The social norms and characters of fly-fishing have always been interesting. That’s one thing that has never changed. There was always a social pecking order, and process one had to go through in order to get veteran anglers from a given river or region to talk to, let alone respect them. Today that same social system exists, undoubtedly with more spite and cynicism than ever as self promotion and photography has made it harder to discern who should be taken seriously.

Around the holiday time this past December, I was speaking with my friend Jimmy, who had been relocated from the east coast to Chicago, about trying to get a fishing trip on the books in Michigan in the late winter/early spring. In thinking what made sense, steelhead came to mind. In trying to drum up some precise ideas to put our plan into place, I thought about fisheries and rivers I knew there. A “friend” on Facebook who I had never met, Matt Supinski, was one of the first people I thought of. Most likely due to his flamboyant and authoritative posts I had previously seen on his page. In following Matt’s Facebook page, I knew what I was getting into. Matt, as most know, is a well known published author of several books in the sport of fly-fishing, who takes a serious and scientific approach to the sport and conservation. In reading between the lines of what he was getting at though, I understood and agreed with his ideology when it came to the sport of fly-fishing, and separately his cynical and critical views directed towards the sport generally. Despite the fact we shared the same views, I knew going in that common positions were not going to make him an immediate friend, and in fact posed a risk of two radical minds in a single boat. But I called him anyway, said very little, and in playing it safe had a few days in March booked for steel heading with him and my friend Jimmy heading into March 2020. 

While I always trust my gut, it always feels good to have your gut instinct confirmed by way of your assumptions being proven true. And this was one of those times. I got a call from Matt when I was 3 minutes from his lodge heading into our first morning of fishing per the GPS in our car. We were driving in a small hondai sedan built perfectly for a practical city slicker, which Jim was rocking. Matt called warning us of the fact that the driveway leading down to his lodge was very icy. He asked “ what type of car are you in”, which in response I said “a car” not wanting to show our cards too badly that we were in the worst car imaginable for the conditions up there. He quickly responded “ what type of car” to which I responded “a sedan”. Matt saw through my evasiveness and cut to the chase and followed up with “ what car are you driving” and I knew what he meant, which forced me to cave and respond “ a hondai sedan”. The conversation ended with him saying, “Jesus fucking Christ- park on the main road I’ll come out and pick you up”.  The man I envisioned I was going fishing with was already proving my initial impression to be true. 

After parking the car and getting situated at the lodge, we got our gear on and met Matt down at the boat ramp where we were launching that morning. From the second he met us at the boat that morning, he must have had 5 very random but perfectly fitting songs he was stuck on that day being sung under his breath that included everything from Van Halen to Willy Nelson’s “aint going back to broke back mountain”. As we started fishing things opened up in a positive way. I’d swing a fly and realize I wasn’t getting down turning around saying “ I think we need to add another” to which I’d be cut off by Matt saying “ you motherfucker you’re reading my mind bring that thing in”. Enough times of this happening in a row led both of us to believe that we were on the same page, and to Matt that we could engage in some legitimate fishing conversation. Despite being someone I initially thought would view himself as authoritative, Matt was very willing and cool with the back and forth debate on fly choice, water we fished, etc which I tend to chime in on as I start to learn a place. He didn’t view it as me telling him what to do or telling him how to do his job, and actually encouraged/enjoyed the back and forth collaborative thought process. It was refreshing, enjoyable, and caused us both to recognize how  detail oriented we were when it came to this sport. As the conversations continued, I came to learn that Matt and I had fished a lot of the same waters. We talked about them in passing as we fished. Matt also seamlessly guided my buddy Jimmy, who in short time was coined the simple but kinda funny “steelhead jim”  

The gift of gab is one thing, but true passion is another. I didn’t see that side of Matt until we had been skunked on a cold day one, and the first half of day two had not produced. Matt, who I’ve already painted as a colorful personality, was getting frustrated with the fact the river was not producing. We pulled into a run in what felt like a last ditch effort at 4pm on day two, when after 10 casts my buddy Jimmy calls out “fish.” Jimmy had gone entirely mute for hours on all three days during our banter, so to hear him speak, let alone speak the word fish woke us up, as we saw his rod bent and pulsating confirming a fish was finally hooked. Both Matt and I screamed at Jimmy about what to do for the first 30 seconds, with Matt at some point yelling “ just listen to me and you’re all good” which I recognized was rightfully so a time for me to be quiet. We chased the fish downstream quite a ways, with Matt grabbing the net and me jumping on the oars to get us into position to land the fish. When that fish went into the net, Matt’s body language and response was pure passion. The dude cared- and he cared a lot. That moment alone caused me to have a lot of respect for him as it was not just an average net job where a guide says nice fish do you want a photo. It was everything to him and it mattered.  Which after 25 years of doing this, I have to tip my cap. After the fish was landed, we joked about how nuts he was as suddenly new songs started to be sung under his breath as he rode back to the lodge. He was as crazy as ever, just happy and relieved in this point in time. 

On our final day three, we entered the day with optimism as a warm night and a warm day ahead provided hope that increased water temps would perk up the fish. We fished a pool hard that morning that I had seen fish rolling in the night before fishing on foot nearby the lodge, but came up empty with only an aggressive grab to show for our efforts. We headed up river that afternoon where fish had been the day before, and within 5 minutes of setting up there, Jimmy again called out “fish”, this time with more confidence.  Matt’s initial reaction and expression this time was different, because deep down he wanted it to be a trip where both Jimmy and I left with what we came for. A natural guide instinct. We chased this fish downstream and when we netted it, the fish was beyond impressive, a fat 18lb hen just past the point of being pure chrome. The sheer beauty and impressiveness of this fish made it all good for everyone, with Matt very much in his own words explaining “you’re done dude- you will never do better than this”. In all likelihood he was right, as how many steelhead anglers land a 13 and 18lb fish in one weekend? 

After releasing Jimmy’s second fish, I fished hard for a few hours trying to grind one out. I hooked one and broke it off, and then swung flies with angst knowing my time was running out, until it did.  For a man that breaks at least two fly rods a year on purpose out of frustration, I somehow found the silver lining to end the day with the help of the cynical Matt Supinski playing guide psychiatrist and bringing me back to equilibrium. He was crazy, but on purpose, and could be a normal guide when he had to for purposes of calming a frustrated client down.  

That last night, we had dinner and talked before we headed out. It was a dramatically different dynamic than what existed when we headed in via our hondai on day one. I had broken through with an old, seasoned, and untrusting veteran of out sport.  The story usually reads that the older seasoned angler is the curmudgeon. That said, the passion every serious angler shares for fly-fishing is real, and in some cases disarming. Navigating the social complexities that come with this sport is part of the fun, and with thick skin and an understanding of what to expect, you usually end up ok.  And to think, this was accomplished without ever landing a fish. Sometimes, the ability to take a skunk in stride and admire a fishing buddy’s exceptional catch is enough, and this time it was.