Isn’t life strange in how a perceived negative somehow transforms into a positive? So a few days ago, when I received a security alert for the website, I logged in to find that bots and even some humans were hard at work trying to bum roll the UTB from sleep-pun intended. It was fascinating to see people from all over the world were suddenly so interested in the UTB. So fascinated indeed that they were attempting brute force attacks ranging from WordPress admin login attempts to more sophisticated probes. Is this something unusual unto itself? Not necessarily, however the volume was above average and it seems that the world of communications has in large part become indifferent to these occurrences just as we’ve become accustomed to the seasons. So what could possibly come out of this situation that is positive or that has anything to do with angling? How about the fact that not just hackers are still interested in the UTB. As I was filtering the security logs, differentiating between bot and human in order to lodge complaints with the respective ISPs for further investigation, I came across those that actually were taking the time to read posts. Not just one post, but all of them. Even though the posts have been Ummmm infrequent, a very select few of you still took the time to kick back and read all of the posts. So the assumption being that they[posts] were either entertaining, helped hone your fishing skills, or both. Regardless of the reason, it’s a reminder of the stories that have not yet been told. So what follows is in large part for you and hopefully you will return and enjoy them, too.
So when I first got the news that I had to go to Sheboygan, I just couldn’t stop repeating the name of the city out-loud again and again as I overemphasized the syllables. Childish, I know but it gave me great pleasure to do so. Occasionally, when someone would ask me where I was headed to next, I just wouldn’t be able to help myself with exaggerating the pronunciation and they’d giggle or some would even join me in a friendly, syllabic joust of the Lake Michigan township’s name. Little did I know, even though I poked fun at one of its cities, the Badger State was about to hand me a gem that I still dream about.
Unlike the roads close to home, I found myself enchanted just by the shear lack of traffic as I hunted for river access. It didn’t take long as I wandered farther away from Sheboygan before I found myself in a state of dwindling cell service and extraordinary peace. I didn’t have an old school map, something I would typically carry, so when I lost cell service it became very interesting trying to make sense of the road signs. Ironically, the more lost I became, the more I didn’t care. Getting lost and seeing the countryside, I reminded myself of the old saying about the prize being not the destination, but the journey itself. In short, I assume fate was trying to tell me there’s more to life than angling.
When I finally found the access point to the Onion River, I was at such peace, I believe I could’ve taken a nap on its banks. However, that is easier said than done on the Onion, at least for the stretch I was on because of the magnificent conservation efforts and community cooperation that has taken place in order to not only preserve the habitat but make it accessible to not just anglers but many others that appreciate the outdoors.
Through a lot of hard work, several miles of the Onion River have been stitched together, connecting private and public lands for recreational access. Take my word for it, my pictures just don’t do it justice. I was stunned at the meadow-like appearance even in the parking area and when I finally made it to the riverbank, I was equally impressed with how dense the foliage had become along the banks. As such, there were many shaded places along the river and erosion seemed to be practically non-existent. I know you are thinking, there is always erosion taking place. While I can’t argue with that thought, I certainly couldn’t detect erosion from my observations. The more I explored upstream, the taller the grass became with patches of wild blackberries grazing my waders and wading jacket like razor wire. On occasion, I receive some odd looks when wearing waders and a wading jacket when it’s warm and humid outside like it was during my time on the Onion, but I’ve found the protection from vegetation and even wildlife makes it well worth the sauna experience. Which brings me to a question, I’d been asking myself for days several days and never took the time to research more or even to ask someone local. Exactly, why did they name it the “Onion?” I more or less found my answer by accident, but why don’t I keep you on the hook for just a bit longer. And you were so proud of me up to this point. You just knew, I couldn’t resist dropping another good ole pun to my anti-climatic cliffhanger. Honestly, I most likely only lasted this long before dropping an additional pun because the entire time I’ve been writing this post, I keep repeating-you guessed it-Sheeeebooooygaaan!
So glad you hung on because this is where the fishing adventure begins. Often, during my exploration of the Onion, I thought I needed a machete to walk beside it. I was nothing short of impressed with the apparent stability of the stream bank along the entire stretch I fished over the course of two days.
There was a torrential rain the mid-August day we arrived in town, but even so the river was only a bit cloudy the next day. I only caught one brown that first day. It darted from the shadowed rock crevices to sip a slightly submerged hi-vis parachute Adams. Even though it was only a small brown-the fight was nothing short of epic. Of course, that isn’t a huge surprise with it being a brown but I’m always amazed at how much spunk they possess.
With regards to the first day on the water being only a one fish day, I would say it had more to do with my time of arrival due to my ummmm, navigational issues along with my presentations. It was incredibly difficult to maneuver along the stream bank in order to stay out of the water while casting. The pool above was one of just a handful from which you could even contemplate launching a cast, even so it was more or less what we call dabbling back home. After catching my one and only fish of the day, it was getting late, I was unfamiliar with the river and as I mentioned earlier, the foliage was so thick it didn’t make any sense to continue onward that evening. So, I reluctantly headed back to Sheboygan for a warm meal and some spirits. What better dish from the local English pub than- you guessed it-fish & chips.
Before I ordered my meal, I knew I was right at home because of what the establishment had scrawled on the chalkboard.
After a good night’s sleep, I returned to the Onion mid-morning. I spent a considerable amount of time admiring this stream. I would compare it to wading in your neighbor’s Japanese koi-fish pond that was maintained by Mr Miyagi. Well, maybe not that perfect, but close enough for my enjoyment. With that being said, the vast remainder of the Onion I explored, could only be fished by wading and carefully casting upstream. And when I say carefully, I mean-perfect! Between my approach and presentation mishaps, I probably lost as many fish from spooking them that day than I caught.
