Josh Lantz with Dowagiac steelhead

Last Monday found us just across the state line from South Bend, Indiana, where the St. Joseph and Dowagiac rivers meet.  Here, in this historic fur trade city of Niles, Michigan, our motley band of adventurer’s braved frigid, fast-moving waters in search of winter-run steelhead.

I was the guest of Josh Lantz, the editor of Indiana Outdoor News (ION) and a licensed Michigan guide.  Also joining us in Josh’s 14-foot driftboat was Brian Smith, publisher of ION.  We were here because the Dowagiac is considered one of the best steelhead fishing rivers in the Midwest with both summer and winter-run fish, along with the added bonus of a great fall salmon run and a nice population of year-around brown trout.  The Dowagiac is a cold-water fisherman’s dream.

Setting up Josh's driftboat

When we arrived, I must admit being a little nonplussed while standing on the banks of the creek, er, river as we rigged our fly rods.  To a Hoosier the Dowagiac would only be considered a fair-sized creek and, in fact, there were many places where we were forced to lie down in the boat to pass low-hanging branches.  A big water it isn’t.

However, what the river lacks in width or depth it makes up in speed.  From the first moment my felt-soled waders hit the gravel river bottom, I knew this wasn’t going to be a relaxing little saunter down a creek.  The first time I entered the river, water piled up around my knees and twin roostertails of spray hit my jacket as I battled just to stay upright in the clawing current.  Josh and Brian, more practiced in these conditions, just smiled as I foundered.

Josh fishes a drift

Even those days spent chucking huge crankbaits for lunker largemouth bass seemed rather wimpy in comparison to the fly-fishing rigs we were handling.  Our seven-weight rods were set up to throw a single salmon-egg fly with a small copper nymph as a dropper while the entire ensemble was weighed down by three largish split shot.  In some cases we even added a large florescent bobber keep the flies off the bottom.  Even with the heavyweight nine-foot rods, casting this assortment of hardware was less than graceful and my right forearm is still sore from the effort.

Skunk cabbage in bloom

Steelhead, unlike most fish, enjoy sitting on gravel beds in the thick of the current.  This meant that a typical drag-free drift through a good holding area lasted upwards of ten seconds, after which you clumsily roll-cast back upstream to try again.   Between the fear of being swept downstream at 35 miles-per-hour and the incessant cadence of cast-drift-cast, I quickly realized that steelhead fishing isn’t the most pastoral pastime.

The first spot we tried was a long gravel run.  Josh parked the boat in an eddy on the opposite shore and instructed us to work into the thick of the midstream maelstrom.  We slipped into the water and began our assault.  Actually, only Josh and Brian waded away.

Shoreside lunch- brats and brew

I was still gingerly trying to ease away from shore.  As I am used to fishing in more sedate streams, it was quite unnerving to cast the ungainly terminal tackle while feeling gravel being literally washed away underfoot.  At one point I retreated back to the shoreline.  Seeing this, Josh offered me his hand but I refused.

Look; I’m completely secure in my manhood but I’d rather have both eyeballs unexpectedly plucked from my head by sea lampreys than to be seen holding hands with another man in mid-stream.

Brian casts to a steelhead

My trepidation, however, was instantly forgotten when Josh suddenly hooked a fish in the water I had just vacated.  He whooped and carried on, finally landing the smallish steelhead after a three-minute fight.  To add insult to injury, on nearly the next cast in the same spot, his rod bent double as a “good” fish took his nymph.

Steelheads are noted for their strong, blistering runs and aerial acrobatics.  This fish didn’t disappoint.  It also didn’t give up.  As we approached the eight-minute mark in the fight, I wasn’t yet willing to bet on the outcome.  Josh stumbled stumble downstream as the steelhead used the strong current to her advantage until eventually, fortunately for fish and angler, Josh gained ground and brought the steelhead to hand.

Josh on drift

The fish was gorgeous.  It was bright silver, freshly ascended from Lake Michigan, with a vivid red stripe overlaying black spots on the flank.  After pictures, Josh revived the fish and she swam away unharmed.  The anglers, the sky and even the steelhead were smiling.

Unfortunately the rest of the day proved fishless though our lunch of grilled bratwurst and beer alongside the river provided another highlight.   By dusk I was wet and cold, sore and exhausted but utterly, totally happy.  What more could you ask for?

Well, maybe one measly fish to brag about.

And better footing.

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