Guided Away with the Afton Angler

by Brian Elwood via MyFlyFishGuide.com

Like a pastor on Sunday morning, Brad Bohen lives to teach the gospel. Yet, instead of the New Testament, Bohen preaches the love of the fly, the beauty of the water, the hum of the wildlife, the banter of good friends and, of course, the tug of the fish. It is a gospel he has shared with thousands in the Upper Midwest, young and old alike, because he seeks to inspire, teach and share this blessed experience. And for the flocks that have heard his sermons, his voice echoes psalms every time they go on the water. For this high priest of the northwoods, the aptly named “Afton Angler”, the sport of fly fishing is high church – and it can be experienced any day of the week.

We had been on many trips before in northern Wisconsin. A confessed “trout bum,” I was introduced to Bohen by my boss who had the privilege of meeting him at a local Trout Unlimited banquet. Bohen was one of the local guides who donated a day of fishing (and confession) to help raise money for our local chapter in Eau Claire, Wis. On that first trip four summers ago, we spent a steamy day on a meandering spring creek in the Driftless Area – dropping #18 BWO’s on nearly still water as the brown trout eagerly looked on below the surface. Since then, Bohen has moved closer to the shores of Lake Superior to live on the banks of the Brule River – the river that has hosted five presidents throughout its history and now at least one “priest.” The rivers and lakes of northwestern Wisconsin are more than home for Bohen – they are his Basilica, his Cathedral, his St. Peters – a refuge from the “outside” and the one place that there is real truth.

Despite all its saintly features, Wisconsin’s northwoods harbor an evil spirit. Before the quaint towns and coffee shops came, the roads here were travelled by bootleggers carrying moonshine. At the turn of the 20th century, a night out in Hayward, Wis., could as easily have ended in a knife fight as in a local brothel. Those days are long gone, but there is a devil that still lurks in the area. It is a creature that is treated with as much reverence as fear and resides quietly beneath the surface of the majestic lakes and rivers in this area – waiting to lure its prey into its ferocious jaws. Its scientific name is Esox masquinongy, but the evil is known around these parts simply as “muskie.”

On this fishing trip, we were going in search of the elusive muskie, using our fly rods as weapons and our souls as bait. We wouldn’t begin our quest until the sun wandered down in the western sky...but the thought of the chase of a fly by a creature that is as much Satan as it is Saint was all I could envision this day.

I met Bohen, his dog Penny and good friend Don Larson at special spot along a river outside of Hayward. Before I arrived, Larson had tested a new fly he recently had tied in a small pool just off the shore of the river. Two strips and one tug later, Don had landed a 32-inch muskie. The digital camera and scent on his hands were proof of his accomplishment – one he had experienced many times in the past.

We boarded Larson’s new drift boat, a present to himself and by proxy to us, organized our gear and headed out. We drifted slowly through the shallows with Larson guiding the boat out into the larger section of the river bordered by thousands of feet of shoreline soon to be full of wild rice. Having never fished muskie with a fly rod, I was ill-equipped for the trip and didn’t even think of packing my 5 wt. St. Croix rod. That was fine. Among the 70+ fly rods in Bohen’s collection include many 10 and 12 wt. rods that could suffice as pool cues after a few drinks at the Thirsty Minnow tavern. Handling that rod and navigating a massive fly in a drift boat with two seasoned muskie men behind me was all I could handle. Yet, a couple short suggestions and sips from a cold Miller Lite and I was starting to feel more confident in my casts.

After about 10 minutes Brad had his first strike. The pull on the other end of his handmade fly rod was not that of a muskie, but a smaller predator that lurks in these waters. Arguably the toughest fighting fish, Bohen easily handled the smallmouth bass with its bronze coloring helping camouflage it in the copper stained water.

We spent the better part of the remaining hours of daylight casting against the shore, along the breaks in foliage and through the big holes. It is here that muskie lay waiting for unsuspecting baitfish to funnel to them like a competitive eater finishing his 53rd hot dog on the Fourth of July. Our conversations, some of which are better left to the imagination of the river, varied as we moved back and forth and tried to time the perfect cast, fly and retrieve. It was an evening that paints its own picture - a light breeze, waning sunlight and the sounds of the river broken only by the wildlife scattered throughout the shore.

As we approached a little inlet that Larson had fished many times with much success, Bohen steered me forward to launch the fly in the quiet water. Three, four, five, six…the casts came back and forth landing in the same spot as I worked the water over and over. On the next retrieve, as I stripped back the fly and began to pull it from the water a massive swirl moved the silent river. It was as if a boulder moved up through the water column just high enough to generate a wake, but never breaking the surface. It was a classic muskie follow and Bohen and Larson knew he would be back for more. Excitement, mixed with a little fear, raced through my mind.

I resettled organized my thoughts and began to fish again. It was unclear what happened next – much of it still a blur in my mind. I recall a cast – not a particularly good cast, but one that moved the fly far enough into the river. There was the steady conversation of Bohen and Larson helping me as good guides do. Then it was on…a long, definite pull on the line. Unmistakably, it could only be the creature we had come to entice, the one that lingers in these waters and eludes so many that seek it.

It sliced from right to left, taking my fly line further into the water. Bohen encouraged me tighten the line while Larson guided me closer to the shore. The fish was hooked well, deep within its toothy smile – a hook that would take some time to come free. Slowly I moved my hand to the reel taking in the slack and then moving the fish through the river. It was now within sight and looked as magnificent as I could imagine.

At 35-inches, the muskie was a bit smaller than my two-year-old son, but certainly had a much less friendly personality. Once landed, we opened its jaws to reveal its razor sharp teeth that precariously guarded the fly. A few pictures later and a quick release, the evil was returned to its home in search of a late night snack –one hopefully without a hook attached to it. As I smiled and shook hands with my muskie mentors, I looked to the heavens and knew I truly had experienced the best of God’s Country. A muskie on a fly rod is a prayer answered and one that will not ever be forgotten.

If you would like to experience fly fishing Wisconsin’s northwoods for muskie or trout, contact Brad Bohen at .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) or visit his website at www.bradbohen.com. Brad can also be reached at (715) 372-5909.

About the author
Brian Elwood is a freelance writer and owner of MyFlyFishGuide.com, an online directory of fly fishing guides from around the world.

Subscribe to this RSS feed.

← Return to News