Josie Delange is rightly proud of her braggin’-size rock bass.

By KW

Talk about a chunky rock bass, huh?

Lee Delange figures the red eye caught by his daughter, Josie, wasn’t far from the state record.

Even more, he figures a bigger rocker swims in Pactola Reservoir, where Josie caught this one.

“A state record, I’m sure, is lurking there,” he says.

I’m guessing he’s right. The trick, of course, if putting a hook in its mouth.

Josie caught this one on a worm under a bobber in about eight feet of water. Her brother, Jake, scored on a different species in the same area, taking a largemouth that was just shy of 3 pounds.

Not surprisingly, the Delanges have been making return trips to the reservoir, with a pledge to send more pictures if and when they find the real lunker.

It’s a promise I expect them to keep.

Jake Delange shows off an more-than-respectable Pactola largemouth.

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Casting far into a glorious late-June afternoon, Mary hopes to tempt another brook trout on  Little Elk Creek.

By KW

I was warned that teaching my wife to fish would be a mistake.

Look at that picture. See any mistakes there?

All good-humored bait-shop maxims aside, it’s far from a mistake to bring the woman you love into the outdoor sport you love. If that woman is willing - as Mary was with fly fishing, thanks initially to Jim Phoenix and the women’s fly fishing program at the Rapid City YMCA and since to my own sometimes clumsy, occasionally impatient instruction  - it can be a most extraordinary union.

Not that it’s always easy. All marriage vows and best intentions aside, my instructions - like my love - aren’t always patient, aren’t always kind.

So Mary occasionally banishes me from her particular stretch of stream, to fish on her own beyond my critical eye and sometimes overly helpful instructions.  Sometimes I stay banished. But sometimes I creep somewhere high and hidden to watch in secret, worrying over her every misstep, exhalting in each smooth presentation.

 Mostly, though,  we fish together. And she puts up with my nitpicking, thrives on my encouragement and revels in my giddy congratulations.

She received all three on Saturday, and also caught more brook trout than I did. That must be the part the bait-shop boys have warned me about?

But the truth is, my life’s partner is fast becoming my favorite fishing partner. Not that she fishes as much or as hard as I do, or is ever likely to.

But she fishes as profoundly, marveling at the wild flowers along the stream, at the heron lumbering up through the trees, at the shadowy ballet of an 8-inch “trophy” brook trout finally rising to take the fly and steal your heart.

My experience has been that women come easily to that part of the outdoors - the contemplative part, where love rises to what Elizabeth  Barrett Browning calls “the level of everyday’s most quiet need.”

That’s part of Browning’s  popular “How Do I Love Thee?” poem, which isn’t  heard much in baitshops but turns up quite a bit in marriage vows.

Mary an I didn’t use that poem in our vows, which are just days shy of seven years old.  But I’d like to think we search for that kind of love, and its profoundly simple renewal, each time we step into a stream together.

And that’s no mistake at all.

Brady Gillette is plenty pleased with this delicately colored Dalton Lake brookie.

By KW

The storm hit hard Friday afternoon at Dalton Lake.

But first, the Gillette boys scored.

Our somewhat unsteady TIO staff photographer met the Gillette family Friday afternoon, during a casual drive in the hills to help him recover from an overnight bout with intestinal furies.

It helped. A pretty pine-country lake is better than Pepto-Bismol for what ails the belly.

So is watching kids fish.

Brady, 8, and his older brother, Tanner, were working the lake with spinning (Brady) and fly fishing (Tanner) gear when the dark clouds rolled in and the Black Hills monsoon hit. But before they hustled off to the protection of their family camper, the Gillette boys - who live, appropriately enough, in Gillette, Wyo. - took a couple of nice trout.

First there was Brady’s brook trout, then Tanner’s larger rainbow.

“He got a bigger one,” Brady said.

Big brothers will do that to a guy.

With the sun out today, I’m betting Brady is casting to catch up.

Tanner Gillette does the dry fly dance for rainbows and brookies at Dalton Lake.

The beautiful calm before the storm, captured by the TIO photographer who was soon chased back to the pickup by the deluge.

Wintersteen and Bluhm engage in some hydrological dialogue as the host pilots his 27-foot pontoon boat across Angostura Reservoir.

By KW

The trout trip went south Wednesday, and ended up in walleye waters.

Keith Wintersteen signed on as a co-host for visiting fish hunter Don Bluhm this year, first by offering a sweet cabin near Terry Peak and second by providing a boat and overnight accommodations at Angostura.

Our timing was tough. It was hot, bright, mostly still. The fish shut down. It was a long time between strikes.

But we managed a few walleyes, a few smallmouth, a couple catfish and largemouth, a bunch of bluegills, a plump perch, a small northern pike and one cooperative carp.

And Bluhm whipped up a walleye-potatoes-onions-and-beans shore lunch, that just happened to take place at about 10 p.m. Then we slept the sleep of the just fishermen, until rousted by Wintersteen at 4 a.m. for a morning of casting and cruising before Wintersteen went back to McNenny Hatchery and Bluhm began the drive back to Whitefish Bay.

