Karen Wils photo My son circa 2018 with a nice brown trout.

ESCANABA — The April mist lays cold, silver, and mesmerizing on the river.

An eagle floats overhead and a sandpiper scampers the bank. Old and new, big and small, the river is a place of memories.

For nearly 60 years, a family feud has rambled on. I have witnessed some of the battles, some of the triumphs and some of the big ones that got away.

The last Saturday of April is the traditional trout fishing season opener in Michigan. What else can an outdoor-minded person write about at a time like this?

In the 1950s my dad was in the little upstairs room in our old house checking out his stocking-foot waders. The room had a unique smell of mothballs, feathers, rubber and fur. Dad might tie a few more wet flies before opening day just in case.

Then he patiently waited. He hoped the river would come down so that he might be able to wade into the Escanaba just a little. Mom said he planned their wedding date around trout fishing. April 23 he choose for the wedding, still time for a honeymoon and back home for opening day.

Dad was “chafing at the bit,” as he put it, for the opening day of trout season, for many, many years.

Not my son Bob. He’s not “chafing at the bit” — he’s “pumped” for the opening day. He has insulated waders and his landing net on a sturdy cord and ready to go.

Will the river make her magic? Will the timeless trout rise? He has his own nice selection of homemade cahills and orange balls ready to try to tempt the winter-weary trout.

As the water cascades over the rocks, as the tree buds begin to burst into leaf, the feud continues on.

I have watched Dad fish for trout, and two of my brothers, and a few friends and now, my son. Trout fishing is a very private quarrel. One fisherman (or woman) and one fish at a time pit themselves against each other.

Is it about man against nature, or survival, or being able to touch the wild that keeps this war going on year after year, decade after decade?

My dad told me the story of the brown trout that challenged him at Boney Falls and was nearly too big to fit in his creel.

My son once picked a fight with an 18-inch rainbow that tossed, ran, and fought for over fifteen minutes.

The river makes memories and stories that last for years.

There’s something entertaining about watching a couple of crazy fools battling a fish in its own watery, slippery-rocked, bug infested home grounds.

One of the good things about this ongoing war is that it played out in some of the most peaceful and pristine waters in the world. We are fortunate to live in the U.P., where often a cool, shaded trout stream is valued more than the dollar.

The other great thing about the family feud with the fish is that I often get to fry up the nice “keepers” after they go through all that work of catching them!

Happy “trout season” to all who take up the challenge.

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Karen (Rose) Wils is a lifelong north Escanaba resident. Her folksy columns appear weekly in Lifestyles.