Cruising around in The Lander Van

Been awhile since I’ve taken ride in the abstract. A blog post about a blog while riding in the blog’s inspiration. Comparisons to the Huffington Post’s Arianna Huffington stepping out of the digital world and into something completely incoherent of real life aside, the van itself is the entity; the conductor has been real to me all along. Connecting the unmentionable tales of transgression in the 90’s Ford Club Wagon were never tangible to me. I finally got to touch it, unload a freshman year’s buildup of accessories and go on the hunt for trout.

It was a day of multitasking, C.J got his fix of steelhead fishing, I got my tarmac fix and fresh pavement amidst a dearth of traffic on Highway 3. We reconvened north of Betty’s Pies to join forces and look for stream trout as an a la carte for dinner.

The vehicle gives me a topic for layered writing I decide as we drove the due north of Highway 2 in Lake County. What will be the summer’s overplayed songs chime on the radio.

I think the van is left un-described intentionally by my brother in his writing. To splurge the details is to give something away, I felt, as Van Helsing purred along the East Alger Grade, dust streaming up behind us in search of the headwaters of a stream. Describing too much of the crashing through the alder branches and tight casting quarters and it becomes a glorified fishing story teetering on the edge of revealing too much geographical truth.

Like the headwaters of a fine North Shore River, the van must be experienced in person; authenticated and verified. Codified in story to ends unknown.

On the way back we stop by the editor’s house in Two Harbors to see if he happened to be home. The van will stay, parked, but the conductor is off on Saturday en route to fight Wyoming’s fires should they flare up – so we make an attempt to keep up appearances. The redactor’s house: a back porch is guarded with two unknown individuals and an ATV for sale. The lingering men tell us he who we sought was still up in Grand Marais. The van had barely come to a rolling stop. More rivers, more fish, more reading of the water to be done.

Steelhead Fishing

We’re getting older, but still a family. Though in slight disbelief we’re taking a trip (“consider it adventuring and you’re never too old”) we hit the road to slay some trout (in this case, anadromous rainbows). The guide is back from Wyoming to break in a new fishing rod; the primary reason we all crammed into the camper. It doesn’t take him long to land two fish. Two DNR Conservation Officers check our credentials climbing out of the cable to end our first day.

That’s about as specific as I can go to which river we were on. We'll take you there, maybe … a river of cascading gorges, steep walls, rocks cut to squares where you’ll pack your fishing rod into the back of your vest on the way out and watch for the loose slate sliding down upon you. The cable is solid, but its maybe an 800 foot drop or slide if something goes haywire.

Why steelhead fish or risk the danger? "Do steelhead make you feel funny?" the guide wonders.

We’re off to Sven and Ole’s Pizza in Grand Marais to find out the dynamic - or what it is we all gain from a trip like this, and just who among us has every moment of their time either consumed by steelhead or thinking about catching them.

It’s the first time I’ve been in the restaurant for probably four years; this time I take note of the décor. Elk and deer are mounted … a toaster is above us. There’s a distinct Norwegian influence too. Oslo signs – “the Viking Capital” and a Lillehammer ’94 sign hang where they’ve probably been on many a quiet Saturday night. We sit as a family (talking about family things, i.e., will Cam return for Christmas? before the pizza arrives without much clamoring like the Pincushion race days.

It’s a very hot coffee on Easter morning the next day. Cam thinks one river might be taking fish. Today’s the day to see what the water is like. The Arrowhead gives our “fishing club” (Scott Thorpe’s words) plenty of room to spread out on the River … it could be a better option. As the two “guides” debate our best option, I cross Highway 61, longjohns for pants, and stretch on the rocks washed up beside the Lake, giving thanks for the day though I’m not in church.

We all fish with intensity up to the upstream boundary. Taking a break for notes and coffee, I wrote “Notes from stream boundary on the Arrowhead. No fish stacked below the falls. Don fishing with a nymph setup and Cam on the yarnflies. Nothing landed or hooked in this section of the river.”

As the raindrops stain the ink on the page, I’m forced to stop writing about lack of fish as Cam hooks into one. We watch him skillfully maneuver the 10’, 9# SAGE and play the fish. I tail it; we take some pictures, it is released and left to spawn.

Fishing porn
Further upstream is the Devil’s Kettle; a slackline opportunity awaits? But then back down the path, up the 176 stairs, the family tromps along. Most are coming up; we are heading down. No attempts at the Carlson when we inspect it. “It’s pretty low,” Cam says.

“Brown and dirty for being so low,” guide two says.

Back to the Flute Reed – no success. Client two stays in the rig, avoiding the cloudy water and low water levels and watches the Ontario plates head north, though we don’t cut her any slack when we return to the truck.

“You come out with the guys you fish with the guys.”

The roving white elephant of the truck and camper continues south. I hook into one fish (nameless river); can’t land it as I foolishly adjust my drag. At night and we’re back to the DT; I land a small brookie.

The next morning, down the path to work up the river (intentionally vague about spots) where we all hook a fish, the two guides and the client.

Sunny and bright heading south on 61 through Grand Marais … we’ve decided to fish the Baptism for one last attempt. No luck.

Steelhead fishing makes the two guides feel funny; I try and write about that descriptors that make them feel funny. Client two has spent many lonely nights in May (talking Canada now) wondering about her guides, with every moment of their time consumed by steelhead or thinking about catching steelhead …