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.
This can be a tough time of year to fish. A lot of what is hatching is small. Usually flows are low (not the case in either river) and warmer (ditto). Over three days, I saw very little bug activity, and the feed bag was never on. Still, there were some bright spots in all the dreariness.
Monday, August 26: Housy (Slower). I fished with fly tier extraordinaire and fellow smallmouth bum Lou Di Gena from 3pm to 8pm. It was not good. I managed to hook four smallies in five hours of fishing. I should be hooking four smallies on consecutive casts. Bug activity was minimal (small caddis) and there were no fish in some incredibly sexy new water we fished. We ended up in a pool where I once landed 50 smallmouth in an evening. Painfully slow that night. Of course, it’s hard to be bitter when you land your biggest bass of the summer…even if it was in the first 10 minutes of fishing.
This slob went 17″ and somewhere between 2 1/2-3 pounds. Taken under an indicator with Lou DiGena’s CE Crayfish, a small (2″) weighted pattern. A real forearm burner!(Photo by Lou DiGena)
Wednesday, August 28: Farmington (Slowest). This was a photo shoot day with fellow Farmington River guide Antoine Bissieux. He fished from 3pm-7pm with dry flies — I joined in for the last hour with wets — and it was disaster slow. We fished a mark below Riverton, and hatch activity was slim to none. I don’t think I counted even a half dozen rises in three hours. Antoine blanked (to give you an idea of how pathetic the action was, it was his first skunk of the year) and I managed only four bumps and one fish to net. The bumps were half-hearted, and the one I did land was arguably the worst hit I’ve had all year on a wet fly. (Insert heavy sigh here.)
Take your time, Antoine. You’re not missing anything.
Thursday, August 29: Farmington (Slow). I gave a wet fly lesson to Corey and his son Matt from 3pm-7pm. We started off in the bottom end of the PTMA, but that was not a happening place, so we headed north. Another mark, although quite fishy, was disappointing. Both Matt and Corey had some bumps, but no real hookups. Farther north was the call, and I’ve never seen the area below the dam so crowded. My best guess on the crowds is that anglers thought there might be pre-Labor Day stocking? (There wasn’t.) But we found a very nice section to call our own, and had at it. Ding-ding-ding! It was the winner bell and the dinner bell. Both Matt and Corey brought fish to net, and it was gratifying to see their hard work pay off. Well done, gentlemen!
They’re not big, but wild brookies on the Farmington are always a treat.
My apologies or not getting this out last week. I’ll try to be a little more timely. The good news is that the terrible weekend rains mostly missed the Farmington, and the river has been fishing very well. Last week I guided Dan for a late afternoon-into evening session. The focus was on dry flies, and we started off with a hopper/dropper system. (‘Tis the season! And I promise, no more parenthetical statements.) We discovered a pod of trout taking emergers in a shallow run in bright sunshine. When Dan dialed in his cast and drift, his hopper got crushed by a very respectable mid-teens brown. We found another run formed by the confluence of two sections of river, but we couldn’t buy a hit. Even when we switched to wets, it was no dice. My best guess is that they were feeding on something far smaller than what we were throwing.
We ended the session at a classic dry fly pool within the PTMA. Hatch activity (22-24 BWOs, 18-20 Summer Stenos, and later, 12-14 Light Cahills and an absurd number of midges…and I guess I fibbed about the parenthetical statements) was light until 8:30pm, but Dan managed to stick a nice fish on a 22 BWO dry. We used a 14-foot leader-tippet system terminating in 6x to get better drifts in the languid, glassy pool. At 7:30 I was able to join in the fun. As predicted, that wild brown feeding just off the rock in the frog water got stupid as it got dark, and I took him — with great delight — on a size 16 Catskills Light Cahill dry. Both Dan and I had good action until we could no longer see our flies.
The next day, I shot some drone photos for the book with filmmaker extraordinaire Matthew Vinick. I fished for about 45 minutes below and within the PTMA until he arrived.
I was fishing some water in the PTMA I really haven’t spent any time in for at least five years when I connected with this gorgeous creature. She was part of a pod of trout taking emergers, and she chose my Squirrel and Ginger top dropper. Matt and I went to a couple other pools in the PTMA to shoot, and then we had places to be.
~
I had 30 minutes to fish before I had to pick up my son at Bradley. So I ventured into some snotty, treacherous water that’s rarely fished. This rainbow hit the Squirrel and Ginger so hard that she peeled off 20 feet of line before I could adjust my drag. The photo really doesn’t do her justice — she was fat and powerful and wonderful, and she just wouldn’t sit still for a picture.
~
There’s a happy guy! My last customer of the day was the best. She was feeding in a slot near the shore, and it took some maneuvering to get into a good position to present my team of three. This is where it helps to be physically fit (and carry a wading staff). There’s no way I could have reached her without being willing to wade into some dicey currents. Measured against my net, this is a high teens fish (I refuse to thrust a fish at arm’s length into the camera) that took an Isonychia soft hackle I’ve been prototyping for a year. I’ll publish that pattern soon, but in the meantime, I can tell you this: big fish like that fly. You can see a fly-in-mouth shot on Instagram, probably Tuesday.
