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Last Saturday, I found myself standing in the waters of the famed Namekagon River, near the old logging town of Seeley, Wis. Over the years, I’ve read many fly-fishing articles about the “Nam” and viewed stunning photos of this unique river that is surrounded by dense, pine forests, but never found a convenient opportunity to fish the upper reaches for its wild brown trout. When the opportunity arose last weekend to meet a new fly-fishing buddy, John Weinberg, for an afternoon of fishing, I knew that if I didn’t run up there now, I might not get the chance again this season. John, a National Park Service ranger and long-time member of the St. Paul Fly Tyers Club, makes a pilgrimage with fellow club members to the Namekagon each year, and knows the river’s moods and insect hatches well.

In many places the Namekagon is a relatively shallow river, and with numerous eagles flying overhead, the trout are skittish and seek protection from the constant threat from above in deeper water during the daylight hours. Around noon on Saturday, I found such water underneath a narrow bridge where I slipped into the river and quietly began to ply the deep run with a heavily weighted nymph. On the second cast, my indicator was savagely yanked underwater and I set the hook on a trout that absolutely refused to be moved off the riverbed. Our standoff was a brief affair. Far too brief, as a matter of fact. The brown shook the hook and I barely had time to duck as the indicator and fly whizzed by my head to land some distance downstream. Boy, I hate like heck to lose fish and believe me, I’ve lost my fair share of fish over the years. It’s downright unbearable to break off or “pop the hook” on heavy fish that leave me with nothing more than an aching wrist and shoulder for my troubles before evading capture. I’m not so far gone to realize – deep down – that it is, after all, only fishing. I really do try to be diplomatic when things don’t go my way, but the big ones I’ve lost always seem to swim away with a fair amount of my dignity and self-respect. It’s sort of pathetic to admit that losing a good fish at the very end of a fishing trip can keep me up at night and haunt me for weeks.

Anyway, I sat down on a rock to keep my knees from knocking, ran the fly’s hook point a few times through the groove in my sharpening stone, and got back to work. Lo and behold, the third cast into this run got the attention of yet another dandy brown and after a lengthy battle, I was able to slip the net under it. The fourth cast - to my sheer delight - was awfully reminiscent of the third and the fifth played out just like the fourth. I had only taken nine or so casts before I’d exhausted the run and was rewarded with six brown trout that came to the net. All of the trout were between 16 and 19 inches and each seemingly fatter and longer than the one before.

I scrambled up the rocky bank to my vehicle parked at the edge of the bridge. My shoulder and wrist were sore, but it was a good kind of sore and served as a reminder on the drive home of my successful first encounter with the wiley brown trout of the famed Namekagon River. It’s a good thing that I found redemption and that the trout I lost on my second cast wasn’t the only good fish in that run. The soreness in my arm went away the next day, but a severely bruised ego can take a long, long time to heal.

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