Category Archives: Fishing Reports

Erie Tribs Report: The Quest for 200 (Part 2)

I didn’t think I would land 17 steelhead today, but you never know. Crazier things have happened. We — Number 2 Son Cam was joining me today, along with our guide Bob Packey — would be fishing Conneaut Creek in Ohio. I love this stretch of Conneaut. It’s got the ubiquitous sheer shale cliff faces you associate with Erie tribs, and while it does have its share of shallow, easy-to-read flat bottom, much of it resembles a traditional trout stream like you’d find back east.

The weather was cooperating. At least at first it was. Overcast, which was nice, but then it began to shower, building to you-need-a-raincoat strength. Then, the wind picked up, whipping piles of leaves into the water. That was a wee bit of a problem. But when it comes to steelheading, you get what you get and you don’t get upset. The water was lightly stained, and with the leaves, increasingly tannic. Not necessarily a bad thing.

We started off at the tailout of a deep pool, hard against a shale ledge. We fished this mark last year, and did very well, but for the first 10 minutes this year the fish weren’t having it. Finally, they began eating. This is a challenging place to play a fish, as the tailout dumps into a series of rapids and pockets. If the steelhead goes down the chute, you’re either chasing after it, which can be dicey, or breaking it off, which is lose-lose for all parties. Fortunately, the steehead gods smiled upon us. Conneaut has several sections where playing a fish is difficult due to swift currents and rocky substrate. Landing fish on this day was far more challenging than yesterday at Elk. I felt like I earned every fish.

~

Adding to the challenge was a mix of fresher fish, and water temps that were a decidedly un-December-like 47 degrees. Many of the fish, like this one, were hot players not long from Erie. But I like a challenge. It sweetens the pot.

~

We worked our way downstream, banging away at pockets and runs that looked like good holding water. This lovely hen came out of a swirling pocket at the edge of a waterfall. I can’t say enough about the fine coaching Cam received from Bob Packey — and about Cam’s fly fishing. You see, Cam really doesn’t fly fish. But he gets it. Sure, he’s had experience landing steelhead on the fly rod (I used to hand my rod off to him when he was little and let him have at it) but as anyone who’s done it can attest, steelheading isn’t easy! Great job, Cam.

And so, dear reader, this is where the story gets interesting. We fished a tailout that held dozens of steelhead last year. This year, not so much. Only two touches, and zero fish landed. However, the run below was Yahtzee. At one point I hooked up on six consecutive casts. My landing percentage was good. Some quick math, and I was at 198.

Two to go.

And then, the steelhead gods stepped in and waved their collective index finger at me. Now, now. Not so fast, Steve. I had a chrome skipper just at the net before it bolted, ran between two rocks and wiggled off. I got snagged on the bottom and could not free it. A walk upstream and some direct pressure and…the bottom fought back. Big steelehead. Battle ensues. The fish spit the hook and got fouled on the dropper. Off it went. We made the command decision to stay a little later and finish the job. Again, the steelhead gods with their wagging fingers. Foul hooks, tippet failure, bad luck, no fish where they should be…200 would have to wait for another day.

I can’t say that I was mortally disappointed. 15 in the hoop is very, very good day.

Erie Tribs Report: The Quest for 200 (Part 1)

I don’t normally count fish. But steelhead are a special case. They can be hard to find, hard to hook, and hard to land. You can do everything right, and still lose the fish. So every one you bring to the hoop and safely release is to be savored, even treasured.

Last Friday morning found me on Elk Creek in western PA at first light. The tally at that point was 175. I figured that 200 might be in reach on this three-day trip, and that five on day one would be reasonable. (In retrospect, it’s a little foolish to plan on catching a certain number of steelhead. You just never know what stream conditions, the elements, or the fish will throw at you.) I was flying solo, and got to the creek early enough to secure a prime mark. Within ten minutes, I was one-for-one. Then things slowed. I worked down the run and bagged another, a shiny fresh hen just in from the lake. Then nothing. By now the sun was up and I could clearly see into the tailout. It looked barren.

