A glittering, iridescent Arctic Grayling flashing a spectacular fin along its backbone once reigned over 20 northern Michigan rivers. It’s a century gone. Can we bring it back?
before we were born
I’m looking at this black and white photograph, a view that captures the current of the Au Sable River at Grayling’s Stephan Bridge. It’s about 1900. In the foreground, the river meanders through clear-cut land dotted with logging camps. In the distance a silhouetted stand of trees seems to push the river toward me. A few shadowy figures in riverboats float through the barren landscape.
I sit a stone’s throw from where the photographer heard the sound of his shutter. Now, more than a century later, surrounded by a forest of Michigan evergreen, I’m hesitant to believe that this photo was actually captured here. But as I admire the phoenix forest, I know something important is still missing from this landscape: the once-dominant fish of the Au Sable, the Arctic Grayling.
The unfurling comeback story of Michigan’s native Arctic Grayling—a fish that disappeared nearly a century ago—drew me to the Au Sable’s shore. Today, more than 40 partners are working together to restore this species. But what will it take for Michigan’s wild Arctic Grayling to return home? When I set out to find answers, my journey takes me from the heart of northern Michigan to the sweeping river valleys of Montana to the high offices of Lansing, and back again, to the Au Sable.
Josh Greenberg, owner of both the photo and Gates Au Sable Lodge, sits next to me. The Blue Ribbon Trout Stream just beyond the window has stories to tell. Fly fishermen have been coming here for generations to experience Michigan’s wild treasures, but the black-and-white photo, with its treeless landscape, hangs like a vivid memory on the wall of the dining room. “The riverboats that we use as trout guides were birthed here for running supplies between logging camps,” Greenberg says. “They’re an interesting connection to the logging and fishing history of Grayling, which used to be called Milltown. That’s what this area was known for [wood mills]. My understanding is that the logging practices that were used back in the day were not the best.”
cause and effect
For millennia, perhaps, no fish in Michigan rivaled the beauty of Arctic Grayling. A band of gold dust outlined each pupil, a deep pool of darkness like the night sky. Just beyond the gills, a set of markings shaped like kiwi seeds. Their sleek torpedo-shaped bodies could measure more than 20 inches long. Armored in iridescent layers of silver or slate blue, no two fish were identical. But it was their sail-like dorsal fin that set them apart: a glorious crown that revealed electric striations in an array of colors like aquamarine blue.
Arctic Grayling were native to more than 20 rivers in northern Michigan, including the revered Manistee and Au Sable, according to biologist Robert E. Vincent. By train, fishermen flocked north where they packed their creels. Brimful with salted Arctic Grayling, barrels were loaded on to trains and shipped out. While fishermen kept their catches without limits, lumber barons cleared riverbanks. Lumberjacks cut the pines and hauled them to rivers, where tremendous loads of debris were unleashed downstream, leaving behind a cloud of sediment that smothered spawning beds. When state leaders caught on to the consequences of industrial scale logging, they organized small attempts to raise the “Lost Lady.” But without regulations for fishing and logging, Arctic Grayling became extinct in Michigan. This sliver of history gives me a heavy heart.
On a bleak January day in Lansing, I comb through a bibliography about Arctic grayling of North America (composed by Robert E. Vincent in 1965). Here’s what I discover: in the 1870s, publications like Forest and Stream promoted fishing for Arctic Grayling in Michigan. But by the 1880s fishing industry proponents dramatically changed their tone. As the 1900s dawned, dark words found their way into news stories that described Michigan’s dying species: “doom,” “annihilation,” “extinct.”
According to historical records, the last reported native Arctic Grayling was caught in Michigan in 1936 on the Otter River in the Upper Peninsula. To put this loss into perspective, just imagine Michigan’s state fish, the brook trout, no longer existing here. If the headlines of the era accurately indicated how the public felt, people mourned.
As I talk with Josh on the banks of the Au Sable, I see a sorrowful grin take over his face. He clasps his hands and looks toward the river. The fish, he says, is remembered best in rumors. “A lot of families here have a lineage connection, and they’ll tell ya, ‘It was my great, great uncle who caught the last one,’” he says. “It seems like everyone has caught the last Arctic grayling in Michigan. In that way it’s become mythology. It’s a part of this community.”
