Years ago, when I first heard of the Kootenai River, my brain assumed that it was in Alaska. I mean, it sounds like it belongs in the 49th state, doesn’t it? Well, it’s in Montana, and the locals pronounce it “KOOT-en-ee,” not “nye.” So I was wrong on both counts.
Located in the extreme northwest corner of Montana, a ‘way up by Canada, the Kootenai is Montana’s largest tailwater fishery. This is a big, deep river with crystal clear waters that mask its depth; if you’re going to fish it effectively, you really need to be in a drift boat. When we first arrived at our cabin — located just a cast away from the back porch — I thought, “Maybe later I’ll just wade out to that deeper stretch along the opposite bank.” Wrong. The water would have been chest high just 20 feet from shore. Over the next tow days, we floated over pools that were well overhead deep, and you could still easily see the bottom.
This was just a few paces from the back porch of our cabin. Libby, MT, is so far north that on August 1, this is the light at 9:30pm. You can see that the immediate shoreline is wadeable, but then it drops off in a hurry. The Koonetai is wider than the Housatonic in many places, and consistently far deeper. When you’re fishing the Kootenai, you focus on the transition areas between depth and shallow — the “change of color,” as my guide Jeff put it. I did some wet fly fishing, but mostly dry-dropper, with the dropper being another dry or small nymph.We stayed at the Kootenai Angler, run by Dave and Tammy Blackburn. There’s a fly shop on site, and full guide service available, which you’ll need. We rented their Betts Cabin, which was spacious and rustically elegant and wonderful. More than enough room for my me, my wife, and two sons. You can imagine how wide and deep the river must be for it to be flowing at 6,900cfs and still be low and clear!There’s also a restaurant on site. We ate there two nights, and I think my favorite part (besides the good food and incredibly reasonable prices) was being able to buy a bottle of wine, drink half of it, then bring it back the next night to polish it off. I’ll also go on record with this: Tammy Blackburn makes the best sandwiches I’ve ever had on a guided trip. They bring plenty of water, and with my stash of snacks (I’m a growing boy) I was well-fueled both days. The town of Libby is just a 15-20 minute drive, so you can get a breakfast sandwich or sit-down breakfast at a number of locations.The first day, we floated as a family in two boats; Karen and myself in one, the boys in the other. Neither Karen nor Gordon have done any real fly fishing, and both of them did a fantastic job with the learning curve — and yes, they both caught a good number of fish. The Kootenai is primarily a rainbow trout fishery, and they have the state’s only native strain on rainbows, the inland red band. While being out with the family and seeing everyone catch fish was a positive, I wasn’t thrilled with the water we floated over on the first day. Much of it was unremarkable, with flows that were in no rush to get to the ocean. But, I understand that is was good water for the beginners. I was also disappointed with the size of the fish on the first day. What you see here was typical of what we were getting into. Jeff explained that the feeder creeks had gotten too warm, and so much of the resident smaller fish had made their way into the bigger river in search of cold water relief.Then, there were the whitefish. Some consider them to be a trash fish, but they are part of the salmonid family. And it’s a new species for the fly-fishing tally sheet.Jeff Kalwara was my guide for two days. He did an excellent job teaching Karen, managing her rigs, releasing fish, and just being an all-around swell guy. Jeff and I went out solo the next day, but you’ll have to wait to read about that adventure…and more fish…and bigger fish.A guide’s work is never done. This is Jay, who guided Cam and Gordo. When we left Libby at 9am, he was busy in the shop replenishing his stock of guide flies. He also did a commendable job with Gordo, who really hasn’t fly fished proper before this. Well done, gentlemen!
John and Chris took a wet fly lesson with me on Tuesday, and we were having grand old time — a little streamside classroom action, a leader tying clinic, lots of fantastic Q&A (very inquisitive minds, these two, which I loved). When we finally got into the water, darkness fell across the land, and the thunder rumbles began.
This is good time to say this: get out of the water and seek shelter if there’s a threat of electrical storms. I am routinely astonished that some people still don’t do that. End of public service announcement.
We drove along the river trying in vain to find sunshine, which took about an hour. By then, the storm was over, and we had blue skies and hot weather. We headed north to fish above the PTMA. Finally able to wet a line, we got into some fish, although in the bright sunshine they didn’t come easy. It wasn’t until after the session ended that John and Chris were able to test their new wet fly skills. Both took multiple trout during the evening rise. Tremendous job, gentlemen. Your instructor couldn’t be prouder!
