Eagle River Eagle River - An early-morning haze clings to the Northern Highlands of Wisconsin, thick enough to hide towering tamaracks and the rising sun.
But not so thick as to obscure the smile on Ken Anderson's face. Or the brilliance at the end of his line.
Seated at the back of the canoe, Anderson holds his spinning rod at arm's length, looking for all the world like a dog walker with a strong, determined and untrained puppy underfoot.
"Small, maybe," says Anderson, of Eagle River. "Scrappy, always."
His attempt at keeping the fish from abrading his monofilament against the weathered aluminum hull is mostly successful and after a long minute of surging runs and darting circles, a 10-inch brook trout comes to net.
The fish has a metallic, dark gray back that blends to bronze at mid-flank. Its side is festooned with red and blue spots. And orange, white and navy fins hang like tri-colored flags from a white belly.
Native and wild, the brook trout is an all-American jewel of freshwater.
The fish have inhabited Wisconsin streams and lakes for thousands of years. For as long as anglers have fished them, "brookies" have been favorites for their looks, sport, table quality and more.
"I like the places brook trout tend to take me," says Anderson.
Today we're at Brule Springs, a spring pond in the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest east of Eagle River.
Anderson is particular about the times and places he fishes. He only fishes on lakes in winter when he can walk on them.
With one exception: backcountry trout.
Brule Springs is nearly as beautiful as the fish.
Nestled among hemlock, tamarack and spruce, the water is ringed with purple blossoms of lake iris and sprinkled with yellow blooms of spatterdock.
Because it's accessible only by a foot path off an unpaved forest road, the pond sees relatively little use. We're the only anglers on the water this Tuesday morning.
A chorus of "harrumphing" frogs keeps us company from the boggy shallows.
We paddle around the various shores and lobes of the roughly 10-acre pond, plumbing the deepest holes with a variety of spinners.
My first fish hits a spinner at mid-retrieve. After a brief tussle, a 6-inch yellow perch comes to hand.
"You're the only person I know who can catch a perch in trout water," says Anderson, shaking his head.
This is what he gets, I rebut, for inviting someone who grew up on the shores of southern Lake Michigan to his North Woods hideaway.
Anderson, 64, is retired after 25 years as a community resource development agent for University of Wisconsin Extension in Vilas County. He also served as a county delegate with the Wisconsin Conservation Congress for a similar term.
Personally and professionally, he's worked for many years to conserve and restore the resources of the area.
"Cold-water systems are unique and once you lose them you never get them back," says Anderson.
Even in the hottest part of the summer, the water is about 60 degrees at the bottom of the pond, says Anderson.
As stated in Fishes of Wisconsin by George Becker: In some headwaters, brook trout springs are guarded as irreplaceable treasures.
Though they occur naturally, spring ponds can degrade over time due to sedimentation, beaver dams and human development.
Humankind has also been a savior for some of these waters.
Using Trout Stamp funds and donations of money and elbow grease from Trout Unlimited chapters in Wisconsin, the Department of Natural Resources has worked to improve several such spring ponds in northern Wisconsin.
Brule Springs was dredged in 1994 to improve its depth and remove silt. Several TU chapters, including those from Green Bay, Marinette, Northwoods and the State Council, worked on the project.
"The 'loon poop' was 8 feet deep in places," says Anderson, smiling.
Fallen trees were also removed from its shore.
Such projects lead to a dramatic improvement in trout numbers, said Mike Vogelsang, DNR fisheries team supervisor in Woodruff.
"Within a year or two, it's phenomenal brook trout habitat," said Vogelsang. "If you build it, they will come."
Vogelsang said the trout population typically increases three- to five-fold within three to five years of the dredging.
The DNR mostly "lets Mother Nature do its thing," said Vogelsang, as juvenile brook trout will move upstream into the pond.
One exception is when beavers build too many dams at the outlet of the pond; the department will then knock out the structures to improve stream flow and fish traffic.
The DNR and TU are engaged in a similar project this summer at Trout Springs in Forest County.
Anderson and I fish through the morning. About 9 a.m. the sun begins to win the battle with the haze; fleeting blue sections of sky are visible.
Dragon flies tango in the grassy hummocks near shore.
Puffs of silt rise from depressions in the pond bottom, evidence of spring action.
The fishing action is fair for brookies, good for perch and chubs. Not that Anderson is interested, but I show him the finer points of landing small panfish and large minnows on spinners.
We also hook and release several more brook trout, from 6 to 11 inches in length.
Anderson, who holds a master's in wildlife management from UW-Stevens Point, is a conservationist. But he also likes to eat fish on occasion. Or as he says: "Catch-and-digest."
He keeps one plump brookie that, when gutted, reveals a stomach full of smaller fish.
By late morning the fishing action has dissipated under an increasingly bright sun. We decide to paddle to the landing and call it a day.
This corner of the North Woods will always have water and trees and blue sky. But only through the presence of our bejeweled native fish can the beauty be called complete.