Driving to the Mackinaw

Driving to the Mackinaw River to set out lines was always fun. Through windshield we'd see the poles on the roof bobbing up and down. Were they going to go flying off? Dad drove slower than normal.

The route was one we took only to go fishing. It was fun to see what had changed, but usually there wasn't much new. Corn fields are pretty much corn fields all the time. But, sometimes a new house would've gone up, or a barn burned down, or a formerly gravel road now a hardtop surface. Sometimes an abandoned restaurant at some crossroads would've reopened, or an open one closed down.

While driving Dad would decide which fishing spot to use. There were two available: Schlappi's farm and Foster's farm. Dad kept up relations with both farmers: Christmas cards every year, stopping by when ever he saw one of them in the barnyard as we drove by, offering them some of our fish if we caught any. We didn't always feel they were happy with us being there, but they let us fish their properties without problem for a lot of years. I suppose now they've shut the gates. There're probably liability concerns with having people on your land that we never even thought of back then.

Foster's farm was arguably better fishing. The river was deeper there and had more 'structure' with downed trees, brushpiles, a more defined channel. It also had steeper banks and the river cut a pretty straight course. When dad went fishing with rod and reel he usually picked Foster.

Schappi's stretch of the river was wider and not as deep. The banks tended to be lower and the sandbars bigger. It's big advantage for setting out lines was that Schlappi's included a horseshoe bend in the river. That meant we could start walking upstream of the bend, walk downstream with the current while we tended the poles, and then climb out of the river and walk a short distance over land back to where we started. It saved a lot of steps and walking against the current, so generally Dad picked Schlappi's.

After turning off the gravelled road and through the open gate onto Schlappi's property we'd be on a dirt track with the river to our right and corn or soybean fields to our left. The track followed the meander of the river. It always seemed to take hours on the track to finally get back to where we fished. It was probably no more than 10 minutes. We strained to catch a glimpse of the river through the weeds and trees. Was the river high and full of water or low and just creeping along? Did it look muddy or clear? Was a particular sandbar still there from last time? Was the brushpile where we'd caught the big catfish still making the water swirl around it? Then it would be gone from sight again as we drove along and we'd have to wait for the next glimpse.

Finally at the end of the track we'd pull to the right into a flat spot under the trees overlooking the river. We'd jump out, walk to the edge of the steep bank, and look down for our first good view. The greenish-brown water flowed from our left, quiet, smooth, maybe 50 feet across. A gravelbar eased out into the flow from the base of the bank where we stood. The bar forced a bend in the river, the faster flowing water and a steep bank on the far side. Trees over hung the water there, casting shadows and making the water look dark and cool. That's where we'd put our first poles. It was good luck to see a fish jump. We'd smell that clean, mossy, earthy, wet smell of running fresh water. After you'd been there awhile you couldn't smell it anymore as you got used to it. At first though, it was a smell that told you that you were going fishing.

It was time to unload the gear and get started.