The fine brown above was one of many I caught the second day on the water. They’d tuned in on the elk hair caddis I’d tied on, more or less just to see if it would work. I had such success with this basic caddis pattern that I never tried anything else. For roughly a 4 hour period, I had all of the dry fly action I wanted.
I only stopped fishing because I reached a point where the Onion actually went underground through a large culvert as to allow farming equipment to cross from field to field without silting out the riverbed. As such, the vegetation was so thick, it appeared as though I’d have to either do some super heavy-duty bushwhacking or detour around the tangled and heavy undergrowth to get back on the water. I wasn’t absolutely certain when detouring that I wouldn’t be trespassing and just as important, I was getting hungry so I decided to call it a day on the Onion. Below was the last fish-able water before the culvert. It was one of the very few locations that allowed me to dabble from the stream bank. A brown came up from beneath the logs to smash my elk-hair caddis. Shortly thereafter, I discovered exactly why they call it the Onion.
The brown darted back under one of the logs and I thought I’d lost it. I walked onto the log and even with felt soles, I started sliding around, the log shifting a bit, too. There were a couple of times I thought I was going to have to let go of my fly rod to keep my balance but I just kept thinking, I’d win. Somehow, I did win this particular battle of wills and found an answer to a question in doing so-albeit by accident.
Just as I was able to maneuver the brown out from underneath the log and net it, I fell backwards. The brown and I tumbled into a marshy spot alongside the riverbank. We crashed through some undergrowth and fallen tree limbs, making a horrendous sound. Immediately afterwards, I heard some kind of noise like a snort or maybe a moan(not certain) just upstream and almost immediately thereafter a crashing sound that I could only attribute to something like a bear. I’ve never heard anything but a bear make that kind of ruckus as it retreated in dense foliage. I often have them behind my place back home and have occasionally encountered them while fishing. I’ve witnessed them smash down small trees and laurels in a hasty retreat. It was only then that I remembered Wisconsin had a large population of black bears and while they were not necessarily considered common along the Onion or so I was told, they were known to transit the area. I never got a glimpse at what it really was but thankfully whatever it was moved away from me instead of towards me. I forgot all about that as I realized I hadn’t lost the brown and I needed to get it back into the water. As I was picking up the brown, I thought to myself, “Did I fall into someone’s garden? Hey, these are onions!” Yep, you guessed it. The Onion River did in fact have numerous patches of onions growing alongside.
Okay, maybe I’m not the sharpest crayon in the box if I couldn’t at least suspect it could be called the Onion River because it had more than its fair share of them growing alongside the banks. But really, by the time I resuscitated the last fish of the day(partial pun?), I was so hungry I didn’t really dwell on my cluelessness. I headed back to the parking area and my next find was as sweet to me as the Onion.
As I was headed back into town, I stopped to fill up the tank and I remembered how much I enjoyed a pork tenderloin sandwich that I’d had while on a trip to the Iowa/Minnesota border area several years ago. That was when I first learned of the Driftless region and of course, I didn’t have my fly gear with me but what I did find thanks to a very good friend of mine was a love of pork tenderloin sandwiches. We stopped at probably half a dozen places before ending up in a old building in downtown Harmony, MN. He’d looked at the menu posted outside and said, “This is it.” And he was right! The pork tenderloin sandwich along with a slice of rhubarb pie was nothing short of priceless. During our meal, my friend who grew up in Iowa, explained how they traditionally tenderize the pork cut by pounding it with the side of a meat cleaver, prior to dunking it into breading and frying it to a golden brown. With all that love and attention, how on Earth could it not be good?
So when I stopped to buy some gas for the rental SUV, I asked the clerk where I could get a pork tenderloin sandwich and they said, Oh, that’s easy.” They told me where to go and not only did I find a pork tenderloin sandwich, I also found two additional loves in my life-fried cheese curds and frozen custard.
We departed for home the next day with a short layover at an airport west of Milwaukee. I was waiting at the airport for the passengers to finish up their meeting. Everyone was abuzz about the eclipse. When I told them I wasn’t going to be viewing it they couldn’t believe it. “But, it’s not gonna be back for a long time,” someone said as they handed me a pair of viewing glasses that looked just like those that you’d receive with your popcorn at a 3D movie screening. I couldn’t get out of my head the numerous warnings by both government and non-government sources regarding counterfeit or otherwise non-certified eclipse viewing eye-wear finding its way into the States. Then one of the line service members said to me, “You don’t need none of that stuff just look at it with just one eye at a time. Dogs and cats don’t need those things and they don’t go blind.” I responded with, “Hmmm, I suppose dogs and cats are smarter than us because they’re not gonna stare at the sun-eclipse or not. And how am I going to keep my job if I’m blind?” He just shrugged and headed outside to wait on the eclipse. I decided to sit in the airplane but not to watch the eclipse. My motivation was so much different. I was thinking about what it would have been like to be back on the Onion River as the eclipse passed. I knew the crickets would chirp just like at nighttime and often the biggest trout you will catch, especially browns will be at dusk, dawn, or at night when they believe it is safer to come out and play. After the eclipse passed, I’d wondered what it would have looked like if I would’ve been brave enough to view it. I could only conclude that this is what would’ve been imprinted on my retinas.
It’s true, I might not be the sharpest crayon in the box, but I was just a hair smarter than a few Wisconsin browns and I kept my eyesight through the Great American Eclipse so I’m still able to fly over the fish like an eagle even if I can’t be on the water.