Journalism - Sample

Sam Cook (Duluth News Tribune Outdoors writer) let me spend a day recording a story on the young steelheaders spending their spring break on the Lester River. This is a story (now that his story has run) that I came up with. Not purely refined - a first draft, but interesting to see the process.

.... The seasoned steelheader knows few people besides the Minnesota DNR’s creel census team gets a good picture of the hot bait or numbers of fish they’ve hooked that day. Revealing the total, or the location, to the angler’s significant other may be considered tenuous in some households. Instructing another competent looking person on the rivers – read: competition – would be grounds to be sent back to a February purgatory consisting of frozen streambeds and dull Daiichi #8 hooks.

But when precocious youth begin the path towards being consumed by chasing the anadromous rainbow trout of Lake Superior’s North Shore Streams, older anglers seem glad to assist. A trio of young fishermen – comprised of Duluthians Kiel Granger, 14, and his friends Luke Rasanen (14) and Reilly Hallstrom (15) were on the Lester River in eastern Duluth as the schools had the week off for Spring Break last week.

Longtime angler Dave Beck, 53 also of Duluth, was on the Lester fishing but also taking note of the young fishermen’s success and presence on the river as time well-spent outside the classroom. “We think it’s great to have kids get started,” he said.

Earlier in the morning, Beck had helped one of the young fisherman out, telling the young angler how to get the hook out, release and revive the fish.

His actions and mentality of mentorship ensures the population of fish – and anglers – stays healthy for years to come. As to whether any older anglers resent the youthful presence: “The majority welcome it. It’s something we want to try to continue. We don’t want it to die out in this state,” he said, adding that the inherent difficulty of steelhead fishing and the patience required is eased when kids catch one when the numbers are up.

“These kids are hooked for life – that’s the whole key,” Beck said.

Kiel Granger had hooked one on a bobber and single waxworm before we arrived, borrowing the secret from another angler whom he’d seen catch a steelhead. Appearing trustworthy, Granger took the advice and hooked his first fish earlier that morning. After a five minute tussle, Kiel and his friends pulled it on shore, maneuvering the cliffs to prevent the fish from traveling too far down river.

Though he’d fished for other species of fish before, the steelhead he caught felt like “more of a fighter.”

As Granger switches locations on the river to a more productive spot, he leads us to an overlook where we observe the three young fishermen from a closer vantage point and see his friend Luke Rasanen in action, the next of the group to find success. Everyone in the pool takes note of the bright fish being fought by the trio and the bend it puts in Rasanen’s 7.5’ rod. Straining on the drag of the spinning reel, he fights the fish. Granger hops into the river, on digital camcorder duty, documenting the action. Hallstrom wades himself to net the fish. Two futile attempts at snaring the fish add drama to the spectacle. From the time Luke set the hook to the time the boys had netted the fish took two minutes.

Actively observing, it seemed like ten. The fish was caught and released back into the tailout of the hole, its forward progress halted for this push upstream. The particular excitement of youth success was visible on the faces of the team – those close by could tell the entire process was a hands-on learning experience.

“Clearly they can use a little guidance,” Beck said, in regards to similar situations of a challenging spot to cleanly land fish. When the rivers are crowded during the spring run, teaching some river protocol is one part of the older generations’ job to make sure the proper traditions are handed down. “You teach them a little etiquette - they get it – you only have to tell them once.”

And if they don’t understand the unwritten rules of the river, the young anglers learn by watching common practice in action, like not drifting through others’ lines during crowded periods or attempting to snag fish as they stage the falls.

The afternoon wanes on and this spot seems to be fairly good fishing – while others across the pool have waded in waist deep to the pool in hopes of attracting one of the staging fish, the boys continue to make casts and drifts through the hole. Steelhead fishing at this point is rather straightforward: bait, drift, success. Right now, concerns of water temperatures or rain levels do not seem to matter. The boys don’t worry about the runoff report -- yet. They are on the river because of their love of fishing; to have the excitement of having the big steelhead on the end of the rod – the kind of fish “you don’t have control of,” said Luke.

And you won’t spot Kiel or Luke in the latest and greatest gear – but they might beat you to the hole in the morning. Outfitted in rubber boots, both were on the river at 5:45 am – “the second guys in the river,” Granger told me. Sprawling out of his backpack were a sweatshirt, extra bobbers, a multi-tool and canister of salmon eggs. Granger’s approach seemed to be working while the fish were biting. Leaning up nearby on the polished basalt cliff was the communal net, an addition from Hallstom, who had arrived later that morning.

Grangier wades in to land a foul–hooked fish for Duluth’s Robert Olson, 52. He’s one of 11 people fishing the hole by 3:00 pm, adding a salt-and peppered presence to the cliff, vying for one of the dark fish jump headlong into the rocks, attempting the six foot leap from the frothing water over the edge of the next staging pool.

At one point while fishing in the same vicinity as the boys, Olson helps Luke to dislodge a snagged drift. Though the hole is not quite as crowded as the days of the shoulder-to-shoulder Chinook runs on the Lester, Olson motions for Luke to hand him the rod. He’s got a better angle and pulls aggressively at the line, using a technique he’s honed from many days spent on the river to free the hook and salmon egg. Though he prefers throbbing fish on the end of his line to stymied yarn flies, he’s not planning on giving it up anytime soon.

“I’ll be crippled to the point where I can’t hold a rod before I give this up.”

As he lets the young fishermen scramble back and forth from the staging pool to the frothing water below him, they don’t let his guidance go unappreciated. Moments after Luke got snagged, Olson’s own monofilament got stuck behind the group, fifteen feet above in some small shrubs. Without saying a word, Kiel ran up the steep bank to untangle the snag, sat back down, and watched his friends make their drifts.

It was Reilly Hallstrom, the friend who invited the two to the river to hook into a fish next – a quick battle in the staging pool and the fish comes off. He’s been on the river before; other anglers have spotted him in his fishing vest and waders. At 15, Hallstrom looks already looks like a fisherman, making drifts with the classic setup of sturdy 10 pound test monofilament, a triplet of sinkers and a salmon egg to attract the fish.

Alongside the bearded, sun-glassed veterans of Lake Superior’s North Shore streams, a new generation is coming. You might see them soon in vests, adorned with yarn flies, boxes for sinkers weighing down pockets, scissors trimming leaders or yarn, at 4:30 in the morning as they take things to the next level.

Maybe they’ll be on the river until 8:00 pm, outlasting the mentors who taught them to fish.

But for now, content in their rubber boots and simple set-ups, the future for these young fishermen is embodied in the early success on a Spring Break afternoon in the hometown, appreciating the city’s swimming treasures. We asked Kiel. He’s hooked – we know it, his smile gave it away -- when we asked him if he was a steelheader now that he’d caught one. He nodded, but it was already evident.