The 40 groups joining to bring back the Arctic Grayling today are not the first to try. A handful of attempts to stock hatchery-raised Arctic grayling were made in the 1900s. The most recent serious attempt was in the 1980s, when state biologists organized a project in which thirteen inland lakes and seven rivers were stocked with 145,000 young Arctic grayling. According to state biologist Andrew Nuhfer who, in 1992, wrote the Evaluation of the Reintroduction of the Arctic Grayling to Michigan Lakes and Streams, they disappeared. Infection, hooking wounds, and challenges posed by introduced non-native species like brown trout and rainbow trout were factors. Perhaps most important: the planted Arctic Grayling did not reproduce.
In his life, Josh is in the middle; decades that surprise us with wisdom and move us toward intention. Josh describes a day in the ’90s when he and his father went fly-fishing on Montana’s Big Hole River (along with Alaska, Montana is the only other state where Arctic Grayling are native). With a small trico fly, his father reeled in two Arctic Grayling. Josh was 14, and there to net them. As he recounts the story, his face lights up. “He was very excited, more excited than I was! But now, in retrospect, I’m probably more excited about it than he was. I realize how rare it is.” Josh and his father released both fish back into the river.
Earth Week with Leelanau Conservancy | Leelanau Peninsula
April 16 - 22, 2018
Various times
This eventful week offers a variety of ways to show your gratitude for nature including hikes, workbees and scenic bikes rides. A truly collaborative event, Earth Week has something for everyone who enjoys the great outdoors.
Glacial Hills Spring Work Day | Bellaire
Rescheduled for May 12th, 2018
10am-1pm
Join friends, trail users and volunteers for a morning of clearing and cleaning up this lush trail network in the heart of Bellaire. Bring gloves, loppers, and your sense of fun! You’ll be assigned to a group and your group will be assigned to a section of the trail. Snacks and some equipment provided.
Frog and Salamander Walk at Grass River Natural Area | Bellaire
April 21, 2018
11am-12:30pm
Celebrate the coming of spring with a guided walk to woodland vernal pools and look for salamanders along the way. Listen for signs of frog activity and learn how to identify species. Sightings will be recorded for research.
FIELDGUIDE: Art, Water, Wildlife | Central Lake
April 21, 2018
1pm - 5pm
After a morning on the trail, head over to Fieldguide Farmhouse for a pop-up art show celebrating water and wildlife. New works by artists Courtney Kent of The Compass Points Here and yours truly, Dani Knoph. Explore this modern farmhouse, transformed into a soulful bed & breakfast—all with a sweeping view of Intermediate Lake. Book signing by Grass River Education Director James Dake, author of Field Guide to Northwest Michigan. Enjoy small bites and an artful experience with live music!
Earth Day Tree Planting | Harbor Springs
April 21, 2018 | 10am-1pm
Explore the new trails of the Wilson Working Forest Reserve just outside of downtown Harbor Springs, and chip in to help Little Traverse Conservancy plant 1,000 trees!
Boardman River Clean Up | Traverse City
April 22, 2018
Noon
Keep this iconic northern Michigan river and trout stream clean. Meet at Hannah Park to participate in a river clean up right downtown. Fishermen, bring your waders! Trucks, garbage bags, trash claws and smiles all welcome!
Leo Creek Earth Day Celebration | Suttons Bay
April 22, 2018
1-4pm
Make a mushroom log. Embark on an eco scavenger hunt. See how solar systems work—all with your friends at Inland Seas Education Association, Leelanau Conservation District, 4-H, Leelanau Montessori, Northport Energy, Leelanau Conservancy, and TART Trails.
RecylceSmart Earth Day Celebration | Traverse City
April 22, 2018
11-4pm
See live raptors, cared for by Wings of Wonder. Learn the basics of backyard composting. Set out on a guided nature walk with Grand Traverse County Parks & Rec, and learn about campfire safety with MDNR. Live music by Jack Pine TC and delicious eats by Rockwich Food Truck.
Volunteer Workbee at Miller Creek Nature Reserve | Traverse City
9am-noon
April 22, 2018
Meet at Miller Creek Nature Reserve to lend a hand with staff and friends of Grand Traverse Conservation District. Spruce up the trails and plant native seedlings along the river banks. Bring sturdy shoes, work gloves and water.
