The Magic of The Brule
Nestled in the south shores of Lake Superior exists 43 miles of pristine midwestern river known as the Bois Brule. Every bit as good as what you'd find out west, the river fondly referred to as the "River of Presidents" is the pride of midwestern trout fishing.
What it lacks in grandiose landscapes, it makes up for with lush green forest trail that winds its way south through beautiful Northwest Wisconsin. There is excellent trout fishing to be had all summer, but ultimate glory can be found in autumn when the leaves fall. That's when the prized steelhead return from the big lake, and the half-minded anglers that I call my friends head there to chase them.
While the fishing is good, it's not the only reason we are here. Tucked underneath the agendas of adulthood and responsibility is the same intrepid spirit of our adolescence. As life fills up with piano lessons, dance recitals, and flag football games, one date on the calendar is held sacred for the boyhood shenanigans.
The first weekend in October.
The weekend starts early. Adam is always first to the campground and has customized greeting you with a cold beer to help you get situated after you've arrived. His subtle encouragement commonly finds you finishing your second brew by the time your tent is pitched and a third while assembling your fly rod and organizing your gear. Once camp is set, we discuss plans for the river the next day while building a fire and putting warm food in our bellies. That first night is typically mellow.
The chill of the air wakes you the next day. Spirits are high as you begin the morning with a familiar cadence: start another fire, make coffee, cook breakfast, gear up, etc. We try to get to the water shortly after dawn to get the lines wet. After a good few hours of working upriver—often with little luck—Tony usually poses the first of two essential questions on the day. "Who's ready for a beer?" he asks. Tracy, one to justify the request with sound reasoning, responds, "I think that's probably a good idea. I mean, the sun is too high for the fish right now anyway. We might as well have one."
Somehow, likely by way of northland wilderness alchemy, one beer miraculously turns itself into approximately five. We still can't explain how this phenomenon happens—but when Mother Nature provides us gifts like that, we know we have no choice but to oblige. The Brule is just magical like that.
Later in the day, those daring enough to push through the fog of the buzz take another attempt at a few more roll casts while the others watch from shore. Etiquette and decency are clearly out of the window at this point. If you're determined enough to step back into the water, you have to accept a few light jabs from your friends on the sidelines. Lose your step or catch a branch, and this crowd will surely go wild.
These afternoon sessions last about as long as our cooler does, which is when the second essential question on the day surfaces. "Are we going to hit up the Kro-Bar tonight?" The answer is always a resounding "yes." We pack up and head out.
After a few more rounds, a couple of pizzas, and a few dumb side bets at the highly coveted establishment, we hike it back to camp to get the fire going. This should be the point when we start winding down, but we don't. Usually, one person's instigation turns into an irresistible momentum too hard to ignore. Years of debauchery have led us to the following conclusions about bonfires:
- Always add more logs to the fire than you need
- Always keep pace with the bottle of whiskey or a bag of wine being passed around
- Playing good music is a must. Look to Adam for one of his excellent playlists.
- There's always room to rehash old stories. They will indeed put tears into our eyes and laughter into the night.
It's the laughter that stokes the fire.
Look beyond the haphazard buffoonery created by a few older knuckleheads. You'll see the immense care behind our subtle forms of encouragement and banter. Sure, this weekend is about excess, but it's the excess that also pours out a tremendous amount of respect and appreciation for each other.
And as we continue moving ever so gracefully towards middle age, the importance of this weekend also emphasizes two essential items that shouldn't be forgotten. First and foremost, the vitality of our youth isn't lost—it's doing just fine. Just show up for the friends who have been in your corner all along. They are the key to anchoring this spirit. And secondly, the best fishing stories never involve catching fish.
