THE QUARTERLY NEWSLETTER OF THE ANGLERS OF THE AU … 56.pdf · THE QUARTERLY NEWSLETTER OF THE...

THE RIVERWATCHTHE QUARTERLY NEWSLETTER OF

THE ANGLERS OF THE AU SABLE

Winter 2010Number 56

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THE RIVERWATCHThe RIVERWATCH is a quarterly pub-lication of The Anglers of the Au Sable, a non-profit corporation dedicated to the protection of the Au Sable River, its wa-tershed and surrounding environs. Dues are $25 per year. For membership please contact:

The Anglers of the Au Sable 403 Black Bear Drive Grayling, MI 49738

www.AuSableAnglers.org

DIRECTORSPresident

Vice PresidentAlan Diodore, Grayling, MI

TreasurerPat Dwyer, Rochester, MI

SecretaryKaren Harrison, Fredric, MI

DirectorsTom Baird, Diamondale, MIWayne Blessing, Ann Arbor, MIThomas Buhr, Luzerne, MIDon Boyd, Wayland, MIDick Daane, Ann Arbor, MI (Emeritus)John Dallas, Troy, MIDan Drislane, Emigrant, MT (Emeritus)Jay Gleason, Huntersville, NC (Emeritus)Josh Greenberg, Grayling, MIJoe Hemming, Beverly Hills, MIBruce Johnson, Rochester, MIMike Krause, Ann Arbor, MIJohn Bebow, Milan, MITerry Lyons, Perry, MIEd McGlinn, Farmington Hills, MI (Emeritus)Tess Nelkie, Tawas City, MIJohn Novak, Grayling, MIBruce Pregler, Rochester Hills, MIJoe Reed, Grosse Pointe, MIDon Sawyer, Okemos, MIJim Shiflett, Grand Ledge, MIDean Schmitt, Toledo, OHJim Schramm, Pentwater, MIJohn Wylie, Grayling, MILance Weyeneth, Gaylord, MI

Three Fine Men

Three Fine Men

The end of 2009 was not the best of times for the Au Sable-Manistee watershed. By now nary a

soul has not heard of Rusty’s passing on a chilly Satur-day night just before Christmas. A little more than a week

later, Joe Kutkuhn, venerable conservationist and Chairman of the Upper Manistee River Restoration Committee for 20

years, died. Previous to the deaths of Rusty and Joe, Herb Graebner, avid fly fisher and active member of the North Branch

Association, had passed away in mid October. Folklore suggests that bad news comes in threes. In this case it’s all too true.

As I write this Rusty has been gone for just over five weeks. Today’s winter foray in the Board Room, the first since, was hectic, but flat at the same time. Lots of nervous energy as if motion itself could make a difference, fill a void. No matter how fast we run we are still lost for now.

I only met Dr. Kutkuhn one time a couple of years ago - a gracious man gathering people together to compare notes on what did and didn’t work in the care of a river. Much of what he did had worked and he had worked hard at it for a long time. I need to remember that when frustration creeps in because change for the good is not hap-pening fast enough.

Rusty and Joe were the famous ones but they would tell you that folks like Herb made successful conservation happen. Just another guy who loved fishing his Au Sable beats, Herb helped the North Branch Association to become a more effective steward for the river. It takes a whole bunch of people like him to make any organization go.

While this issue is dedicated to Rusty – the first 20 pages will contain memories and pictures of him – both Joe and Herb will be remembered as well. Then it’s on to the is-sues at hand: Hoskins, an EIS of the Mason Tract, large woody debris on the South Branch and the other things. I can hear Rusty saying, “It’s about the river, don’t

forget the river.” We won’t, Gator, and we won’t forget you.

- Thomas Buhr, Editor

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Mom remembers a time when Rusty found out that she had never been in a river boat. One morning soon after, Mom found a river boat at the dock, with son Jim in the guide’s seat. Rusty handed his mom a fly rod with a “Rusty” fly ready to go and sent them off. Along the way, Jim identified every bird they heard by its song. Some deer came down to the bank for a drink and a trout rose to the surface to check out the “Rusty” fly (but didn’t bite that day). When they reached Wakeley Bridge, they found Rusty fishing in the river, wait-ing for them. Rusty looked at his mom and asked, “Do you have a fishing li-cense?”

Things were not always so idyl-lic in the Gates family. When you are the skinny little brother of two jocks, growing up can be hard. Rusty was a handy target for his brothers’ jokes, wrestling holds, and general rough-housing. At the dinner table, his plate was also a target for which-

ever brother was closest or hungri-est. But stuff rolls downhill and Rusty had two younger sisters. Whatever he got from his older brothers, he did his best to pass on to his little sisters. Rusty always lived up to his name. He was always involved when there was trouble, either having taken it or hav-ing given it out.

As Rusty got older, he struggled to find his niche. He wasn’t athletic like his brothers, but he got some at-tention from his dad when he discov-ered fishing and hunting. He also got attention from his dad when he tried smoking, drinking and the accelera-tor on the family car -- and seemed to get caught every time.

Rusty began playing the trom-bone when that horn was bigger than he was. He found in his trom-bone something that he loved and at which he could excel. He could lead a “charge” for the pep band like no other. By the time Rusty played the Rimsky-Korsakov solo “Concerto

for Trombone” with the high school band, he had a swagger in his stride as he carried his horn to the front of the stage. He stunned the audience with the sound he created. His swag-ger only got prouder after that.

When Rusty got serious about fly-fishing, he found something else that he loved and at which he excelled: a sport that demanded cunning, pa-tience, finesse and humility. Few of us are so fortunate as to make a liv-ing doing what we love. Rusty was the lucky one.

Sometimes the runt of the litter becomes the grand champion. We are all proud of what Rusty accomplished in his 54 years on this earth. We will miss him, but he will always be with each of us in our memories of him and in that place in our hearts that we reserve just for the special people who touch our lives and are gone too soon.

- Mary Gates and siblings Gena, Jim, Tom, Jody and Janny.

There is so much that can be said, one hardly knows where to begin. A card of thanks cannot even begin to express how we feel. As the family of Rusty Gates we have been so taken aback with the outpouring of offers to help and the care and concern shown to us that we are speechless with thanks.

Rusty was so much to so many different people. To me he was my husband, partner, best friend, a won-derful stepfather and the king of all grandpas. Most of you know Rusty in a different capacity.

I married Rusty and the Lodge, and learned many things through our journey together. I teased Rusty early on that he did not propose to me, in-stead he had me fill out an application for employment.

Rusty and I had the “guys” over to tie flies the first few years we were married. We did not have the won-

derful board room back then. Most days Rusty, Jim Calvin, Craig Perry and I tied. We had fly tying Monday thru Friday from about 8A.M. until we ended for lunch which I prepared for everyone. This all happened af-ter I put Misty and Chris off on the school bus. I tied about 120 dozen flies the second winter we were mar-ried. This is not major as fly tying goes, but enough for a newly married mother of two active children. I still had the household duties to perform. I remember one time Rusty tried to teach me a new pattern while he was attempting to quit smoking. This was not a good combination; teaching and the quitting. I almost did not learn that pattern. I tied Griffiths Gnats and a lot of Skunks; they threatened to call me the “Skunk Lady.”

That next summer I was intro-duced to Mary Kay and became a consultant and did not tie any longer

for the Lodge. The Anglers, as you move for-

ward, have the task before you to carry on the legacy that has been laid out for you. I know that it will be done because of the wonderful ground work that has been laid and the ex-amples that have been set. Members of this important organization have already stepped in and are going the extra mile. Rusty would be proud of the strides being taken, and those that are in the works. Keep going forward with the missions laid out before you, Rusty is with us in spirit.

I would like to thank everyone for their expressions of condolences and kindness during this time. We do not know how rich we are with friends un-til we most need them. Your actions are all proof of the rich life that Rusty lived and we were blessed to be a part of.

- Julie Gates

rusTy GaTes, 1955-2009

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“Was it a CFO?” he asked. It was my first day fishing the Au Sable, newly transplanted from Battenkill country, and I had to explain to the shop owner that in my haste to run to another fishing access I had left the 3-piece Orvis with the ill-fated Bat-tenkill on it on top of the station wag-on I was renting.

“Well, I’ve run over my CFO and still fished with it.” This was my first encounter with Rusty Gates that spring of 1984 as I suspect most people in those days met him: in the Lodge’s Pro Shop, head down, qui-etly tying flies and, during those early years, only reluctantly selling gear to his patrons. The previous fall, his fa-ther Cal Sr. had died in Florida. Rusty was an accidental manager of the Shop overnight. He sold me a CFO III that morning.

This first year was a special treat for me. I had just moved to the Detroit area to learn the auto biz. The com-pany put me up in a furnished pad so I had some discretionary cash, or as I thought of it, fish money. As a 25-year old, I could have banked the savings, but instead I spent practically every weekend—13 to be exact—fishing the river and staying at the Lodge. This regularity wasn’t lost on Rusty and over the summer we became better acquainted.

That fall, in mid November, I vis-ited Rusty at his cabin. It was a typical fall northwoods weekend, hovering around freezing, but with great mixes of damp air and wood smoke wafting through the pine and oak stands. Over those three days, I learned a bit more about the man, the quiet blended into the quietude, the deep thinking, the non-verbal cues. It was the anniver-sary of Cal’s death so it was poignant to be spending one-on-one with a man who would become a good if not com-plicated friend.

While I fished, Rusty sat resolute-

ly at his tying table, TV on a football game, Bo parked in front of the small wood stove. He was tying untold doz-ens of flies for a small militia of Mich-igan fly fishers who were heading to Christmas Island; the bonefish flies were Rusty’s ticket to join them. We did get out that weekend, first to mea-sure and sketch the two-tracks along the Mason Tract for a map Rusty was conjuring for Lodge guests. Then later to a bar I’ve never ever found again south of Rosco, where we danced with what seemed like an endless stream of single gals.

These early images of Rusty fig-ure prominently because, like many in those pre-Anglers days, I saw him as a shy, unassuming, and perhaps reluc-tant Lodge manager, not even to think conservationist. Two years later, when the catch-and-release regulations were overturned, Rusty convened five of us one lazy September afternoon. We met in the Hungry Fisherman, and sketched out a plan to do a mailer. Out of a small green index card file, I spent the next couple of weekends en-tering over 700 names and addresses into what was to become our charter membership appeal. That winter, on January 18, 1987, a new life and role began for Rusty.

Much of those early years are well known. What might not be is the gradual transformation of Rusty many of the founding board members witnessed as we gradually won the C&R battle, went on to the first of five National Guard conflicts, and then to stream studies with UM, the Antrim suits, stream improvement projects—the list of Anglers’ endeavors and suc-cesses over 23 years is endless. Many of our early wins were due to the ac-cess that Rusty granted, if reluctantly, to the press and conservation leaders, plus the sheer amount of quiet collab-oration, coordination and direction that many of us never saw. For a guy

that would be more content to ride his lawn mower around the Lodge grounds than fielding questions from a Wall Street Journal reporter, inter-viewing with Michigan Public Radio, and standing before 200 people during that first annual membership meeting in Gaylord, Rusty met the challenge of becoming the de facto face of the Anglers.

I remember that first membership meeting. As the Anglers secretary, I prepped him on his talk, even wrote it, had the agenda at the ready, all the awards cued up. Rusty was a ner-vous wreck, stumbled through the first half, but then was granted a reprieve when AMAC’s Dan Alstott, whose swagger could easily be mistaken for a revival tent evangelist, did his 40 minutes. Rusty completely recovered when Glenn Sheppard, a basket case in front of a crowd, sputtered through his speech. The amateur in Rusty in those days was probably a godsend. People looking to support our cause could see how grassroots we were—Rusty embodied it. He was the poster child for our campaigns, perhaps not sure of himself, but damn straight sure of our cause. His earnest persona and subdued stamina gave us the traction we needed to get people to listen, give money, and support the cause.

Fast forward twenty years later to our anniversary celebration. I mar-veled as I watched Rusty command the rapt attention of all who have en-duringly supported this great conser-vation saga. His presence and confi-dence, his wit and heartfelt remarks about our lost loved ones—Alexander, Lively et al. These were special mo-ments to me. In Rusty’s generation-long journey of life through the lens of the Anglers, he grew into a giant, and we were fortunate to be along for the ride.

— Dan Drislane, Founder and Director Emeritus of the Anglers.

Becoming a GiantrusTy GaTes, 1955-2009

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Some things make no sense

A half century of newspapering, plus some grunt-signing of Army “Morning Reports” gives guys lots of hands-on/guts-on exposure to the “obituary” business.

(Heck, to make things easier for her, I gave Mary Lou a three-line obituary for my pass-ing years ago.)

Nothing to it? Yer dead yer dead. Be done with it. It happens to all of us. That’s the way it is. Get on with life.

Don’t we wish?

