By Drew Schneider
I wondered that question myself just a few weeks ago and happened to stumble across the answer. The winter has been very mild-mannered here in West Michigan. At the moment, the upper peninsula doesn’t have an inch of ice to stand on, let alone in the southwestern region of the lower peninsula where I live. Typically, my free time right now would be spent setting tip ups and jigging crappies. These (un)fortunate set of conditions led me to pursue alternative options. I mean, can I fly fish in the winter?
I came to the decision to spend the day on my favorite trout stream just an hour north of here. Since I come from the conventional world, where lakes become increasingly difficult to fish in the winter months, I set my expectations exceedingly low. I told myself to not measure my success by fish caught, but rather by the opportunity to connect with the natural world. After all, I’ve yet to find trout in a place that wasn’t beautiful. I loaded the truck and pointed it north.
Once to the river, I found an empty access and an usual amount of solitude. Understandably so, as I had contributed to the solitude since the salmon run in early September. I geared up and walked the trail until the usual rhythms and flows came rushing back. I focused solely on technique and close observation of my surroundings. Tightlining on Troutbitten’s standard mono rig, I worked buckets and runs methodically, making sure my nuke egg and pheasant tail offering was drag free and precise. There’s something deeply satisfying about the kind of focus fishing this system requires.
To my complete surprise, on one particularly good drift, my line stopped and I set. Flashes of deep gold materialized in the dark winter waters. In awe, I scooped the brown trout up in my net, a size 12 nuke egg in the corner of his mouth. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I couldn’t believe the beauty of a brown trout can be fully appreciated unless you’re holding one against the colorless backdrop of a Michigan winter. I continued onward and proceeded to land 6 more decent trout and a handful of dinks. I left the river in a gush of gratitude.
Because of my incredibly low expectations, I uncovered a certain freedom in fishing for the moment, rather than for the bragging rights or pictures to share. I also uncovered the secret of fly fishing in the winter. Not only can you fly fish in the winter, but you absolutely should. Winter should not be a time to pause your progress, but rather a time to appreciate the river for what it is, in its entirety, and perhaps without expectations. It’s the time to observe the ecosystem in its cycle of culling. The river sheds its skin like a snake, making room for new growth in the spring. While the scenery may be less beautiful in a conventional way, observing seasonal changes is beautiful in its own right. It more deeply roots the connection between the ever changing river, its ever changing surroundings and the ever changing you. Don’t let a couple extra layers and perhaps a few less fish hinder your relationship with the natural world. Don’t let the comforts of Netflix and a warm bed make you feel like adventure isn’t out there. It is and it is waiting for you.
Bio:
My name is Drew Schneider. I am a West Michigan native who cut his teeth on the glacial lakes and rivers in my state. I have always felt like the pursuit of fish is much deeper than it seems on the surface. The experiences I have had chasing fish across diverse landscapes and ecosystems left me with a unique perspective on the art of angling. I hope to share my passion and ignite it in others.
Instagram- Drewstertheerooster
