SAINT CLAIR SHORES, Michigan – “Maybe we should take our golf clubs,” was the final touch on the plans Danny Johnson and I had for a couple days of fishing at Michigan’s Lake St. Clair. Danny’s suggestion was born from the weather forecast for the Detroit area.
The most important weather aspect for a Great Lakes fishing trip is the wind. Anything over 10 miles per hour can transform St. Clair into a watery speed bump beast, but direction is even more critical. The long range forecast had called for northeast winds, and that is not a good thing at Lake St. Clair
Our Sunday afternoon launch was delayed because the Nine Mile Road boat launch near Ken’s Marine is closed. Ken’s camper has been my preferred lodging at the lake for a decade because it lies a half mile from the Nine Mile ramp. With its closing, we had to launch at Metroparks and make a seven-mile run down the lake to reach Ken’s.
Danny launched me at Metroparks, drove the truck and trailer to Ken’s, and I made the seven mile run down the lake. Lake St. Clair was bouncing, but the weekend pleasure boat traffic compounded the wave issue. My closest call to a boating accident occurred within one minute when a pontoon boat captain had his eyes to the left. Unfortunately, I was on his right as he emerged from the narrow canal much too fast.
“WHOA! WHOA!! WHOA!!!” My “whoa’s” increased in volume and intensity the closer Pontoon Popeye came to ramming me broadside. After the narrowly missed pontoon assassination attempt, my boating companion thanked me for the warning. His wife was not so grateful as she gave me the “you out-of-stater” stare.
Danny and I managed to squeeze in a few hours of fishing on Sunday after my solo run to Ken’s. We were catching smallmouth bass on chartreuse Ned jigheads matched with yoga pants (black) finesse TRD worms. My catch rate was much better than my friend’s, and it was strictly an equipment issue.
My reel was spooled with 10 pound test braid and a seven foot leader of fluorocarbon. Danny was using line that was the favorite choice of Fred Flintstone. His monofilament line had a far less sensitivity than my no-stretch braid. Add the depth we were fishing (11-13 feet), the wind putting a bow the size of a Conestoga wagon in his mono, and Danny had no chance to detect the subtle bites from the smallmouth bass.
“When we go with Tom tomorrow, you’ll have a chance to feel the difference,” I told Danny as we called it a day. Tom is Tom Kiefer of TKO Guided Fishing Service. We would be using his tackle for our four hour trip on Monday morning. The lake was even rougher that morning, but Danny finally dialed in the smallmouth bass. I had caught 10 or more the previous day while he had landed only three bass.
Once he started using Tom’s reels spooled with braid, Danny landed more bass than I did until a brief flurry at the end of our time with Tom saw me nearly draw even with my friend. One added feature for the guided trip was Tom’s forward facing sonar (FFS). This latest and greatest technology has transformed professional bass fishing.
Danny managed to catch one bass that showed up on the FFS screen, and I also caught one when it was my turn to fish from the front deck. Otherwise, my impression of FFS is that it looks like a semi-circle of fire with tiny maggot like squigglies that represent bass. It also shows more fish unwilling to bite than ones that do. It was fun to have at our fingertips, but for my money, I’d rather have a year’s supply of Ken’s world famous cheeseburgers.
Tuesday morning brought an even stronger northeast wind that had waves crashing over the bow of my bass boat as soon as we left the protected channel of Michigan Harbor.
“Looks like Plan B to me,” I told Danny. Plan B was golfing. Ken sent us to the Saint Clair Shores Country Club. I don’t know if it was Danny’s straw fedora or my “Time to bust some bass!” t-shirt, but the next tee time available for us was late 2024… at night. The nice lady directed us to the Chandler Park Golf Course 10 miles down I-94 where the guy working the phone gave us a “When you arrive” tee time.
From the parking lot guard to the guys on the course, Danny and I were welcomed with open arms. Even the roar of freeway traffic and the gunshots could not deter us from an adventure without par. Okay, Danny managed to scramble a pair of pars but the best I could do was a few bogeys amidst a scorecard with numbers more resembling the in-flight heartrate of a hummingbird.
However, I did hit my three best ever six iron shots. Unfortunately, all three shots were on hole seven. The first was a 155 yard shot to the green. When it finally hit the ground, my next six iron shot was from 160 yards. I never realized how fast a golf bounce could go backwards after hitting a tree.
My third six iron struck fear into every squirrel heart. Danny heard the ‘thwack!” of that effort.
“Did you hit that tree again?!?” he said in disbelief… for some reason.
“No way! I hit a different tree.” Danny had a better score, but my golf was a much better value. According to the scorecard, each swing of a club cost me 21 cents. The charge for nine holes with a cart was $23 each.
Wanna know my score? Do the math.
This article originally appeared in the Perry County Tribune.