After a trip out west last spring, I was inspired to do some Native American scenes. These were painted from archive black and white photos found online, so I had to get creative with color. And composition. These are acrylics, which allow impasto technique and watercolor-like washes.
The middle section of a tipi has a spirit being that comes in a dream. From what I understand, the spirit being has taken pity on the owner and has shared its spirit for the well-being of the tribe. It is much more complicated than that; everything about the tipi design has symbolism based on respect for the natural world.
I just completed this last painting. Grand Valley Artists (29th Street behind Schuler Books) is having a December sale, with cash prizes for the best three artworks. I entered this painting titled “Inventory,” based on a photo from the Montana Historic Archive. 16×20 acrylic.
Best laid plans are often amiss. Six people were invited, but it was just Natch and I up at Pickerel Lake. A shout out to Brandon, an avid fichigan reader for 8 years, who stopped by and had some kind words to say about the blog. Thanks, Brandon!
Natch and I fished the main rivers, the Sturgeon and Pigeon. Water was low and clear. The sun was out. Natch caught a brookie on the Pidgeon, and I took a nice brown on the Sturgeon off Fontinalis Road. I had some spinning reel trouble that cut that outing short. Closed-face trigger spin reels are getting scarce, due I guess, to the better reliability of standard spinning reels. That is bad news for those of us who grew up with Shakespeare 1810 reels, looking for a good substitute.
Bottom line: Not much to show for 3 serious days of fishing! But that is just part of trout camp.
One evening, we decided to try an elk viewing area, something we hadn’t done before. There is one located north off Sturgeon Valley Road near where the Pigeon River crosses. We pulled in, parked, and sat on a grassy knoll at the south end of a huge field. We weren’t really convinced we’d see something but it was great sitting there. It reminded me of bow hunting in my younger days. Suddenly, four bull elk walked out at the far end of the field. We both worked our phone cameras trying to get a good shot. Natch finally moved close using two trees in the field as cover. He took the video.
One afternoon, sitting on a bench at the boat landing/beach at Pickerel Lake, some horseback riders stopped to give their mounts a drink in the lake. A family with kids gathered to see the horses. That was fun to see too.
Even though the fishing was tough, the weather was perfect for camping, hanging out, and keeping busy. I lost 3 pounds. That was a good surprise. Natch and I hit our favorite streams and stretches, had a good laugh here and there, and left on a good note. October Camp… hoping that works out a little better.
I was digging through some old photos and found these, most likely taken by Feral, of me, on the Sturgeon River. Best guess, maybe ten years ago. At the end of September we would run into huge brown trout heading upriver to spawn, but it seems like those days are gone. The same thing took place on the Pigeon, huge browns up to two feet long, moving upstream. This hasn’t happened for years and I can only guess global warming has pushed the fall migration further into the year, possibly late November. We do catch a few lunkers, but nothing like the heyday. On a single trip up the Sturgeon, ten years ago, I caught four browns over twenty inches. We will be up there again this fall, checking those rivers, but maybe it’s the end of an era. I wish we had some answers. Note – we turned the big ones back and kept small ones for the skillet.
I did some paintings of songwriters I admire. I joined an artist group, and they are all nice, but the jury may be out on just what I am trying to do. I hope to add to this series and post others.
Sometimes you just need to get away and hang with friends. About noon on Friday, I sent a text to the guys wondering if anyone was up for a Vanderbilt trip, meaning Pigeon River State Game Area, either Pickerel Lake or a remote camp by Grass Lake. Jake was in Pennsylvania, Feral was a maybe, and Natch was good with it but had some things to do which might be a problem. I figured two maybes, but sort of knew Natch would make it work. So I headed up which turned into a four-hour drive because of road construction and heavy northbound traffic. I passed some big travel trailers that were swaying whereby I timed the passing when the trailers leaned toward the edge of the road.
I mentioned to Natch I was bringing a tent since it was just a two-night trip. He brought a portable ice shanty, which he bought expressly for camping. It has 6-foot clearance for standing and a collapsible pole system for easy set-up. There’s room for a cot and a couple of chairs, so it really makes a nice tent. And it’s dark in there. Close it up and it’s pitch black – great for sleeping. I had my small Eureka backpack tent and two sleeping bags as a mattress off the ground. I slept okay, but I need to rethink this. Natch showed up around eight pm. It was drizzling and a bit chilly, but we sat outside and had some snacks and beer, and talked for quite a while. It was good.
Luther on the Sturgeon
We usually fish the Sturgeon and the Pigeon. The Sturgeon was high and stained, the Pigeon low and clear. That didn’t make much sense. We grabbed some breakfast in Gaylord, food at Meijers, and then fished the “valley” on the Sturgeon. It was tricky wading. The water was just deep enough to hide logs and boulders so it was lead with one foot, bring the other foot up. It was deep enough to where trout hugging the bottom may or may not see a lure pass by overhead. Still, we caught a few. Nothing to brag about. And we saw enough fish to keep it interesting. We had a sandwich back at camp, checked out the lake, gathered firewood, and finally decided to head over to the gravel pits, another spot on the Sturgeon. Same thing – high water and stained. Natch caught a brook trout on his first cast. Then another out of the same bend.
