Hello everyone,
I realized that I never posted a report after my friends and I headed out to the Little Manistee. It was a beautifully serene place which I will definitely need to visit again at some point.
I can't remember the campground that we stayed at, but it had a very friendly DNR/Forestry officer as the manager. He spent quite a bit of time with us before we hit the water talking about what to expect on the river. We also discussed whiskey at length and left him the last few pours of a few of the bottles we had brought.
In short, we caught no fish of note; however, I found myself catching endless numbers of these small minnows on a small Patriot (my favorite fly). Anyone better at identifying minnows than me? After striking out on trout, we started a challenge to see who could catch the smallest minnow and on the smallest fly. It was a perfect task for my 1/2 weight. Even though none of us are very good fly anglers, we have a great appreciation for the sport and a deep affection for God's creation.
Much of our time on the river was spent in silence as we warmed in the rays of sunshine breaking through the canopy and cooled in the misty bends of the overhanging trees. Who knows the number of trout that slipped silently past our slow feet as we plodded on ignorantly with our chosen (and rejected) flies.
While I pondered my place in life wearing waders chest-deep in a river, a landowner came down to talk about what the river was like in her prime. After a while her husband came down too and, with a splash, I had a new fishing buddy named Scout - a very handsome golden retriever. I've always loved hearing others share fond memories of times they cherished and spent some precious moments listening to the couple.
At night, we shared some quality bourbon and lively conversation. As young dads, we took a moment to appreciate the reality that despite having caught zero trout, we were camping while our wives valiantly held down the fort with our children.
The next day, my friends decided it best to ditch the Little Man for the confluence of the Pere Marquette and Baldwin Rivers. Begrudgingly, I joined them and my feelings of resentment grew when we approached the banks of the river. The river was about three feet higher than normal! Trying not to be a wet blanket, I waded across the river, but, after floating back about a foot after each step, I called it quits and waited on the banks for my friends to do the same.
Thanks to Roguerat and Partsman for giving me some valuable information about the area and helping me avoid some quicksand. Hopefully, I can find more trout next time I am out that way, but the trip was a cherished time.