GreenER presents "A Plastic Ocean" documentary | Elk Rapids
April 22, 2018
noon
As plastic waste pollutes our water, it's having a devastating impact on fish and wildlife. Learn more about this urgent issue and what can be done to help keep our oceans clean and protected. Free showing at Elk Rapids Cinema. Also on April 21st, join Green Elk Rapids for a community forum, 9:30-11am at HERTH in Downtown Elk Rapids.
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When angler Scott Carver sent me a photo of a vibrant 18-inch Brook Trout caught by a friend during his trip to Navarino Island, Chile, I noticed the cadmium red of its eye—something I hadn't seen in Michigan where the brook reigns as state fish. Needless to say, I was thrilled to begin a new watercolor painting.
And here was an opportunity to learn more about a fly fishing destination that Scott co-founded, called Madison Valley Ranch. If you've been dumbstruck by a trout, then you will understand the lure of this Montana wellspring. Scott, who's making life in waders a reality, co-founded this award-winning lodge that welcomes fly fishing enthusiasts from across the country. Here are four questions with Scott.
Can you describe an autumn day on Montana's Madison River?
What kind of wildlife are you seeing on the river...what's biting?
Scott: Autumn is a special time in the Madison Valley. Days are warm and evenings are cool. It's a wonderful time to fish. The crowds have left and, on many days, it feels like you have the river to yourself. Browns start their annual spawning ritual in mid September. They become very aggressive and territorial. We still see hatches of caddis and on cloudy days, some blue wing olives. If we haven't experienced a freeze, hoppers and terrestrials will attract larger fish. But at this time of year...it's streamer time. On cloudy days fishing with streamers can be off the charts. The strikes are aggressive and the fish are big.
Your top 3 flies on the Madison in the fall...
Sculpin, Girdle Bug (sometimes referred to as Pat's Rubber Legs) and Prince Nymph
The aerial photos of Madison Valley Ranch are remarkable. How did you come to discover this beautiful place?
I'd read about the Madison River and Southwest Montana for many years. I dreamed about fishing there. One day when I was reading Fly Fisherman Magazine I saw an ad looking for partners to build a lodge on the Madison. I answered that ad and, as they say, "the rest is history." I went and visited the property. I fell in love with it immediately...an amazing trout stream, surrounding mountains, open landscape, and the vastness of the valley...it was the type of place you'd see in paintings but never thought truly existed. So the rancher who owned the property and I got together and built Madison Valley Ranch. Our wonderful staff and guides have turned it into one of the premier fishing destinations in the West as evidenced by our being named "2015 Orvis Lodge of the Year."
If you could hop on a plane tomorrow and hit any river in the world, where would your next stop be?
It's hard to beat the Madison for consistency...I think it's the best trout stream in the US. However, if I could go anywhere in the world, I think I would go to Kamchatka. Fishing for big rainbows with mouse patterns has to be a once in a lifetime experience. I think I need to do it sooner rather than later.
"The reasons for the trip were three fish that had never been recorded in the record book," Bill recalls. Payara was one and piranha was another. (Just pause for a moment to think about reeling in a piranha on a fly rod. Now thank the lord you have all your fingers).
As he tells me his story, he sits beneath a black and white photo framed on a white wall—a portrait from the Amazon, of his glory-filled grin, forty-years back. In his hands is a fish with a body like a young salmon and a face designed to eat without empathy. The fish is a payara, or as some call it, a vampire fish.
After Bill caught the payara on a streamer he packed it out. "I had the fish salted down and I was going to take it to a taxidermist. When I got back I put it in my tackle box which I put in my tackle bag, but somebody stole my tackle bag! So I ended up carving a replica."
The replica of the payara—carved from wood and hand painted by Bill—hangs on the wall beside his portrait captured in Ecuador. It drums up familiar joy inspired by one man's love of wildlife, wilderness, adventure, and craftsmanship.
And then there's this: "When we got back, the outdoor editor for The Detroit News wrote an article. It said, 'Bill Davis will have that fish forever because no one else is dumb enough to fish for that meat-eating fish with a fly'."
Happy Father's Day, Grandpa.
]]>Years ago, a Temple Fork Outfitters fly rod was gifted to me in a plum velvet case, thanks to my mother and father. Shortly after receiving it I uprooted from Seattle and moved to northern Michigan where I hoped that half of my living might be spent outdoors exploring the rugged side of this beautiful planet, painting wildlife, and catching trout. It was the place of my childhood.
