Testify: A Visual Poem of Trout Fishing

No one has said it better.

Testify | A Visual Poem of Trout Fishing from Aaron Peterson Photography on Vimeo.
Testify is a visual poem adapted from the essay "Testament of a Fisherman" published in 1964 by Michigan author John Voelker.
Over 50 years later we filmed this video on and around the author's home waters of Marquette County on Michigan's Upper Peninsula because we believe the pure trout waters and relaxed pace of life of this region haven't changed much.
Today the need for time on a river and reconnection with nature are more important than ever--and Voelker's words still ring true.

Mid-May in Mid Wales

Trout Lake Report: The Right Place at the Right Time

Wild roses are blooming at the channel access. The rich scent hangs in the warm, still air.

You tie on a brand new muddler.

You get a hit immediately, and miss it. You go back, get another hit, and miss again. Or is the fish striking short? You don't know. You go in for a third strike and hang up on the driftwood. You kick in to release the fly and look down into the fishes' lair and wish you could see more from their point of view.

You kick back out and work the shoreline around the channel and out into the south end. Things are slow, but when you do find a fish tucked into the willows it hits the fly, but you continue to miss. You even strip in to check the hook point. Yep, still there.

You switch to a bead head leech and troll your way across past the RV village at the far end. No noisy takes disturb the evening calm.

On the other side you tie the muddler back on and start working the shoreline back toward the channel.

Bingo. It all comes together.

All hit the fly with the intent to kill. There are no misses. All are healthy and well-conditioned and fight surprisingly hard for their size.

What's different from before? Some mysterious nuance of light as the sun slid behind the ridge, you suppose. Or the fish simply decided, for their own good reasons, that it was time to eat.

We don't need to know everything; we just need to be at the right place at the right time. Most of the time we won't know when that is until it happens.

As though to confirm your thoughts, after a long stretch of shoreline without a take, it happens one more time.

Once again, for one more trip, this beautiful lake has been the right place at the right time.

"Trout Fishing, Sullivan County, N.Y." by Francis L. Waddell

"Along the Delaware, Spring" by Galen Mercer

Come wander with me to the hemlock hills,

Where romance dwells by the laurelled rills;

For the stag, in the balmy month of June,

Cools his panting sides in the Callicoon,

And the eagle kens the morning beam,

As it glittering smiles on the silver stream,

While there in the wild and silent wood,

Where feet of the hunter scarce intrude,

The speckled trout in frolicsome play

Are sporting their mirthful holiday

In thousands, crowd each limpid brook,

Unheeding the sportsman's wily hook.

What a treat with a line and rod to creep,

When the finny tribe in the shadows sleep,

By the sloping bank of the crystal tide,

And cunningly in the long grass hide,

Then wait till a large trout passes by,

Or cautiously play the barbed fly;

And when takes hold the foolish trout,

With angler's triumph pull him out.

Published in the American Turf Register and Sporting Magazine, June 1835.

Callicoon Creek enjoyed a reputation at the time equal to that of the Beaverkill and Willowemoc.

"On Colour" by James Ogden

"Trout Fishing" by Alexander Frederick Rolfe, date unknown

Poem, presumably by the author, from Ogden on Fly Tying by James Ogden, London, 1887

"How Like Fish We Are..."

Aldo Leopold

"How like fish we are: ready, nay eager, to seize upon whatever new thing some wind of circumstance shakes down upon the river of time! ...Even so, I think there is some virtue in eagerness, whether its object prove true or false." --From "June: The Alder Fork" in A Sand County Almanac, by Aldo Leopold.

Trout Lake Report: Half-Past August, and All Is Well

You've been fishing other waters, delaying a return to Trout Lake. The last trip there was troubling. You caught three fish, and three fish died, even though you did your best to revive them. After that third one you kicked in and quit early. You guess that the fish are stressed by the heat, though that has never been a problem in the seven years you've fished here.

But you give the lake a rest--for as long as you can stand it. Then, with your summer quickly passing before your eyes, you need to go back and take stock.

It's still hot, but not in the hundreds anymore. You hope that will make a difference. You also go to the north end where the inlet is still feeding the lake. The water is noticeably cooler there.

You launch and begin a slow kick across the lake. There are fish rising here and there, and things feel much more alive than the last time you were here.

You're casting a little green butt stimulator off to the side, letting it drag out straight behind you, then casting it to the side again. You happen to be looking when a fish takes it with the perfect porpoising rise. It's breathtaking in its compact efficiency.

The fish is strong and fights hard. It dives into the weeds, which aren't far below the surface, but you manage to horse him out. You work him in quickly and keep the net in the water, but when it swims away it seems a little worse for wear. Maybe you lifted it too far out of the water after all.

You get to the other side and fish the inlet and the shoreline all around it.

There are fish working and you get follows and short rises. You switch to a new muddler and move out along the reeds that have risen as the water has receded. You've seen rises in there, and the muddler is just right for twitching through the reeds without getting snagged. You get a splashy take.

This time you try to keep the trout under water.  When it's time to release it, you tip the net and put your hand under the fish in case it needs reviving. But it's off like a shot. That's more like it.

You feel better. Things seem to be getting back to normal. You begin to thoroughly enjoy the game of cat and mouse with the fish in the reeds. You get another take, but the fish dives into the weeds, leaves the fly there, and keeps going. He jumps once as if to say, "Not today, pal."

On down the reed line, though, another fish rises. You drop the fly in the rise ring and he takes it. You use the same release routine, and this fish, too, explodes out of the net and is gone.

It's good to be back. The water is down, the weeds are up, the fish are getting active again. It's going to be a good fall. You think about that as you begin the kick back through the weed beds to the truck.

Halfway back you come upon a fish working, so you stop and work the muddler. It takes two casts and the fish is on it. You're surprised and happy to see the flash of yellow in the darkening water. It's been awhile since the lake has gifted you with a Brown.

Nothing like a Brown to begin to put you in a fall state of mind. You're grateful.

And you're reassured. It's half-past August, and all is well.

Trout Lake Report: First Trip of August