North Dakota

Good People - Good Water - Good Fish

Here’s your fishing tale—polished up with passion, a dash of wit, and just enough humor to keep even the most stubborn trout smiling:

After three gutsy attempts, here I am: outside Turtle River State Park, on the last day of a 6-day October adventure in Grand Forks, North Dakota. The sun sets at 6pm, and most days I was wrangling spreadsheets instead of fishing rods. But hope springs eternal (even if the trout don’t!).

Since spring 2024, that winding river in the state park has been my white whale—or should I say, my rainbow. Every trip has taught me more about rivers, trout, and humility than I ever expected. Am I destined to spend years chasing this North Dakota trout? Or will my fishing memoirs become required reading at the DNR’s school of hard knocks?

FIRST ATTEMPT – May 2-5, 2024

My maiden voyage to Grand Forks and Turtle River State Park was sparked by pure fly-fishing passion and a healthy dose of escapism (thanks, wife’s out-of-town schedule!). Armed with the DNR’s recent stocking schedule, my two chocolate labs—River Gator and Brooke Trout—and a 13-hour drive from Chicago, I was a caffeinated bundle of nerves. After a foggy all-nighter, I rolled into a Caribou Coffee with my laptop and co-worker Pete, then pressed on to the park.

Arriving at dusk, I asked the park rangers about trout tips—they looked at me like I’d asked for directions to Atlantis. Out on the muddy riverbank, beside some socializing college anglers, the only thing flowing was the churned-up mud. Sucker fish were spawning like it was salmon season, and my forty hopeful casts brought back nothing except the urge for dehydrated beef stroganoff.

After a night asleep in my trusty Acura MDX and a luxurious shower (if only the fishing was as reliable as the plumbing), I spent a day working from Urban Stampede, a charming coffee spot in a town full of college students and 2-hour parking limits. (Yes, that’s another $20 donation to the city coffers.) My evening attempts were thwarted by fast, muddy water, and even my Minnesota steak dinner at the Blue Moose couldn’t lure a trout to my line. I spent Saturday exploring, learning the river’s moods, fending off the weather, and consoling myself with wine before heading home, plotting my next attempt.

SECOND ATTEMPT – April 19-21, 2025 Next spring, with my wife out of town again (bless her), I braved hurricane winds and actual 1920s-style dust storms on my dash north. Arriving after the DNR’s spring stocking, I claimed a free, unstaffed campsite and set up for the weekend. On Sunday, spotting another rare fly fisher—a med student from Colorado with a fly box that would make Picasso jealous—we exchanged stories but, after three hours, no fish. The learning continued.

Later, under a walking bridge, while dodging legions of creek chub and casting a bold orange stimulator and green copper john, I had a brief, seven-second "fish on" moment—a fleeting encounter that left me wondering if I’d hooked the trout or just a show-off chub. Moments later, inspiration struck as a spin caster landed a beautiful rainbow right before my eyes. Hope was alive!

After dog park interludes, campsite steak dinners, and an early-morning run-in with a beaver impersonating my wayward dog (don’t ask), I stumbled on a sign at Ryan Park Pond reading "Trout Stocked." After a cold, fruitless session, I returned at sunset to see trout darting under my line. But no bites. That black woolly bugger tricked a fish for only three seconds—another reminder that in North Dakota, you never really know if you’re fishing or just daydreaming with a rod in your hand.

THIRD ATTEMPT – October 19-24, 2025

For my third dance with destiny, I set out early, trusting my Acura despite its developing impersonation of a carnival ride and trip to the garage on Monday for repairs. I fished the now-clear waters of my trusty bridge, spotting trout (and even a monster northern pike!) swimming tantalizingly in plain sight. But the six days flew by in a whirl of emails, coffee shops (and obligatory $20 ticket), and precious little daylight. I tried everywhere—the river, the pond, even a new gospel-powered coffee shop. I tracked trout, made casts, and joked with friendly locals who were as puzzled as I was.

Finally, on Friday, after telling myself not to let frustration win (a sure sign you’re close to a breakthrough, or maybe just losing your mind), I took one last shot at Ryan Park Pond. River Gator romped, the wind stilled, and on my very first cast—a slam! Fish on! The rush was electric. No net, no problem—this one came straight out of the water and onto the dinner plate. I cast a few more times, relishing the adrenaline, and watched the trout feed by the reeds before I packed up, shot some scenic drone footage, showered, and drove back home, mission finally (almost) accomplished.

Three epic road trips. Hundreds of casts. Enough stories for the website. And at last, a North Dakota trout—state number 49 of 50. Someday, I’ll return for revenge on the ones in Turtle River, but for now, I’ll let those fish rest easy… until I tie on my next black woolly bugger.

Turns out you don’t just catch trout in North Dakota—you earn them, one stubborn cast at a time.