Branches of the Oconto
By John Luthens
The Oconto River dumps into Green Bay in a wide swath. And if you look at the river like a tree, the mouth of the Oconto would be the heavy wooden trunk grounded in the vast waters of Lake Michigan.
The Oconto narrows in a gradual taper. It runs through Oconto Falls in a frantic rush, with the crashing falls like swaying lower branches of an oak in a heavy wind.
O.K. - I’ll admit that free flowing water over the dam in Oconto Falls might be a stretched comparison to a tree. But higher up the river, in Oconto County, the river really does resemble a tree, branching out into a multi-limbed canopy of leafy confusion.
A bridge on one of many Oconto County back roads might cross one branch of the river along one bend, while two hills and a sharp right turn later; the same road crosses a totally different one.
There are also spring-fed creeks flowing into all the branches. The whole thing is very confusing when looking at it from a map standpoint because there is so much water flowing south and east, and every point in between; that a map can’t do proper justice to the whole of the Oconto system winding its way down to the main Green Bay trunk.
As is true with many things in life, especially trees, it’s better to go and inspect up close and personal. A tree might look fine and dandy from a distance, but until you climb it, you just don’t know what you will find.
My friend Murphy and I designed an original plan that involved fishing kayaks to really get into the branches of the Oconto. Neither of us own one, but both of us plan to eventually-maybe when the last installments of my yearly fishing tackle purchases are paid off- then I’ll hurry up and get one before the new tackle catalogs come out. Murph could have bought one this year, but he opted for a new ATV instead.
I pointed out to Murphy, that an ATV is going to sink on any of the waters that we fish together. He pointed out to me, that his ATV can get him into wild waters that I don’t even know about. “Can I ride on the back of the thing?” I asked.
“Not with all our fishing tackle and waders,” he answered. I thought about this for a while, and I’m looking forward to the new ATV catalogs coming out.
Anyway, we both made plans to borrow a kayak for the expedition. Murphy arranged for his quite easily. I almost had one borrowed, until the owner found out where I wanted to take it. He suddenly got a late night phone call from his kayaking buddy in Chippewa Falls, and plans were made that didn’t involve me taking a kayak into the Oconto County wilderness.
I can’t say that I blame him. I’d have to think twice before borrowing myself a kayak too. The expedition was changed to foot exploration-or ATV exploration in Murphy’s case.
Murph and I met each other outside the town of Mountain, on Highway 32. From Mountain, every branch of the Oconto can be had within a ten mile radius. We figured it to be a good starting point for river branch exploration.
We started on the South Branch in the morning. The actual South Branch-not the First South Branch or the second one either, which are their own separate entities. Not the North Branch either, which is altogether different water.
It had been pushing 100 degrees for several days running, and by the time Murph and I tore away from obligations (meaning wives and kids), it was 8:00 in the morning with the heat index rising yet again. The plan was for trout, but the conditions were not exactly trout-worthy.
Still, we found the South Branch ran deep. It twisted beneath overhung willows and cedars. Stream boulders cut deep channels. Some of the pools were so dark and deceiving that we skirted around them, hacking our way through the thick bank cover.
The south Branch is as close as you can come to a stretch of water that must harbor lunker-sized browns. To hit that stretch of water on a humid, overcast day-maybe right at dusk with a fly hatch coming off; that would be the time for some dark-spotted monsters to come prowling from underneath the bank cover.
The high point of our morning fishing, before the hot sun drove us off the water, was a giant crayfish that grabbed onto a dunked night crawler and refused to let go.
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| A crayfish captured on the South Branch |
While Murph and I debated the proper Cajun seasoning to add to a boiling pot, the crayfish finally let go, and we had to make other lunch arrangements.
Trying to escape the heat that afternoon, we searched out a rumored spring pond deep in the Nicolet State Forest. Along the Oconto River branches, springs seep up from heavy moss and rocks. The springs explain, in large part, how trout manage to survive summer heat waves.
We found the fabled pond, which must help feed one of the Oconto branches, but we never did decide which one. The fables also told about trapped native brook trout that swam in the springs.
It was one of those rare gems, surrounded by bogs and thick alders. The gravel and sand bottom where the springs bubbled up made for solid wading, but the surrounding bottom was silt and marl, and the closest I can come to describing it is quicksand.
Murphy went in over his waders and had to crawl out on all fours. I thought I’d need to get a chain to tow him out for a minute. The cold spring pond cut through my dry insulated waders. Murph’s wet waders made him forget the summer heat even quicker.
He got the last laugh though, catching the biggest brook trout of the day out of the pond. The trout weren’t picky, coming to spinners and flies. We lost the rest of the day enjoying another leaf along the winding branches of the Oconto.
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| Shawn “Murph” Murphy with a spring-pond brookie | A bright native brook trout from the waters of the Second South Branch |
By early next morning, I was lost in a different direction on the North Branch of the river. It ran rocky and white capped as far as I managed to walk it. I gave up before the rapids did, and although I fished whatever seam pockets I could reach without being bowled over, I failed to get a strike. If I had managed to secure a kayak, that kind of water would have been exciting.
I had also lost Murphy by this time, failing to hook up with him at our appointed time on the river, after we had gone to separate base camps to spend the night. Those kinds of things are bound to happen when you split up on a multi-layered river system like the upper Oconto.
Coming off the North Branch, I didn’t even change out of waders, driving five minutes to the First South Branch. Another half-mile up the road put me on the Second South Branch. Both rivers were shaded tunnels of darkness, and I wandered through ferns as high as my chest. It was a totally different water system than I had been on moments earlier.
There were no rocky runs on either of those branches; only slow bends and fallen cedar giants. I took boatloads of small brook trout for as long as I cared to fish. They were lucky to have gone six inches, but the dark jungle setting made it worth the effort.
I wandered across several primitive campsites far back on a dirt trail when I walked out. DNR signs said the fee for overnight camping was $5.00 per night on a first come basis. The sights were set right on the banks of the first, or second, or whatever branch of the Oconto wound through them. I thought the price was more than a bargain.
I can’t exactly explain how to get back to them without writing a detailed directional novel, but if you wander around in the blasted barren area where the monster tornado went through six years ago, and see the force of nature unleashed in a half-mile wide swath, then you are in the general vicinity.
I stopped in at Murphy’s retreat that afternoon, and there was no sign of him. His father-in-law said he was fishing one of the branch river branches. He left directions, but I never did find him-and come to think of it, I haven’t seen him since.
I wonder if he’s discovered yet another branch of the Oconto. His ATV was gone, and I didn’t even think to check if his borrowed kayak was there. I bet it wasn’t.