Au Sable River conservation dynamo Rusty Gates blew that for me.

Twenty years younger than me, Rusty passed away a month ago.

Damn!

Few have given as much to conservation. Not just trout conservation for “his” Au Sable Holy Water. Rusty inspired Nature ap-preciation and protections across the spec-trum.

People left his Gates Au Sable Lodge with a passion for conservation. They dug deep into their wallets, but then left and dug into the political process to make it happen across the urban-suburban-rural landscape.

He would stand there, beside a rack filled with fly-tying feathers, or bent over a tying vise, nodding, seldom saying anything, yet inspiring customers to adopt his legacy for enriching natural resources.

A tall apparition quietly, and politely, flick-ing a fly with incredible accuracy is destined to haunt the Au Sable for eons.

Stand aside and throw him a salute.

There isn’t going to be another Rusty Gates.

- Glen Sheppard, Reprinted from The “Northwoods Call,” January 13, 2010.


The Gator at Kolke Creek’s “Pipeline to Nowhere.” Photo: John L. Russell

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1. Long ago a decision made As my comrades fell Along the way I’d shed words not tears when good men die Take on all the pain but never cry Instead to do my best to try To emulate Shakespeare Praising what is lost making remem-brance dear And thus the day comes once again, Here and now I sit to write at dawn, stanching tears.

2. Death, this magic rune in our code of genes, This privilege we call living brings Us eternal debt of now for here, then there, Where unlike life we must go alone To that place our red brothers call the Road of Souls, The route to which can’t be marked with GPS Each map to get there decided by god And held within us, to be opened only At that instant it is finally needed This journey to a place, which bears dif-ferent names.

3. It is said among followers of Buddha The universe contains multiple heavens Where those who accumulate good karma Are to be reborn in a heaven, not named, This fact of our passing non-negotiable, Some of us leaving like small ripples that fade, Others like slow undulating soft waves, And those rarest of us, quietly relentless, still pounding shores long after they are gone, Their souls touching us, and what we love from beyond the grave.

4. For those of us who share un-jealous love of a river,

We know the heaven wherein Rusty Gates dwells: It is a river of sand, meandering, pure and icy cold, Teeming with the life of its history, Of moments and ages here and gone, And all the people who waded through. To sit by the water’s edge at nightfall, nighthawks burring, coyotes barking, Droves of hex roaring overhead Like legions of bar-bound bikers.

5. Listen, we whisper, small fish are rising upstream Daring to test the first of the spinners, Harbingers of the rain of bugs soon to follow, The musk of rich black earth redolent, Fumes of bug dope rising from our flesh and lucky shirts, The promise of the music of our life’s reel at work We sit or stand in prayer, “Please god, let it happen and don’t let me mess this up.” Life rolling all around us, and within us Merged into the one thing: Moment of Rising Magic.

6. I would slide into the shop unannounced, Catch a nod, a wink, and a grin for greeting. When others moved away, he would slide A map onto the glass and tap a finger surreptitiously Mumble, “Hatchers at eight, spinners at ten. Don’t be in a hurry Respect the struggle and relish the fight.” Talk about words prophetic. If ever a man enjoyed the fight There he stood by his beloved river, quick to rise In her defense, unrelenting day and night. He asked no quarter and gave none. How many of us Will have such said of us when we are gone and done?

7. Sometimes god gives us giants with frail bodies and quiet voices; It’s up to us to see the gift for what it is And how fleeting… god how fleeting. With apologies to Will, “The private wound is deepest. Tis good to be sad and say nothing.” Why can I hear Rusty’s voice reciting Shakespeare’s lines? “What is best, that best I wish in thee.” And there you have it, his own elegy, Who steppeth forward now to “imitate the action of the tiger, Stiffen the sinews, disguise fair nature with hard favored rage?”

8. I hear Rusty. “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. For those that have shed their blood with me are my brothers And those not here will think themselves Accursed, and hold their manhoods cheap while any speaks. Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste death but once. To expostulate why day is day, night night, and time is time, were nothing but to waste night, day and time.” Rusty Gates is once dead, and wasted nothing in his life. Our river lives on, oh how it lives, oh my We can not, must not, allow this precious thing to die. Today we say goodbye to the body of Rusty Gates. For his friendship and decades of sup-port I can no other answer make But thanks, and thanks. Please God, rest his soul and show him the best water. (Because trust me: He’ll find it anyway.) His body is gone. His memory and gift to us remain. What we do with both are matters of our collective fate. Amen and tight lines.

- Joe Heywood, Portage, Winter Solstice, 2009

Elegy for The GatorCalvin H. “Rusty” Gates Jr. 1955-2009


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A few years after I met Rusty Gates, Joe Heywood wrote these words: “Envy not the man who lives beside the river, but the man the river flows through. Rusty Gates is such a man, as unique as the Au Sable he stewards, in tune with its moods and the gifts it delivers each hour, each day, each remarkable season.” I failed to truly under-stand exactly what Joe meant until the day Gator called to render the terrible news that he had cancer. It was January 25, 2009. Rusty said “It’s not good, I’ve got the big C,” as we talked on my cell phone while I shopped for groceries with Jerry Scwhiebert – the man who first put a fly rod in my hand. I held the phone to my ear in stunned silence. How ironic to get the call as Jerry and I stood in front of the romaine lettuce talking about fly-fishing. I was decked out in my Anglers of the Au Sable hat and black fleece, and the pants I wear every time I go to the Lodge. If only I had worn the black bandana I usually fish in -- that would have been perfect.

Jerry taught me to fish, and to camp while doing it – both activities have become intricate parts of my very soul. It was also Jerry, a dis-tant relative of the angling legend Ernest, who officially introduced me to Rusty Gates in the summer of 2002. I say officially because I actually first laid eyes on the Gates Lodge fly shop a few years prior while towing a pop-up camper be-hind the family van on my way to Hartwick Pines. After exiting the highway at Grayling I got lost in the countryside and needed direc-tions when, in the middle of what seemed like nowhere, Gates Lodge appeared like a mirage in the des-ert. I noticed a little Orvis sign in the window, which I can still see in my minds-eye to this day. Gator probably saw us pull in as he stood-

guard behind the counter in the fly shop, and realizing I was definite-ly not in the right place he exited quickly and strode toward the Cara-van – probably to make sure I didn’t block the drive too long. He proba-bly muttered something like “what the hell is this” under his breath, because Rusty Gates was not, let’s say, “tourist friendly” at times. I don’t remember exactly what Rusty said, but I do know it wasn’t much, and was delivered in his typical dead-pan tone. I believe to this day that Gator did not steer me toward Harwick Pines, but straight to the on-ramp to I-75 South – and back down-state! Get this knucklehead out of here, he probably laughed to himself. I mentioned this to him sometime in 2007 – that he gave me phony directions just to get rid of me – and he grinned, saying that I was probably right. He knew that the last thing Grayling needed was another camping enthusiast, God forbid one with the wife and kids in tow, hell bent on canoeing the crys-tal clear Au Sable. It was his river.

My first trip as a fly fisherman came in late August 2002. My new, used, tent was pitched perfectly at Canoe Harbor, so Jerry and I head-ed in to Gates Lodge to kiss the ring of Grayling’s Angling Pope, and I was introduced to Rusty Gates for the first time. The sport was new to me, its weapons, implements and gadgets totally foreign objects. Jerry had supplied waders, a rod, and all the other necessities; he even gave me an old tent – because he said he just flat-out refused to share his. But I remember being in awe of how much crap Gator had crammed into such a small shop. This guy knew his stuff, I remember thinking, the place was immaculate and if you needed it to fly fish, it was in here somewhere. I was fas-cinated.

As with many conversations with Rusty it’s not what is said that matters, but what is not said. He was quiet and calculated, he was careful about how he doled-out the advice. I do remember hearing about ants, hoppers, attractors and other “dry flies,” whatever they were, but I ex-pected to be told where to go, what to do, and how to do it -- but Gator usually gave the kind of advice that was given to the great golfer Bobby Jones once before a major tourna-ment. A friend told the champion, in an effort to take his mind off the pressure he faced, to “just hit it hard…it will land somewhere.” In other words, just do your thing and everything will be fine. And that’s the Gator when it comes to fishing advice. “There are fish everywhere out there,” he’d say “get a fly in the water and you’ll catch ‘em.”

It was that simple. You can’t play good golf unless you give the ball a hard lick, and you’re gonna learn to fish by doing it, and not talking about it. God he was cool, I thought. The next three or four weeks after my first official en-counter with Rusty, I was back in Grayling alone, in my hand–me-down tent, determined to learn the art-form on my own, and spending numerous hours observing Rusty in his element – teaching us while “not teaching” from behind the counter of the Gates Lodge fly shop.

Joe Heywood was right. The river is in Rusty’s soul, in a private place. Its secrets are revealed in mysterious ways, in a slow trickle, like the lazy current ridden by an emerging blue winged olive on a pristine September afternoon. Ga-tor flows through me too, in a small way, peacefully by and by. What a gift.

- Skip DeWall, February 2009


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I need to fish Aching to my very soul

To immerse myself, soon, In the healing Au Sable Rusty will join me there

I want to hear him say “fish on” one more time

The river flowing The water at the dock Each second it is new

Our footprints linger in the snow But will soon vanish

Nothing stays the same Universe expanding

The pain is a blessing Memories of a happier time Are like the morphine Medicine to stay ahead of the pain Smile as you rest my friend Our conversation is not over I will hear “fish on” very soon

- Skip DeWall, January 2010

Oh Captain, my Captain; you have surrounded yourself with many quality people to protect and improve our rivers. It was the passion for coldwater and trout which continues to be contagious. You said more with your eyes and smile than some people could ever say with words.

Some have compared you to an oak tree. The oak tree has a very strong and deep root system, a distin-guished trunk, and a tremendous limb umbrella. You had a deep convic-tion for the resource and nature, you stood strong through many stormy is-sues, and you had such a network of friends which would all work together to make the coldwater conservation community strong and healthy creat-ing the umbrella.

As I observed you in action, I saw you provide a warm welcome to the young anglers that came through the shop and treated women that came in like they belonged there. As you talked with folks, you were identifying and evaluated how their talents may

be used to better the resource. Their talents may be how they motivate oth-ers, may be their legal contributions, may be their voluntary efforts, and may be their financial donations. You brought over 300 people to clean up the Au Sable.

When we first met, I was proud to say that I am flying “Stealth” as a fly angler. I saw the look on your face which said, “That will change.” As I continued to spend time at the Lodge and listening to you discuss protect-ing our resources, my view on flying stealth changed. I remember asking, “Where is Trout Unlimited with these issues?” You never said anything neg-ative about TU and said, “You may want to ask them.” I now know what you were doing; getting me deeply in-volved. You were profoundly generous in sharing your time, knowledge and gifts. The greatest gift I have ever re-ceived from you was your unwavering friendship. I greatly appreciate the guidance to understand the “Big Pic-ture” of coldwater conservation you gave me.

In the fall of 2003, I sent MCTU a letter asking where they stood on the conservation issues that were being battled at that time, I even received a response. It was at that moment, I was committed. I was prepared to make a difference in coldwater conservation. In the spring of 2004, I became Vice-President of the Headwaters Chapter of TU and 2005 I became President.

During our many times at trout camp – Frog Water, we discussed strat-egies on how we can make our rivers and trout better, when we need money, what issues need the funding, when to be patient, and most importantly how we become stronger. You taught me how to be a coldwater conservation-ist, an inspirational leader; but most importantly you taught me about life. We celebrated the successes and con-soled each other with the setbacks. This past year, we discussed your courageous battle with cancer. I know you appreciated how much support you received from others in the fight. I was honored our friendship lead us to such candid and private conversa-

Calvin “Rusty” Gates


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tions. I am proud to you called on me for the positive reinforcement.

I will always remember drinking coffee in the Fly Shop talking pri-vately about the issues of the day. As a customer came into the shop, the sub-ject quickly changed to fly-fishing. I learned very quickly when to discuss a subject and when to put the conversa-tion on hold. If you hadn’t heard from me in a few weeks, you would call to check in; often times asking to meet to meet at Frog Water the following eve-ning. I miss the phone calls, the meet-ings and the conversations.

There was a very special and proud moment on June 5, 2009 as Sue and I arrived to check into the lodge during our annual Anniversary float trip and stay. The lodge was crowded with clients. As you saw me walk into the Fly Shop, you came directly out from behind the counter and pulled me to the back of the shop, you said, “Hey, I have got to tell you some-thing.” As we got to the back to the shop, I looked up and you said, “John,

this is Becky Humphries. Becky, this is John Walters” You introduced me to the Director of the DNR and the smile on your face was beaming of tremendous pride. When Becky said, “John, I’ve heard much about you.” You knew I could take care of myself. I spoke with her for 20 minutes and she was very friendly; I introduced Sue to Becky, too. As we met for coffee the next morning at 6:00AM, you whis-pered, “Man, Dude, you met Becky.”. I said “Yeah, you introduced me.” We both knew this was a moment of great significance. We looked at each other and grinned.

Many have told me that you were grooming me to elevate my leader-ship. I recognized the role very early; cherishing every moment. Thank you for mentoring me for what we are so passionate about. I have learned to have serenity to know what we can not change, courage to know what we could change, and wisdom to know the difference.

A reserved, quiet, and private

man, you never sought the lime-light. You preferred to divert awards and ac-complishments; unless it meant some-thing for the greater good of Anglers of the Au Sable or the resource. What others outside of the core folks didn’t know was how warm, generous and humorous you were. Sometimes it was simply a look or a smile that I knew I was on the right tract.

Your committed support of me was awesome. My committed support of you was equally awesome. You will always be my best friend. Before you were called to God, you made sure to pass the torch. Your work on earth was done.

Your will be done; your will be done.

You legacy will be passed on for generations

You will be missed Thank you for our journey to-

gether.

- John Walters, Friend


With Tim Mason (L), grandson of George Mason, and Marvin Roberson of the Sierra Club. Photo: John L. Russell

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What can be said about Rusty that has not already been said by people more eloquent than I?

A quick look around the board-room at Gates Au Sable Lodge speaks volumes about his dedication to the river. The east wall is lined with plaques showing many awards for his career of conservation activities.

Although he will, no doubt, be remembered as an excellent angler, a keen conservationist and environmen-talist and a wellspring of knowledge of the river and its inhabitants, I pre-fer to remember him as a friend.

There were facets of Rusty that most people rarely, if ever, saw. He was a quiet, private, rather shy indi-vidual who did not particularly en-

joy being in the limelight. He hated confrontation, but he would not back down on a principle in which he be-lieved -- the Mason Tract and Kolke Creek lawsuits are proof of that. Also, he was one of the most generous peo-ple that I have ever known. He liked giving “kids” as he called them some employment at the Lodge to help with their education, and I know that he paid college tuition for more than one of his “kids” out of his own pocket.

In winter, the Boardroom became the center of both business and social activity. For all of his inclination to privacy, Rusty enjoyed being with his friends. The Boardroom was open pretty much every day; and a pot of chili, a pasta salad, sandwiches or

similar fare was usually available. Those days, of course, normally in-volved a lot of fly tying, good conver-sation, and a hot game of cribbage; and it is those days that I like to re-member.

There are a lot of little, personal anecdotes; but they would probably not say that much.

Rusty could have, like many oth-ers, sat back, run his business and watched the world go by. He did not do that. He recognized problems that affected the environment in general and the river in particular, and he went about fixing them. In doing that, he set the bar very high. He was a person that made a real difference.

- Alan Diodore, Vice President


With Shep at Anglers 20th. Photo: John L. Russell.

11

Gate’s Lodge parking lot gravel crunching under my tires was a wel-come sound after a long drive. I would soon be in the water with the cool water rising on my waders, washing away the steamroller of life, if only for a few days, but not before checking with Rusty about The River. It was a busy day in the shop, the ex-citement of a new season oozed out of every person in the shop. I enjoyed browsing while listening to the hub-bub of conversations, questions and answers that flowed freely amongst rows of well stocked fly bins, racks and showcases. I always knew that I would be greeted upon entry, treated with respect and taken seriously as an angler by Rusty. It was always worth the wait. A seemingly newcomer ten-tatively came through the door, looked around and headed straight for the rod rack. He picked up probably the highest priced Winston and started

flailing it back and forth and looked around for someone to help him. Rusty walked over and the man looked him up and down and then said, “do you work here?” The shop fell silent. Grinning, Rusty looked him in the eye and gently said, “Well yes, I guess you could say that.” Everyone laughed quietly over that amazing moment and I couldn’t help but wonder if some day that man would know just how lucky he was.

And lucky we all were. There is hardly a bend I wade or a cast I make that I don’t have the undercurrent thought running through me surface, to remind me how lucky I am to be able to fish this great Au Sable River system. A great portion of my thanks goes to Rusty Gates. The loss of a person of his depth and dedication is difficult as we all know and I will hon-or him as I do all of my lost angling

friends. I design and tie a fly for the person who is gone and when the time is right, (the river or a breeze may tell me when) I tie on that fly and fish it a bit and think about that person. It is a small tribute but meaningful to me and seems to help. I try to include some of attributes of the person or character traits in the fly. It might be small, sparse, or have long legs, or maybe very feisty or flashy. The fly ultimately ends up in one special box and from time to time I look through it and remember.

It has been a real rough year and I have five flies to design and take to a river. The one for Rusty will take a lot of thought and it is probably go-ing to have to be huge to include all that we loved about Rusty. I know for sure that it will be quiet and purpose-ful and run true.

- Dorothy Schramm

You will no doubt hear from many anglers who admired Rusty’s skill as a trout fisherman, and several who, like me, had the good fortune to occupy the front seat of his riverboat. But Rusty was also a first-rate saltwater fly fisherman, especially in pursuit of bonefish.

George Alexander, Pat Dwyer, Rusty and I made several trips to The Bahamas together. We were mostly self-guided (though we were more successful when we hired a pro) and we had some grand times.

George cooked, Rusty tied flies, we poled boats, we waded interminably, and we caught a lot of bones! But my favorite memory of Rusty in The Bahamas did not involve a bonefish; it was a barracuda. Pat and I watched from our boat as Rusty feverishly stripped line from his reel and made a perfect 90-foot cast to what turned out to be a four foot bar-racuda (which we ate that night).

Rusty was a consum-mate fly fisher, whatever the flavor of the water.

- Dick Daane, Director Emeritus

That Amazing GuyrusTy GaTes, 1955-2009

A cup of coffee and conversation before another cleanup. Photo: John L. Russell.

12

Rusty and I had a ball working on the Anglers 20th Celebration and his book “Seasons on the Au Sable.”

He put two of my quotes in his book. Way cool.

“Heart racing, my spirit soars as I step into the Holy Water of the Au Sable.

I know I belong here. I have end-less energy for fly-fishing, which has changed my life forever.”

“Late at night, stars out, armpit deep on the South Branch. The slurp, the cast, the strike.

Fish on. Heavy fish in hand. Then the release. For a moment time stopped. The thrill that lasts a life-time.”

My favorite thing to do is to night fish for those large browns and do it the way that Rusty taught me to do.

When we fish with our Winston Rods, I feel that he is standing right next to me.

Rusty and I cut a lot of wood to-gether at Frog in the early falls. Ga-tor wanted those rounds 12” not 14”.

He and I demowed Frog with Foxy, Kevin, and No Doe Joe Bar-tha. Frog was the Magic Kingdom for Rusty.

Frog was that special place where good friends could go and listen to each other and tell great stories.

After a little steak and potatoes, cherry pie, and a little brown water.

Rusty would ask, “How ya do-ing? Then he would say, “Everything is good.”

In 2005 Gator told me that I needed a Riverboat. So, we bought a new one from Gary Willoby, not sure of his last name spelling. We called her ‘Sweetlynnie.’

We launched at Thendara on June 30th by his house for the first time. He told me to drive the back of the boat. What a trip!

He told Lynn and I good luck. As

we floated by, there he was at his riv-erbank by his house waiting for us. He gave me a few more tips and we were off to the Wakeley Bridge take-out. About 7:00 pm it started to pour rain. We were soaked. When we fi-nally stopped, there was Gator with his raincoat on, waiting to help us takeout. He said to Lynn, “I thought you might need some help.” What a relief! Gator was always there for us.

Rusty was a great man who loved his family, who loved his work, and who was passionate about his hobby.

Gates Lodge, Miss Julie, and all our friends had a chance to witness the magic of Rusty and the Au Sable River.

Lynn Reed and I had special mo-ments with the Gator.

This fly-fishing thing has changed our lives forever.

Rusty Gates wore many different hats. My favorite was that of mentor. He helped me learn and appreciate the sport of fly-fishing and that it isn’t always about catching fish.

One of my early attempts at night fishing was in front of Frog Camp. After several laughable attempts at landing a “slurping regular,” Rusty hopped in the river to help me per-fect my cast as well as my patience. I felt so elated that he took this time with me and that he believed in my skills and genuine interest in this type of fishing. I am proud to call him my friend. I will never forget that night.

I have since read a line about Delbert Stewart -- a famous fly-tier -- that applies to Rusty too.

...”But his fly-tying hands have gone to rest, because God loves to fish and he wanted the best.”

We love you Rusty and will always be grateful for what you taught us.

- Lynn Reed

Fly-Fishing Memories Were Gatormade


13

Ode To A Friend Of The

RiverStill shadows start to lengthen, Beneath the setting sun. The hungry trout are risin’, Down on Rusty’s Run.

The River flows with magic Of spinner, nymph and dun. Hatches fill the evening skies, Down on Rusty’s Run.

The River calls to anglers While paddlers have their fun. Browns hide under cedar bows, Down on Rusty’s Run.

The River has her history Of battles fought and won. Brookies flash their gratitude, Down on Rusty’s Run.

The Au Sable has touched many And loves her favorite son. We’ll fish with him forever, Down on Rusty’s Run.

- Lorne Beatty, 2009

The River Flows On

In honor of Rusty Gates

The cedar fell across the wide expanse of fast-flowing water. A terrible crash, heralded by the warblers overhead and the trout underneath. A stalwart barrier To careless revelers who were turned back passage denied. But for the anglers and the fish, a deep pool Formed and grew And the ripples will go on forever.

- Sue Walsh, December 20, 2009


14

It’s snowing softly this morning. It’s so quiet in the winter woods; lone-ly and empty. That’s never been as true as it is today. There’s a hollowness in the Au Sable River Valley opened by the loss of the courageous steward to these waters—Rusty Gates. He was and will always be remembered, by me, as a long ago friend and men-tor. Many of us wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Gator. His knowledge of all things trout was endless and his love for the river boundless. A leader to all that wanted to do right by the river and a ferocious warrior for what he believed in; Rusty, in his generosity, left us all a legacy.

Some years ago now, I used to spend many nights with Gator fishing and it was there he seemed most at peace. Whether it was in the boat, on the banks, or on the ice, Rusty loved to fish. I once asked him why he almost never took vacations in the off season. He simply said, “Why would I want

to leave here?” And so it was in the winters I knew him. He taught me the cold weather rhythm of tying flies in the morning and sitting on the ice in the afternoons. He was, perhaps, the best fly tyer I’ve ever met. And he was certainly the most beautiful fisherman I knew.

Great fishermen pay close atten-tion to details and Rusty was no ex-ception to that rule. One weekend, we locked ourselves in an ice shanty on a trip up North and fished hours for perch while everyone else in our group minded tip-ups for giant North-ern Pike. We turned on the heater and had a fine time skimming ice from the hole and catching smallish fish. He made a science out of the whole deal. He insisted we used 5X fluorocarbon and different hooks than the manufac-turer provided on our jigs. He’d touch my arm silently when a fish moved into the jigging hole so that I’d know to be quiet and not spoil to opportunity. You

should’ve seen him when he was reel-ing up panfish through the ice—hoot-ing like a kid and completely thrilled. I wish you all could’ve seen him when a 6 pound Northern swept across the shanty hole sucking in Rusty’s min-now tipped jig and disappeared under the ice peeling off drag. He ended up landing that brute on 5X. He was a great fisherman.

I haven’t been close to him in a few years . . . something I regret. But whether he knew it or not, he was always close to me. I doubt there’s a day that I don’t think about him. He’s in the grouse woods and on the two tracks. He’s there when I cut wood and when I pound nails (he loved a project). He’s there when I think of the River. And of course he’s there, with me, when I’m on the river. Rusty is in the currents. He will always be there for all of us.

- Andy Partlo

RustyrusTy GaTes, 1955-2009

With Becky Humpheries DNR (now DNRE) Director (L) and Marvin Roberson. Photo: John L. Russell

15

Sadly, I don’t have a lot of Rusty stories to tell; we are fairly new to the river in the scheme of things. But it didn’t take long for us to venture to Gates Lodge to eat incredible break-fasts along the river and visit Rusty’s famous fly shop. My husband, Joe, loved to wander in and join the dudes – whoever might be gathered – and listen to Rusty talk about all things fishing.

As mentioned previously in this column, I loved to pounce on the dis-play of flies in the shop with my two daughters and pick out a few based solely on their names – the wilder the better. We’d make all sorts of noise, clearly interrupting the established pattern and flow of this sacred place. My husband was horrified, reluctant to even catch Rusty’s highly-amused eye. We were not behaving in accord with the unspoken code, something similar to how we teach our kids how to behave in church.

I have sought out some fond mem-ories from a few of his pals. These were offered recently on a winter’s night as Rusty’s beloved river flowed merrily by and the glasses hoisted to toast Rusty.

I was able to confirm, for in-stance, that Joe’s initial efforts to get to know Rusty are a demonstrable pattern. The newbies are a bit timid to be in the store with a legend, an icon if you will. You didn’t want to come across as an idiot, I’m told. You wanted to take in what you could from afar, keeping a respectful dis-tance. As one friend said, “it would be like walking up to Hank Aaron and asking what brand of bat to buy.”

After observing for a while, you started the dance by asking for in-formation on bugs, the conditions on the river that day, his views on a reel. It was great to have a true friend of Rusty’s amble in, comfortably asking Rusty about the conditions. He’d take a venture over to the fly box and qui-etly start picking out the right flies for the day. The flock of newbies would

sidle over to listen in. But over time, the comfort level grew and when you received that wonderful Rusty smile, the connection was made.

But even seasoned pals say that he was cryptic in his way, a man of a few words. Sometimes the silence was profound. Then, you’d hear what he had to say, and with the few words offered, you would need to fill in the blanks, all the while appear-ing to clearly understand what he was conveying. Talk about hanging on words. One wonders if he was at such a high level of expertise that he just assumed you understood what he was talking about or perhaps he was dangling a fly of his own. I guess we will never know.

Even when asking for help, Rusty didn’t waste words. A hand on a shoulder, a touch to the sleeve – that’s all it took from this quiet motivator who could get people to fiercely fight for his beloved river. And boy did it work. It was stunning how he could enlist the bastions to protect the en-vironment of the river and the sur-rounding lands. The call to action might have been a quiet one, but it was powerful. And it will be no sur-prise to anyone that notoriety from all of that expertise and advocacy was not his cup of tea or bottle of beer. He clearly knew that the out-side world had to be engaged in the good fight, but interviews and photo-graphs weren’t in his comfort zone. It says a lot about Rusty’s character that this shy, quiet person would re-peatedly step outside his comfort zone to do what needed to be done to advocate for the environment.

But don’t assume that he was always quiet. He was a truly pas-sionate host of those who visited the lodge, whether for a meal or for a weekend of fishing. One story told by the fire was of an enormous storm that came up one summer, during Hex Hatch. It was a real doozy of a tempest. After the wrath of thunder, lightning, rain and hail concluded, it was clear that the river needed a

little time to recover from the ordeal. The waters were high and muddy. Rusty’s response? He called all of his guests-to-be and told them not to come that weekend, which would have been one of his most profitable of the summer. Simply put: The fish-ing just would not be good. No need to say more.

The adjectives that pour out about this fellow? Honest. Respect-ful. Passionate. Cerebral. Peaceful. Enigma.

Finally, stories around the fire would not be complete if we didn’t talk about Rusty’s love affair with trout. As said by a close friend, “Rusty knew them by name, he knew their blood type.” Wow. That’s a pretty tight relationship. He could put a line right in their abodes like none other. And simply no one knew where those fish lived better than Rusty.

I heard all sorts of wonderful sto-ries about fishing trips, an interest-ing game called Nods, the help Rusty provided to his fishing pals along the way. I’ll leave those stories for oth-ers to tell; I know they will. Hear-ing those stories, hopefully with a glass of an appropriate beverage at one’s favorite fishing spot with dear friends, will help fill the enormous void that has been created as a result of Rusty’s passing. At the end of the day, I suspect Rusty has found a fine river in Heaven and will be waiting for all of his fishing pals when they arrive someday.

As a personal aside, I want to mention that one night after Rusty’s friends reflected on his life, on New Year’s Eve, a smaller group of us sat at the same table. A full moon – the blue moon, in fact – glowed over-head. Someone happened to glance out toward the river, and there was a deer close by, staring in at us. He didn’t move; he just stood there, in all of his glory. Thanks, Rusty, for joining us around the table.

- Betsy Hemming, Member


16

I first met Rusty in the mid 1980s, while visiting my dear friend and fly-fishing mentor, Bill Halliday. I came up to Bill’s place at every opportunity, and my first stop after saying Hi to Bill, was to head to Gates Lodge. It was like a combined toy shop and fish-ing club meeting area, and I couldn’t get enough of it.

In the early 90’s, we bought a place on Big Creek just north of Lu-zerne. I got into fly tying with a ven-geance then, and one day asked Rusty if he ever needed any more tiers. His quick response was …”Always….big-time!” Over the course of a few thou-sand dozen flies that followed, I got to know Rusty…..not nearly enough to be a close friend, but enough to know how deeply he loved the sport of fly-fishing, the ambience surrounding it, and, of course, the Au Sable. It was always interesting to sit in the shop and watch Rusty interact with people dropping in. They were all treated the same….newcomers he welcomed, and old hands he genuinely welcomed back.

Shortly after I started fishing the Au Sable, and before I really got to know Rusty, I waded from Halliday’s cabin, near Whirlpool Road, down to Gates, where I was to later meet my

wife and Bill’s wife who were going to canoe down behind me. We’d all ride back together in a car spotted for them below Gates. However, when they paddled up to the dock at Gates they informed me that they had forgot-ten the keys to the spotted car. I went into the shop and told Rusty my plight and asked to use the phone. Instead, he flipped me the keys to his pickup. It was a stick shift, which I knew how to drive, but as a joke, when I later handed the keys to one of the shop guys to return to Rusty, I told him that I wasn’t sure what the second brake pedal was for, and that the truck re-ally ran rough. I don’t know what he told Gator, but the look on his face was awesome.

On another occasion, I had Rusty order a spool for one of my reels, only to find when it came in that I had given him the wrong reel model. He was a bit perturbed, but sent it back, and ordered the correct model, with only a few mumbles under his breath. However, after it had arrived, and as I tried to put it on the reel in the shop, it was quickly determined I had given Rusty the wrong spool size. He was fuming….quietly, but fuming. He turned his back and I could see his jaw muscles clenched. All of a sud-

den, I started giggling, and couldn’t stop…..which did nothing to improve his mood. I offered to buy it, but he would not permit it. He finally did say, calmly, that he would never order something for me again if he didn’t personally see the related equipment.

There were also some more seri-ous observations of Rusty over the years. After Bill Halliday died one Oc-tober several years ago, Rusty opened up his lodge to any out of town fam-ily members needing rooms before the funeral. On a much more recent oc-casion, and the last time I saw Rusty this last September, he was stand-ing behind the counter and watch-ing a younger man who had just left the shop get into his car. After a few moments, Rusty started talking to no one in particular about the man who just left. He recounted how the man was third generation and where their cabin was, and how the grandfather had a particular fly he used. After, he just smiled a bit, again to no one, and went about his business. I think he was talking to himself….reliving some history.

God Speed Gator…..as they say, you broke the mold.

- John O’Neil, Member

One of the strangest requests I ever got was to find someone in Detroit who could take a picture of Rusty Gates while he was attending a meeting there – not to record the event, but because Rusty was going to be in a suit.

The top conservationist of our generation focused on doing what it took to protect the River and the resources he knew and loved. That might mean putting on a suit and going to Detroit. Or it could mean working without rest to bring a di-

verse array of resources and organi-zations together to win a fight.

Rusty was the ultimate conser-vation organizer. He understood better than anyone I’ve ever known the connection between the issue and the people willing to fight for it. He was persistent, persuasive and remarkably effective at getting exceptional people and diverse or-ganization working toward a com-mon cause. His quiet charisma and ability to tell the story well was often more than enough to make sure you

owned the fight. By putting a fly-fish-ing rod in your hands he could make a life-long activist.

My first connection to Rusty, after having heard praise for him for years, was when Glen Sheppard called me up to ask Sierra Club to help in the Mason Tract fight. Ironi-cally, Shep called because he knew Sierra Club, in particular Marvin Roberson, knew how to use the law to hold the Forest Service account-able. Shep wasn’t a fan of our ac-tivities at that point, but he knew

Ahhhh……Remembering GatorrusTy GaTes, 1955-2009

17

What is a river?What is a life?For Rusty Gates, the two ques-

tions were one: life was the river and the river was life.

Being a modest man, a thoughtful and introverted man, a man for whom nature had provided a deeply quiet spiritual core, Rusty himself might have been satisfied with a remem-brance that said no more than that.

But there is so much more that must be said. Rusty’s power was in helping others to see his world as he saw it, to help others revere the river, to help others become aware of its in-tricate biology, to help others become knowledgeable about its insects and fish, and in the process to gain the deepest appreciation that one could have for the world of fly-fishing.

That, in the process, Rusty was able to build a highly successful fly-fishing enterprise was not, however, incidental. Rusty reveled in his entre-preneurship as well. That he could be successful in work that was so close to those things he most valued in life was simply a bonus. That he spent so many hours on our behalf not fishing was one of his grand, ongoing acts of generosity.

Fisherman. Entrepreneur. Inn-keeper, Shop-owner. Salesman. Guide. Generous mentor and teacher. Pas-sionate and unwielding advocate for the Au Sable River. Highly sophisti-cated fly tier and innovator. (Every

season there would be a new pattern he’d conjured up over the winter. The Sony Olive, made from wrappings that had come with a new television. The Martini Olive, which Rusty had invited me to name. There were rules, though. When I asked once what the substitute might be for turkey feathers, since they always broke off in my vise when I tried to tie them, Rusty’s an-swer, rather archly given, was “There is no substitute for turkey feathers.” Entomologist. Writer. Bird hunter. Cribbage player. Wood chopper (“My therapy,” he called it.) Weather mind-er, with his computer screen often filled with the latest from weather.com. Once, when I called from Ann Arbor to ask him what conditions were like on the river that day, his reply, deliv-ered in that laconic, inimitable Gator way was an abbreviated and urgent recommendation: “Leave now, John. Leave right now.”

And, of course, he was the vision-ary who saw the value in bringing those who loved the river with him as a group, inventing the Anglers of the Au Sable, the annual river cleanup in September, the Boardroom (often red-olent of Gator hash and chili) where fishermen, guides and the young fly tiers who built up the Gates inventory over the winter months could gather together. The cabins at Frog Water and Big Creek, where the plumbing was “a bath with a path.” And, of course, lover of dogs, who, when he one day discovered he had too many to fit in his car, devised the only solu-

tion possible: bought a bigger vehicle. Ever and always, river watcher ex-traordinaire. It is hard to imagine that anyone, past or present, has ever been more intimately and knowledgeably acquainted with the Au Sable, more attuned to its seasons and its life, than Rusty Gates was, or more generous in sharing in love and knowledge and advocacy with others. Wise and car-ing husband, father, grandfather.

One cannot write a remembrance about Rusty without bringing Julie into it, too. She was his trusted and loved and adored partner in every way, and an important and ever larger component of his business success as the fame of her kitchen spread farther and wider over the years. Knowing that he could step from the shop back into the kitchen and be immersed in her domestic domain was always a comfort and a haven for him, though he might have been too private a man to put into words the strengths he gar-nered from her.

He will not be forgotten. No one who knew him will observe a trico above the water, will cast to a lusty brook trout rising out of the water to meet it, will study the path of a riffle, will string a line or tie on a fly, will pull on their waders or check the fly-boxes in their vest without thinking of Rusty. His spirit will long be with us, gentle as the sounds of the river, as powerful and enduring as its flow.

- John Barton

Remembering Rusty Gates

the fight needed the skills we could bring, and he told me that Rusty and the Anglers were a terrific group we should work with anyway. Shep was right.

We got the photo of Rusty in a

suit, a fun anomaly that said much about his willingness to do what was needed. Rusty’s enduring legacy, though, will be how well he prepared us all to carry on his work and make sure each generation to come will be

able to share the wonder and joy in the wild waters and places that he loved.

- Anne Wiowode, State Director, Michigan Chapter of the Sierra Club


18

Rusty Gates’ public legacy will be as a heroic conservationist, master angler, and terrific businessman. For many of us, however, those qualities were not his most important, for we knew Rusty as a husband, grandfa-ther, and friend. And it is those quali-ties that defined Rusty, and for which he will be missed the most. He left behind a beloved wife, grandchildren upon whom he doted, and a legion of people who knew him as a dear friend and a caring man.

The day Rusty was diagnosed with cancer, his first thoughts were about how to break it to his family, rather than what he was about to un-dergo. When he made his first trip to Ann Arbor for chemo, he called all of his friends who were familiar with the town. Instead of worrying about his treatment, as most of us would have, he wanted research on where to take his wife Julie to dinner the night be-fore. He knew she loved fine restau-rants, and wanted to please her in his

hour of need. Husband.

When his granddaughter Victoria was about to have her tonsils out, he took both Victoria and her little sister Breonna (nickname - “Big Trouble”) to the grocery store, for the tradi-tional post-operation ice cream we all remember. However, instead of pick-ing out some ice cream, he grabbed a huge cart and told the girls to fill it to the brim with anything they wanted. He was not a techno-geek, but when he got his first Blackberry, he said that his favorite part of it was his abil-ity to text to his granddaughter across the room. “She’d start laughing at something no one else knew we were talking about.” Grandfather.

Rusty manned the Boardroom all winter, and what you were served to eat depended on when you arrived: morning was hash and eggs, but lunch was already in the crock pot. Even in his last days, while visiting him, Rusty would ask “Are there enough groceries? Are those kids eating OK

up there?” He asked me to adopt his Gordon Setter, Buster. When I emailed him about how much I loved having Buster (I hadn’t had a dog for 30 years), he emailed back “Just didn’t know how much you needed a dog.” Friend.

As he was undergoing chemother-apy, he would email from the treatment room. Instead of complaining about how uncomfortable he was, he would express concerns about the cries he heard from the room next door, where children were receiving their chemo. One of his nurses described a fish kill in her pond, and from the treatment chair, Gator mobilized a number of people to get a DNR fish biologist from her region out to her pond to look. Caring Man.

These are the qualities many of us will miss the most. We can carry on the rest of it in his honor, but these are the things we can never replace.

- Marvin Roberson, Sierra Club

Whenever there is a change in life, there is trauma. The deci-sion to move, what will we do, how will we cope is one of those events. Losing a good friend is another.

Well, for me the move north to the Au Sable was easy. Was this a rash decision, NO. Early in my life I wanted to live on a lake, but age and wisdom lead me to the river. Ever changing river. I started fly-fishing at a late age, took guides out of Gates, formed many friends. Rusty, well, he was his silent self, gave subtle advice in regards to homes I considered. He and his shop personnel and guides were definite assets to my move. Rusty was great during

my move…asked about contractor work…. got answers. Asked about someone to assist in the move…haul boxes…got an answer. He helped so many in tiny matters. How did he have time to help all of us, run a lodge and the Anglers business, none of us really know. I think his dedication to The River and ensuring good people moved to the river were his motivation.

I don’t believe that one can re-ally live on the river and not care about it. I asked Rusty how I could get involved. Well, I don’t think Rusty took me seriously, but his friends that knew me did. One had to earn his trust. I did. One had to learn Rusty’s moods. He lead me

along, made me realize my com-mitment to the Au Sable and Man-istee Rivers was what I had always needed to fulfill my life and com-mitment to the environment.

Rusty helped to change my life, forever. He gave me friendship and helped me appreciate our great-est assets, our cold-water streams of Michigan. I will always smile when I think of Rusty….think of the times in the Board Room, Frogwa-ter….and just shop conversations. At times I still expect an email that says “soup’s on, come on over.” There will be a tear that comes to my eye also….for I miss him.

- Karen Harrison, Secretary


19

Two stories about Rusty, each in the last year of his life, sum up the man to me. He was all about the river and just about anything else but him-self. Lots of guys talk the talk. Rusty Gates walked the walk, and in the last year of his life it was a journey through some rough terrain.

In the late fall of 2008 it looked like DNR was going to go against the wishes of 90% of respondents and re-fuse to make the Mio water No Kill for brown trout. We were furious about this and put together a coalition to appeal the decision. Rusty was in terrible pain and not sleeping much at night. You could see the strain in his face, very drawn. The Trophy Water was not even his water, but he worked the phones and email to form the group – including MCTU! – that would advocate for No Kill. It was

unprecedented and it led to DNR Di-rector Humphries putting the Fisher-ies’ plan – one that would have likely degraded the Trophy stretch –on hold. Not a win but not a loss. The fact that at the last possible minute, literally, DNR blinked and realized they might be wrong is testament to Rusty’s pow-ers. Only he could have cobbled to-gether that alliance. No one else had the credibility. He did it on no sleep and in great pain. If we ever get No Kill below Mio it will be because of him. He showed us the way.

On the eve of starting chemo Rusty was hanging in the Board Room with a bunch of folks playing cards, eating food, laughing and just trying to forget the things to come. It was early February; there finally was a warm up after a long hard winter. I stopped in, pounded some smoked

salmon and deviled eggs, and head-ed toward my favorite winter fishing spot. Rusty warned me about snow – I’d got stuck the year before – and gave me his cell number. Sure enough I got stuck again, tried to get out my-self, and called in when I failed. He said somebody would be there soon. I figured it would be one of about a dozens guys in the Board Room, but to my surprise it was The Gator in his jeep. He got me out in a pinch, told me where to park next time, and then said, “Follow me out till you get to the pavement just to be safe.” He led and I followed. A man at the start of the fight for his life found a moment to help someone get out of a jam.

He led and I followed. I will fol-low his example all of my days.

- Thomas Buhr, Editor

I met Rusty in the early 80’s at the lodge and we became good friends es-pecially after his duties at the lodge grew more after his father’s death.

I was fortunate enough to be asked to join the board of the fledgling Anglers of the Au Sable and shortly became the club’s secretary. One of the early actions of the board was to establish an award called the “River-keeper” to be given to those individu-als that had made great contributions of effort to the Au Sable. The award was not to be an annual one but rath-er to be given when the opportunity arose.

We have awarded the Riverkeeper several times to people who by their actions and activities exemplify what the Anglers are truly about. Whenever the award was brought up at a board

meeting, invariably we would suggest that Rusty be named a recipient. He would never allow us to go forward in this but would suggest someone else to be recognized.

One of my proudest moments was standing on the casting lawn of Gates Au Sable Lodge at the annual river cleanup in 2000 when Rusty presented me with a “Riverkeeper.” I was tre-mendously pleased and honored but in my heart I knew he deserved it so much more than I did.

I had hoped that we could give him a “Riverkeeper” at our 20th an-niversary celebration but for various reasons it just didn’t happen.

When Rusty and I had dinner at his special hex water camp this last August, he told me of his coming likely

death due to his cancer. We both had tears in our eyes and as I left that eve-ning I told him how much he meant to me. As I drove back to my cabin, I resolved to present him with a “River-keeper” at our coming river cleanup. I told very few people about my plans for fear that he would learn of it and stop me.

Those in attendance at the last cleanup may have noted my tears as I was able to surprise Rusty with the award. He was a bit angry with me for my actions but I told him the award to him was long overdue and that with him as a recipient any one that has received or will receive the “Riverkeeper” in the future is more honored by being in his company.

- Bruce Johnson, Director

A Selfless Leader

“Riverkeeper” – Rusty Gates


20

emberhe often fished alone, tonight he had me -- a koan: what is the sound of one man not casting?

well, it sounds like rusty gates,

right? or gator, cal, jr., any of those names still sound the same beside the river in early June.

when I returned from downstream he was still smoking on his bend, a small ember like Plato’s shadows concealed the rest of the man.

thinking of that point of light now is like looking through a keyhole to a particular wooded dream: he did what he should for a river that flows through cedars and ferns and rare wild rose.

- Anonymous

You open your palm to try to grasp the essence of a man and what you get is a handful of water spilling from your fist. This is somehow appropriate when the man who learned over decades to let the river course through his being. He stored water like a spring, hid it like cut-bank, let it push him aside like a sweeper. We loved him not because he gave us fishing advice but because we sensed the water pulsing in his veins, and wanted to sense the same in ourselves.

Like so many young men searching for reprieve from downstate suburban monot-ony, I became one of Rusty Gates’ favorite charities. Over the course of a decade and a half, he gave me, among other things, a shop’s worth of free gear, my nickname, fly-tying orders to fill, a place to crash at his home or deer camp up on Big Creek, clients to guide in Montana, and my best job ever: painting Dean Schmitt’s cabin on a ridge above the South Branch.

Rusty could be a demanding employer, but he always buoyed me with his wry hu-mor and unexpected rewards. One Monday in late May he told me I was getting pro-moted—or demoted; he wasn’t sure—from shop duty. “I’m shipping you up to Camp this week so you can fill a brown drake or-der. I need fifty dozen—30 parachutes, 20 hen-wings—before Friday.” I got crank-ing, as we used to say, taking breaks to only to read poems, wade Big Creek, and sleep. On Thursday afternoon he called to check on my progress. I beamed: “Eight dozen to go, Gator.”

“Gotta blow off some steam,” Rusty said. “I’ll bring up dinner tonight.”

That evening Rusty showed up with rib steaks and a six-pack of Labatt’s. He looked over the drake imitations which spilled out from two cigar boxes. “Big time, CD. You’ve been working hard.” “Yeah,” I said, “just tying, reading, and fishing. Haven’t taken a shower all week.” Rusty looked at me as if I’d just tipped a Borchers with a maggot and cast it into the Holy Water. “Hey,” he said, “one a day, Asshole!”

Throughout college, Rusty gave me more profitable patterns to tie than the hen-wing drake—my sophomore year the three-step X-Caddis paid for room and

board—but after I had published a few essays and poems, he cut me off from the fly-tying sugar tit altogether. I called dur-ing grad school to see if I could pick up an order. “Don’t think so, CD,” Rusty said. “Need to write more articles.” Rusty knew I wanted to be a writer, and he knew that more writing, not more fly-tying, would be required if I wished to improve my craft. When my first book of poems was pub-lished Rusty called to congratulate me: “Big time, CD.” I treasured those words and thanked him for fostering my writing for so many years, but my gratitude felt insufficient.

“One of the things that is breaking my heart,” writes poet James Galvin, “is that I can’t trust language to express any thanks.” Galvin’s sentiment speaks to my feelings toward Rusty, and I sense it spoke to Rusty’s feelings toward the river. Since he didn’t believe his words alone could fully articulate his gratitude, he worked like a madman to make certain his actions would leave us doubtless. Rusty cared for the river more diligently than he cared for himself. But, by the end, they were one body, and he knew the river would last. Briefly in my mind’s eye, I see him—beard-ed, smiling, some laconic saying at the tip of his tongue—then I see just the water, the sunlight galloping downstream.

- Chris Dombrowski

Rusty GatesrusTy GaTes, 1955-2009

21

Herb Graebner passed away on Oc-tober 19 2009, after a long, courageous fi ght against prostate cancer. He leaves behind his wife of 55 years, Dorothy, and children Steve, Dave and Susan, as well as six grandchildren

Herb was born in St. Paul, Minne-sota on May 3, 1928. After serving in the U.S. Army, including two tours in Korea, he married Dorothy and found-ed Arcadia Services, a national home health care services company.

He was a life-long fi shing enthu-siast who enjoyed spending time at the family cabin on the North Branch near Morley Road. He fi shed throughout the Au Sable system, particularly enjoying wading from the Pine Road access to Shaw Park on the Main Stream.

Herb’s business acumen extended

beyond Arcadia Services. He was a leader of numerous Community and Arts organizations, including the De-troit and Naples Symphonies, The De-troit Institute of Arts, Concordia Col-lege and the Salvation Army. He was particularly effective as a member of the Au Sable Area North Branch As-sociation. He donated the legal frame-work for a Charitable Foundation to the Association, which lead to the Associa-tion being reconstituted as a tax-exempt Foundation.

In addition to his contributions during his life, Herb and Dorothy have made a generous provision in their trust for a bequest to the Anglers of the Au Sable Capital Campaign

Herb will be missed.

- John Dallas, Director

He did so much and needed so little recognition for it. Joe Kutkuhn, a man as talented and learned as he was humble, passed away on December 28, 2009.

With three college de-grees in Fisheries Manage-ment and nearly 35 years with the U.S. Fish & Wild-life Service, Dr. Kutkuhn came well prepared to his fi rst volunteer assignment after retiring to Grayling in 1987.

“He became Chairman of the Upper Manistee River Restoration Committee in the late 1980s,” explained Bob Andrus, longtime friend and conservation partner. “The river was just a mess back then. Peo-ple had given up on it. But within three years the fi shing improved and even sur-passed that of its sister river, the Au Sable during the 1990s. It may not have been all Joe’s doing, but he was a part in it.”

Kutkuhn’s style was in contrast to many other high profi le conservation lead-ers. He worked behind the scenes using his

knowledge of the fi eld and extensive contacts to produce quality out-comes. A hard worker and very dedicated to the cause, he seemed unconcerned when oth-ers received credit for his efforts. This gave him tremendous cred-ibility with people and likely played a role in his marvelous leader-ship skills.

As the years passed, Joe became involved with more and more organizations: the Upper Manistee River Association, Michigan Council of Trout Unlimited, Head Waters Land Conser-vancy (where he was a Founder and the fi rst Chairman), Huron Pines RC & D, the Griffi th Foundation, and the Mason-Grif-fi th Founders Chapter of Trout Unlimited. These stints involved Chairs and advisor roles and spawned more service includ-ing Citizen Advisor for the Natural Riv-ers designation for the Upper Manistee River.

“He knew everything about and ev-erybody connected to the Manistee,” said Mark Hendricks, current President of the Mason-Griffi th Founders Chapter. “I referred to him as the ‘Godfather of the Manistee.’”

Dr. Kutkuhn was well known and re-spected around the entire United States. In 2003 he was awarded the National River Stewardship Award from the River Management Society.

An avid fl y angler, after retirement he made many trips to Montana, Colorado, Wyoming and New Zealand. He met his wife, Bobbie, while studying as an under-graduate at Colorado State. They married in 1953 and have 5 children, 8 grandchil-dren and 6 great-grandchildren, and many of them are involved in charitable efforts in the Grayling area.

Along with his family Joe’s lasting legacy is the Manistee River.

“He’s the reason, in a good way, the Manistee is what it is today,” Andrus said.

- Thomas Buhr, Editor (Bob Andrus and Mark Hendricks contributed to this article.)

Herb Graebner PassesreMeMberinG herb Graebuer and Joe kuTkuhn

Joe Kutkuhn Quietly nurtured Upper Manistee for Two Decades

22

Project Healing Waters Fly-fish-ing, Inc. is dedicated to the physical and emotional rehabilitation of dis-abled active duty military personnel and veterans through fly-fishing and fly tying education and outings.

The organization was founded in 2005 by a corps of dedicated local vol-unteers, using the nationally renowned Casting for Recovery program con-cept. The activities include lessons in basic and advanced fly-fishing and fly tying techniques and frequent fly-fishing trips for participants.

Since its inception, the Project has been helping disabled active duty personnel and veterans at the Walter Reed Army Medical Center to over-come the obstacles associated with their military service related injuries. The relearning of the fine motor skills required in fly-fishing and fly tying has proven to be particularly effective in the overall rehabilitation of the dis-abled.

In its efforts, Project Healing Wa-ters Fly-fishing, Inc. has benefited from the collaboration and assistance of the Federation of Fly Fishers, the recognized leader in fly-fishing ori-ented strategies for conservation and education, and Trout Unlimited, the foremost organization working for the conservation of trout and salmon fisheries.

MISSIOn

Project Healing Waters Fly-fish-ing, Inc. is a volunteer, non-profit organization, initiated by members of Trout Unlimited and the Federation of Fly Fishers, that serves military per-sonnel who have come home wound-ed or injured to aid their physical and emotional recovery by introducing or rebuilding the skills of fly-fishing and

fly tying and by using and enjoying these skills on fishing outings and as lifelong recreation.

While initially focusing on mili-tary personnel in the Washington, DC area, the Project has expanded and is offering its services to active military personnel and veterans in military and Department of Veterans Affairs hospi-tals across the nation.

All services and activities of Proj-ect Healing Waters Fly-fishing, Inc. are provided to the participants at no cost. Fly-fishing and tying equipment and materials are provided to the par-ticipants, including equipment that accommodates their special needs.

OPERATIOn

Project Healing Waters Fly-fish-ing, Inc. (PHW) is financed by mon-etary contributions and donations of equipment and materials. These con-tributions and donations may be tax deductible through the 501(c)(3) tax status of PHW. Funds for fishing trip expenses are provided by grants from foundations.

PHW, while presently operating in the Washington, D.C. area, is incor-porated in the state of Maryland and has secured its own 501(c)(3) tax sta-tus. PHW works with groups in other areas of the nation that are teaching fly-fishing and tying in the Depart-ment of Veterans Affairs and military regional medical centers.

The Project works in two ways; both augment the work of the thera-peutic services of the hospital:

The fly tying program concen-trates on teaching those with upper limb and vision injuries to use their hands and eyes to do the small tasks involved making fishing flies. While

the therapeutic staff does wonderful work in helping the wounded and in-jured relearn the skills needed in nor-mal living, they do not have the staff or the time to concentrate on those small tasks. Fly tying gives the patient an opportunity to relearn the fine mo-tor skills he or she lost when wounded or injured. The patient can see a use for the flies tied and has the incentive to continue tying and developing the skills. With the relearning of the fine motor skills, often there is a consid-erable improvement in the emotional state of the patient.

The fly-fishing program works with the wounded and injured pa-tients to learn or relearn fly-fishing regardless of their injuries. The mo-tions of fly-fishing help develop dam-aged muscles and improve balance and mobility. The fishing trips help the patients relax in a different envi-ronment from the hospital while he or she uses those skills and movements to catch fish. Again, the patient’s emotional state is improved by going fly-fishing.

While Project Healing Waters Fly-fishing, Inc. emphasizes the skills of fly-fishing and fly tying to help the patients regain the use of their dam-aged bodies, perhaps the greatest ben-efit is in their realization that a more normal life is possible. Fly-fishing for all fish in all waters can be a lifelong re-creation, both physically and emo-tionally.

For additional information about Project Healing Waters Fly-fishing, Inc., see the web site: www.pro-jecthealingwaters.org OR TO VOL-UNTEER IN MICHIGAN CON-TACT Dale Hernden 68 Corral Saginaw, MI 48638 [email protected] 989-798-6652

ANGLERS PLEDGE SUPPORT FOR PROJECT HEALING WATERS

Project Healing Waters Fly-fishing

healinG WaTers

23

River Clean Up 2009 – Thank you! South Branch Township

Anglers partnered with South Branch Township of Crawford County to obtain cleanup funding through the Michigan’s Volunteer River, Stream and Creek Clean Up Program. An ap-plication last February submitted by South Branch Township resulted in a grant to pay for 75% of the Anglers September River Clean Up costs. Thanks to Tom Kozwalski, Supervi-

sor for South Branch Township for all his hard work and cooperation.

This year’s river cleanup appeared to be the biggest ever - 300 people, great weather and camaraderie ruled the day. New this year were fresh brats from Mike Hultgren in Grayling. Mike is a veteran in a wheelchair and makes his livelihood from his busi-

ness making brats, etc…. check it out! http://www.hultgrensausages.com/Home_Page.html

Culinary students Carol Vidrio and Ray Priebe of Grayling provided salads. Hope we can live up to this in 2010!!

- Karen Harrison, Anglers’ Secretary

The Anglers applied for and received a grant for Large Wood Debris (LWD) placement in the South Branch of the Au Sable. Members had to contribute $30,000 for the Anglers to receive $60,000 in matching funds. YOU knocked the socks off Orvis!! Members and friends con-tributed over $80,000. ORVIS ensured we got $60,000 in matching funds. The work in 2009 cost $30,000. The ANGLERS now has a fund to ensure the maintenance of LWD in the South Branch. Discussions are ongoing about

further work on the South Branch. Thanks to all of you who made this happen!!!

Huron Pines of Graying executed the LWD work on the South Branch. The Huron Pines crew put in 313 trees in 91 structures. Hard work! Thanks to all for their con-tribution!!

- Karen Harrison, Anglers’ Secretary

clean up - orvis

You!!! Orvis!! And Anglers!

24

Slow and steady may win the race, but only if there’s enough track between that moment and the finish line. With Hoskins, truly a long and winding road, that will be the question. Can we find a solution before there is any significant or permanent damage to the Au Sable?

At present, what is needed is money, probably four million dollars, maybe less depending on who you talk to or what remediation they recommend. The hard part is finding a source for the cash. The state is flat broke (although some re-mediation of PCE “hot spots” has been funded and will take place.) The Stimu-lus Bill was a no go and recent revela-tions about the Great Lakes Restoration Initiative are, at best, murky.

So what’s a conservation organiza-tion to do?

For openers, update its loyal mem-bers.

Much of what we’ve learned in the last eight months has explained some of our concerns, cleared up some miscon-ceptions and even offered a bit of opti-mism.

We now know that the U.S. Envi-ronmental Protection Agency (USEPA) entered into this project as an emergency responder at the request of Michigan’s Department of Environmental Quality (MDEQ) in 2002. After an initial in-volvement, they moved on and are not part of the ongoing remediation and

monitoring activities. This clears up the notion that Hoskins is a Superfund Site. It is not at this time.

All criminal activities against Hosk-ins have been exhausted. A plea was agreed to and 1.7 million dollars was paid to the USEPA Superfund as a re-imbursement for remedial services. It is unknown if any civil actions against Hoskins will be undertaken or are ongo-ing at this time.

Melissa Kendzierski, MDEQ Proj-ect Manager for Hoskins, said that they had looked into Great Lakes Restora-tion Initiative funding and it was a dead end because Hoskins is not an Area of Concern under this directive. Conver-sations with other conservation entities indicated that remediation funds, or part of those monies, might be found through proposals by other organizations.

In this instance, the question be-comes: Would X organization allow part of their request to be used to finish the job at Perry Creek? And, even if they would, could it be done? Who does the cleaning? Who is the Administering Agency? Could MDEQ (or DNRE as it were) be involved? It’s a maze and, quite frankly, we need help navigating it.

Then there is the question of Su-perfund status. We now understand that Hoskins has to be scored for a National Priority Listing (NPL). The process is lengthy. There is fierce competition for

what funds exist – the Superfund has not been replenished since the mid-1990s – from sites from across the nation. It is unlikely that Hoskins, despite our con-cerns, would rank very high in priority, and poor Michigan would be required to match any monies as well. That is why MDEQ has not requested scoring at this time. This might change in the future.

As you can see, it’s a tough situa-tion. The only salve is that we’ve found little empirical work about the effect of Chromium and PCE on the ecosystem. Theoretically it should cause problems and there’s loads of evidence to sup-port the cancer connection for humans, but what it does to mayflies, caddis, and trout? That’s unclear. Furthermore, the chemicals remain about two miles from the confluence. There remain concentra-tions at the source, some of which will be treated soon, but no advancement. Dilution has offered some solution to this pollution at present but it’s not an endpoint.

Remember, Perry Creek is a des-ignated trout stream as well as a wild and scenic river. It has worth whether or not one drop of Hex Chrom ever sees Perry Creek Flat. Besides, the water that recharges this crown jewel should be pristine not just within acceptable EPA guidelines.

- Art Thomas, Big Water Correspondent

It’s not over till the fat lady…con-ducts an EIS.

The U.S. Forest Service will begin work on an Environmental Impact State-ment regarding an application for a per-mit to drill a natural gas well on National Forest System lands in Crawford County.

As most of you remember, in 2003, Savoy Energy LP of Traverse City filed an application with the U.S. Bureau of Land Management and the U.S. Forest Service to drill for natural gas on a site re-

ferred to as “USA and State South Branch 1-8 Well.”

In 2005, the Forest Service and the Bureau of Land Management completed an environmental assessment based on Savoy Energy’s application; however, in July 2008, Federal District Judge David M. Lawson declared the environmental assessment and decision to be inadequate and directed the federal agencies to com-plete a full Environmental Impact State-ment.

A Notice of Intent to prepare an En-vironmental Impact Statement, which will solicit public comment on the proposed project, is expected to be published in the Federal Register within three months. At press, none had been published.

Anglers has already assembled a group of people eminently familiar with the issue to participate in the public com-ment and scoping process. Stay tuned to our website and RIVERWATCH #57 for more details.

Everything That You Have Always Wanted to Know About

Hoskins But Were Afraid to Ask

Here We Go Again - Environmental Impact Statement Process Begins for natural Gas Well 1-8

hoskins - Gas Well

25

Friends of the Mason TractSouth Branch Township and the Michigan

Department of Natural Resources signed a Mem-orandum of Agreement in May 2009 to form a Friends of the Mason Tract group. This is a vol-unteer group that will facilitate repair and main-tenance of the Mason Tract trails, fishing access points, trailheads, and parking areas. The group is sponsored by South Branch Township as part of its Recreation Plan and is intended to be an informal organization with no dues or financial obligation. South Branch Township also provides some finan-cial support for the group as part of its recreation budget. An organization meeting of the Friends of the Mason Tract group was conducted on June 23, 2009. Since then several projects have been com-pleted. A brief list of projects follows:

·July 9, 2009 Chase Bridge Clean-Up Proj-ect: Removed collapsed structure at the well site, bushed-out the parking area, weed-whacked the perimeter and picked up debris.

·August 10, 2009: Friends of the Mason Tract members participated in the DNR Mason Tract Field Tour meeting.

·September 9, 2009 Chase Bridge Railing Re-pair Project: Repaired railing at parking lot perim-eter and replaced post and railing at stairs.

·September 30, 2009 Mason Tract Sign Re-view Hike: Photographed all pathway signs, es-tablished GPS coordinates for pathway signs, mapped locations of pathway signs, and summa-rized results for review with MDNR

·Reviewed sign survey with MDNR and es-tablished priorities for repair.

·November 23, 2009: Replaced missing maps and signpost numbers.

Anyone interested in helping to preserve the beauty of the Mason Tract and wishes to join the friends group should contact Cris Jones at [email protected] or 989-275-6247.

Friends oF The Mason TracT

26

This past fall, when Rusty Gates was very ill, we sat together in his living room overlooking his “home” water on the Holy Water. These were important times for Rusty – he took great pride in descending the staircase and holding “meetings” with his visi-tors. The chickadees fluttered by the window and the sun was shining on the river. Rusty was talking about conservation – the Mason Tract, new coldwater regulations, Kolke Creek, and so on – and then, after a pause, he was talking about Marvin Roberson.

Marvin, as many folks know, is the Michigan Sierra Club’s Forest Ecologist. He has played no small part in several big, recent victories for cold, clean waters and wild areas. Rusty knew his own fate, but he was concerned about Marvin’s. Earlier in 2009 we’d learned that, due to short-ages in funding, Marvin would likely lose his job with the Sierra Club.

“We need Marvin now more than ever,” Rusty said seriously.

He was right. He is right.

Rusty and Marvin met in 2003 at the urging of Michigan Sierra Club Director Anne Woiwode. The reason for the meeting was simple: a pro-posal to drill an exploratory gas well next to the Mason Tract had been ap-proved by the United States Forest Service, and both Marvin and Rusty were in opposition. But that didn’t mean they expected to have anything else in common.

“I pictured him wearing a John Deere cap,” Marvin recalls. “Then I walked into his fly-shop and I heard classical music. I thought, I was wrong about this one. The Mason Tract battle was a combination of all our talents. Rusty and the Anglers knew the area and the history, and I knew the laws and the regulations.”

Marvin has spent his entire ca-reer advocating for old growth for-

ests. This has led him to four degrees (two in philosophy, two in ecology), in and out of countless meetings (with friends and foes alike), and eventually to the banks of the Au Sable River.

“One of the reasons that we [the Sierra Club] got involved with the proposed Mason Tract gas well was that they’d be drilling in forests that should be designated as old growth forests,” Marvin says.

Marvin’s position is not “no cut-ting ever.” Instead, it’s managing for more natural age and species dis-tribution in Michigan’s forests. For instance, a lack of fire means that getting natural distributions of jack pines requires cutting, while white and red pines, which can live to be 350 year old, can be left to cast longer and longer shadows in proper areas. Marvin’s contention is that improper management has wildlife numbers out of whack. There are so many deer, for example, that cages must be put around young cedars just to give them a chance. This great population of deer is the direct result of the DNR manag-ing for a great population of deer – a management plan that encourages the removal of premature trees.

“Getting old growth designations in all three Michigan National Forests – Huron-Manistee, Hiawatha and Ot-tawa – was one of the deciding factors in beating the gas well on the South Branch,” he says.

I still remember the afternoon that Marvin first spoke to the Anglers Board and other conservationists at a board meeting in 2003. Headwaters Trout Unlimited President John Wal-ters was bursting with excitement. I believe the word genius was used. Rusty was more stoical, allowing that this “new” Sierra Club guy was “on it.” Marvin illustrated the definite difference between volunteer and pro-fessional, and it was a turning point in

a case that had once seemed so daunt-ing as to preclude serious optimism.

It took two years to get a fly rod in Marvin’s hands, and the Anglers did it discreetly, and in the form of a no-questions-asked gift, from Rusty him-self. A Winston, with a Ross Reel, strung up and ready for the water, marked the final stages of what would be an ultimately successful campaign to prevent the gas well (and to convert Marvin to fly-fishing.) Marvin had figured fly-fishing for an obsessive type of activity, and had avoided it for that reason. Now it was unavoidable, and he soon discovered that he’d been right.

“I remember fishing upstream of the lodge and coming to that cotton-wood up there. I saw a cold stream coming in and I thought there’s got to be a trout under there. There was, and it changed the way I look at rivers,” he says.

Now he prefers wood rods, old reels, rising trout, and small dry flies.

An obsessive activity indeed.

But the gas well was one fight of many for Marvin. While opposing the Mason Tract gas well, he was also campaigning to stop a sulfide mine in the Upper Peninsula that threatened the headwaters of the Salmon-Trout River and its population of what should be considered endangered Coaster brook trout (Coaster brook trout are anadromous brook trout that run from large bodies of water – Lake Superior in this case – into rivers and creeks to spawn).

I’ll avoid the rather technical de-tails of this case. What it basically boils down to is simple: 1) the mining company Kennecott shouldn’t have gotten the permit in the first place (for the reason that it went opposite a spe-cific, and recent, mining statute), 2) getting the coaster brook trout recog-nized as a separate, endangered spe-

Marvin Robersonroberson

27

cies would help defeat the mine, and 3) the coaster brook trout is an irreplace-able natural resource. For a different example, you can’t replace steelhead trout with rainbow trout. The rainbow won’t “become” a steelhead. Once all the steelhead are gone, they’re gone. The same should have been said for the coaster, but it wasn’t.

Yet.

“We were denied on narrow tech-nical grounds which we expect to be converted in our resubmission,” Mar-vin says, smiling slightly – he loves a good battle.

It’s his willingness to engage – to put it mildly – that struck me when I first accompanied him to a DNR open house in Gaylord. It took about two seconds for Marvin to find a DNR de-cision maker, and begin a discussion. It wasn’t an attack – they even laughed at times – but it was purposeful. I re-alized, after an hour and a half of this, that this was Marvin’s job! To be the sometimes unpopular house guest, to state his case logically (arguing with Marvin can be like running up an end-less sand dune in intense heat), and to work, not in an unfriendly way, to-ward a satisfying resolution. So when an amusement park was proposed in Crawford County, on state land, a scant four miles from the Au Sable, the developer and his cronies should have realized that they had a heck of a fight on their hands.

“Marvin Roberson is incorrupt-ible, inexhaustible, selfless, and he’s exactly what we need up here,” Tom Buhr – this newsletter’s editor – told me over a gas station breakfast prior to a Coldwater Regulations Commit-tee meeting. He might have well been talking about the curious case of “Main Street America,” an amuse-ment park slated for construction on state land designated for “commercial interests” several miles south of Gray-ling. It was not a logical business plan (part of the business plan provided for

a scientifically-viable time machine, along with an actual aircraft carrier), but Crawford County residents got behind the proposal. Vehemently. It would offer jobs. It would increase tourism. In a poor county, it just seemed right. It wasn’t.

Marvin systematically disassem-bled Main Street America’s business plan. He contacted every supposed partner, learning that none had agreed to participate in the park. He uncov-ered the fact that park, which planned to power itself completely through renewable energy, was working with an energy company that had never in-stalled so much as a single windmill. The lead developer of the proposed park had tried this stint before, and had failed, saddling other counties with debt. It was a bad idea, and a bad use for state lands. To this end he was in constant contact with the DNR, ne-gotiating for additional time to present his case before the Natural Resources Commission and its director (and still director) Becky Humphries. When it was his turn to speak, he did so with absolute command of the facts.

And they listened.

Marvin was born in Flint, Michi-gan, in 1961. His parents had a fam-ily cottage on Higgins Lake, south of Grayling, and grew up on his grand-father’s farm: the outdoors came easy. He says that he was an oddity in his family, and began backpack-ing as soon as he could. In 1982, at the age of 21, Marvin completed the entire Appalachian Trail. Since then, he has hiked all over the U.P., espe-cially his beloved Cyrus McCormick Federal Wilderness. He’s an expert canoeist and has paddled all over Wis-consin’s Boundary Waters. He came to the Sierra Club as a volunteer, and slowly worked his way up through the organization. His fervor has left him bloody in Washington D.C. after being assaulted, has led him to return to school for his undergraduate and graduate degrees in ecology, and has

“rewarded” him with countless late-night drives from meetings in Lan-sing, or Grayling, or Gaylord, or any-where else across this big state. It’s not a glamour job, or an easy one, or a well-compensated one. But it does pay in genuine satisfaction, and with the introduction of Biodiversity Stew-ardship Areas (BSAs) throughout Michigan, Marvin’s career came to a neat, and important. head.

BSAs are forest areas that will be “managed for age and species distri-bution.” In other words, exactly what brought Marvin into the Sierra Club in the first place. Along with Tim Flynn and Ann Woiwode, among others, the establishment of BSAs is the culmina-tion of Marvin’s career (so far). And for anyone disgusted by clear-cuts on the Mason Tract, the lack of future ones is due in very large part to the work of Marvin Rob-erson.

“I’ve been advocat-ing for old growth for-ests my entire career. Our old growth forests are different than out west. Out west, they wonder, how much old growth forest do we keep? Here, we can’t ask that ques-tion, it’s all gone,” M a r v i n says.

Will we see mature forests

robersonRoberson continued...

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Streambank Erosion Inventoryto be conducted by the Au Sable River Watershed Restoration Committee

Up to date stream-bank erosion inventories are required when ap-plying for grant monies needed to repair sites. This spring and sum-mer the ARWRC will conduct a stream-bank erosion inventory on the Au Sable’s main stream and its five largest tributaries, the North Branch, South Branch, East Branch, Big Creek near Luzerne, and Big Creek near Lovells. The 350 miles of river to be surveyed will be di-vided into 30 reaches ranging from ten to fifteen miles or four to five ca-noe hours each. Most reaches can be inventoried in one or two days. Reaches where a larger number of erosion site are expected to be in-ventoried are shorter than those with fewer anticipated sites. There are also several reaches that are not floatable available for the adventur-ous bush-wacker types.

A trained team leader familiar with filling out the site forms and using GPS units will be assigned

to each reach of river. Two train-ing sessions for team leaders will be conducted at untreated erosion sites in the Grayling area and a third train-ing session will be conducted in the Mio area. Team leaders will attend one of the sessions. The training ses-sions will be held in April by Huron-Pines habitat specialist and Commit-tee staff. Training will begin at nine and be over at one in the afternoon other times are being discussed.

In the reaches upstream of Mio, two-man teams are sufficient. Be-low Mio where erosion sites are sig-nificantly larger, three man teams are advised. A single person can handle the bush-wacking reaches where sites are likely to be minor and far between. The Committee has a list of available volunteers but most team leaders usually recruit other team member. Canoes are available for those that need one. The survey can be conducted any time prior to September 1st. Survey results will

be compiled this fall and published next winter.

The first stream-bank erosion survey was conducted in 1990. That survey inventoried 450 sites and categorized them into severe, mod-erate, or minor depending on the volume and rate of eroding material entering the river. Over 200 of these sites were treated by Committee and partner projects when the river was inventoried a second time in the year 2000. It is likely that the total num-ber of erosion sites inventoried in the watershed this year will be under one hundred. A listing of reaches to be surveyed and the form to be used are available at the Committee’s website: Au Sable restoration.

If you are interested in becom-ing a team leader or participating in the erosion inventory please contact Bob Andrus at [email protected] or 989-390-2814.

- Bob Andrus, Secretary, ASRWRC

along the Mason Tract? Probably not for a hundred years. But that’s the beauty of conservation: we don’t need to see it to enjoy it.

It was Rusty’s idea for an article in support of outside funding for Mar-vin’s position, because, as he said, we need Marvin now more than ever. He revisited the idea of an article several more times, and I don’t doubt, had he not fallen ill, that he would have written this himself (and probably a lot more persuasively than I have.) Marvin and he were close friends, but they were also conservation blood brothers.

The fact is, the battles aren’t over, even if Marvin’s job might be. With Savoy applying for an Environmental

Impact Statement in the hopes of drill-ing the same exploratory well on the South Branch, and with Michigan’s water wars just beginning, we find ourselves stuck in a position where advocacy professionals like Marvin Roberson are a rare commodity grow-ing rarer still. The volunteer sector can’t compete, and good money can’t buy another Marvin – no one has his connections, his knowledge and his understanding of Michigan. But some money can keep him working for the betterment of Michigan’s natural re-sources, very much including the Au Sable and Manistee watersheds. Such an appeal for donations isn’t out of line – the Sierra Club is a non-profit that runs on donations – and it’s nec-essary. A good deal of money has

already been raised, but a good deal more is needed.

To donate to Marvin’s program (which goes directly toward his posi-tion) you may either a) write a check to Anglers of the Au Sable with “MI Forest Biodiversity Program” in the memo, or b) donate directly through the Sierra Club:

Michigan Forest Biodiverity Program

109 E. Grand River Ave Lansing MI 48906

Please write “MFBP” in the memo of the check. For on-line dona-tions go to:http://tiny.cc/Forest_Support_Pledge_2010

- Josh Greenberg, Mainstream Correspondent

roberson - erosionRoberson continued...

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By February reels should have been stripped and greased, lines cleaned and dressed then respooled, flies sorted and additions and re-placements started. The way to ease a back, sore from bending over a vise, is to read a bit of fly-fishing. You could read how-to, where-to, I-fished books but reading for fun means novels and stories (not that some how-to, where-to, I-fished things aren’t fiction).