I fished twice this week, Tuesday and Wednesday, and the days could not have been more different. On Tuesday, I hosted fly tier extraordinaire Lou DiGena from New Jersey. You may have seen Lou at the Fly Fishing Show, or at the IFTS. The river was up a bit, 406cfs in the PTMA and stained from rain. We started off below the PTMA and found some eaters, me with wet flies and Lou Euronymphing. Because of the stain and cloud cover, we decided to give streamers a shot in a popular pool within the PTMA. That was a total blank. Not knowing if there would be crowds for the evening rise (as it turned out, there were not) we headed to a dry fly mark above the PTMA.
I’ve been fishing this pool for a very long time, and I’m here to tell you that the bug activity and rising fish quotient were among the worst I’ve ever experienced. We kept waiting for a hatch that never really materialized. Lou did well to stick a nice brown sipping in some frog water, and I took another at dark when I suddenly saw a riser, but that was it. On the walk out, there were a few midges in the air, but water that is normally littered with spinners was strangely barren. I did see a few bigger Light Cahills and smaller Summer Steno spinners, but no real biomass like you’d expect.
Wednesday, the weather forecasters blanked. They called for showers and light rain starting at 6pm. The showers started at 1:30pm, and evolved into a steady rain that went on the rest of the day. That didn’t dampen the spirits of Kevin, who was taking a wet fly lesson with me. The water in the PTMA was down 50cfs and had cleaned up considerably. We arrived at the spot to see fish rising, and we connected within a few first casts. A couple more bumps and a juvey Atlantic salmon, and then it was over.
Our next move was to head north and fish the water above Riverton, which was running clear and cool in the mid-50s. We found a long slot that held rising fish, but we strangely couldn’t get them to eat, save for one courtesy swipe. The hatch was BWOs (not surprising given the conditions), about a size 20, and the swallows were going to town on the bugs. We gave it a good effort, then moved even closer to the dam.We had virtually the entire stretch of river to ourselves. We found a boulder field with some very sexy slots and pockets and waded in. At 162cfs, this is perfect height for this stretch of river. During a wet fly lesson we cover a lot of techniques and tactics; there are a few principles that could be considered core, and critical to success. One of them is that presentation makes a huge difference. The longer you can keep your fly in the strike zone, the better your chances of hooking up. We found a run that had a pod of rising fish — again, small olives was the fly — and I reminded Kevin that if he threw a couple mends as the team of flies moved down and across, he’d give the fish a better look at the flies. On his next cast, this happened. Way to go, Kevin! We hooked two more and then called it a very successful day.
There are precious few absolutes – like gravity or the firmness of the earth – in fly fishing. But certainly this one is unimpeachable: wet flies in the water catch more fish. This is why I recommend that you keep your wet fly team in the water as much as possible, especially when you’re wading to a new position up or down or across stream.
The value of this practice, which I teach in every wet fly lesson, was driven home to me on Wednesday when I was out on shooting photos for the Farmington River book with Derrick Kirkpatrick and Joey Takeman. We’d just returned to the river after a thunderstorm delay, and were crossing a shallow (1-2 feet) riffle. I hadn’t fished yet, but this time I had my rod with me, and while I intended to take more photos, I couldn’t resist stripping out ten feet of line and dangling my team of three (16 Sulphur soft hackle, 16 Diving Caddis, 12 Isonychia soft hackle) in the current below me. Whack! I felt a sharp tug, and although the hook found no purchase, I’d already proven my point. It was a quality take, more like a loud foul than a swing and a miss.
An hour later, on another part of the river, we were walking upstream when I spotted a pod of rising trout across the stream. I told the guys that I had to take a few casts at them. I did, landed two, then began to cross back to the other side — team of three, naturally, dangling in the current below me. Wham! Another hit, and this time a hook set.
As dusk deepened, I left Joey and Derrick to return to the area where I’d seen the pod of trout. As I started to cross the river, a large trout delivered a thunderous hit on one of my flies. It immediately put itself on the reel, and peeled off 30 feet of line as by drag was not set for such a creature. In the gloaming, a spectacular aerial revealed that I had indeed hooked one of the FRAA-stocked 5-7 pound trophy rainbows. Another run, then another aerial, and as I tried to regain some line, yet another aerial. Tremendous sport!
I wasn’t worried about the hook set as the fish clobbered the fly. I had fresh Maxima 4-pound as my tippet. I was going to land this mini-steelhead. I wish Chad a better picture for you, but I wanted to get her back to swimming. Besides, the light was lousy. And so, off she went.
