Guided Away in the Frozen North with the Urban Bonefisher

by Brian Elwood via MyFlyFishGuide.com

As a young boy growing up in Wyoming’s fabled Big Horn Mountains, Justin knew early on his calling was fishing. Days spent fishing in the vast western sky, where the earth rolls as far as the eye can see, taught Justin the majestic reverence that is fly fishing.

A job opportunity for his father brought Justin east where the family established roots in suburban Minneapolis surrounded by miles forests, lakes and rivers. From there, Justin began his own education about the flora and fauna, streams and stones, woods and wildlife that call out to the urban dwellers of the Twin Cities.

On the day we fished, Justin asked that we venture into my home state – Wisconsin – merely 30 minutes from downtown Minneapolis. It is here, in western Wisconsin, on the border with Minnesota, that the browns and brookies roam free on the fabled and somewhat mysterious river known as the “Kinni” to the locals.

It was March 1 – the first day of the catch-and-release season for Wisconsin’s eager trout fisherman. The gray, cloud covered sky showed peaks of the late winter blue, but at 7:00 a.m., and with little expectation of warm weather, the temperature on the digital clock in downtown River Falls, Wis., hovered ominously at one degree, above zero. To some, it was a day better suited for a good book, warm fire and strong cup of Joe. But for Justin and I, undeterred by the bone chilling weather, the day presented the perfect opportunity for casting flies into pools, stripping ice covered line and catching trout.

Preparing for a day like this was not easy. Two pairs of socks (one for wicking and one for warmth), neoprene waders, those freakishly amazing warming packs for feet, four layers on top, including a form fitting shirt from Under Armour that is better suited for those with the build of a professional athletes than a weekday office jockey. Complete the gear with a stocking hat, fingerless gloves, sunglasses and a stomach filled with a couple warm cups of coffee – certainly the last vestige of steam we will see all day.

I met Justin, his father and their feisty chocolate lab, Tucker, at the parking lot in Glen Park, blocks from a Dairy Queen which had not recently seen much business. We were to fish below the dam in River Falls and, as luck would have it, we were the first ones there. Perhaps our fellow fisherman thought twice about heading out in sub-freezing weather and heeded the forecast from the meteorologist the night before.

As nice and inviting as anyone could imagine, Justin emerged from his pickup with a smile and offered hearty handshake. His eyes told the story of an eagerness to find fish, lots of fish, and enjoy the beauty of this late winter day. Within minutes, he was ready to begin our trek to the first open hole and we shouted to Tucker to lead the way.

Through inches of hardened snow and down dozens of ice covered stairs, our breath followed behind us as we looked out at Kinni in all its glory. The leafless trees hovered silently over this well-known river and the lure of hungry trout lurking beneath its surface drew us closer. It was the first day of trout season 2008 – and I was cold.

Justin, well equipped in his Sims G3 breathable waders and guide jacket, approached the first hole and right away had an unmistakable instinct about the day (although I have come to learn that Justin has many more good days fishing than bad and that his instincts are unlike those of most fishermen).

“This is going to be a good spot,” he said confidently as we traded glances across the river. “I can tell no one has fished this hole yet – we’ll get into some fish.”

As I looped the 3 wt. floating line through the Sage rod into that first hole, I began to wonder what the day had in store. It had been months since I had been on the river, any river, and I didn’t think I could remember how to throw that roll cast or set a hook on a soft strike. No worries – Justin was there to guide my inadequacies and ensure that there was a fish story at the end of this day.

After five casts, he asked if he could “locate” the fish in the hole. Unfazed, I put the rod beneath my arm and blew into my reddened fingers to gather some warmth. On his first cast, Justin dropped the scud with midge dropper less than two inches from the outer reaches of the hole. As the white indicator floated past and reflected against the stained water there was a short pause, a quick hook set and then a retrieve. One cast – one 12-inch brown. Now I knew where to cast and was now convinced it would be an epic day.

And so it went on like that for the next four hours. Brown after brown…some larger than others….all wild, all exciting on the 3 wt. When the fish calmed down, Justin would again ask to move in to locate the fish. Sometimes on top of the run. Later in back. Always some place in front of his client – places he knew he could find – while I watched eagerly and then moved in. It was like a fighter pilot finding the enemy planes, locking in on the target and then handing the controls over to the less experienced. Always with a smile. Always with a helping hand. Always a teacher.

Shortly after noon, we moved to another hole and sat comfortably on a snow-covered island with our bottles of water, sausage and sandwiches that were more likely to be found in a gourmet market than a fisherman’s knapsack. Tucker again eagerly looked on a settled for a few bites of the sandwich and a cool drink from the rushing water. As we ate, Justin looked at the nearby hole – a hole that he had fished hundreds of times and taken a 21-inch brown from a few years back. He knew there were fish there. He changed flies, this time to a #10 streamer – gray/green in color and two split shot. After two casts he exclaimed, “I know there are fish there, we need more weight.”

So he put on one more spilt shot and cast two more times. Still more weight was needed. A fourth split shot. Two casts. A fifth split shot. Then – bang – a wild brown trout with the colors of its surroundings sitting low in this hole – low enough to stay hidden from most predators – but not from the Urban Bonefisher.

“I knew there was a fish in there,” he said. And we still had an afternoon to fish.

Fishing with Justin Netzer is an experience like no other. His uncanny ability to find fish even in the most obtrusive conditions is amazing. He is a man made for fly fishing, guiding and teaching and his knowledge is matched only by his skill and his easy going nature throughout the waters of Minnesota and Wisconsin. Whether it is steelhead, musky or trout–the Urban Bonefisher is a guide to have in your Rolodex the next time you decide to leave the office and spend a day on the water.

About the author
Brian Elwood is the owner of MyFlyFishGuide.com, an online directory of fly fishing guides from around the world. Check it out at www.MyFlyFishGuide.com.

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