FLY-FISHING IN WISCONSIN: Brush with disaster leaves writer grateful for story to tell
Jerry Kiesow
I reached for the log, and the log submerged – it was a floater - and I followed it . . . down.
I spread all the items from the vest out on the tailgate of the truck so they would dry.
Where do I begin? I have been paddling a canoe for decades and aside from the times when I was negotiating whitewater, have never experienced any uncontrollable situation. Until this past August when I went to the cottage for a few days to cut grass and other miscellaneous chores that needed to be done – like go fishing – while my wife and two daughters were seeing Alaska.
Between rains, I got everything done and even found time to paddle the old 17-foot Grumman. It felt good to have a paddle in my hands again. With all the rain this year, that had been a rare happening.
One evening, after supper, I picked up my three-weight fly rod and gear and headed for the pier. I found the river four to six inches higher, with a much stronger current, than it was earlier. As I eased the canoe from the pier, the current caught it immediately and moved it rapidly downriver. I paddled to the opposite side where the flow was not so strong. I cast and found that it was a challenge to fish and guide the canoe at the same time.
I made a few more casts and then decided to head back. The flow was too strong. Of course, I made one final cast, and, of course, the fly snagged on the tip of a log. Not wanting to lose the fly - it was a new pattern - I paddled against the current to the log. Normally anytime a lure, of any kind, is retrieved from wood, the wood is anchored well enough so I can grab hold of the wood with one hand and retrieve the lure, in this case the fly, with the other. Not this time. Simultaneously, when I put down the paddle, the canoe slid backward, I reached for the log, and the log submerged – it was a floater - and I followed it . . . down. In less time than it takes to tell, I was in the river. I had never fallen out of a canoe before.
When I surfaced, I had one hand on the canoe and the other on the paddle. My feet were not touching the bottom. I attempted to swim, using the paddle as leverage, toward shallow water so I could stand. That did not work, so I tossed the paddle into the canoe. All this time, the canoe and I were drifting downriver.
Suddenly, the canoe stopped and a voice said, “Can we help?” A boat had come along, the occupants had seen my plight, and came to help. I was told to go to the back of the boat and climb up its ladder while the man driving the boat held the canoe.
I got into the boat dripping wet, apologized, and said, “Thank you,” a dozen times. I took hold of the canoe while the man backed up the boat. I noticed that my binoculars were in about three inches of water. I picked them up and put them on the seat. Looking further, the paddles, life jacket, and cushion were there, but the three-weight was not. We tried, briefly, to find it, but could not.
I directed the boat to our pier. There, I stepped out, taking the rope tied to the canoe with me and said, “Thanks again.” The man asked if I would be all right. I said, “Sure,” as I tied the canoe to the pier. Still ahead was a major task of drying out everything that had been in my canoe or clothes, from cell phone, to fly vest, to wallet, and a futile attempt to snag the lost fly rod.
How I fell out of my canoe, after six plus decades of never doing so, I can’t say. I can now say that good or bad, one can always experience a “first.” The lesson here is constant; always wear a life jacket when boating. You never know.
A friend from church put this all in proper perspective. “It could have been worse,” he said. “I can see the headline now. The Peshtigo Putzer drowns in the Peshtigo River.”
Keep a good thought!
Reader Note: Read every detail of Jerry’s story on the OWO website at www.onwisconsinoutdoors.com under “Inland Fishing.”
Editor’s note: Jerry has written two books, “Tales of The Peshtigo Putzer,” and “Photos, Poems, and a Little Bit of Prose” Both make great gifts. They are available for purchase at his website: www.jerrykiesowoc.com.