Dave Richey OUTDOORS

The last Saturday in April once was when everyone looked forward to the trout opener. It was when trout anglers could fish anywhere — beaver ponds, designated trout lakes, upper reaches of streams, etc. — and even little trickles of running water. All waters were open.

But things have changed, and in dramatic fashion. No longer are our trout seasons anything like they once were years ago.

The DNRE, some years ago, added some of the Lower Peninsula seasons such as muskie, pike and walleyes to the trout opener, and that is when there no longer was a special season opener for those species on May 15. People suddenly had a last-Saturday-of-April choice — walleyes or trout. Fly fishing or trolling?

You want big fish? This brown trout is as big as most walleyes.

Choices mean making a decision. That problem never used to exist.

That's when many Lower Peninsula fishermen stopped fishing trout lakes and streams, and headed out for the glassy-eyed walleye. And frankly, not many people have returned to open the trout season.

Trout have always been more problematic, and streams were subject to high water levels, cold temperatures, rain, snow and wind plus other natural phenomenon. Anglers found themselves with a walleye season that now opened at the same time as trout, and trout fishing, though still popular for many of us, has quickly fallen into second place.

Many trout fishermen were happy it happened. It took some weight off area trout streams, and gave dedicated anglers more trout water to fish with fewer people to compete against. The one-time crowds of wader-clad anglers had disappeared.

I can't say the trout fishing has improved much with fewer anglers afield, but one thing is very noticeable in the northern trout country. There are fewer people wandering around trout country.

Fewer people equate to fewer dollars jingling into area cash registers. Some fly shops or businesses that depend on the sale of trout fishing tackle have suffered through some serious financial woes, and some fly shops have gone out of business.

The bottom line to this entire mess is easy for most people to understand. Walleyes are tasty to eat, and the same is true of trout, but in many cases the trout are more difficult to catch. Fishing time is not as plentiful, money is tighter than ever, people are worried about jobs and benefits, and job security is not good as businesses fold.

The stock market may be pointing uphill as the Dow Jones creeps upward, but none of that rise is being seen in angler paychecks. It's easier and cheaper to fish near home.

So … people who once fished for trout are not traveling much. They head for one of the walleye hotspots near Detroit and Saginaw-Bay City, fish nightcrawler harnesses or jigs, and consider such fishing trips to be their weekend outing.

This doesn't mean that catching walleyes isn't fun, because it is. But those things that have always attracted anglers to trout water are still there but higher gasoline prices are keeping people closer to home.

There's no doubt that former hardcore trout fishermen will miss the Hendrickson, Blue-Wing Olive and Black stone fly hatches. No doubt they also will miss pulling on their waders, donning a fly vest bulging with fly boxes brimming with bucktails, dries, nymphs, streamers and wet flies, but that's how it is now for many people.

Trout fishing simulates the senses.

Granted, they may miss the murmuring hiss of water washing around the edge of a sweeper or the soft sip as a trout nibbles a dry fly off the surface. They undoubtedly will miss casting big dries to jumbo brown trout during the Hex hatch or ripping big streamers hard and fast through darkened pools and runs after the Hex hatch ends.

They will miss the cold, smooth and silky skin of a 10-inch brook trout, the hooked bottom jaw of a large male brown trout, and the hearty jumps of a fly-hooked rainbow. It may take a few years but trout fishermen may come to miss the soft whisper of a fly line being false cast and then allowed to curl over and delicately settle to the surface.

We'll miss the quiet conversations held alongside a river with a fellow fly fishermen, and instead, find ourselves smack in the middle of a pack of trolling boats catching walleyes on heavy line off planer boards.

Mind you, there is nothing wrong with catching walleyes in such a manner, but walleyes — like salmon before them — are the newest upstarts. However, they aren't stream trout that have been wised up by the constant temptations of other feathered offerings.

One question that bugs me is whether the fly shops where trout fishermen always gathered will be able to hold on and ride out these tough times before the cycle reverses itself. How long will it take for anglers to catch big walleyes, haul home limits of these tasty game fish, before it dawns on them that fly fishing was a fine and noble art.

And it's something they miss. Everything about fly fishing for trout has  gone from their life, and for many, a nasty hollow feeling nestles in their guts.

Look closely and one may find some spawning steelhead.

Stream fishing was a past-time where stealth and accurate casting paid off. It was more of a one-on-one duel with trout, and more often than not the fish came up a winner, which is OK. It's said the hardest thing about walleye fishing is finding them. Finding a nice trout is rather more difficult, and finding and hooking that fish can be a monumental challenge that isn't found on walleye waters.

I, for one, will be on a trout stream come opening day. There will be many midsummer days when I can cast or troll for walleyes, but for this one day, any time I spend fishing will be with a fly rod in my hand and happiness in my heart.

It makes no difference whether it's raining or not. Opening day of the trout season holds too many memories for me to forget. I owe it to myself to be there.

Why, you ask? Simply because I haven't missed a trout opener since I began fishing for them back in 1951. Fifty-nine years of greeting the opener means more to me than catching a load of pike or walleyes.

Trout fishing is one more wonderful sip of life for me.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors