Stream:
clear, 90s cfs
Hatch: Small
moth-like insects
Beer: New Glarus Staghorn Octoberfest
This is a hard story to take, I
wouldn’t believe if it had not happened to me. Evenings on the Kinnie this
fishing season have been nothing but enchanting especially with a trout on your
line. This evening was no different, beautiful fall colors were starting to
show, I had the river to myself and there was an unexpected hatch going on and
trout were biting. But it turned out to be a lot different.
I worked my way upstream following
my usual spots going after hungry trout and ended up at my honey hole. I tied a
big tan humpy on, the closet thing I had to the moth-like insects I saw and had
at it. I caught a lot of nice trout eager to pack on the calories before the
lean months arrive. When I fish, half the time I’m zoned out not paying
attention to my fly but looking at the scenery. As I was looking I saw a huge
splash in front of me and thick trout launched straight two feet out of the
water to grab a bug. That wasn’t so much strange as it was startling to see
such a leap. Later, at the same spot as I was fishing I thought I heard some
low voices speaking and coming closer to me from the trail that goes along the
river. It turned out to be no one but I swear I heard voices. After a minute, I
resumed fishing and caught some nice trout.
On a sloppy cast I almost tangled my
fly in a branch but luckily it missed and dropped six inches from the rock
wall. Before the current could move the fly a huge trout slurped the fly and I
set the hook not on sight but sound. For a 15 inch trout it didn’t fight as
well but did manage to tangle itself up in some woody debris on river bottom. I
had to wade out and untangle it while water spilled over my waders but the fish
was mine. I think it was one of the most beautiful browns I had ever seen; its red
spots and golden sides were especially vibrant. 
My last two trout were destined for
the frying pan, something I was eagerly looking forward, both for some nice
meat and to see if I could harvest some caviar as well. With darkness falling
earlier in September, I packed out the canyon and latched my creel shut to make
sure I didn’t lose my trout. The canyon is a long walk out and as I was walking
past the construction where limestone had been blasted out from the hill to
widen the lanes I saw a guy walking across a narrow ledge halfway up the
limestone face, about 15 feet off the ground. My mind was shattered seeing this
so I kept walking, I couldn’t even respond. I made it to the car in time to
break everything down and try New Glarus’ Octoberfest, which was excellent by
the way, much better than Schell’s for this year. The ride home was uneventful.
Arriving at the bike shop I
immediately grabbed the trout so I could gut them. As I reached in I brushed
aside the grass I keep in there but found nothing. I threw down the creel and
looked all around my trunk for the trout in case they fell out but they weren’t
there, I yelled a lot of curse words. My mind immediately jumped to some Boundary
Waters stories I remembered and instantly knew what happened to me, the
Windigo. It’s a spirit in Native American lore, specifically Ojibwa tribes who
lived around the Great Lakes region. I’ve heard it called the Windigo and the
Naniboujou but I can’t say specifically which it is. All I know is it is a
spirit who likes to play jokes on unsuspecting people. It got me.
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