Mark Rinckey (with net) lands a Platte River steelhead for David Richey.

I was dreaming the steelhead dream, and my world was one of rushing river water, a jumping fish hanging in the sky with droplets of cold water hanging of its hard body, and there I stood: looking like a big doofus, with a broad grin on my face, and loving the experience.

Then I came out of my mid-day reverie, shook my head once, and the steelhead tugging me downstream was just a good dream at a bad time. The older I get, the more that some of the mistakes of my youth come back to haunt me.

Forty-one years ago, I fell off a fire escape, caught myself on one of the supports, and hung there 30 feet above a paved parking lot. I managed to climb hand-over-hand up the support to the edge of the fire escape, and pull my sorry butt up to safety.

Injuries have caused a weak left leg and weak lower back for me in past few years.

I'd broken two vertebrae in my spine, ruptured a disc, and when I slammed sideways into the brick wall after catching the support, the impact really messed up my back. Three months after back surgery, I slipped on some ice, fell on a piece of fire wood frozen in the ground, and broke the vertebrae above the first break.

That laid me up for a year, and even though I was writing magazine articles at the time, I had to do some from bed. I spent two or three months in a full-body cast, and finally, I was able to walk around. There's an old adage about outdoor writers having to be tough.

I finally got back to work, fished and hunted while traveling all of North America for magazine articles. My back always hurt, but like is true with hockey players, football players, I had to play with pain - day after day.

Then some joker in a BATA bus pulled out in front of me, and although I had my lap and shoulder restraint on, I had no time to stop. The impact as the car T-boned the bus, banged up my chest and ribs. You guessed it: this car didn't have an air bag. Some broken and fractured ribs happened even though the hospital originally told me there was nothing broken. It just took a couple of days to develop.

So, the last 10 years have had its way with me. My left leg has never really worked right, and was always weak. I compensated for the injury and weakness, and most people never knew there was anything wrong.

I knew, and hid the constant pain, and worked despite it. I retired from The Detroit News in May of 2003, and considered spending the rest of my life doing exactly what I did while working as a full-time staff writer - fishing and hunting.

Two years ago, the pain really started to increase. I had to take the occasional days off to rest my body, and then back I'd go again. Gradually, in the past two years, my left leg got very weak and wading rivers became nearly impossible. There has never been any "give up" in my vocabulary, but river fishing became more and more difficult for me.

I was at the point of forgetting about something that had been a part of my life for more than 60 years. I began trout fishing in rivers at 11 years of age, and now at 72, I was facing the grim prospect of never fishing a trout stream again because of bad legs and a bad back.

Here comes guide Mark Rinckey and my son David Richey to the rescue.

Well, I'm more than delighted to write and tell you that my steelhead fishing trip came true two days ago. My son David, of Sitka, Alaska, came home. I'd talked with guide Mark Rinckey of Honor, Michigan, (231-325-6901) and he felt they could get me out on the Platte or Betsie rivers. Frankly, they were a far more optimistic than me.

Rinckey says the warm autumn and little snow, has put a number of steelhead into the Betsie and Platte river. In the past 10 days, Rinckey's methods for other anglers had produced limit catches some days and only a couple fish on other days. However, during those 10 days, they had landed one 18-pound steelhead, two at 17 pounds and numerous fish up to 15 pound. Me, I'd be more than delighted to catch any steelhead.

You see, my left leg doesn't work well. For 41 years, it has been considerably weaker than my right leg. But, oh how I wanted to go, to catch one more steelhead, a game fish that I've fished for quite successfully for 61 years. I'd come to realize how much I missed the hiss of river current flowing around the end of a sweeper, and the sheer determination and dogged fight with a big steelhead was burning a hole in my heart/

We got to the river, and I pulled on my waders, took a few tentative steps on dry grounds, and I felt "I can do this." I walked at my pace, and they helped me down a short dropoff to the water's edge on the Platte, and we got into the water. Mark walked in front of me, David behind me, and we slowly crossed the river.

Mind you, it was the last day of November but the weather had been balmy. It was a bit cool but we were dressed for it.

He we go, getting The Old Man & his creaky bones into the river.

