But there was some fishing. All of it for carp and all of it good. I didn't see the carp holy waters of Beaver Island as I had hoped, but what I did see was pretty damn stellar. McTage over at Fly Carpin' spent some time in Michigan back in the day and was good enough to steer me to his buddy Miles up there. Turns out Miles knows about a little holy water of his own:
Some miscellaneous notes:
-Miles' green crawfish fly was absolute money all day long .
-Presentation was important. You couldn't (usually) just swing the fly down to the fish and get the take. You had to get your mends and reaches in some kind of working order to slow the fly down, get a straight downstream drift and feed those slobs.
-The water was largely deserted. A couple of guys did drop a drifter into the river off what appeared to be a small cliff. Sounded like, well, I'm not sure what it sounded like, but it was loud. They seemed to know what they were doing though, so we just shrugged our shoulders and kept fishing.
-I was surprised that at least a few of these carp didn't put the current at their backs and take off downstream when hooked. Almost without fail the fish headed for any nearby brush, downed trees, etc. "Lumber", Miles called it. As in "Gotta keep 'em out of the lumber."