Every spring for the past 30 years, loyal members of the Trout Trip Coalition make the same pilgrimage to their secret fishing hole in our Region.
Like bears coming out of hibernation, they leave their man caves on the last weekend of April to return to the same site stocked with hundreds of trout.
The fish look the same year after year. The men look a little older, a little heavier, and yet a little more appreciative of their annual get together, having fished in snow, rain, heat and drunken stupors.
Each year, their tales grow taller like the exaggerated recollections of their past fishing prowess. Each year, they realize even more that mortality is lurking underneath the surface of invincibility.
“Geez, did you hear who died last year?” they ask each other while waiting for a fish to bite.
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They bring fishing poles, frying pans, filet knives, bottles of booze, expensive cigars and cheap jokes. And, of course, baited stories from previous years of their glorious weekend together.
“Hey, remember the weirdest fish we ever caught?” they’ll ask each other for the umpteenth time. Every one of those fish — Humpy, one-eyed Butch, bug-eye and albino — has its own story.
Only this select group of men know the exact location of this dream site for any fisherman. It’s been called many names over the past three decades. Mystery Creek. Emerald Stream. Trout Lovers Nirvana.
“It’s just a magical place where trout come once a year to help us make fresh stories,” said Mike Lunn, one of the founding members.
If I revealed its whereabouts in this column, the men hinted that they would gut me alive. But I was allowed to give one hint: it takes a very crooked road to get there.
“You have now been sworn to silence,” Lunn warned me after revealing its location. “Every good fisherman knows not to talk too much about his favorite fishing hole.”
Here, more than two dozen men of different ages show up once a year regardless of weather, family life, career problems or health issues.
“Because sometimes us guys just need to bond,” Lunn said.
Some men bond through sports. Other men bond at bars. These men bond over smelly buckets of sacrificial trout, trash-talking fishing poles, empty bottles of beer and bragging rites that will last for an entire year.
“It’s something that started small but it has taken on more meaning through the years,” Lunn said.
It’s now a rite of passage. A male-centric tradition. And an opportunity to watch men in their natural habitat without the conventional trappings of civilization. Every so often, a younger man joins them to be initiated into the mystic society of fishermen becoming men.
“It’s a real learning lesson for them,” Lunn said.
Not only about fishing, but about manhood. How to bust a guy’s chops without losing a friend. How to stand in silence without feeling awkward. How to enjoy the lure of a memorable moment without saying any words to spoil it.
“It’s just a simple day of guys being guys,” one of them told me.
It all began when one of the founding members, David Lasser, heard that Indiana’s inland trout season begins the last Saturday in April. He heard it from none other than the legendary fishing writer Dale Bowman.
“As Dale said, ‘Fishing is like love. You can never get enough,’” Lasser said.
Lasser, Lunn and a boy named Zach Green began showing up at a favorite fishing spot, which was stocked with 1,000 trout every year, thanks to the Indiana Department of Natural Resources. Every spring, the DNR stocks thousands of rainbow and brown trout in streams and lakes across the state. (This year, 63,000 trout were stocked in 35 bodies of water at more than 20 counties before opening day.)
For the early years of the men’s outing, they used portable tables and a truck tailgate to set up and cook food as vehicles blocked the wind. Lasser later found an old shed to use, paying its owner with freshly caught fish.
Year after year, one guy has told another guy and word spread like old fishing tales.
“All of us are friends or friends of friends, or sons and sons of friends by now,” Tim Brown said.
Last Saturday, nearly two dozen guys showed up to continue the tradition. They were limited to catching five fish, not a difficult feat for most of them.
“The best part is the lunch with all of the food options and a few drinks too,” Brown said.
Prizes are given out for all kinds of accomplishments, including for the longest fish, ugliest fish, largest trash fish, and best story of the day.
“Zach has won it three years in a row for falling into the water,” Brown joked.
The men make an extensive checklist of things to bring, everything from tables and knives to buttered mushrooms and special spices. They arrive at daybreak and fish for a few hours before meeting to enjoy the spoils of their efforts: fried trout, baked trout, steamed trout, and peach cobbler for dessert, among other annual staples.
By noon, the rookies are cleaning buckets of fish and the old guys are smoking cigars and retelling stories that are older than the rookies. By mid afternoon, they’re reminding each other to spread the word to new guys who will enjoy, but not try to change, their little tribe’s way of life.
And with it, their annual goodbye: “See you at the usual spot next year.”
Contact Jerry at Jerry.Davich@nwi.com. Find him on Facebook and other socials. Opinions are those of the writer.