FENCEROWS...Summer on the Milwaukee
My far-going fishing buddies laugh every time I tell them I am going to fish the Milwaukee River. They assume the worst- “Fishing for carp or floating garbage?” they ask.
They chase the fish of summer in tranquil and spring-fed northern waters. I believe they picture a weed-choked and polluted piece of stagnant water when I tell of the Milwaukee, possibly complete with rusted cans stuck in the mud banks. I wouldn’t doubt they picture them to be cans of the historic beer that made Milwaukee famous.
They don’t understand. I defend myself to them by saying they fear what they don’t know-and I tell them it wouldn’t hurt them to drink a real man’s beer once in a while. Mostly, I let them talk. That way I keep all the good smallmouth fishing to myself.
Setting the Hook on the Milwaukee River.
With heat and humidity setting up into the heart of summer, casting a lazy rod with my feet dangling over a boat and taking a cooling plunge into the depths of a northern lake when the bite tails off does sound inviting. The town swimming pool looks good too, except for the lack of smallmouth bass and the fact that the lifeguards frown and blow whistles when you set the hook and snag one of those inflatable floaty rafts.
Luckily for me there is an alternative, flowing and quite hidden from the withering gazes and derision of my sun-burned, lake fishing buddies. The Milwaukee River pours like a frosted mug to be enjoyed on a sultry day, right through the heart of my hometown of Grafton.
A fly rod fight below the old chair factory dam in Grafton.
I’ll admit that the river has had its share of past problems: industrial development, careless consumption of its 900 square miles of watershed resources, and a high-density population that numbers well over a million. But modern environmental awareness has given the river a new life, bringing a rich history onto even terms with a fine fishery.
Two dams have been taken out of the Milwaukee River in Grafton alone in the past thirteen years, increasing the river’s flow to a point where steelhead trout and salmon can navigate up from Lake Michigan on spawning runs. The increased oxygen content in the river and the wild flowing of water over the broken dam shelves also make it prime smallmouth territory, even under the withering gaze of summer when the deepest holes behind a dam can become too depleted for fish to survive.
The first Grafton dam was removed in 2002, spanning the river at the ruins of an old chair-making factory that dated back to the 1800’s. That is decent enough history I guess; but sort of uncomfortably boring like old hard-backed chairs get to be.
When the factory was converted into a recording studio in the late 1920’s, the old dam really picked up some flavor. It witnessed some of the great legends of blue music, coming up out of the southern Mississippi Delta to sit above the old dam, picking guitars and wailing tenor saxophones across the rushing water. Rumors still surface, that when the studio closed in 1932, some of the original master-track recordings were cast into the Milwaukee River above the dam. They would be priceless treasures today, but if any recordings were sunk above the old dam, they are now a part of river bottom history and have never been trolled up.
There are historic sign posts on the bank to mark the passing of an era where the dam once stood, where once the pioneers of blues music may have sat and played, maybe even taken a draught or two of Milwaukee’s finest. Besides that, there remains only the river current crashing down on the rock ledges of an old foundation and the perfect place to escape the summer heat. And despite the scoffing of my non-believing buddies, you would be hard pressed to find a better environment for smallmouth bass.
About late afternoon, when the heat is still heavy in the air, my son and I attempt the river ford out onto the center ledge. No waders needed, just some shorts and an old pair of tennis shoes to scramble over the swirling rock bottom. We grab a dead- fall tree branch for a wading staff and hold on to each other as we cross. It’s only about waist deep to get out to the center rocks, but the forces of the Milwaukee pull fast and a false step may very well put us in for more than just a cooling wade.
The sun still hits the top of the trees here but the ledge sits in shade. There are deep pools where the river cuts both sides of the rock, much deeper than the wading path over. I’ve gone in to my chest trying to retrieve a fly and ended up breaking it off because the bottom shelved down father than that. It could be the pool where the lost recording tracks are sunk. It’s hard to tell with legends, but I know for a fact the pool holds a treasure share of my lost lures.
In the heart of summer, not on a remote lake, but in the heart of urban Grafton, my son and I trade back-and-forth with a fly rod and casting rod; buggy looking flies and bucktail spinners dance through the pools. They both turn the trick equally well, taking smallmouth bass from the swirling water in the ruins of Milwaukee River history.
Milwaukee River smallmouth.
I claim victory this night with the biggest bass, taken on a woolly bugger fly. The smallmouth breaks water twice, pulling into the swifter current and I howl some blues of my own as I try to pull him back into calmer waters, finally landing him for a quick photo and then it’s back into the foaming water.
We drip the Milwaukee River on the asphalt above the old chair factory as we leave. There is a slight breeze that actually raises goose bumps on my arms and it is a fine summer feeling.
I figure my friends are pulling into a northern lake boat launch right about now, watching the sun set over a pine tree horizon and listening to the calls of whippoorwills. My son and I dodge traffic to get to our truck. Maybe I should tell my northern-lake friends about all the fun they’re missing.
On second thought, I’ll just let them suffer.