Every substrate is different, and ever-changing light also affects how well you can spot fish. As you can see, steelhead are masters at adapting their coloration to the environment. Sometimes you see them; sometimes you don’t. Learning to determine where they might be holding in any given condition, especially when you can’t see them, goes a long way toward improving your catch rate. I fished a couple pools and runs that certainly must have held fish — except they didn’t. At least not on that day and hour. If you’re not catching and you’re not snagging the bottom, you’re not fishing deep enough. And if you are fishing deep enough, and you’re not fouling a fish or two, there probably aren’t any steelhead in the pool. I lost many a rig in one indescribably sexy pool without a single hookup. But once I found the fish, it was go time.

Since another angler had jumped into my original spot, I decided to take a chance and walk upstream. As I neared some prime water, a guide materialized from the river banks to deter me from slipping in below his client. I gave them both a friendly wave, and announced that I had no intention of crowding them. This put everyone at ease, and I struck up a conversation with Glen, the client, and T (dagnabbit, I forget his name) the guide. Cigars were offered, flies and pleasantries exchanged, and before you know it I was fishing in a nifty slot above their pool. Funny how kindness and politeness goes a long way!

Friday was a tricky day. Whether due to pressure or other environmental factors, the steelhead went through stretches where they just would not eat. I got pretty good at recognizing early if a fish was fouled, and at taking steps to quickly de-hook the fish. I did land every fair-hooked fish, and on a challenging day where many anglers reported slow-to-no action, I was delighted to land eight steelhead. Many thanks to Glen for taking net duty, then this photo.
Glen’s on! I can’t say enough kind words about Glen and T, who were kind, matey, and so generous with their water. In a matter of minutes, it was as if we were all old fishing buddies . You can see the different colored strata on the stream bed. The basic rule of thumb on a creek like this is to fish in the dark water, and near the edge of ledges. I hooked up several times by targeting a deeper, darker slot just downstream of a ledge. I’d toss my rig onto the ledge upstream, then let it drift down into the hole. If there was a player steelhead holding there, it would eat the egg fly the moment it dropped off the ledge.

I gave myself a hard stop of 1:30pm. I had to drive to OH to pick up Cam at college. Tomorrow, we’d be fishing in OH with a guide, and I wanted to be rested and ready. 183. We’re getting there.

Farmington River Report 11/28/23: Andy and Ross officially deemed members of the frozen chosen

I haven’t done a winter lesson in years, which is too bad. Winter can be a great time to fish the Farmington, especially if you like walking into any hole you damn well please because no one else is fishing. OK, so it’s not always like that, but with Monday’s cold front coming through — the mercury dropped 13 degrees in a matter of 10 minutes — and Tuesday’s forecast for gusty winds and snow showers — anglers were few and far between.

We fished from 11am-3pm, a good winter window. The method was drop-shot nymphing under an indicator, two-fly dropper system. The first mark was a popular spot within the PTMA. We had it all to ourselves for a half hour, then two more anglers showed up. The four of us managed one take in an hour, so I made the decision to head up to Riverton, where we’d find lover flows (PTMA was about 500cfs, Riverton 250cfs) and warmer water.

We also had solitude. The angler fishing 100 yards downstream from us left after 20 minutes. We stuck two fish at the the first place, one on the first cast, but then the action slowed. With 45 minutes left in our session, we moved upstream a quarter mile. Both Andy and Ross connected here, too, but sadly both trout wriggled off. With ice in the guides and the sun falling farther below the tree line, we called it a day.

Both Andy and Ross made significant, noticeable improvements over the course of the session, from casting to presentation. Lessons that bear repeating: it’s a bunch of little things that draw the line between fishing and catching. Drag-free drifts, false positives that let us know our flies are on the bottom, line management and mends, and especially looking for a reason to set the hook on every drift are all crucial to success. Well done, Andy and Ross!

I was so into the teaching thing that I didn’t get any shots of the lads in action. Here’s a sample of some of the bugs were were using.

