.  We would be fishing from shore of a local lake that has 2 dams on it, so I figured we might also do a little river fishing.  Honestly, I figured we would not do much fishing at all due to the inclimate weather, but we headed out anyway.

    Now my son is an avid angler who requires little or no help when it comes to the ordeals of fishing, but his buddy was not so experienced.  Not a problem, just a little extra care and attention to what was going on around me.  Little things like placing the hook on the eye by the reel when walking, watching the end of the rod when moving along the shore so it does not hit in the dirt, not trying to stop the lure in midflight with a backward sweep of the rod and creating a major tangle, are often overlooked by me when fishing with my sons but were quickly brought back to my attention with the inexperienced angler now by my side.

    I set up my sons friend with a 4 inch, green pumpkin/amber laminate yamasenko on a 2/0 gamakatsu worm hook and told him to simply cast it out and let it sink to the bottom.  Once it hit bottom just slowly reel it in, keeping contact with the bottom.  Nothing to elaborate but enough to possibly entice a strike from a hungry bass.  The weather had not changed and the steady drizzle had me wondering what the heck I was doing, but I stuck it out for the boys.

    On about his 20th cast I heard Wyatt holler he had one.  As I looked over toward him, his pole had a good bend in it and he had an expression on his face that made the whole trip worthwhile.  As Bryan scurried down the bank from Wyatts left, I was moving in from the right, hopefully in time to prevent a lost fish.  Before I was even close to his friend, my son had already lipped the nice 17 inch largemouth that his buddy had just reeled in.  We had all forgotten about the weather and  celebrated with high 5s.

    Not more than 10 minutes later Wyatt once again hollered that he had one and that it felt like a big one.  As my son and I started heading for the lucky boy with the fish on, the water at the end of his friends line erupted and into the air rose a smallmouth bass that was all of 20 inches+.  A quick shake of the head was all it took to send the hook flying  and allow the lunker smallmouth to swim free.  We were all a little bummed but just as excited.  It was a great experience and a wonderful reminder of how important it is to get the kids out and not to let a little rain stop me from having some fun.