This brown fell for my Partridge and Light Cahill soft hackle. So simple and so effective! John Ryan photo
Who knows why the trout aren’t eating your Hendrickson fly? The Shadow Hatch knows. Shadow hatches are so named because they are concurrent with — and less glamorous than — the hatch you think the trout are eating. In the case of the Hendricksons, the shadow hatches are likely to be tan caddis and BWOs, although in early afternoon, the tan caddis are the likely culprits. This phenomenon manifested last week during my lone outing. I was fishing a team of three flies: Hare’s Lug and Plover (caddis) top dropper, with two Hendricksons below. Hendricksons were in the air and there were rising trout. Yet all of my fish came on the Hare’s Lug and Plover. This is the strongest argument for fishing a team of three: droppers are always the fastest way to find out what the fish want.
This magnificent brown might not have eaten had I not given it the choice of a caddis. You can get a better view of the fish’s weight and size on my Instagram @stevecultonflyfishing — and while you’re at it, please follow me there.
I managed about 3 hours of fishing last Tuesday, and it was a disappointing. True, I got my first few trout of the year on a swung wet fly. True, the weather was pretty darn nice. True, I rather enjoyed my Ashton VSG torpedo. But the bite and the Hendrickson hatch were disappointing. I’d give the hatch a 4/10 and the bite a 2/10. There just weren’t than many fish rising, and when they did, it was for an all too brief 30-minute window.
Some of the details: I fished with guide extraordinaire Steve Hogan for about an hour. He fished nymphs, I fished wets. He stuck several fish. I didn’t get a touch. We fished in the lower STMA. Water temp was low 50s, good medium-low flow. After Steve left, my action picked up, but again, only for a brief window. I then went to a mark a quarter-mile upstream and fished a 150-yard section with a team of wets, again without a touch. Normally, I would have expected at least a half-dozen fish. I heard from others who fished in the Canton area that it was similarly underwhelming.
I just wrote the section in the book about ID-ing an Atlantic salmon smolt. They’re often confused with small wild browns, but once you learn the specific markers, you won’t ever again mistake a salar for a trutta.
I’m going to try to get out again this week, then continue pounding away on my keyboard. The book is nearing the completed draft home stretch, but not quite there. Still gotta round that clubhouse turn.
In case you haven’t heard, veteran Farmington River guide Antoine Bissieux was just named the 2025 Orvis-Endorsed Fly Fishing Guide of the Year! In addition to being an exceptional guide, Antoine is also a friend and a contributor to the Farmington River book. You’ll get to see a few of his favorite fly patterns, and his wisdom will be sprinkled throughout the text. Congratulations, Antoine. We’re all tremendously excited for you.
From a photo shoot for the book this past August, Antoine patiently scans the water looking for a rise or the signs of a lurking trout. I’m grateful to have the opportunity to draw from Antoine’s knowledge and experience. When we’re out doing these shoots, I’m not only working — I’m also engaging in professional development: watching, learning, and just enjoying being on the river talented anglers like Antoine.
Speaking of anglers who know what they’re doing, I spent Wednesday afternoon on the river shooting Torrey Collins from UpCountry Sportfishing. We had a slow day; a cold front came through the night before, which was strike one. Bug activity was light (strike two) but we did see midges, early stones, and some olives. Torrey was Euronymphing, and we hit the lower end of the PTMA, and then two marks below it. It was a few stocker rainbows until Torrey connected with an archetype wild Farmington brown, a handsome buck in the upper teens. What was eye-opening to me was where Torrey caught him. I’d never fished there before, but I’ve driven past it hundreds of time without giving it a second thought. The more I write this book, the more I learn about the river — and the more you’re going to learn when you read it.
Torrey working the water, expertly covering every seam and hole in the pool. While I’ve fished in far colder temperatures, this was the coldest I’ve been on the river in a very long time. While the bite never really got going, we did our best and I got some excellent shots. Thank you, Torrey!
I spent last Wednesday afternoon with Dave, who wanted to explore the river and learn how to swing streamers and wets, and give his trout spey rod some action. We hit several marks within the PTMA, both to fish and investigate. While the weather was gorgeous (mid 60s and sunny), the water was still very cold (below 40 degrees in New Hartford). That’s a little chilly to expect significant action on the swung fly. Still, we managed a couple touches, and Dave did a fantastic job casting and managing his drifts. In another time and situation, he’s going to be a dangerous trout-catching machine.
I don’t usually talk about specific pools, but when we hiked into the Boneyard — the gate is still closed — the advantages of the two-handed rod became glaringly evident. Especially if you’re swinging a streamer. Dave was making effortless 60-75 foot casts — well, semi-effortless — and reaching spots most single hand casters would struggle with. Food for thought if you’re considering the 2H rod.
Ed releasing a lovely wild brown his buddy nymphed up. The size of the fins and the fish’s skinny I-made-it-through-winter body told me that it has been in the river for a very long time.
After our session, I went to do some scouting for the book, and I ran into Ed and Drew from the Avon Orvis store. They were nymphing with a couple friends below the PTMA, and having some success. To illustrate how a cold front can squash the bite, I went back the next day to do more recon, and hit the marks where they were getting into fish. Not. A. Touch. The overnight cold front and gale-force winds clearly had the trout in a dour mood.
