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"I ain't had a bite 'cuz the moon's too bright, I wish I had a big one or two. My trotline's set and my hooks are wet and mama's got the catfish blues," - Tom T. Hall
The overnight temperatures had plummeted well below freezing, leaving the early morning crisp and brittle, ready to snap like a fresh green bean.
I stepped out the door and then stepped quickly back inside with a shudder and a chill, headed to find something warmer to wear out there.
I knew the day would be much warmer and far more pleasant in the afternoon, but for now, it was cold, especially for this time of year. One poor old thermometer read 22 degrees.
Over the past couple of evenings, my brother and I hit one of the Lake Superior tributaries looking for Coho salmon, brown trout and steelhead.
I love the fall pursuit of salmon and trout, and I have enjoyed countless outings over the past few decades. Salmon is one of the only foods I think I could eat every day and not grow tired of it.
When I was a kid, my dad and his buddy used to fish at another tributary nearby for chinook salmon. His method was to use a single salmon egg on a hook.
I never got to go fishing with them, but I remember hearing their tales of mighty fights with river monsters that snapped lines and ran up and down the river.
In later years, I'd wade the stream there when the big chinooks were running. If I stood still in the water, the salmon moving upstream would bump against my legs as they passed.
I caught a pink salmon there once on a spoon. Whether I fished or not, I used to go to the river to watch the anglers land those fish.
I also thought it was creepy, but interesting to see the fish in their latter post-spawning state. It was then they would begin to lose their color and turn black and sluggish, resting in the pools amid the rapids.
The chinook died within days or weeks.
I have used a variety of methods to fish for fall salmon and trout, from spinners and hard baits to spawn, nightcrawlers and rubber worms. Each method is a little different, but all are fun and exciting.
Sensing that at any second a big fish could strike your bait and send you on a splashing river adventure that you may or may not win is quite exhilarating.
I also enjoy seeing and studying the massive changes a given river can go through from one season to the next. If I only fish a stream in the autumn, the changes are generally quite pronounced from one year to the next.
Generally, the biggest changes are in how the storms, highwater and snowmelt during the other seasons scour out once shallow places into deep holes and may leave once deep holes shallow and filled with sand.
The power of water is incredible.
The second most noticeable change is usually in shifts of the water flow around, over and under piles of woody debris - which can include remnants from streamside wooden docks, fencing, brush and tree limbs and trunks that washed downstream in highwater periods.
High water can also erode and undermine the riverbanks and strong winds in storms can topple trees across streams and fishing pathways hacked through the woods.
Trees across the river can provide new fish habitat by helping to create spawning pools and deep holes where the water backs up. In some cases, a big tree across a river can also block fish passage.
The changes in water flow speeds and depth can improve or reduce the quality of habitat for fish. Salmon look for spawning gravels to build their nests, called redds, where they lay their eggs.
Along the rivers, the vegetation growing wild can make great gains over even one season, especially if the growing conditions are right, with plenty of rain, warmth and sunshine.
My brother and I found this out.
We discovered the old trail we often used was overgrown with thick brush, vines and other plants. At our feet, knees and waists we encountered fallen tree branches or trunks.
It took us a great deal of time to push our way through the woods to find places where our fishing holes used to be. Once we got to them, some of them were filled in, new holes had been created or the brush at the sides of the river made it tough to cast out lines.
All the same, we had come to fish, and we were determined to do so. Despite the thick growth, we eventually found several places to cast our bait into the water.
Over the first night, we didn't see any salmon or catch anything at all except a northern pike that hit my lure after chasing it upstream.
Downstream, we ran into a few fishermen who were looking for salmon or steelhead too. Nobody had reported seeing or catching any. A good rainstorm or two, or some cold nights to chill the water temperature, would likely help coax fish up into the local rivers from the big lake.
On the second night, my brother and I concentrated more on the most accessible places to fish. We had dozens and dozens of nicely placed casts and good-looking retrievals, but again no salmon or steelhead.
One guy said his buddy had caught a 4-pound Coho salmon a couple of hours before, but that was the only confirmation of salmon in the river we heard.
At one point, I cast my diving lure in a deep pool at a place where the river deepened on a corner. A fish struck the bait hard, and it swam upstream, making the drag on my fishing reel make its squealing sound as the fish pulled out line.
My rod tip bent in a big curl and the fish started to splash in the water.
I was excited, thinking I might have finally had a hooked salmon on my line.
Instead, it was another pike. This fish was bigger, fatter, heavier and stronger than the one I had caught the night before.
It eventually tired out and swam slowly toward me to the shore.
We kept fishing until almost dark, casting into the deep holes and the shallower places where fish wouldn't have felt comfortable being during the daytime.
By the time we decided to head home, we still didn't have any fish, but we had enjoyed both evenings on the water with a lot of fun, camaraderie and food once the fishing was done.
My brother had come to town for a long weekend to spend some time hanging out with me, watching football, fishing and yacking. It was very nice to unwind.
These latter days of September always make me indecisive, trying to split my time between chasing the salmon and steelhead on the Great Lakes tributaries or getting back out for brook trout before the season ends at the end of the month.
Either way, it's great.
Autumn is my favorite season and fall fishing gives me another reason to be out there enjoying the sights and the sounds - from colored leaves and migrating birds to beautifully colored fish and those cold, clean breaths of fresh air.
Here's to more days afield in the coming days and pumpkin-spiced just about everything.
Outdoors North is a weekly column produced by the Michigan Department of Natural Resources on a wide range of topics important to those who enjoy and appreciate Michigan's world-class natural resources of the Upper Peninsula.