Familiarity doesn’t necessarily equal knowledge. On the daily, I put things like my laptop, car, art-making media, and fishing gear to use with a degree of mastery and instinct. But if you asked to break each of those things down into their complex working parts, my knowledge and understanding would falter.
This also applies to rivers. You can spend a lifetime fishing a river without ever learning how that river functions as a system. Ask yourself, of the thousands of variables that make rivers home to the fish you like to chase, how many do you really understand? Maybe you’ve been fishing your favorite river for 5, 10, even 20 years; you know the bends, the holes, the hatches, the weird spots that look like they shouldn’t hold fish but do. You’ve forged a special connection through frequency, but does fishing familiarity deliver river understanding?
For me, that river is the famed Bois Brule of Wisconsin; I know it well, or so I thought. I’ve chased the steelhead, salmon, and migratory browns that run out of Lake Superior for two decades. Those big, marquee fish led me to the smaller but no less spectacular residents, the browns and native brookies that call this river home all year long. I’ve crashed at countless campgrounds, motels, and cabins in the area. I’ve consumed my share of Spotted Cow at the Kro Bar, frozen pizzas at the Hungry Trout, and various fried, brewed, and distilled goodness at dimly lit places from Iron River, to Ashland, to Superior. I’ve traded notes with anglers from all over the Upper Midwest, been gifted intel from old-timer-locals along banks and in secretive corners of parking lots. I’ve caught and lost plenty of fish. The Brule has become old hand to me, automatic like a habit that has turned into instinct.
But recently, I discovered I don’t know shit about the Brule. Not really.
That’s not an easy or comfortable truth to admit, and I only experienced this revelation with a lot of help from the good people at Great Lakes Trout Unlimited. They let me tag along for a few days and get a taste of real river work: replacing culverts on Wilson Creek and other small tributaries that feed the Brule. Assisting that team for just a couple days showed me the difference between fishing a river and understanding a river. I’ve fished the Brule more than most but have a long way to go before I know it.
Chris Collier, TU’s Great Lakes Stream Restoration Manager, expanded my understanding of the Brule—and rivers in general—by making me think about all the different pieces that come together to create a river. I knew, in theory, that rivers are collections of their tributaries; little rivers come together to make a big river. But I didn’t think about every small feeder creek I drove across on my way to or from my favorite fishing spots or realize the impact those small waterways have on the fish I try to catch. Chris understands the collective impact of small water. He and his team are trying to reconnect all the pieces of the Brule.
“Specifically, with this type of project [aquatic organism passage] we are trying to ensure that trout can freely access all habitat in a river system by restoring stream flow and function.” Chris explained, “That allows populations to be more robust today with access to spawning and cold-refuge habitat and improve climate resiliency of trout populations in the future by providing access to more diverse habitats.” I soaked in the mission while visiting project sites.
Like the rivers themselves, effective watershed management requires a broad and diverse collective of smaller parts to work together. When it comes to the Brule, Chris explained, that collective includes Trout Unlimited, NOAA, the US Fish and Wildlife Service, the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources, the Wisconsin Department of Agriculture, the Trade and Consumer Protection, the Trout and Salmon Foundation, private family foundations, the town of Solon Springs, the town of Brule, Douglas County, and the local TU Chapter (Wild Rivers Trout Unlimited). TU often has to help corral all these different inputs, balancing individual interests with the shared goals of a healthy river and successful fishery—no easy accomplishment.
Chris—a conservationist and TU employee as well as avid angler—thinks anglers need to think about the vast networks that create their favorite fisheries and appreciate all the different pieces, even if they don’t fish all of them. “My big takeaway for anglers looking at these projects is the importance of the entire watershed, even those small, tag alder choked tributaries you can't fish without inventing a new four-letter word.”
I came away with a new respect for those small waters I’ve driven over for years with barely a look back and the many groups, municipalities, landowners, and legislation (like the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law) that impact them. Before, I might have wondered if those alder corridors hid beaver ponds that could hold brook trout worth catching. Now, I’m starting to look at them beyond transactional curiosity—if and how they connect to the arterial matrix of the Brule system. It’s not just about the brook trout. The whole river needs better roads, better infrastructure for moving water in order to build resiliency and mitigate against the increased flooding and drought events we’re all experiencing. Backing out and seeing the big picture offers a whole other storyline of importance. A tapestry of small trickles inside a village of stakeholders who all need to work together to safeguard shared resources and improve fish habitat.
This perspective allows me to see the Brule in a new light. Familiarity with rivers can breed complacency. I get to see this river that I’ve “known” for so long (and maybe taken for granted) anew. Seeing it through the lens of all its dynamic pathways has reinvigorated my engagement. Fishing for residents, exploring the tributaries, understanding the diverse benefits this watershed offers our communities—I have a fresh and compelling commitment to shape the next 20 years of my relationship with the Brule. Chris put it well, “Looking at an uncertain future due to climate change, protecting all a watershed has to offer, not just the best runs or holes, is critical.”
In the end, I don’t expect every fly angler to engage with the rivers they love the same way or to the same degree. But a little more research and time spent around the edges of fishing can augment, not diminish, your understanding and enjoyment of fishing. Time spent on the water with a broader scope interest might rekindle the reasons you stepped into that moving water in the first place.
Jake Keeler is a renowned artist, devoted angler, and Skwala Ambassador.