KINNIKINNIC NIGHT STALKING
The very best trout fishing occurs, as everyone knows, at night. Or a week before opener. Or two miles upstream. Or that one evening in July on your way to the airport when the hex hatch fills the air with so many swirling bugs that they split your headlights like snow. The best fishing occurs when you’re not there.
This came to me as we broke down our rods one August evening deep in Wisconsin’s Kinnikinnic River Valley. We hurried in the fading light because a long, steep climb lay ahead, and we had to navigate a switchback featuring crumbling ledges and rattlesnake holes. It was no time to admire sunsets.
“But the trout are just starting to feed,” Wally complained, stowing his waders in an oversized pack before snapping shut a big, two-handed cooler. Wally doesn’t like to rough it, if roughing it means leaving behind half a roast beef and an entire blackberry pie. You expected him to pull out a tablecloth and a bottle of Chateau Lusseau.
He was right about the timing, though. He and Bob stopped and watched as the water on a deep run began popping
