Karen Wils photo A nice trout fills the creel. Good luck for trout season 2022!

ESCANABA — As I write this, the raindrops kiss the river as April draws to a close.

The marriage vow is sealed. There are blessings and promises of good things to come.

The river and the trout fisherman are wedded, committed to each other for another season of fine fishing and adventure.

A foot from the next generation slips into the cold, rubbery waders. The straps hoist everything into place. Landing net, wet flies, vest, snips, lucky hat and we’re ready to go. Another season of fly-fishing for trout has just begun.

The opening day of trout season (the last Saturday in April) has been an important date in my family (and many other U.P. families) for years.

Social calendars are often planned around fishing season. I am told that my own parents wedding date, April 23, was chosen because of trout season. Mom actually wanted a wedding date a few weekends later, but Dad said “no, there might be a nice hatch of mayflies by then.”

So they hitched and he fished. Whenever he got a chance, he slipped on his stocking-foot waders, felt-bottomed shoes, grabbed his Cutter’s (insect repellent) and his fly rod and a nice selection of his homemade dry flies and wet flies.

Mom always told the story of when she was a new bride and Dad left her alone at camp for the first time while he went trout fishing.

The frogs were singing and the sun was setting, still no husband coming back around the bend in the river. The moon was rising and the owls were hooting and still, no husband. What had he fallen on a slippery rock? Did he break his leg? Had a bear found him? Her mind feared the worst. And this was before the days of cell phones.

Then out of the darkness stepped the happy fisherman with his creel full.

As a girl, I loved to follow my Dad along the riverbanks as he fished. This is how I got to fall in love with the wildflowers and wild critters along the way.

Trout fishing is a quiet and peaceful sport that bombards the senses. The smell of the cold running river water, the caress of a stonefly brushing against your hand, the hum of swarms of mosquitoes and the iridescent speckled beauty, the brookie in your net, is what it is about.

Like in any good marriage, there is the promise of the pitter-patter of little feet. When the trout fisherman or fisherwoman weds the watery river, offspring often follow.

My Dad fly fished and so do two of my brothers. Dad and Dave tie their own flies. Two nephews and a niece and even I have tried my hand at it a few times.

Now my son has caught the trout fishing bug, too. He ties his own kind of flies, wears his grandpa’s fishing vest and pines for brook trout, brown trout and rainbow.

Like a good marriage, the sport of trout fishing needs to be kept, pure, clean and natural with a lot of laughing waterfalls. Can our next generation of fishermen keep out rivers and streams cool, clean and wild enough for trout?

The environment of the trout is a very fragile one, but it is one of fantastic beauty and it’s worth passing down the next generation.

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