Finally, a reminder that I do guide year-round. If you want to take advantage of reduced angler traffic, a winter lesson — it really is a different game than spring-fall-summer — will start you on the way.

Erie Tribs Steelhead Report: So high, solo

After fishing two Erie tribs in OH and PA last December, I knew I would have to get back there. Soon, nine-ish hour drive be damned. I had to wait a full 10 months to do it, but it was so worth the wait.

Unlike the northeast, Steelhead Alley has seen very little rain this summer and fall. The timing for my trip could not have been better, with a decent slug of rain before the weekend that marked the true start of the fall run for many tribs. Still, the water was on the high side of low — if that makes sense — meaning that 90% of the fish would be in 10% of the water. The spook factor would likely be very high, along with angler traffic.

Adding to my challenges was that I had zero experience fishing public waters. So I hired the guide I used last year, Bob Packey of Solitude Steelhead Guide Service. Bob focuses on fishing private water — an absolute treat — but that would do me no good when it came to public water. So we formed a game plan: fish Wednesday morning on private water for a few hours, catch a few fish, then bounce around to some public access marks so I could learn some spots. Since Bob has deep domain experience on Erie tribs, I knew I’d be in good hands.

The dread cold front hit the night before day one, putting the steelhead in winter mode. We saw runs and slots that held dozens of steelhead, but even with precision casts and presentations, they were just not having it. Once the sun rose and the water inched up a precious degree or two, the natives decided to play. We had success with sz 14 Blood Dot eggs and sz 10 White Deaths fished as the point fly on a two-fly rig under an indicator. Switching to the White Death fly was a revelation, as fish that couldn’t be bothered with eggs suddenly opened their mouths and moved to take the fly. Bob is a terrific guide, and I’m learning so much from him about this unique fishery. Photo by Bob Packey.
We had to work for our fish in the morning of day one, but beauties like this always make it a labor of love. I also stuck a big ol’ brown trout — funny how that’s considered by-catch when back home it would be a trophy. By 11:30am we were at a public access point on Elk Creek. Although there were plenty of anglers — “crowded” on Erie tribs is not the same as “crowded” on the Salmon River in Pulaski — we were able to find a half dozen highly productive marks because so many anglers were fishing in the wrong place. Cracking the Erie tribs fish-finding code is a major part of success. Once Bob showed me what to look for, finding the fish was much simpler task.
The answer to the question, “Was that the bottom or a fish?” On all three mornings I fished, the steelhead were sluggish at first light. Once they turned on, there were far fewer fouls. When I foul a steelhead, I try to rope it in fast. I find I have very few breakoffs; most of the time, the hook comes away without breaking the tippet. I caught and released several fish that had hooks imbedded in their fins or bodies.
What a rugby ball of a hen! She took the top fly on my rig, Clyde Murray’s Spider, size 12, in low light. My strategy on days two and three was to focus on a few marks and learn them cold (as much as I could in a few hours). Not all of the water was productive over the course of two days — steelhead are on the move this time of year — but I certainly had fun trying different flies and different combinations in different runs at different times of the day.
So that’s why I lost that fish…
Elk Creek living up to its name, a small window of wonder on an early morning when I was the only angler on the water for a few hundred yards. My final tally over 2 days and 3 hours was 20 steelhead landed, a bunch lost, and immeasurable fun. A little more rain, a little more flow, no bitter cold. Those are my hopes for December. Steelhead dreaming is a thoroughly enjoyable pastime.

Striper Report 9/20/23, or: The One Where Casting Distance Made All The Difference

If you fish for striped bass with a fly rod, you’re operating under an unimpeachable assumption: whatever you hook must be within close range. Fly casting range. Not practice casting on a lawn with just a fly line. I’m talking standing thigh-deep in the ocean with a line and leader and fly and waves and wind and if it’s the dark of the moon, limited vision. You might get 100 feet if you’re a tournament-level caster, or have a two-handed surf rod. For most folks in standard conditions, it’s probably 75 feet or less. If the wind is honking in your face, you might be talking well under 50.