There are a substantial number of excellent fly fishermen who also write but, alas, not very well, at any rate not as well as they fish. There are also legions of skilled writers who are marginal fly fishermen though undeterred when it comes to writing about it. Most of this does not make a great deal of difference when what you want is information. If what you want is to be entertained by the story it is essential. When I look for fic-tion what I seek are skilled writers who are also skilled fly fishermen. These are a bit thin on the ground. Here are my findings.

The fly-fishing/trout fishing novel is a lively, expanding genre. Most of us are familiar with Norman McLean’s A River Runs Through It, David Duncan’s The River Why and Tom McGuane’s The Sporting Club, the latter set in Michigan’s lower peninsula. Joseph Heywood’s The Snowfly, also has a brief episode on the Au Sable. There are many new additions to the cadre of writers of fly-fishing fiction. Jeff Hull’s Pale Morning Done and his collection of short stories Streams of Conscious-ness I find the most notable. Hull’s short stories, many autobiographical, come as close to Hemingway’s Nick Adams stores as any I have read.

If you prefer trout fishing mys-teries, they abound. Several are of local, Au Sable, interest. Ronald Weber, a regular at Gates Lodge, wrote two, The Aluminum Hatch and Catch and Keep. Both set on a fictional river in Michigan, which is the Au Sable thinly disguised. The names have been changed to pro-tect the innocent but an assortment

of regulars including Rusty and lo-cations including Spike’s are writ-ten into the story. The list of current mystery writers adopting fly-fishing or trout fishing as part of the scene of the crime is far to long to append here. New and notable are the three mysteries by John Galligan, The Nail Knot, The Blood Knot and The Cinch Knot.

I take particular pleasure in identifying fishing stories written by acknowledged literary masters who are master fly fishermen as well. The champion of the where-I-fished sto-ries must be Zane Grey. He traveled widely to fish both fresh and salt wa-ter and a veritable stream of books about these trips flowed from his pen. Although I have not read all of his novels it is interesting that none of the novels features fishing as a major element of the story. I suspect that Grey did not want to infer that there was any fiction in his where-I-fished books.

Classic mystery writers have not neglected trout. Ngaio Marsh was

Reading Ones Way Through The Depths Of The Winter

sodeMan

30

born in New Zealand a country not unknown for its trout. She wrote twenty-five mysteries two of which feature salmon or trout fishing. In Scales of Justice, worming was re-ferred to as an “unnatural practice” and tickling was mentioned as well. In Death and the Dancing Footman the key to the mystery rests with the trout fly. In Cyril Hare’s Death is no Sportsman, the fly again figures as a fundamental clue. In The Singing Sands by Josephine Tey trout rise but this time to a spinner.

On this side of the pond Rex Stout seems to have adopted the trout. Archie Goodwin fished for them in two stories and in one the trout themselves were the vital clue. Nero Wolfe has cooked trout in mul-tiple, delicious sounding ways as well.

Ernest Hemingway is the only Nobel Laureate writer to adopt the trout in his fiction. Trout fishing ap-pears in The Sun Also Rises (Spain) and in The Fifth Column and the First Forty-nine (Germany) but its real focus is in The Nick Adams Sto-ries. Trout appear in five of these short stories, all set in Michigan. The Big Two-Hearted River offers the most complete description of Hemingway’s fishing. This was ac-tually set on the Black, where he is known to have fished, not the title river in the U.P. It is as well written a fishing sequence as one can find. These stories were early in Heming-way’s career, most written in Paris after he quit journalism. And yes, I know he was using bait, but a fly book and gut leaders are in the story. Still extant in Paris is the fly shop Hemingway used. Find it at the up-stream end of Ile Ste. Louis.

Count Leo Tolstoy is the ac-knowledged master of the nineteenth

century historical novel. Not a fly fisherman to the best of my knowl-edge. Patrick O’Brian has emerged as the master of the twentieth century historical novel with his twenty-one-volume Aubrey-Maturin epic of the Napoleonic wars. Decades before he began this historical novel he pub-lished the title fly-fishing short story in a book of short stories, “The Last Pool.” As clean and crisply written tale of man verses salmon, as you will ever read. Honest fiction by a master writer and an experienced fly fisherman.

For a third choice I offer John Buchan. Buchan, the 1st Baron Tweedsmuir thus properly Lord Tweedsmuir was born and raised in Scotland. He was politically active and served in many roles in the Brit-ish government. He traveled widely. He wrote both novels and history. One hundred works in all, thirty of which were novels. He is best known for the spy thriller The Thirty-Nine Steps. This loosely adapted to film by Alfred Hitchcock thus the rec-ognition. The novel, which caught my attention, is John Macnab, pub-lished in 1925.

The story is that three wealthy and/or titled gentlemen with exten-sive backgrounds in sport decided to become poachers. They selected three Scottish estates and challenged the owners to catch them. The goals were two stags and one salmon. Bu-chan did an interesting thing with the salmon challenge. The poacher used a trout rod not an eighteen foot salmon rod, a trout cast and a dry fly. He did raise the salmon with the dry but had to twitch it subsurface to in-duce a take. It is as though Buchan was introducing the English salmon fisherman to the single-handed salm-on rod and the dry fly for salmon. It

was a technique he would find well advanced when he became the Gov-ernor General of Canada in 1935. It is a fine story by an excellent writer who was versed in the sport.

There is a second version, The Return of John Macnab by Andrew Greig. Greig is a well-known Scot-tish author who did a clever update of the original. Published in 1996.

My fourth candidate for elegant fishing stories is Rafeal Sabatini. He was a widely popular author in the early 1900s. Though he wrote many novels, short stories and plays he is best known, like Buchan, for the three novels made into movies, Captain Blood, Scaramouche and The Sea Hawk. Sabatini was the son of an Italian father and English mother. Raised in England and mul-tiple countries in Europe. He was an avid fly fisherman. His home was on the river Wye, which is the border between Wales and England. It was equipped with its own trout stream, which he stocked.

His fishing writings were limit-ed to nine short stories, likely auto-biographical, published in the mag-azine, “Men Only,” between 1936 and 1950. These were collected in a volume A Fine Head of Fishing Stories, which is frightenly hard to get. Sad, since the stories are both real and humorous. He had an eye for those all too common on stream events that make fly-fishing memo-rable fun and remarkable skill on portraying them.

There must be more fly-fishing stories by literary giants and I wel-come suggestions.

- Wm A Sodeman Jr, MD, JD

sodeManReading ones way continued...

31

Inventing Montana Dispatches from the Madison Valley by Ted Leeson

232p., $24.95, Skyhorse Publishing, new York, ISBn 978-1-60239-796-5.This is a narrative not a novel. It’s

about trout fishing, but not an instruction-al fishing book. For those of us who fish Michigan rivers, an annual trip or two or perhaps more, it is particularly meaning-ful. It is a collection of vignettes culled from 20 years of annual trips in August to the Madison River. A loosely orga-nized group of fly fishers captained by Ted Leeson and his wife. The Madison is bigger than most Michigan rivers and the physical geography wildly different but on the water the stories mirror my Au Sable trips with astounding accuracy. Leeson is a gifted story teller.

Good narratives tend to be hard to re-view without spoiling the story so what I have done is selected some one liners that should tease you into reading the book.

“You cannot cast a fly anywhere in the river without the conviction that it is drifting over fish. That you may know better counts for nothing in the overpow-ering impression of possibility, one of the pleasant illusions from which the angling

life is built.”“Altercations generally last for only

the brief moments it takes a drifting boat to pass a stationary fisherman, although hard feelings do linger on. As with rush hour driving or the public use of cell phones, everyone believes we need a code of etiquette, but no one can agree on what it would be, and some couldn’t bring themselves to observe it regardless.”

“He didn’t really buy flies as much as he bought confidence, a commodity not easily obtained under most circum-stances.”

“Although I harbor no special ill will toward my fellow man, I’d much prefer not to run across him when I’m fishing and have no doubt that my fellow man feels precisely the same about me.”

“Everyone here, however, is just like everyone else, all ticks on the same dog.”

“Attractor patterns, especially the hot ones but also as a general category, are the subject of much speculation among an-

glers and of particular note because they require reversing the customary direction of our theorizing. Normally, we head to the river, and from all the information we can observe – water clarity, level, and temperature; wind, sun, and weather; bugs or no bugs; recent rain or drought; time of the season; hour of the day; phase of the moon—along with whatever our own an-gling histories make available to us, we attempt to deduce a plausible answer to the question, ‘What fly could or should work?’ With attractor patterns, you catch the fish first and ask afterward, ‘Why on earth would a trout eat this?’”

The book is filled with thoughts like these. Finally I challenge any one to read starting on the second paragraph of page 98 for through the end of the second para-graph on page 100 without having to stop reading to laugh. This is the finest written trout fishing humor since Ed Zern.

Highly recommended.- Wm A Sodeman Jr MD JD

book revieW - biG WaTer/biG TrouT raFFle

If DNR won’t plant ‘em big enough then we’ll plant our own!

That is the rallying cry of the Au Sable Big Water Preservation Associa-tion (ASBWPA) regarding trout stocking below Mio, the trophy section of the Au Sable River.

“Each year we hear about all those little trout piped in at Mio, Comins, McKinley and 4001 just in time for the Opener,” said Thomas Buhr, President of the ASBWPA. “People moan they are too small, the big trout eat ‘em, etc, etc. Thrown in for good measure is the usual banter that Mio isn’t as good a trophy fishery as it used to be. So we decided to take action.”

Buhr noted that getting back to the “Good Old Days” may not be possible, but a stocking of quality trout would pro-duce immediate results. The ASBWPA is borrowing a page from other conservation

associations such as the Escanaba River Association and stocking their own jumbo trout?

A public permit to stock the fish be-low Mio is possible because the stretch already receives stocked fish. The hard part? Stocking bigger trout costs a lot of money. The organization decided to go with 15 inch brown trout, immediate tro-phies for most folk. Every 100 15 inchers will cost about 800 dollars. They want to stock 200 trout in September of 2010

“Hey! They can’t grow ‘em over-night,” Buhr said.

The raffle is designed to raise the necessary $1600. Tickets will be on sale at the ASBWPA website (www.asbwpa.org), through your friendly ASBWPA Representative, at Cabelas in Dundee on February 13th or at the 2010 Rod Expo in Warren, the place where the winners will be drawn that Sunday. You don’t even

have to be present to win!They are going to give away two high

quality fly rods. First Prize is a Winston LT5 5 pc. 5 wt. (8’9”). Second Prize is a Scott S4 6 wt. with fighting butt (9’).

“Those are good rods and can be used on the fish your money will help buy,” Buhr explained.

Tickers prices are $5 for 1, $20 for 5, $50 for 13 and $100 for 30.

If this project goes well then the AS-BWPA will make it an annual event. They will either stock more 15 inchers, perhaps as many as 600, or look at the possibility of going to 18 inches. Those Big Boys will run about 14 bucks a pop.

“We’d only consider 18 inch browns if there was an extended season,” Buhr added.

- Mot R. Hub, Big Water Cub Reporter

ASBWPA Sweetens Big Water Pot with Trophy Trout Stocking in 2010

Editorial Offices

The RIVERWATCH P.O. Box 300 Luzerne, MI 48636

Email:

[email protected]

Editorial Staff

Thomas Buhr, Editor

Mercy Huizar, Graphic Designer Email: [email protected]

Calendar Winter, 2010

February 27, 2010 – Anglers Board Meet-ing, Board Room, 10 am

March 12-14, 2010 – The Michigan Fly-fishing Club Expo, MCC Sports & Expo Center in Warren, Michigan

June 5, 2010 – Anglers Board Meeting, Board Room, 10 am

September 12, 2010 – Anglers Annual Meet-ing & Board Meeting, Board Room, 10 am

Anglers of the Au Sable403 Black Bear DriveGrayling, MI 49738

NonProfit OrganizationUS Postage

PAIDLUZERNE, MI

Permit No. 4

Our organization is officiallyaffiliated with the Federation of Fly

Fishers (FFF). We stronglyencourage you to join the FFF.

Since 1965, FFF and its Councilshave been and continue to be the

only organized national andregional advocates for fly-fishing.

Five dollars of your FFF duesare returned to the FFF Great

Lakes Council (GLC)to be used for local efforts.

COnTRIBUTORSBob AndrusJohn BartonLorne BeattyThomas BuhrDick DaaneJohn DallasSkip DewallAlan DiodoreDan DrislaneChris DombrowskiJulie GatesThe Gates FamilyJosh GreenbergPeter GroffKaren HarrisonBetsy HemmingMark HendricksDale Herndon

Joe HeywoodMot R. HubBruce JohnsonCris JonesJohn O’NeilAndy PartloJoe ReedLynn ReedMarvin RobersonJohn L. RussellDorothy SchrammGlen SheppardWilliam SodemanArt ThomasSue WalshJohn WaltersAnne Wiowode

A special thanks to Karen Harri-son, Josh Greenberg and Marvin Roberson for the formulation of this issue.

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