We got to a wide sweeping run against the far bank. Mark gave David some spawnbags, and he'd been here many times before, and hooked a steelhead right away and landed an 8-pound hen steelhead, all bright silver and glistening in the current. He fought it well, and soon the hook was twisted out and the fish was given its freedom.

We cast and cast, and Rinckey left me in the water near shore, and floated back and forth between my son and I. Eventually, it dawned on us that David had probably caught the only steelhead in that run or all the splashing had put the other fish down.

We crossed the river again with Rinckey leading and David following, and me in the middle. I got up and made my way back to the car, and felt great. I was fishing again, doing what I'd done for most of my 72 years. It was a wonderful feeling.

We drove to the Betsie River where Rinckey guided a client to an 18-pound buck steelhead a week before. He said this is where things will be tricky because the water was up, and the current strong.

"I'll be on one side of you and David will be on the other," Rinckey said. "If you stumble or the current sweeps your leg out from under you, we'll have you."

So, in this manner, we waded across the river in near chest-high water, got up on a shallow sand ridge, and walked downstream. Rinckey gave the instructions.

"David, go downstream 30 yards and cast right up next to the opposite river bank, and let it bounce downstream. This is where Ray caught the 18-pounder a week ago. He also caught two 15-pound here the day before yesterday. There are lots of fish in the river."

He pointed out to me where to cast, and cast the spawnbag out to show me where the spawnbag was supposed to go. I'd fished this hole many times before. I could feel the splitshot bouncing along bottom, and suddenly the line stopped.

I snapped the rod tip back and was into a good fish. The fish ranged about 40 feet, stopped and Mark and I eased down through knee-deep water. I'd eased back the rod, moving the fish inches closer, and he responded by making another short run and a half-hearted leap.

"He's hooked good in the corner of the jaw," Rinckey said. I'd pump and reel, and then the fish would take back the six-pound line. We fought a back-and-forth battle for 10 minutes before I could sense the fish tiring. At just the right moment, I eased the fish across the surface to Mark's waiting net.

The fish came to the net and my guide didn't miss this fish.

"You got him!" Rinckey roared in my ear as David yelped with joy to see The Old Man do again what The Boy had seen done hundreds of times before.

The steelhead, a buck weighing 11 pounds, was lifted from the net and held up for me to admire. It was sleek, with that pinkish-red blaze of color along its sides, and I drank in its beauty before asking him to gently release it.

We fished that hole relentlessly for another hour, and Rinckey asked how I was doing.

"My left leg is really getting weak," I said.. "I know we have to wade upstream, and I suggest we do so while I can."

He whistled up David, and we began the upstream trek, one on each side of me. Sheer determination showed on their faces, and I suspect on mine as well. I climbed out of the river like an arthritic hippo, wobbled a bit on my unsteady legs, and then we walked through the woods and up the hill to our vehicles.

I was choked up with emotion as I profoundly thanked both men for making this trip possible. Who knows what the future may bring when it comes to my lifelong passion of steelhead fishing, but this trip was one of the greatest thrills of my angling career. I also want to give thanks to the steelhead for giving me another thrilling battle on light line. It was a day I will never forget.

THE CROSSBRED FISHES, by Bob Jennings. Available from Bob Jennings, 3302 N 190 W., Switz City, IN 47465. (812)798-0783

FOR MUSKIE (MUSKY) FISHERMEN – THE CROSSBRED FISHES

Muskie fishermen went through a 10-year revival of interest in these great fish, and in the past year, very few books have been published about them and how to fish for them.

Well, welcome to the latest muskie title. Or, if you've an active imagination like Bob Jenning has, you're bound to be interested in Jennings' new book. He has always been interested in the “what-if,” and he began wondering  what if a big muskie cross-bred with with a striped bass or rockfish. The what-ifs of the unlikely chance of crossbred fish, such as the RO-OX,, OX-RO or the STR-IKE seem unlikely.

However, Jennings wonders if such pairing could happen. Perhaps the RO-OX might come to be. It would be a crossbred fish. This near mythical fish comes from the merging of two words – ROckfish-esOX. This imaginary fish has the body of a striped bass and the head of a big muskie.

The OX-RO (esOX-ROckfish) has a muskie body but the head of a striped bass. The STR-IKE is a pike's head and the body of a striped bass.

