MADRU’S FISH CAMP

Give me an atlas that’s tattered and worn
And stained by the dew of an autumns morn
With pages dog-eared, and high-lites on trails
And notes about campsites, and fishing and tales
No order of pages, no maps that are bare
But plenty of circles and check marks and squares
It’s an atlas of journeys, adventure and fun
A blueprint left waiting for somebody’s son 

 

It was a moonless starry night. You could look up into the inky blackness and see the heavy cloud of stars that make up the Milky Way. The river rushed all around me and I could feel the power of water against my legs and hear the splash of an occasional salmon as it porpoised its way upstream on its journey to the Croton Dam. The Chinook salmon had been released into the Muskegon four years previous, and now, heavy from feeding in Lake Michigan, the salmon were making their final journey, to lay eggs and complete their cycle of life. About three AM, the crisp blackness gave way to a bank of fog that rolled down the river covering us like a blanket, and muting what was left of the few sounds around us. I could not see my reel or my pole. We were night fishing, casting into the darkness hoping for a big salmon on the other end of the line. As the fog thickened my senses became numb and I had a feeling of floating. The only reality was the click of the bail, the whiff whiff whiff of the line playing out and the almost imperceptible splash of the lure hitting the water. There were no fish taken that night, but that moment from thirty-five years ago is the one I remember whenever I go to the Muskegon River.

Every year Dan Madru sets up a fish camp just outside of Newaygo, Michigan. Dan’s friends, Dan and Bonnie Klosterman own ground on the Muskegon and Dan Madru has been going up there camping for many years. What started out as a weekend with a small group of friends has blossomed into a five-day fishing trip. Dan and Connie’s kids are now grown and have kids of their own. A few of us that are now considered old-timers come back to the river every year. It has become a constant that transitions us from late summer into early fall.

The Muskegon River flows out of Houghton Lake, which is northeast of Cadillac, Michigan and travels southwest to Muskegon where it dumps into Lake Michigan. The Michigan DNR release salmon fry into the river every year. After four years of feeding on alewives in Lake Michigan, the salmon migrate back upstream to spawn. Steelhead trout follow the salmon. There are also brown and rainbow trout in the river, which are fun to catch, but the fishermen in this camp are mainly after salmon.

It is usually a four-hour trip from Waynedale to Newaygo, but road construction and a couple of accidents around Grand Rapids made for a six-hour journey. When I finally got to the river, it was raining. I walked around in the wetness and picked out a good spot for my tent. In a few minutes, as the rain settled into a slow drizzle, I was set up and ready for the night. I located Madru and asked him about the fishing. He and Connie had been there since Wednesday and along with his camper, a large food tent was set up with a campfire off to the side.

“There’s a lot of fish in the river, I made three casts and hooked four fish,” he said.

That was good news to me. I had Saturday and Sunday ahead of me, there were drinks in the cooler and supper on the campfire. Nothing to do but jack back and relax.

The next morning I was up before dawn and walked down to the river. There were about six salmon working off shore, so I went to my car, tossed my pants on the cooler in the front seat and slipped into my waders. After a few casts, I had my first fish, a 30-inch, 10-pound male. He had jumped twice after I hooked him and put up a terrific fight. I drug him to shore and Spider Carmer helped me land him. There were a few other fishermen stirring and the camp was slowly coming to life. I put a stringer in my pocket and headed upstream for some more fish. I walked about a quarter mile to the first set of flats. There were some fishermen in the water so I decided to keep walking and try to find a vacant spot. After another three-quarter mile I found a nice deserted stretch, with nothing but rocks, fast water and fish.

I hooked into a nice salmon and the fight was on. The fish worked the current, drug out a lot of line and all I could do was hang on. It fought with all the energy of its specie. As he tired, I was able to start gaining ground and slowly worked him to shore. I corralled him with my boots, stringered him, tied him to a branch and continued on. After two more fish I headed back to camp. There was over thirty pounds of fish on the stringer and walking through the water was easier than dragging them through the brush. By the time I made camp I was soaked with sweat. Dan came down to meet me. He looked at the fish, looked at his watch, and said, “Nice catch! It’s not even noon yet.”

I walked up to my car, anxious to get out of my waders and into something comfortable. I pulled on the door handle…but the door wouldn’t open. I looked in through the window. My regular key was in the ignition, and I realized that my spare key was in my pants pocket in the front seat. I tried the driver’s side door…same result. Both keys locked in my car along with my clothes and my cooler.

I had left my cooler on the front seat and when I shut the door earlier, the cooler had tripped the toggle lock, which is located on the side of the door. One power lock sets the other. There I was, camped along the river, knowing that this was going to give everyone in camp a good laugh.

My car is an old ’93 Nissan and you can’t ‘slip stick’ it. I used Madru’s phone to call a locksmith and 60 minutes and 60 dollars later I was back in business.

Rick Meyer, who lives on Highway 14, was in camp. He had brought a canoe on which he had jury-rigged a two by four across the back V. He had attached a small Evinrude to the two by four, which made for a nice powerboat.

The two of us motored downstream to another flat, tied the canoe on an island and waded into the river. We hooked six salmon, released two, which were female, and motored back to camp with the other four. One of Rick’s salmon was 39 inches, 21.4 pounds, which was the biggest fish taken in the men’s competition.

Angie Wallace, Dan’s daughter-in-law, who works for Karst Surveying won the women’s division with a salmon that was 35 inches and weighed 14.3 lbs. She is planning on having her salmon mounted.

It was a great weekend. There were 33 people in camp for Saturday night dinner. We created a lot of new memories and in about twenty years some of these kids will be saying, “You remember back in ’04. There were a lot of fish in the river back then. That was the trip that newspaper guy locked his keys in the car.”