It was six o’clock on a Saturday morning. I woke up and stared blankly at the ceiling. I layed there in wait until I heard the television come on, and lethargically crawled out of bed. I found my way into the kitchen to get a drink, where I found my dad over a pan of frying bacon. I proceeded to fill my cup with water, and I took a drink.

“Good morning,” my dad said.

I replied with a tired grunt.

“Ready to head to the U.P. today?”

That question made my face light up, and made me a whole lot less tired.

“Are we really going today?” I asked with enthusiasm.

Today was the day we were leaving for our fishing trip in the Upper Peninsula. I’ve known about the trip for a while, but it slipped my mind in my episode of morning grogginess. My dad has told me about all the fish he caught when he used to go up with my grandpa and his friends. Hearing these stories made me more excited than ever to be able to fish where my dad and grandpa had thirty years prior. Although I was excited to start fishing, I wasn’t excited for the seven hour drive ahead of us. We were scheduled to leave at nine o’clock and stay at my dad’s friend’s cabin in Kalkaska for the night, then we would finish the last leg of the drive in the morning.

I quickly sucked up my pancakes and bacon like a vacuum, and went out into the garage with my dad to get our poles set up. I opened my tackle box, found a soft plastic that looked suitable for the job, and put it on. I looked over at my dad, and he just had a gold hook and a couple of sinkers. I remember thinking that he wouldn’t catch anything, but I figured he knew what he was doing. 

My dad is a master fisherman. He has caught countless big fish, many of which top my personal best by far. He’s caught twelve inch bluegills in the Upper Peninsula, huge walleye on the Detroit river, and several largemouth bass that were over six pounds. 

Not only does he catch big fish, he also has the right equipment to do it with. My dad has probably close to 15 inferior fishing poles in the shed. He upgrades to high end equipment whenever he can, and keeps his old ones as spares. I used his old Ugly Stik with a Shimano reel on it from my first time fishing up until my birthday this year when I got a St. Croix Mojo Bass rod and Pflueger Presidential reel. He doesn’t upgrade as often as the professionals, but he makes sure his equipment is right for the job and is reliable.

After I got my pole set up and ready to go, it was time to pack. My dad dug the duffle bags out of the back of the closet, and threw one to me. I proceeded to fill it up with my clothes and I returned to the front door where my dad had piled up a mountain of totes and Meijer bags. In these bags and totes was our food, camping supplies, and silverware. It was just my luck that I got to do the grunt work and carry everything out to the truck. Once everything was loaded, I had to help load the cooler with the rest of the food. This cooler weighed close to one hundred pounds, and had to be lifted into the back of the truck. I climbed up in the bed, and my dad stayed on the ground. I pulled with all my might while my dad pushed, and we were able to slowly but surely load the large cooler. With everything loaded up, all that was left to do was hook up the boat trailer and get on our way.

Once the trailer was hooked up, I climbed into the cab of the truck and took one last look in the mirror. The next time I’d see home would be in one week. 

“Are you excited?” my dad asked.

“Oh yeah!” I exclaimed joyfully. “Where are we going again?” 

“Gwinn. We’re going to be camping at Anderson Lake.”

I eagerly pulled out the map and found the lake. It was a tiny lake outside of town with a state campground next to it. I’m used to fairly large campgrounds, and this campground was tiny. I searched the map for a while to keep myself entertained, and found a few places I wanted to stop on our way back.

A few hours passed, and we were getting close to Kalkaska. One sight that I’ll never forget is the sheer amount of wind turbines around that area. When you reach a certain point on the highway, there are hundreds if not thousands of wind turbines as far as you can see in every direction. Even to this day, I love driving through and seeing these towering structures. You never really realize just how big they are until you drive past them. A short while later, the sign for Kalkaska Township came into view, and we took a turn down a winding, hilly backroad. We stayed on that road for a while until Crawford Lake came into view. This is where the cabin was located. We backed the boat in, and unloaded the important stuff such as the small motor and our fishing poles. My dad opened the door and the smell of pine rushed out at us.

 I’ve been to this cabin before, but love going there every time. The inside of the cabin is all pine, including custom furniture and a kitchen that combines rustic with modern. In the living room, there’s a large spiral staircase leading upstairs, and an elk head and bear rug hanging from the wall. These really helped complete the rustic theme of the cabin. Even the bed frames were made out of logs. Once we got everything taken care of and temporarily put away, I enthusiastically grabbed my fishing pole and wandered out on the dock. I carefully aimed for under the neighbors dock, and cast my line. It hit their dock, and got stuck. I quickly scurried over to the dock and got my lure back, hoping nobody saw me. I repeated the same cast over and over until I eventually got it right. Once I saw my lure skip under the dock, I knew something was about to happen. I slowly started to reel in when I felt something smack my lure. I violently set the hook and started to fight my fish. After a few runs the fish tired itself out and I was able to get it close to the dock. I pulled it out of the water and held it. It was a crappie that was close to fourteen inches. I made sure my hook was in good, and cautiously put it back in the water. I quickly ran back to the cabin to get my dad. Thankfully it was still there when we got back. We snapped a few pictures, and threw it back. I fished for the rest of the night with lots of hope but little luck. I caught a few small bass and a few more crappie, but nothing was even comparable to the one I caught earlier. I went to bed with hopes of many more big fish to come later on this trip.

The next morning we woke up bright and early, eager to get on the road. We loaded the truck back up and resumed out journey. We stopped at the local diner, and had breakfast. The one thing I remember from that stop was dumping my orange juice all over my lap and all over the floor. Three hours and a new pair of pants later we were at the bridge. We crossed the Mighty Mac and stopped at a deer ranch shortly after crossing. We walked through and got to feed some giant bucks. It was extremely cool being able to be up close and personal with these gargantuan deer in velvet. Once we walked through, making quite a few comments on these impressive specimens, we got back in the truck and continued driving. 

About ten minutes later, my dad spoke up.

“Have you ever had cheese curds before?” he asked.

“Cheese curds? What are those?” I replied with a hint of uncertainty in my voice.

“One of the Upper Peninsulas signature treats. We’ll stop up ahead and get some.”

We stopped at the next shop that sold cheese curds and got a few packages. While we were there, we also got smoked salmon, another famous U.P. food which I’d never had before. I tore off a chunk from the package of cheese curds and took a bite. I’m not sure if cheese curds actually taste better or if they trick your brain somehow, but it was the best cheese I’ve ever had. I could’ve sat there and ate the entire bag by myself. Now, we have made it a tradition to stop at the same store and pick up cheese curds and smoked salmon before we venture into the wilderness on our week long fishing trip.

Once I got my share of cheese curds and smoked salmon, we got back on the road. My dad had mentioned something about a bridge before we left our house. I didn’t think much of it until we passed a sign which read: Cut River Bridge. This bridge is on US 2 about an hour over the Mackinac Bridge. Going down is the fun part. You get to see all kinds of wildlife, amazing views of the Cut River and Lake Michigan, and awesome views of the Cut River Bridge. Coming back up, however, isn’t quite as enjoyable. There are over two hundred fifty steps, and they are nice and slippery after a rain. I remember trudging up the steps in the eighty degree weather which was accompanied with air so thick and muggy you could cut it with a knife. Although the view is exquisite, there is a reason I’ve only been down the steps one time. Eventually, my dad and I made it back to the truck huffing and puffing. 

The rest of the trip went without incident, and eventually we arrived at the campground. There were only about ten or twelve campsites in total. We were able to get the same secluded campsite which my dad would always get when he would come up with my grandpa. We set up the tent and unpacked the boat. After about an hour of child labor, everything was unpacked. We went down to check out the boat launch, expecting to go fishing in the light rain we were getting soaked in while setting up camp. We got back to the campsite to hook onto the boat, when my dad decided to check the weather app on his phone. He looked at his phone, and reluctantly handed it to me. On his phone was nothing but bad news. We were under a tornado warning. About ten minutes out on the radar were strong storms, so we had to hurry to stake down the tent and bring all the important stuff back into the truck. We sat and waited out the storms. Talk about raining on our parade. We listened to the radio, hoping to hear any updates on the weather. Thankfully the storms soon passed over, and the skies cleared up. My dad soon got another alert on his phone, saying that there was a confirmed tornado just a few miles north of where we were at. Not wanting to risk being caught in another storm we decided to stay around camp and get things dried out. Once we got everything hung up to dry, we got the fire started and relaxed after our long drive.

The next morning we woke up to the sound of a distant whippoorwill and rain gently pattering on the tent. 

“Great, more rain,” I said not so enthusiastically.

“Just what we need,” my dad sighed.

Once again, we decided not to go fishing. The rain was a little harder than the day before, and we didn’t want to risk being out on the lake. For the second day in a row, we sat around camp quite a bit.

“Might as well make the most of the day.” my dad insisted. “Lets go look at some other lakes.”

“Sounds good to me. Where are we going first?” I asked.

“I was thinking Little Lake. Maybe we can go look at Bass Lake as well,” he replied.

“Little Lake is where grandpa’s friend caught that huge smallmouth, right?”

“Yup, day before bass season opened.” 

I remember this heartbreaking story very well. My grandpa's friend came to the U.P. one time many years ago and was fishing Little Lake. Don’t let the name fool you; Little Lake is actually quite large, and the fish are decent too. While he was fishing, and caught a huge smallmouth bass. The bass measured over twenty four inches, which is insane for a smallmouth. However, he caught the gargantuan fish the day before bass season. Because of this, he had to throw the fish back, and never got a picture of this giant fish. Although it sounds like the story could be made up, there have been plenty of smallmouth over twenty inches caught in that lake, so it’s definitely possible.