The author feels that he and some of his friends have hooked and lost each of these three crossbred fish while fishing some southern lakes where muskie, pike and stripers have been planted. Who knows, but the possibility could happen I suppose, and artist Ken Bucklew did the drawings in this book.

The Crossbred Fishes is a spiral bound paperback book with 21 pages, and unlike most books, it is printed only on the right-hand pages. This book was published in 2011, and is limited to only 100 copies. Anglers working to build a muskie-book collection would be smart to order  a copy from the above address. Such small print runs usually sell out quickly.

John Voelker (Robert Traver) signs a copy of one of his trout fishing books.

Snow-covered trees and gusty breezes greeted the dawn, and sporadic flakes fell as the John Deere snow blower threw the snow into a nearby field. Cleaning my driveway of five inches of mushy snow gave me nearly three hours of uninterrupted time to think.

One thought came to mind. It was from a 1984 trip to the Upper Peninsula to fish the legendary Frenchman's Pond with famous author John Voelker who wrote under the pseudonym of Robert Traver. I was eager to get to the pond, and had realized a personal dream that had been gnawing at me for many years.

Fishing "Frenchman's Pond"; with Johnny Voelker was a longtime wish.

"The more you want something, the more you anticipate it," Voelker said, sensing my impatience as we stopped to pick blueberries, chantrelle mushrooms and black raspberries. "That means Frenchman's Pond will be a bigger thrill once we finally get there."

We eventually slid down what passes for a trail to his secluded cabin on the pond. The two-track leading into it was a mix of boulders, corduroy trails, rocks and sand. His battered old fish car was bouncing from side to side as he tried to keep it between the trees.

Frenchman's Pond glittered like a rare jewel amid a sea of cedar and spruce. Here and there a brook trout rose to an unseen insect, and my dream of visiting this hallowed water had become a reality.

It was like coming home after a long absence. I was speechless with the pond's beauty, and Voelker wisely stood by quietly and allowed me to absorb the rare mood of the moment without interruption.

Frenchman's Pond was Voelker's private retreat. He had owned it for over 30 years when I first visited it over 25 years ago. It's location is a closely-guarded secret, and the brookies are as shy and reclusive as the owner is to many people. We had traded letters, and I had interviewed him on several occasions, and it took a few years before the fishing invitation came.

John Voelker, a/k/a Robert Traver, delicately drops a dry fly on Frenchman's Pond.

He knew I wanted to fish it, but by nature, he didn't trust many people that lived below the bridge, and like it or not, I had to measure up. What his standards were for admittance to the pond were unspoken. Therefore the invitation to fish came as a huge and unexpected surprise.

"Why don't you c'mon up and fish Frenchman's Pond with me?" he asked one day. "The trout are notoriously camera-shy, but we may be able to hook one or two."

An invite to fish the pond was like a special request to dine with the Pope or Queen Mum. It wasn't something to ignore or refuse. To do so would have sealed my fate and kept me away for all time.

One didn't ignore an invitation to Traver's famous wild brook trout pond.

I was full of questions. Would the trout rise? Which flies and sizes produced best? Any tips on fishing the pond?

"Chances are good we won't catch a fish," he said. "And if we do get lucky or skillful, as you fishing writers are wont to say, the brookies will probably be small and take only tiny dry flies.

"Fish a long leader tapered down to 5X or 6X, and try No. 18, 20 or 22 flies. We don't land many fish on such light tackle, but it sure is fun when we do."

We fished from casting platforms built around the pond, and I changed flies frequently. Brookies rose whenever the sun went behind a cloud but only one came to my fly. It missed or I missed, and that was that. I figured the old Judge had educated most of them.

Voelker had several rises to his tiny flies but failed to hook up. We crouched low on the platforms to reduce our silhouette, made adequate presentations but the trout weren't impressed.

"That's what I like about brook trout," Voelker said over a ritualistic sundowner of bourbon Manhattans during our U.P. cribbage championship game. "Brook trout are not impressed with who or what you are, or how much money you have, but they are responsive at times to a gentle and quiet approach."

All of this happened many years ago but our time spent together is permanently etched in my brain.