Still, the fishing is starting to pick up. And it will only be getting better as we get into April. Fish ’em if ya got ’em!
For the last three years, I’ve driven out to Ohio in December to pick up Number Two Son Cam from school for winter break. Oh! That’s right. There are steelhead creeks out that way. So let’s fish a couple days before we make the trek home to Connecticut.
It was somewhat miraculous that we even got to fish this year. After months of relentless drought, Steelhead Alley got bombed by lake effect snow in mid November. Then, it rained and the snow melted. Creeks were impossibly up and the color of chocolate milk. By the second weekend in December, there was a short window that we lucked into.
The price of admission was bitter cold and slush-filled, shelf ice-choked creeks. These are the times that try men’s souls (or at least those men who steelhead). Still, I’ll take time on the water in adverse conditions over not going at all — especially since Cam’s a senior.
Saturday morning was the third coldest temperature I’ve ever fished in. We slept in and went to a diner for a proper, civilized breakfast and coffee. We hiked through snow down to the river at 10am. Fishing was difficult due to slush conditions; you can’t catch steelhead if your fly isn’t getting down to them. Even though there had been some recent higher flows, the numbers weren’t up to the level we’re used to. What was there was in very cold temperature mode; getting them to eat was a matter of persistence, precision, and plain old fine fortune.A chunky, pre-spawn hen, just beginning to color up. At the first mark, it took me hundreds of casts to get two fish to eat. I was targeting a pod made up of several fresher hens and a fish we dubbed “Old Blackie,” a very dark horse buck who was not the slightest bit interested in eating while he guarded his harem. At a second spot downstream, I fouled six fish; they simply would not eat. Finally, after pecking away, we found a hole that held a good number of steelhead that did not have lockjaw. The fish pictured here came from that group. Despite the non-optimal conditions, I had myself a day: sixteen steelhead fair hooked and in the hoop. I was so excited, I almost had a third cigar.Cam had a tough go on the first day, mostly because he doesn’t really fly fish, and the conditions demanded flawless presentations. By the second day, he was nailing it, and tripled the number of fish he put in the hoop. This is from day one. Pro tip: apples are a great way to get some quality calories and a wee bit of hydration. I carry several in my pack on every steelhead trip. Sunday presented an entirely different form of winter fishing misery: temperatures just above freezing and rain. We thought the fishing would be better. It wasn’t. The steelhead had lockjaw like I’ve never seen. The creeks remained slushy and ice shelf challenged, and that certainly didn’t help. This guy would not eat, would not eat, would not eat, and then on one drift he did. No backing sighted, but he took me for a good hike along the creek bank, out of the pool, down a long, shallow shelf, down a riffle, then into another pool. Fantastic color, impressive shoulders, and a worthy opponent. And yes, it’s as cold as it looks.We could see the fish, but when they’re not eating that can prove to be highly frustrating. Late morning, the bite suddenly turned on. After hours of lethargy, we actually witnessed a fish move to take my fly. Instead of repeated rejection, we had the jollity of our only double of the trip. But what we thought was the start of better fishing was merely a short bite window that snapped shut with cruel finality. The rest of the day was grind for every fish. My last steelhead of 2024 was a good one, though. We returned to the scene of our first stop on Saturday. Old Blackie’s harem was now one. Expecting only to maybe, possibly, hopefully getting the hen to eat, my first cast was, instead, stomped on by none other than Old Blackie. Poor guy was worse for the wear during his extensive time in the system: missing one eye, and he had foul hook scars all over his back. We removed a couple hooks from his flank and fins, then sent him back to make the next generation of Erie steelhead this spring. A shout out to our guide extraordinaire, Bob Packey of Solitude Steelhead Guide Service. Well done!
I realize I’m squarely in the better-late-than- space. So rather than blather, let’s get to it.
We start with a brief PA Erie tribs sortie in mid-November. The water was painfully low, and that made fishing extremely challenging, especially in the public water sections of Elk Creek. I did one day on private water (with a dabble in public), and then a half day on public water.