Great rainbow trout, lousy photo. My net length is 19″ and she did not come close to fitting. I’d guess 22 inches or so. For those who want to know, she took the Diving Caddis. Now, repeat after me: flies in the water catch more fish…
I recently fished 6 nights on Block Island, and this once vibrant shore fishery continues to struggle. I checked my records and found one night in 2018 when I landed 12 stripers; this year I managed 10 stripers in 6 nights with 2 skunkings, which ain’t exactly lighting it up. Once again, the key to success was finding a pattern and hammering away. I spent the first two nights trying to find a pattern, which meant bouncing around the Island, fishing different marks at different tide stages. I had a good moon in terms of darkness, but the tide heights were crappy, which didn’t help. Once I found bass, I returned to that mark at a similar tide stage the next night, although I still had to put in my time to get a couple fish. We left early this year because the fishing was lousy and we had a rain day we could fill with packing. Here’s to better days and a return to glory for this sacred fishing ground.
On the first day, I met — wow, I am so bad at remembering names, so please forgive me if I get it wrong — currentseams reader Caleb(?) sight fishing on Crescent Beach. He told me that the week before, he’d had a fantastic day surfcasting at a popular old school mark. He went back the next day, same tide, same conditions, and it was disaster bad. So goes it on Block. Fish here, fish there, then no fish anywhere. The new inshore paradigm seems to be no schools cruising through, but rather a rogue, random bass. (Insert heavy sigh here.) The sight fishing in the day was generally crappy; I had several days where I saw no bass at all, which is dreadful for early July.That’ll save me a walk, although I did do the stairs one afternoon for exercise. The weather was generally crappy, with dense fog, high humidity, and a blustery S-SSW wind in the 10-20 mph range, which all but eliminated the south and southwest sides of the Island for the fly rod. Even with my 2H surf cannon, I wasn’t into it, especially for ultra slow fishing. I did fish multiple parts of the Island, but I could only find one specific mark that consistently held the possibility of fish on a certain tide. Even then, that tide was historically the worse of the two, so it was a surprise to me that that was this year’s pattern. Some old favorite, reliable marks failed to produce fish, which was discouraging. I want my old BI back!One night, at the witching hour of midnight, I ventured out onto a top-secret flat within the Great Salt Pond. Wind was an issue, but I had a moving tide in my favor. I followed my dark-of-the-moon protocol of fan casting and moving a few steps to systematically cover water, but after a while I recognized the futility of it all and headed in. I will typically turn on the light to see what creatures are stirring, and I was treated to a swarm of baby squid, about 1/2 to an inch long, hundreds of them, buzzing around and through my headlamp light cone. Sadly, no diners had assembled. This is a still from a video I shot.One of my ten bass in six nights. The good news was two slot fish in the mix. The bad news was nothing smaller than 24″, so there were precious few stripers in the 3-5 year-old classes represented. That would fall into line with the miserable recruitment stats from 2020 and on. While the action was less than I’d like, I did get reacquainted with the truculent nature of Block Island stripers. Aside from snook and tarpon, I don’t know another fish that hits a fly harder than a Block Island striped bass. Powerful, crushing eats, and then, once they realize they’re hooked, a bullish, line-taking run. I had several fish work circles around me and/or run along the trough by the shoreline. Simply tremendous sport.
We had a fishing trip/photo shoot on Wednesday from 3:30-9pm. Delaware River guide extraordinaire Bob Lindquist came down to take pics for the book and an article he’s writing. We (filmmaker Matthew Vinick of “Summer on the Farmington” fame) started off at the bottom end of the PTMA and the action was slow. Little to no hatch activity, and precious few risers. Matthew and I had to work our butts off (he was nymphing then dry flying, I was swinging wets) to put a few in the hoop over 90 minutes. Both of my trout took a large Iso soft hackle.
Matthew had to skedaddle, so Bob and I moved up to a dry fly pool above the PTMA. As I was wading in, an old crusty angler (meant as a compliment) was leaving, commenting that the sulphur hatch was not good. He was right. It never really got started, even later in the evening as sunset transitioned into dark. Id like to blame it all on the hatch, but I don’t think I fished particularly well, mostly because I was being stubborn. Let me explain.
I saw that the sulphurs that were on the water were an 18-20. But I wanted to see if I could get them to take the 16. They generally wouldn’t, and when I put a 20 on I had double the action. I was also committed to fishing the water in front of me, which, due to varying currents seams and speeds, was difficult to maintain a quality drift. Sometimes I like a challenge, you know? But my fish worthy-drifts were few, and even when I did fool fish, I came away with nothing. I rose six trout and stuck none of them. Ugh! Finally, I moved down a few feet to more drift-friendly water, but by then it was too late. (Stubborn Steve pays the price.)
I should mention that I had some surprising success on wet flies in some very slow-moving water pre-7pm. Two trout, two crushing hits, both on LaFontaine’s Diving Caddis size 14. Later, the pattern that the trout seemed to like best was a size 20 sulphur comparadun. As it got darker, I switched over to a size 12 Usual. Unfortunately, the typical dusk feeding orgy never manifested, and both Bob and I commented about the lack of spinners on the water at dark. So it goes.
The Diving Caddis wet. I’ve been tying these without the rib, and using tan caddis Prism dub for the body. The trout are all in favor.
currentseams.com 