Natch on the “gravel pit” bend
I went downstream into a cedar swamp. I knew from experience there were good spots to cast but mainly it is from the bank because of so many blowdowns. My reel started making grinding noises. I could cast but winding in felt sticky. I saw a couple trout but went fishless. I returned to the truck, dropped off the pole, and headed upstream to see how Natch was doing. He fished another bend and then met me at the truck. We drove back out to the gravel pit and hung out there for a half hour on the off-chance of seeing elk.
We broke camp early on Sunday. We were packed and ready to go by 7:00 am. We figured an early start would get us past road construction with less bumper-to-bumper and it did. It was a three-hour trip home.
Customized vintage BB gun with a hand-made knife and sheath by Feral Tweed. Our group’s interest in vintage pellet guns has expanded to new areas. Jake took a part-time job in a gunshop and is cleaning up and re-blueing old rifles, along with his amazing metal forge work. Natch surprised us all with slingshot rifles that he built in his workshop. I built a kit guitar (telecaster) and added artwork. Somehow we need to work in more camping, trout fishing, and late-night partying.
I thought about my grandfather, Jake Lucas, while fishing the Little South Branch of the Pere Marquette River this morning. I got up at 4:30 and left the house by 5. There was a sliver of moon in the night sky. I ran up the 131 expressway and got off at 19 Mile Road just past Big Rapids. If you take 19 Mile west it eventually turns north, switches into gravel and back to blacktop, veers west, and dead ends onto Foreman Road. There are a couple of two-tracks leading to the river off Foreman Road. This is where Jake used to take my brothers and me, when we were kids, for trout. It is generally shallow, easy to wade, and loaded with brown trout.
I didn’t know what to expect as far as stream conditions and stream conditions are everything. I hit it right. The water was high and tea-colored. It even drizzled a bit. I had two dinner trout in ten minutes but tossed them back. Trout were everywhere and aggressive. After catching a couple more I decided I had better start keeping some because you never can be sure if the fishing will go south on you. Sorry about the pun. I kept four trout, around 13 or 14 inches. Caught at least ten. Back at the truck I sent a photo to the guys and headed back to town. What a morning.
The artist group I joined, Grand Valley Artists, is having a postcard sale. Members create 4×6 postcards and donate them for the fundraiser to cover costs for the studio and other expenses. I did these from photos I found online. Permanent marker and acrylic paint. Quite a few artists will be providing cards so it will be interesting to see. There is no theme so I imagine there will be landscapes, abstract, block prints, flowers/still life, etc. If you are near Schuler Books on 28th Street, it’s on the back side of that building. Check the studio hours to make sure it is open.
We didn’t camp in our regular spot on the Pine River. A young couple was camped there. I talked to the guy and offered him $40 if he would pack up and camp elsewhere and he seemed tempted but passed. The regular spot overlooks the river on a high bluff and has lots of room for trailers and tents. It’s first come first serve so that’s fine. No problem. Natch spent Thursday night in another spot, called me, and said it was too small. I drove to the spot and we decided we could make it work, and, turns out it worked well. We set a campfire and later found rocks and small boulders to build a fire pit.
Feral and Jake arrived on Saturday. Feral had a new vehicle, a 94 Ford Ranger with something like 80k miles on it and no rust. He towed Jake’s 1961 Apache Chief tent camper. The two rode together. Natch and I lined up our trailers along one edge of the clearing to make sure there was room for the tent camper. The small clearing/hollow is surrounded by trees that act as a windbreak. We couldn’t see the river but it was an easy walk from camp. Bottom line: This is a great camp option in the future.
Natch brought a grill that fits over a campfire and Saturday night we cooked up a load of morels as appetizers to a trout dinner with beans. I had caught a couple of trout on an upper stretch of the Pine River on Saturday afternoon. As I was heading back downstream to my truck I ran into another fisherman from the Detroit area. He saw my fish and asked what I was using for a lure, and I told him, but he wanted to look at the lure. So he climbed out of the stream and broke through some thorn bushes to get a closer look. I offered up a few alternatives I’ve had good luck with but he was determined to know what exact lure was used for the two fish I was carrying. One was 17 inches, the other 15. I guess seeing is believing.
This was our best year ever for morels. Our go-to spot is a fifteen-minute drive from camp. Natch and I scored about twenty on Friday. Saturday morning we went back with Jake and Feral and picked another 30 or so.
We always remote camp (dispersed camping) on state land with a form you post on a tree for anyone to see, including the Michigan DNR. It’s free to do this but there are rules to follow including what distance you must camp from a trout stream. I had brought along a framed photo of the Phillips Gang for Jake. I hung it up just below the camp tag. I thought he and Feral would get a kick out of seeing it there. The photo shows what appears to be an early 1900s photo of an outlaw gang, which in my mind was like a warning to people to turn around before pulling into our camp. A ridiculous idea if you know the guys I camp with. They are all friendly and laid back. The photo includes Feral, my step-dad Ken Phillips, myself, an old friend, Don, from high school, and Denny, a trout camp regular. If you type “Phillips Gang” in the blog search tool you’ll find a better photo.
Natch brought some antique pellet pistols and rifles and we spent one afternoon plinking tin cans around camp. Natch is a serious collector of rare rifles from the early twentieth century. He also brought some hand-built sling-shot rifles using rubber slings meant for slingshots. Very creative guns. They looked dangerous, were difficult to load, but would launch small stones and round shot like a catapult. I give Natch a lot of credit. Making some sort of gun was a camp challenge and he always rises to the occasion.
I was hoping we would have a jam session so I brought my kit-built telecaster with an amp along with a second amp with a microphone for vocals. I asked Natch to bring his bongos. Natch and Feral started drinking White Russians which are made with vodka, coffee liquor, and cream. I took a sip of Natch’s and realized it was super heavy on the vodka so I stuck with NA Coronas with lime. After an hour, Natch and Feral talked about having a jam session. Feral, who also goes by the name Rock Bottom, was our lead vocalist. I jammed out a variety of songs, sometimes with distortion, and Natch played bongos with abandon, somehow turning it into a full set of drums. Jake was a little shy about joining in or maybe the cacophony and the occasional off-key blend was enough to convince him there was no place for a real musician in the mix. We jammed for a couple of hours. It was after midnight before I pulled the plug.
We had cold nights and cool days. Monday the sun came out and suddenly we were scrambling for shade. This may sound like BS, but Feral needed to go into the woods for you know what, found a spot, and thought: this looks like the same kind of area I found mushrooms yesterday. He looked down and saw one. Then scanned the ground and found four more. Later, he and Jake went back there and found another twenty. So there you go. First weekend in May start looking for morels in Lake County, Michigan.
Natch found the first mushroom. That’s me, Luther, with my walking stick. We didn’t do as much fishing as usual – mainly because our regular spot (that was taken) has good fishing right over the hill. Also, the river was flooded when we arrived. By Sunday it was coffee-colored and wadable. Natch did a stretch and caught five keepers which he released. Jake and Feral did a stretch together and brought back two to take home. I did another stretch and caught one and missed a few others. So the fishing was good. We talked about tossing worms into a big hole below 6-Mile Bridge on Monday night but we were still in recovery mode after the late-night Sunday jam session. We packed up on Tuesday morning and vowed to figure out some more trips this summer.
I first met Rock Bottom at a remote camping spot along the Pine River. He was wailing on a Gibson Les Paul through a Fender Amp Can. The distortion button was pressed and ragged notes drifted in a wide arc across the delta disturbing the blackbirds and waking the owls. I was looking for fishing access to the river and pulled into his camp by chance. He didn’t look up when I pulled in. He kept sliding a chunk of carriage bolt up the neck and chording some open strings. Open D tuning if I recall. I stood next to him for a while looking over the embankment. I could see the river sparkling through the scrub trees out in the distance.
There was an extra camp chair but I didn’t sit down. No Invite. Finally, I reached into my pocket and dropped a dime bag at his feet. He hit that low D string and dragged it down from the tenth fret. “No pipe,” I said. “I do have Zig Zags.” He twisted the fingers on his chording hand to indicate start rolling. Then he scaled up to a C note and bent it up a note before dropping down to some open chord stuff.
We passed the dube back and forth a couple times, still no conversation. After a good toke he pointed at the tent. Inside there was a chipboard guitar case that was falling apart. “Top Shelf” was stenciled in white on top. Welcome stickers from cities held the case together like duct tape. The guitar had nice action and was well-worn across the fretboard. An old Epiphone. Not bad tone. I sat down in the empty chair and I knew I was up. Play something or go away.
He had some killer blues chops but that weren’t my thing. As far as songs I didn’t know crap in the key of D. I thought something dark was appropriate so I started chording Down by the River by Neil Young. He slapped on a capo and suddenly there was meaning to the song. When I belted out the chorus he played some harmony notes that could have been channeling a black woman wailing in church. Goosebumps went up my spine. If you know anything about Neil Young on electric, there are no rules. Sometimes there’s a fragment that takes you home, sometimes you scratch your head, sometimes you think he’s a genius. This wasn’t Neil Young’s rendition, this was Rock Bottom’s. He went up and down the neck like suckers in a river. Knew just where to rest.
We finished off the song and did some A-minor Bob Dylan stuff. He found the pocket right away and we ended up jamming for an hour or so. His girlfriend, Top Shelf, her stage name, showed up and I had the feeling it was time to leave. She didn’t say anything but there was something in her look. We polished off the dube, I put her guitar away, and drove off to another spot on the river. I never did fish. After that it seemed like fishing just wasn’t going to cut it.
Fichigan 