Sometimes, distance just doesn’t matter. (The last striper I caught took the fly under a rod’s length away from me.) And sometimes, like Wednesday night, distance is everything.

I fished with surfcaster extraordinaire Toby Lapinski, and it was a tale of the tape. Toby got into a half-dozen-plus fish ranging from 5 to 15+ pounds, and I blanked. Oh, I had a few pulls from squid, a solo sharp rap, and then later, a momentary hookup. But the spelling of the word of the number of bass I landed begins with a Z. Toby was launching his wares way over 100 feet, and that’s where all the action was. I had my two-handed surf cannon with me, but I was well short of where the fish were holding and feeding. I saw one of Toby’s hookups, and it was a good 50 feet beyond what I was making. (And I was having a very good casting night, bottoming out on just about every cast.)

A cast, a mend, a slow gathering of the line, and….nothing. (Photo by Toby Lapinski)

You might think I was discouraged, but that wasn’t the case. I was delighted that Toby was getting into fish. Most of all, it served as proof that I wasn’t fishing poorly. I just couldn’t get the fly out far enough. Nobody could have. Thank goodness those nights are the exception.

Out thinking as we trudged back along the beach was to try a different, earlier stage of the tide, when the fish might be in closer. It’s all one huge science experiment, with your lab report being graded by the fish. So I’ll be looking to bump that C up to an A.

When you’re expecting small, be prepared for big

If you’ve taken a lesson with me or attended one of my presentations, you’ve heard me say that we all put our waders one leg at a time. So, even though I may be considered an authority of sorts, I’m still human — and I still make mistakes on the water.

Twice now, on my last two trips to the Cape, the catch has been trending small. Twice, I’ve subsequently hooked into something very large, and lost the fish.

Now, you could make a case that I was a little unlucky. There’s probably some truth to that. But the single biggest reason I lost those potential cows is because I wasn’t ready for them. I didn’t make a powerful initial hookset. And by the time I realized what was happening, I’d already lost the fish.

Gordo hooking up. At least someone on this crew knows what they’re doing.

My most recent tale of woe came earlier this week on the Brewster Flats. I was fishing a small weighted crab pattern, probably on a size 4 hook, letting it bounce along the bottom, then swing up at the end of the drift. It had been a slow morning — Gordo, who was spin fishing with a jig head small soft plastic, had connected with two smaller bass. So that’s what I was expecting. I hadn’t had a touch all morning, and had been cycling through patterns in a desperate attempt to find something the fish might eat. The crab fly was on the dangle below me just over a deep hole, and I was daydreaming.

WHACK! The bass hit the fly like a bullet train. Immediately, line began screaming off the reel. The fish made a textbook striper series of runs: one good, long one, then a pause (where I attempted to reset the hook and gain some line). Then a second powerful, albeit shorter run. I reset again, but it felt wrong. I was furiously cranking the reel when the line went slack. Heartbreak.

So. I hoping that I’ve learned my lesson. It’s OK to expect small, but be prepared for big. I certainly will be.

Next time.

Farmington River Report: Not to sound like a broken record, but…

Even though we’re haven’t experienced a heat wave in weeks, water temps on the West Branch continue to play spoilsport. As I write this at 12:30pm, it’s already close to 70 degrees(!) in Riverton. Not good. With the warm, damp late summer weather, it’s no surprise that flying ants have been out with trout eating them. But, as UpCountry Sportfishing’s Torrey Collins writes, “you need to be very careful about water temps in the afternoons. This means you may need to fish between Canal/Beaver Pools and the dam to stay in water temps of 68 degrees or less.” As of late, the cutoff point for safe fishing above Riverton has been around 10am.

So: my guide trips remain in limbo. Patience will be our virtue. Although, if you want to curse and mutter under your breath, I certainly won’t stop you.

Thanks also to everyone who started following me on Instagram.

This was my client Michael on the Lower River in late June, late afternoon, 100cfs, and believe it or not, the water was colder there and then than it is coming out of the dam right now!