It's been well over 25 years since that trip, and it's been many years since his death, but I returned two more times by written invitation to fish with the old master. I would never go back even though I know where the pond nestles like a rare diamond in a green forest.

John Voelker fished around his last bend many years ago, and one day I may report what he told me about the frailties of old age and death's looming presence.

For now, on a warmer and snowy day, I'm satisfied with remembering this man of letters, writer of vibrant books on trout fishing, and masterful novels such as Anatomy Of A Murder. He taught me a valuable lesson that day, and it's one I occasionally pass on to others.

"There is more to fishing than catching fish," he said. "Learn to savor each day like a fine wine, listen to good music, fish often and keep few fish. Learn about life from brook trout because they are found only in cold, clean waters, and when brook trout disappear from our wild places, mankind won't be far behind."

Those are words worth remembering, and that the old Judge uttered them with a hitch is his voice, meant they came from his heart. The Bard of Frenchman's Pond had spoken, I had listened, and took his heartfelt advice with me when we drove away.

I remember Johnny Voelker (Robert Traver).. I remember the man, his little sayings, his attitudes about brook trout and the waters where they are found, and I'l never forget the old-timer, his Parodi cigars, his lively method of writing, and the waters he most loved to fish.

He was a one-of-a-kind man, and one I'll never forget. He still stirs my imagination.

This angler caught this 18-pound brown trout from Little Bay de Noc.

Anglers for centuries have touted the mental and sporting values of trout fishing. But what is it we love so much that makes many anglers dream all winter about catching these lake and river game fish? Why, for goodness sake, would any person count down the days to the opener?

Why are 10-inch trout prizes to be cherished? Why should people spend good money to buy fine tackle just to catch a small trout and then release it? Or, on the other hand, why would anglers gloat over a 10-pound brown trout or a 14-pound steelhead?

What is it about this game fish that stirs our cerebral juices, captures our thoughts and engages our soul on a day like this, one day past the general statewide trout opener? It’s just one of many questions that trout anglers attempt to rationalize as they tour Michigan’s greatest trout lakes and streams.

Sometimes one would think there are more questions here than answers.

What follows are just a few of today’s idle thoughts that have made me wonder about my 60-year trout-fishing love affair. There are many thoughts that arise from trout openers I’ve enjoyed since the early 1950s.

Think long and hard on trout, and make a list of some of your favorite trout fishing thoughts. One often will find that the experiences, sights, sounds, and other sensory perceptions are far more important at the end of a fishing day than the fish we’ve caught. Here are just a handful of reasons why trout captured my soul more than a half-century ago.

• These beautiful, colorful and fragile game fish are the canaries in our environmental coal mine. They are a key barometer of our times. What harms trout can't be good for humans, and when these species are gone forever, can our civilization be very far behind? It’s something to think about.
• Brook trout are the prettiest of all. They come in four sizes: tiny, small, legal-size and lunker, each with an array of spotted beauty that hints of wild places that stir our senses. With their tiny blue spots, and white piping along the outside edge of orange fins, brook trout take first-place in any fishy beauty pageant. I look at a trout, all smooth-skinned, and painted up in all their finery, and the sight takes my breath away.

Trout fishing is easy, hard or nearly impossible based on personal restrictions.

• Trout respond well to a careful approach and a delicate delivery. Fancy waders and top-of-the-line rods, reels and nets do not impress Michigan’s char and trout clan. They feed when hungry, fast when not, and nothing we do can or will change this pattern.
• Trout inhabit some of the state’s most beautiful places. They live in a land of towering pine and spruce, beaver ponds, impenetrable cedar swamps, sparkling streams, gurgling meadow brooks, remote Upper Peninsula rivers dotted with waterfalls -- all such places are home to lake and stream trout, and humans are nothing more than infrequent visitors to their world.

As such, it behooves anglers to put back more trout than we keep. Conservation of wild trout means joining and backing such organizations as Trout Unlimited, who fight for our fish and their special environment.

Their needs include clean water and an environment that is friendly to the fish. They are truly game fish worth fighting for.

• I fish because of soft dimpling rises, blanket hatches, selective trout, wild places, stream-side camaraderie with other like-minded fishermen, wild fish and the history and romance of trout fishing. Trying to outwit these game fish is for the thinking angler, not a gluttonous fisherman intent only on a full creel.