The heat made all the fishing -trout and walleye - tougher.

But there was no drought on fun.

Donnie Boy wrestles a walleye for control of the hook  in an Angostura back bay.

A carp and a fisheries biologist - you decide which is which.

Against a fetching backdrop, the old reporter holds court.

Wintersteen puts Angostura to bed.

Don Bluhm works a dry fly on a typically gorgeous stretch of Spearfish Creek late Monday afternoon,  in a sublime moment that was followed by a feisty brown, followed by a feisty rainbow, followed by a feisty Bluhm grin.

By KW

I have to be a careful not to refer to Don Bluhm as a Wisconsin badger.

He’s a Marquette grad, you see, susceptible to moments of rabid school spirit that once inspired him to suggest to his wife, Nora, that they go with “Maurice” as the name of their fourth son. The inspiration came from Maurice Lucas, who nailed a jumper from the corner to lead the Marquette Warriors (since renamed to the Golden Eagles)  over their arch-rival Wisconsin Badgers 59-58 in 1974.

Lucas led Marquette to the national title game, where - through no fault of his, or Bluhm’s - they lost to North Carolina State. (Hang on,  Don, I didn’t forget. Yes,  they went on to win it all in 1977.

Just as MarquetIte lost that ‘74 title game, Don lost his “Maurice” naming effort with Nora, who preferred “Michael.”

But Lucas went on to a fine professional career, including an NBA championship with Bill Walton at Portland. And speaking of Walton, he actually did name his son, Lakers forward Luke Walton, after his NBA teammate Maurice “Luke” Lucas.

OK, OK, enough baskeball already (although that’s kind of like saying enough fishing already…). Back to the streams.

That’s where the Marquette Wonder (Bluhm, not Lucas) is this week, casting his fishing fortune into the trouty waters of the Black Hills, in the enthusiastic and neurotic company of Wintersteen and Woster (I’ll let you figure out which adjective applies to which, or whom, or whatever. But I think it’s pretty clear.)

Bluhm, a retired Milwaukee Journal reporter, is making a repeat visit to the Black Hills, for a week of fishing. He brought with him some truly fine Wisconsin cheese and a truly exceptional book of columns by Jay Reed, the late, truly great outdoors writer from the Journal.

Bluhm’s alternating his bed between our place in Rapid and Wintersteen’s cabin up near Terry Peak. We were up high in Spearfish Canyon on Monday, where the heat and sun made the fishing a challenge - until late in the day.

Then the fish rose, finally.

We’ll be out after them again today, which will explain my irregular - even more than usual - tending of the TIO machine.

But I think you’ll understand…

Cast in an appropriately angelic glow of late-day sun on the creek (and, OK, sure, just a bit of fill flash, too), Bluhm removes the hook from a brown trout.

Her name is Lexa. She’s six. She was with her mom, Betsy, and the rest of a 4-H club from Whitewood. And they were having a gas at the kids fishing day at McNenny. If I had a better memory, or had actually written down their last name, I’d share it with your. But, I’m zero for two there … Zero for three, actually, since I didn’t get the volunteer’s name, either. Anyway, it was fun.

By KW

OK, so my note taking left something to be desired.

It was Saturday. I was surrounded by kids and fishing poles and ponds full of trout.

And I was planning a little fly time on nearby Crow Creek.

What can I say, I lost my concentration.

But I did manage to snap a few photos, displayed here on my way out the office door to fish my way across South Dakota to the beautiful city of Highmore, for Old Settler’s Days and the Garrigan clan’s annual gathering.

I’ve got a few more photos of kids coming, as well as some Caster Don shots of his latest adventure with Wintersteen on a prairie pond.

For now, though, I’m outta here….

I did manage to write down Chuck Berdan’s name. That’s him, a coordinator of the kid’s day for the last 10 years, lining up some of the fishing goodies donated for the event. That’s his daughter-in-law, Torey, helping out. Gosh, it’s nice to take notes!

Just part of the gang of kids and parents and friends and volunteers scatter across the grounds at McNenny for kids fishing day - an event that began as a derby but quickly turned into a day of fun, fishing, food and education.

Hefty browns and rainbows gather for a fish pellet or two at the deep, spring-fed pond at McNenny Fish Hatchery near Spearfish.

By KW

It’s enough to make a serious angler weep. Or giggle. Or moan. Or run back to his car and get a flyrod - which, uh, the folks at McNenny Fish Hatchery wouldn’t appreciate.

So I limit myself to giggling, moaning and shedding an occasional tear for those hog trout I’ll never catch, but at least get to watch in wonder.

The deep, spring-feed pond at McNenny is a mini-wonderland of fish life, including and especially hawg rainbown and brown trout. They’re like the pig-sized trout at the D.C. Booth Historic Hatchery in Spearfish, only in a more natural setting.

I love checking out the big ones at both, with enthustiasm similar to what the Boy Scouts below, who were at McNenny for the kids fishing day last Saturday, demonstrated after their kids’-day duties were done.

Toss a handful of fish pellets and the big trout frenzy is on.