Another crappy striper report, fishing by feeling, and a good surfcasting podcast with Jerry Audet.

I’m really not in a bad mood about it, but yeesh! I have been getting my butt kicked in the salt since June. Granted, it’s been a trip here, a trip there. Wednesday night I fished a top-secret mark with surfcaster extraordinaire Toby Lapinski. We both agreed that it looked fishy as hell: moon going behind a cloud bank for good, light winds making just the right amount of chop, falling barometer, moving tide, and….no bait. What?!? No legions of silversides? No juvenile menhaden? Toby managed a few courtesy bumps and a husky 8-10lb bluefish; all I could muster was a lightning fast double-blip hit that I suspect was a smaller blue. We only gave it 90 minutes, but we just weren’t feeling it.

Which brings us to the second part of this post. Dennis Zambrotta wrote that when he fishes the west side beaches of Block Island, he gives a mark 10 casts or so and then moves on. I don’t have any hard and fast rules like that, other than when I’m fishing by feeling, I get into a yeah or nay mindset. And on this night, the nays were screaming out loud. I was the one who formally called it, and Toby later confessed that he was ready to leave even before that. I guess when you reach a certain level, and have a certain familiarity with a mark and its patterns, you’re either feeling it or you’re not. Maybe if we stayed another hour, we’d have gotten into some fish. We did agree that if fellow surfcaster extraordinaire Jerry Audet was with us, he’d still be out there.

Jerry is a wonderful example of an angler with a plan. He knows who he is and how he wants to fish and he does it with consistently great results. You could learn a lot from a guy like Jerry — even if you never pick up a spinning rod — and a good place to start is last month’s Anglers Journal Podcast, Surfcasting With Jerry Audet. Give it a listen. Take notes. Appreciate his knowledge and passion.

Even if you’re inclined to get the hell off the reef and get to bed before 2am.

Farmington River Report: A glimmer of hope in this warm water purgatory

It seems never-ending, this stuck-inside-of-Riverton-with-the-New Hartford-blues-again feeling. But a glance at the current temperatures coming out of the dam offers some positive traction for the glass-half full crowd.

This weekend saw the coldest temps out of the gate since August 3rd. If we continue to have cool nights in the 50s, that bodes well for a reduction of a few precious degrees. Of course, sunlight and hot air can quickly defeat those few precious degrees. But better times and lower water temps are coming.

In the meantime, I am continuing to put all my Farmington River lessons and guide trips on hold. Like trout, the Farmington’s aquatic insects are shocked as well. My spies tell me hatch activity has been minimal at best. If you must fish the Farmington, please do it from Riverton northward, and do it from first light to mid-morning. Please carry a thermometer and do not fish in water above 67 degrees. Right now is great time to visit the bluegill pond with for 6-foot glass rod and some poppers or a size 18 Elk Hair Caddis. Panfish fight way outside their weight class (ask me how I know!).

Farmington River Report: Potentially dangerous temps for trout

The flows have come down on the West Branch (about 325cfs from the dam and about 450cfs in the PTMA). But all’s not well. As predicted, the ridiculous volume released by the MDC burned through the colder stores at the bottom of the reservoir, and those won’t be replaced for months. Right now, the dam release is about 64 degrees, which is barely trout friendly. The problem is, the farther you go downstream, and the warmer the air temp and the more intense the sunshine, the warmer the water gets.

This is from Torrey Collins on this morning’s UpCountry Sportfishing river report: “(water temperature) rises varying amounts depending upon the day, time of day, and distance from the dam (it reached a peak of 67 degrees in Riverton in the late afternoon yesterday). With a much cooler forecast this week and cooler nights, I’d say you can safely fish downriver as far as New Hartford in the mornings, but by noonish I’d be up at People’s Forest/Mathie’s Grove/Campground & upstream in Riverton where the water temps will be a little cooler as the day progresses and water temps rise a bit. Bring a thermometer with you and actually use it.”

So if you choose to fish for trout on the Farmington, please consult this infographic from ColoradoTU.org: