This is a pretty stretch of the Escanaba - wide, flat, fed by cold springs, buffered by limestone, and after two days of rain - running high.
... and catches a brown trout.
MK said the water was as high as he had ever seen it. He guided me to a couple of "newbie safe" spots, minimizing the likelihood of my falling into the "dynamite hole".
We fished until sunset. I had one strike. MK caught and released one fish - a 10" brown. We spend more that two hours in the middle of the icy cold river, casting to the far bank. Many insects and hatches were in evidence on and near the surface.
The remarkable thing - fish were rising all around us. They were jumping in front of us, behind us, next to us. Many were well within my limited casting range. Sometimes two at once. Some as close as seven feet. MK reported that he tried 15 different flies. I tried two different flies and, at the end of the day attempted to switch to a third. The fading light, my failing eyesight and shivering hands conspired to keep the leader out of the eyelet and sent me back to shore.
What to conclude regarding the hypothesis? I'll leave it to The Reader to decide. MK caught one fish and I was skunked, but MK was equally frustrated by his performance, given the level of activity in evidence all around us.
I'll leave you with this:
As I stood shivering in the frigid water flowing quickly past my nether regions - as I focused on threading that damn fly in the dying light - out of the corner of my eye - I saw a trout rise right next to me. Perhaps it was a hallucination - a hypothermia induced trick of the mind - but I could swear he looked at me, and I heard him ask... "You a golfer???"
UPDATE: MK conspired with his daughter Emily to arrange a test of the second part of the MK hypothesis at the Greywalls golf course. The posted results are linked here. Additionally, as noted in the comments, my brother is gripped by the worst case of troutenfreude I have ever seen. It is not a pretty picture.