Reality got the best of me, and I spent my first few years in northern Michigan working—nose to the grindstone—for a view of the bay for half the pay. So it goes. But after crossing the thirty-one-year line something shifted in my terrier-like genetics, and I booked a trip with guide Brian Kozminski who I interviewed back in 2015 while working for Traverse Magazine & MyNorth Media. His love of fly fishing runs deep.
Gerard and I met Brian at the Holy Waters. This is a section of the Au Sable River northeast of downtown Grayling, a town named after a beautiful species of trout that once flourished in the river, but that's a story for a different day. I had planned to be wading in the river all day but Brian rolled up with a boat.
Full disclosure: I had one casting class back in 2012. Naturally, my first thought consisted of many a flies in many a trees. But my gut reminded me that there is one way to truly know anything, and that is by doing it with your own hands. Gerard had a leg up thanks to his friend Peter who owned a fly shop during his days in Tennessee.
We got in the boat. Brian got us setup with streamers while he shared his knowledge about how native trout behave in rivers and what they eat. The streamer he tied for me was white and flashy like a minnow. As Brian rowed, Gerard and I casted. I felt silly and uncoordinated as I focused on one technique at a time. The first few casts were like patting the top of my head while rubbing my belly. But then I began to feel the fly moving through the air.
About two hours into our trip we anchored for lunch and enjoyed homemade sandwiches while we discussed the history and stewardship of the Holy Waters. Shortly thereafter we floated passed the log cabin lodge where Trout Unlimited, a nonprofit founded by 16 fishermen who worked together to protect the river so native trout could thrive, was established. (Today the organization is 150,000 members strong, with chapters in states across the country). I learned that fish raised in hatcheries behave differently than natives. In a world with aggressive commercial interests, the case for Trout Unlimited's mission was made in more ways than one.
As we neared the end of our float, Brian exchanged my streamer with a dry fly. Just when I thought I had a bit of rhythm, the dry fly's weightlessness bewildered me. Nevertheless, I cast. And cast. And cast, again without a bite.
We must've passed fifteen or so wading men. As we passed, Gerard and I learned about the etiquette of the river. It became apparent that luck was on the side of the seasoned sportsman. Some reported catching browns, while other reported brooks. Brian told us the trout hit when you least expect it.
So I stopped trying so hard, and given that I'd been working on this very concept in my personal life, the transition came easy enough. Still, I was having a tough time deciphering where the dry fly was as I whirled it about the air.
We were winding down when I felt a runaway tug on my line. I knew it was small, but that didn't matter. My body was flooded with excitement. The maternal instinct in me wanted to be gentle, to get this fish into the boat as healthy as possible. Brian got the net as all three of us realized that a small but glorious brook trout was ours to behold for a moment. As I watched it draw a couple breaths, I could only think about getting it back into the river—as if the river depended on it—and that I found what I came for.
]]>My name is Dani. I’m on a mission to learn about the natural world through the process of making art and researching natural heritage.
As I research fish, I find that every species has a story to tell. Some stories are marred by unbeatable hardship, such as that of Michigan’s Arctic grayling—a fish that thrived in rivers like the Manistee and Au Sable. But by the 1930s, the logging industry devastated its habitat and overfishing led to its disappearance. Today they no longer exist in Michigan, but in 2016 Michigan's Department of Natural Resources and Little River Band of Ottawa Indians announced a proposal to re-introduce the species to its historical range. I'm rooting for this!
Other stories are hopeful. Sea lamprey, a parasitic fish native to the Atlantic, made its way into the Great Lakes through manmade canals in the 1800s. The lamprey sucked the life out of native trout populations that were thriving in the Lake Michigan basin. But in 2016, Jory Jonas of the Charlevoix Fisheries Research Station made an exciting discovery in the basin. About ten miles northeast of Traverse City, a lake that flows into Lake Michigan was protected from the lamprey due to the Elk Rapids HydroElectric Dam. While fish sampling on Elk Lake, Jory identified trout that looked unfamiliar, and a DNA test proved the existence of native lake trout.
Learning about these stories inspires me to pass them on. And part of my mission as a wildlife artist and writer is to cultivate that sense of wonder that keeps us young at heart and appreciative of the natural world around us.
Thanks for joining me on this adventure that is life.
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