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It seems that I’m beginning to fall into the somewhat misguided habit of looking for - and driving to - what I perceive to be good smallmouth water north of Taylors Falls. I’m not talking about running up the river a little ways, mind you. Heck no, that’d be too easy, not to mention that short trips give me the diluted notion that I somehow didn’t work and plan hard enough to catch fish. No, I’m talking about distances that compel me to check the truck’s dipstick and tire pressure before heading out, and require at least one pit stop for a bathroom break and snacks. I’m beginning to think that with today’s fuel prices, this habit could seriously affect the bank account.

My buddy, Paul Bury, and I did a two-day float down the upper reaches of the St. Croix a couple of weeks ago. With our busy work and family lives, we settled on the only two days that would fit our hectic schedules. We’d been planning this trip for a few months and I’d been crossing my fingers while checking the 10-day forecast as our trip date drew nearer. The weather was shaping up to be, potentially, pretty dicey, and it looked as though we wouldn’t get through this thing without breaking out the foul weather gear. You know how it goes; you pen some dates on the kitchen calendar and there they remain – indelibly inked – because the rest of your schedule won’t allow you to alter them.

We put in at Norway Point Landing on a Sunday afternoon and it didn’t take long for the thunder, lightning, high winds and Old Chapter, Book of Genesis-type rain to begin. Soaked to the bone as I attempted to oar my personal pontoon craft against the stiff southerly wind that all but negated the river’s current, I half expected to look to the shoreline and see an old-timer in flowing robes hammering together a big wooden boat. How big, you wonder? Well, I’m no boat builder, mind you, but I’d put her dimensions at roughly 300 cubits long by 50 cubits wide.

The fun didn’t end there. Oh, heavens no. Luckily for us, the torrential downpour was still in full swing as we beached our crafts at the campsite (that we nearly over-shot due to the quickly fading light). Instead of pitching a cozy camp under the stars and enjoying a meal of freshly caught fish around the open fire, we found ourselves running south on County Road F into Grantsburg, wipers on full-tilt, for frozen pizza and flat domestic tap beer at a local watering hole. Later on, the pizza wasn’t settling too well with my insides as Paul closed the back hatch of his vehicle for the night…from the inside. Yes, the rain and our good fortune continued well into the evening, forcing us to sleep in the back end of his mid-sized SUV. The loud, incessant “ping-ping-ping-ping-ping” of fat raindrops hammering the roof of the vehicle (a scant couple of feet from my head) finally lulled me to sleep moments before I completely lost my mind. When we awoke, my legs and hips were numb from attempting to stretch out my six-foot frame in a space that this particular vehicle manufacturer boasts to be 66-inches long. If I were a half-foot shorter, I would’ve been in terrific shape that morning.

Monday afternoon, we took out at the Hwy. 70 bridge in Grantsburg not long after the weather changed for the better. Sure, we caught fish and had fun, but I’d admit now that in some respects it was a forced kind of fun. The kind of fun and high spirits you’re forced to muster up during a miserable fishing trip as you push thoughts of sunshine and dry clothes out of your mind while telling yourself, “By God, we will have a good time, even if it kills us!” We couldn’t change our trip dates and we were dealt the “weather hand” that Mother Nature dealt us. Not much you can do about that, I guess.

A few evenings ago, I popped down the bank of the St. Croix River near our home in Taylors Falls. I immediately noticed that the river, just below the house, is darn near as pretty as the same river 50-miles north. Yep, the smallies look remarkably like the smallies 50-miles north and they doggedly fight and put the same bend on my fly rod, too.

It takes me about three minutes to get from my front door to wetting my feet in the river. No pit stops, no high-priced gas, no packing and no driving. Maybe I should get back into the habit of enjoying what's right under my nose more often. If it begins to rain while I’m fishing below the house, it’s a short hike up the bank to hot food and a warm, soft bed.

Dan Brown’s weekly outdoor column is brought to you by Frankies Bait and Marine in Chisago City and St. Croix Outdoors in St. Croix Falls, Wisconsin.

Dan Brown is a director at the Chisago Lakes Achievement Center in Chisago City. In addition, Brown is a fly casting instructor and trout fishing guide at Seven Pines Lodge in Lewis, WI. Recently Brown was featured on Ron Schara’s Minnesota Bound and ESPN II’s Backroads with Ron and Raven, as well as KSTP channel 5’s Eyewitness News Morning Show. He is a Taylors Falls resident and can often be found on the area lakes, trout streams and the St. Croix river.

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