Harsh conditions. They’ve gotten ridiculous rain and snow since then, so where I’m standing is probably up to my chest! The fish were on high alert — we saw raptors everywhere and several fish with bird attack wounds. If the water had a flat surface and you were in the fish’s vision cone, they generally wanted nothing to do with your offerings. Even in the bigger, deeper pools that held a hundred steelhead, virtually every drift went ignored. With little-to-no current it was difficult to even get a drift. You had to make ultra-precise casts to get them to eat.I had my greatest success targeting fish that held in the shallow broken water of dump-ins and pockets. One such spot produced two steelhead. Here’s one of them. We fished Blood Dot eggs, White Death Zonkers, and pink Squirmy Worms, and the Blood Dot was the overwhelming favorite. Since you can fish two flies in PA, all of the flies were dropped off an another Blood Dot. This was the first time I’ve ever fished for steelhead without any weight. I also tried a new tactic to get my flies into the lane: as soon as the flies hit the water, I dragged them as needed to move them into position. Success!I finished the first day in public water. Holy hyper-spooky steelhead, Batman! It was extremely difficult to get into casting position, let alone present, without triggering the flight reflex. I managed one fish before a squall front moved in and blasted the area with gusty winds and torrential downpours. The next day, the creek was way up and running the color of tea with a dash of milk. Great color, but leaves were an issue. That influx of water moved all the steelhead out of the section I fished, and unfortunately no replacements came in overnight. I fought the good fight, but I didn’t get a single touch, and saw only one other fish hooked all morning. Time to head home and get ready for…
…Ontario tribs, and my long-awaited trip with Number One Son Bill. Bill had been steelheading before, but had never hooked and landed a fish. Under the watchful eye and excellent guidance of Row Jimmy, our mission was to change that. Like western PA, upstate NY had suffered from low rainfall. While the flows weren’t as dire, a float trip was ruled out. So crik stomping we went.
We arrived early and locked down a couple spots. I chose wrong, fruitlessly flogging the water for a three hours without so much as a courtesy touch. We had excellent conditions, and the clients of one of Jim’s guide friends had hooked 15 the day before. But something changed overnight in between dropping water levels (color was still good) and a dreaded cold front (I had ice in my guides until 9:30am. Nonetheless, Bill hooked and dropped one above me, so that gave us hope that creatures might be stirring. About 15 minutes later, yes! With pictures retaining their constant rate of worth, I’ll let Bill’s smile do the talking. Congratulations!
The rest of the day was peck away persistence fishing. I’ve never seen this creek so crowded, but people largely came and went because the action was virtually non-existent. It seemed like everyone had the same idea about the potential of the fishing, and then, once they realized they were wrong, left. We stuck it out, and I eventually landed three. With one more day to fish, we decided that rather than jockey for position and start well before dawn in the Altmar area, we would try some private water on the Salmon River.
We got a quarter inch of rain overnight, and that small amount was enough to move the fish out of our target run. Picture us standing in the rain at first light, wondering where all the fish went because no one is getting even a courtesy tap. Silver linings took the literal form of a few dime-bright steelhead fresh from the lake. Bill dropped a couple before hooking and landing a beautiful chrome hen, which he brandished with almost child-like delight. Though 1pm, all I had to show for my efforts was a silvery skipper.
I decided to attack a different section of the run, and it payed off. As my fly glided along the bottom of an uneven run, the indicator dipped as if it had somewhere else to be in a hurry. By the time I set the hook, the steelhead was running diagonally across and upstream, peeling off line at an astonishing rate. By the time he stopped, I could see the expanse of white that was my backing. I began furiously cranking the handle. As I regained precious line, the fish tuned and the line went slack. My heart sunk as I feared the worst. I even announced, “Fish off!” After I landed it, I remembered other such battles where the hook remained seated due to the tremendous drag of the line in the current. Next came the aerials, two of them, and I could see that I had a fresh fish the size of Bill’s. Bill grabbed the net and did a pro job netting the fish. Well, done, Bill! We decided to end on a high note, and victory was declared. Let’s go get a cheeseburger. I’m buying.
Many thanks to the men and women of the Hammonasset Chapter TU for being such gracious hosts. They’re a passionate group of fly fishers, and we had fun before, during, and after the presentation. This group understands that a fed presenter is a happy presenter, and a very hoppy IPA was an added bonus. We talked about Fly Fishing CT’s Small Streams, and right about now is prime time for thin blue lines. We could use some rain, though.
On Tuesday night I fished a top secret location in LIS with surfcaster extraordinaire Toby Lapinski. We thought we might be in for a treat when Toby connected on one of his first casts with a metal lip plug — decent fish, 15 pounds — but sadly, ’twas not to be. Toby had three more hits, converting one, and I had a nice swipe from a decent fish, but no tug or pull. It was a gorgeous night for fishing, with a favorable wind, but there was precious little bait and no schools of fish.
So it goes…
I’d eat this…this is Ken’s Sure Thing, a three-feather flatwing about 8-9″, a fine choice to swing over a reef in the fading moonlight on a crisp fall night.
The DEEP electroshocking crews will be on the Farmington River Weds through Friday. The river has already come down into the double digits cfs. Not to worry! This isn’t the MDC playing games with our fishery. Crews will be sampling within the PTMA. If you see them, please give them a wide berth, as they are collecting broodstock for trout you will catch in the future. I’ll be on the river Thursday taking photos for the book. Now back to our regular programming.
currentseams.com 