Anglers should fish for trout for many other reasons than to just catch fish.

• One last and untapped trout bastions are our inland lakes. Such waters produce robust fish, and for those who learn lake-fishing secrets, the rewards can be many and great. Huge trout are taken from inland lakes that seldom, if ever, see a bait, fly or lure. These lake-dwelling trout are a thrill to catch, and doing so requires specialized skills.
• My familiarity with trout forces me to fight for them and to proceed in a manner that gives each fish every advantage and opportunity to escape. Trout fishing means much more than a limit catch. This sport is and always should be a major challenge.
• Seldom are trout kept. Trout deserve to be caught more than once, but on occasion I will keep a few small but legal ones for the frying pan. My thoughts are that big trout should be allowed to spawn and reproduce, and small ones should be released as gently as possible to avoid harming them.
• There are places where brook trout live that rarely see a fisherman. These fish are naïve, easily caught, and some anglers take advantage of this small failing. Often, in such areas, the area may be over-fished in one day by a greedy angler. Catching a limit, day after day, doesn’t prove an angler is a good one.
• For years it’s been my practice to fish those back-of-beyond spots where brook trout hold at the base of a root-flooded cedar. Such black swamps have produced numerous sightings of bear and deer as I slip slowly from tree to tree, dapping a fly or single-hook wee spinner in the water between tree roots. The fish come hard to fly or lure, are easily hooked, and quickly released without taking them from the water.
• I have a problem with those who regard trout fishing as a social event. The fish are not impressed by our homes or the cost of our cars, so why clutter a stream with people who are there only to impress clients or other fishermen with fancy creels, fly rods and vests?
• People go through three trout fishing phases. 
  • The FIRST is to catch as many fish as possible; 
  • The SECOND is to catch the largest trout possible; 
  • The THIRD is to exact a challenge from trout and tackle while giving the fish every chance to get away.

Trout fishermen go through distinct trout-fishing phases.

• I'm in Stage No. 3, but can remember as a kid passing through stages 1 and 2. It's easy to remember the heavy catches, huge fish and the bragging of yesteryear, and I'm ashamed by the number of big trout taken during my earlier years. But those days are long gone, and my efforts now are far less than my heavy catches of 30-50 years ago.
• For 10 years, guiding trout fishermen was my life and a major way to make a living. The hours were long and hard, the weather sometimes bitterly cold, and although memories of those days with large numbers of browns and steelhead still linger, they foster no strong feelings that make me want to return to that way of life. It was a tough way to make a living, pay bills and put cooked groceries on the table.
• I fish for trout now because I want to, not to prove anything to myself or to others. I fish because of the tremendous enjoyment it brings, and the challenge of hooking trout from difficult places with tackle that gives every edge to these game fish.
• I now fish for trout because fishing can sooth a troubled soul. It energizes tired fishermen, and it provides me with something I deeply love and something to look forward to in beautiful areas where it's not necessary to rub shoulders with other anglers. It offers me peace and solitude in a world of turmoil and unpleasant things.

That's me. A guy with simple ideals and needs that continue to make me very happy. And just think: an eight-inch brook trout can make me feel great for weeks on end.

No amount of money, big house or fancy ride, can do that for me.

Running water, cold water, wild places and wild fish, are why trout make me feel good in a way that I’ve tried to explain but find it impossible to convey any better than this. So, if you’ll excuse me now, I’ve had my say and now have a date with a trout river.

Choosing ice fishing lures can be a challenge

It's becoming even more difficult to pick ice-fishing lures now than ever before. There are almost as many made for the winter months as during open-water seasons.

There are three basic winter fish groups I love to catch -- bluegills, perch and walleyes. All provide mighty fine eating on my dinner table, but I've almost given up on trying for lake trout, pike and splake.

Three anglers surround a tip-up

Personally, tip-up fishing is fun for the first hour or two, and then I get bored. If flags are going up, using tip-ups can be a lot of fun. However, it seems as if there are dozens of days where "wind bites" provide the only action while the days when fish really bite well have become scarcer. But that is nothing more than my personal opinion, and many anglers would argue the point.

There have been many days in my not-so-distant past where fishing on Manistee Lake would produce a steady diet of northern pike and walleyes on tip-ups. I guess it's possible I don't use tip-ups now as often as I once did.

Besides, I prefer having a rod in my hand and feeling the strike. I've used the old-fashioned custom-made jigging sticks, home-made jigging sticks, and rod and reel. I much prefer a light-action spinning rig spooled with two- or four-pound line, depending on what I happen to be fishing for. I usually have one spinning rod set up with six-pound FireLine ^[5] when jigging for walleyes.

My favorite baits and lures for these game fish are:

Bluegills

My favorite rig is two-pound clear or green monofilament line and a tiny teardrop jig or ice fly jig. I choose sizes like 1/16 or 1/32-ounce, and buy them in a variety of colors. Yellow is always a good choice, as is yellow with red spots. Countless companies make these wee jigs, and all are productive.

My preference is to pick a 1/16th or 1/3-ounce ice fly or teardrop jig and bait it with a mousie or wax worm. Fish off the edges of green weed beds, and it doesn't take much effort to catch bluegills and sunfish. Start fishing near bottom, and slowly work your way up at least halfway to the surface.

My bluegill rods have a tiny fine wire spring bobber at the tip. I use coiled wire rod holders, stick the rod in them, lower the jig and bait to bottom. and raise it an inch or two. Jig it a few times, and let the rod and rod holder sit on the ice. Reach down, jig it again, and keep trying different depths or different holes until the fish are located. Moving around is usually more productive than sitting in one place and hoping the fish come to you.

A late-winter bluegill will barely suck in the jig and bait, and if the fine wire bobber even wiggles, set the hook. Occasionally they will hit quite hard, but it's better to count on a soft take. Don't set the hook hard or you'll spend most of the day tying on teardrop jigs.

Yellow Perch

These game fish are even more fun, and I use a similar rig for perch as for bluegills but use four-pound clear or green monofilament line. Two basic methods work: using a small Hali ^[4] baited with a perch eye, emerald shiner or a wiggler.

Of these methods I favor an egg sinker on the bottom and two dropper lines spaced six to 12 inches above the sinker and another a foot above that. It's not uncommon to catch two yellow perch at a time with this rig.

Again, I like the wire rod-tip bobber, but perch often hit hard enough to make the need for a bobber useless. Bait both hooks, making certain the the minnow is hooked in the fleshy part of its back behind the dorsal fin. Hook the minnow too deep, and it will puncture the spinal column and kill the minnow. Ease them slowly to bottom, and reel up slack line so there is a bend in the rod sitting in the rod holder. Lower the minnows too fast, and the rapid descent will tear the minnows off.

Northland Tackle's^[4] perch-size jigs are meant to be jigged up and down, and white, white-red, yellow, yellow with red spots -- all work. Bait the spoon's single hook and lower it to bottom, raise it up a few inches off bottom, and then use short jigging strokes of two or three inches with frequent pauses.

Walleyes

These fish love jigging lures baited with emerald shiners. My favorites are the Hali^[1], jigging Rapala ^[2], and the Do-Jigger or Swedish Pimple^[3]. I add an emerald shiner to each hook, and jig it softly with short two-inch strokes. Hard and forceful jigging strokes will litter the bottom with dead minnows.

This is a sport where it's important to keep moving and trying different areas until a school of fish is found. I use either a spinning or bait-casting rig with six-pound FireLine ^[5], and make certain the hooks are sharp. Use short jigging strokes, and most fish hit on the up-stroke although some will hit as the baited lure flutters down.

The lure, the bait and the jigging method is what turns all three of these winter game fish on, and fishing through a hole in the ice is a great way to spend a winter day.

REFERENCE INFO

1. Hali lure -- http://www.halilures.com/
2. Jigging Rapala -- http://www.rapala.com/
3. Swedish Pimple and Do-Jigger http://www.swedishpimple.com/
4. Northland Fishing Tackle -- http://www.northlandtackle.com
5. Berkley FireLine -- http://www.berkley-fishing.com/products/line/956

Brook trout (left) and brown trout allow anglers to create their own dreams.

Read outdoor literature & find some favorite quotes.

A quote that can easily be believed in.

Catching fish or shooting game isn’t about a limit. It’s about the experience.