Once we got to Little Lake, we walked out on the dock and peered into the water. We saw a few smaller fish swimming around, but I didn’t let that discourage me. I really liked the looks of the lake. One thing I didn’t like about that lake was the amount of mosquitoes. As soon as we hopped out of the truck, we were swarmed by a black cloud of these pesky blood suckers. We had to cut our visit short and moved onto Bass Lake. When we got there, we saw quite a few other boats. We watched as one boat pulled in a few fish, and decided this could be a good lake to try. We got back to the campground, and decided to go down to the boat launch there. We decided that we would fish there just to test out the boat and make sure everything was working. About six o’clock, we hooked on the boat and sped down to the water.

We launched the boat and motored over to a narrow spot where my dad said he’s done really good in the past. My dad began pulling out a few bluegills while I sat there, pole in hand, with nothing on the other end of my line. I observed my dad as he pulled in his next fish, and saw that simple gold hook he put on back home. I decided to take off my soft plastic and put on a small hook and half a night crawler. I cast my line, and almost instantaneously felt a tug on my line. This was no puny bluegill. I fought the fish for a while until it got close enough to the boat to see what it was. I figured it was going to be a decent sized pike, but it was a giant largemouth. The largest I’ve had on up to that point in my life. Although it was close to the boat, tragedy almost struck when he pulled my line into the wire basket we had the bluegills in. I was able to keep my cool, and guide the sporadic fish out of the sharp wire mesh without cutting the line. I reeled it in and proudly held it up, admiring the fish. The bass was over twenty inches, and weighed close to four pounds. Although it was my biggest bass ever, I decided to let it live to fight another day. 

“You must be crazy,” my dad chuckled. “I would’ve kept something that big when I was your age.”

“I don’t know, guess I was just feeling nice today,” I said.

We fished up until dark and headed back to camp.

The next few days were nothing special. We just kind of jumped from lake to lake. We caught a few fish that were decent, but nothing huge. We caught a few more small bluegills and perch, as well as some smallmouth bass. On the last day we were there, we decided to go fish Bass Lake.

We backed the boat in, and went out into the middle of the lake. We could see a deep water patch of weeds, and figured it would hold the big fish. We put our lines in, and both had fish on in no time. We quickly reeled them in, and both were pike about eight inches long and two inches around. Don’t let the name of the lake fool you. I’m pretty sure we didn’t catch a single bass that night. This lake is infested with hammer handle pike. These tiny pike get their name from their similar size and shape to a hammer’s handle. We caught close to one hundred fish in a single night. Sure, they weren’t the biggest, but it was the most fun day of fishing we’ve had all week. Towards dusk, something happened that I won’t forget, something that haunts me to this very day. 

We were just about to head in, when I felt something tug my line. I reeled it in very fast, thinking it was just going to be another puny pike. When it was about fifty feet from the boat something hit my line, and almost ripped the pole from my hands. I fought the beast for what felt like an eternity. I wasn’t sure what the fish was, but figured it was a huge pike. It felt like I was dragging a log through the water. I got the fish close to the boat, and my heart skipped a beat. The fish was all of four feet long, and it took all my strength to lift up the pole. Just as it’s nose crested the side of the boat, it unhinged it’s jaws and dropped back into the depths of the lake with a heart shattering splash. My dad had his phone out, and all you can see in the picture he took is my excited face, a tiny fish on the end of my line, and the mouth of a giant pike. I didn’t know what had just happened, and sat there in disbelief. That kind of ruined the trip for a little while, but eventually shrugged it off. I figured it was a better story than me catching it and mounting it, so I didn’t let it get me down. I look back now and just laugh. If you can’t have something like this happen to you and not look back and laugh about it, you shouldn’t be fishing. 

The next morning, after my dad teased me relentlessly about my fish, we began the long drive home. This time we would just drive straight through and not stop at the cabin. However, when I was looking at the map on the way up, I saw a place for mine tours in Iron Mountain. We passed through there on the way back, so my dad decided to stop. The tour was really cool, as we got to ride down into the caves on a small train like the miners did back when it was an operational mine. We got to go through all the small caves, and see where the miners worked. We even got to see some of the antique mining equipment which I was pretty fascinated with. This was just a small taste of the dark, damp conditions which the miners had to endure day in and day out. We finished the tour by taking a drink out of the natural spring that runs through the caves. Once the tour was done, we got back in the truck, and I slept the rest of the trip. 

This initial trip was just the beginning. Even though that first trip didn’t go as planned, my dad and I continue to go to the U.P. every year on a week long fishing trip. For the past three years, we’ve gone all the way over to Iron River, which is close to the border of Wisconsin. We don’t always catch fish, but the memories we make are better than any fish we could catch. I hope that these six years we’ve been going up are just the start of many more to come.