Category Archives: Fishing Reports

Steelhead Report 12/5/14: Neither here nor there

You get two kinds of steelhead reports.

The first is celebratory. The bite was on, the hookups plentiful, and the giddy recollections make you wish it was you who had written them. Such reports are usually accompanied by multiple grip-and-grins, or artistic renderings of gleaming flanks, spotted tails, and hook-and-Estaz neatly secured in mouth.

The second focuses on the friends you fished with, or the solitude you basked in, but most of all the glory of just being there. Umm, the fishing was slow. What else is there to write about?

No matter which end of the spectrum your trip falls into, the truth always lies somewhere between the two. Yes, there is no other rush in fishing that compares to the knowledge that the bellicose, cartwheeling silver machine you’ve been dancing with is going to be in your hands in a matter of moments. And yes, it is glorious just to be there. (You cannot, after all, catch a steelhead in Connecticut.)

Here’s my somewhere-in-the-middle from Friday.

Morning. I had planned to fish one of the nearby creeks, but the water was falling too fast for my liking. So I explored some of the diversions below Altmar. Friends, I covered water to the point of excessive thoroughness. I moved around. I gave the steelhead a choice. Nothing. Whatever was there, it wasn’t eating what I was throwing. I spent the first three hours picking ice out of my guides and trying to coax my fingertips into a functional setting. At least I had my pick of spots. By 11am, though, I’d had enough.

It wasn’t cold by Pulaski standards, but it was cold enough to make crystal lily pads. IMG_2619

Afternoon. From the start, I viewed this as a bonus trip. After my wildly successful November, I was playing with house money. So I decided to head downriver, instead of up to where the heavier concentrations of steelhead (and anglers) would likely be. If I had to do it over again, I probably would have chosen both.

I learned that some of the places I can cross the river at 1,000cfs are far more challenging at 1,400cfs — even with a wading staff — and still others are plain impassable. That limited my choices here. Run A was a blank. Run B produced my only steelhead action of the day. I kicked it. Asleep at the switch. By the time I realized the bottom was a steelhead, it was  swimming indifferently downstream, never to be seen again. (I am working on an algebraic proof that states: after the 499 good drifts you make, eyes keenly focused on the indicator, reaction potential equal to a cobra’s, looking for an excuse to set the hook, the one take you get will come on the 500th when your senses are taking a nap.)

Run C was dark and deep and surely held a few fish fresh from the lake. Or not. Run D was formed by a perilous conglomeration of deadfall. I waded out between logs, stripping out line, trying to decide where to cast. I was already a little annoyed by the missed opportunity (and lack of others). So when my fly got snagged on one of the submerged logs before I could even make a cast, I angrily tried to snatch it back. Thrummm! Asleep at the switch again, only this time the fish was hooked. Not a steelhead — that was abundantly clear from the non-hysterical headshakes. Good thing, too, because with all the barriers and overhangs, there was zero chance of landing something chrome. But I will take a 20″ brown trout over the skunk any time.

Lousy picture. Decent brown. Incredible luck. IMG_2642

Run E appeared to have potential, but after 45 minutes it remained unrealized. So I went back to the dropped steelhead location well, in hopes of a repeat. Hopes were dashed. At 3:15pm, with over eight hours of hard fishing in the books and lake-effect sleet bouncing off my hood, I began the hike back to the truck.

I tell you, it was really great just being there.

Christmas tree, Pulaski style. IMG_2628

Salmon River Steelhead 11/24/14: Fishing With Joe Friday

Where: We floated from Altmar to 2A

Duration of trip: About eight hours and thirty minutes

Number of spots we fished: Two

Water level and color when we started: 475cfs and clear

Water level below Orwell and Trout Brooks: 800cfs and rising, color somewhere between tea and chocolate milk with a splash of leaves

Weather: Cloudy and cool to sunny and in the 60s(!). Two brief showers. Windy.

Number of steelhead we hooked: 12, plus one foul we broke off (got the fly back)

Number of steelhead we landed: 9

Number of times I handed the fly rod off to Cam after hook set: 3

Number of steelhead Cam landed: 3, including one hyperactive jumper

Cam’s first steelhead landed on a fly rod. He’s a natural.

Steel Cam 11-24-214

Number of steelhead Cam has played on a fly rod before this year: Zero

Cam’s batting average in his three-year steelhead career: 1.000 (Five for five. Proud papa.)

Kind of flies I caught them on upriver in the clear water: small stones and soft-hackled nymphs, size 10 and 12

Pattern I caught them on in the dirty swill water: size 8 Bead Head Lifter, Pink/Chartreuse and Blue/Chartreuse

Downriver, I figured I’d need a hi-vis pattern to get the fish’s attention. I hemmed and hawed, considered an Egg-Sucking Leech or other streamer, then tried an Estaz Egg/San Juan Worm pattern. No. Tied on the Bead Head Lifter, got the answer I was looking for, and kept it on for the rest of the afternoon.

BH LIfter

Number of steelhead I thought we’d catch in the dirty swill water: Zero

Number of steelhead we caught: 6

Ugh. Miles of dirty water. Scores of beleaguered anglers lining the shores. At least they could have gotten into their trucks and driven upriver. But we were bound by the confines of the boat, gravity, and what nature had thrown at us. As the saying goes, you don’t know if you don’t go. Six steelhead landed is a damn good afternoon, any day. In swollen mucky runoff, it’s lottery lucky. Wow. We’ll take it.

Steel Cam and Me

Guide rating: Highest marks. Jim Kirtland has what you’d call deep domain knowledge of the Salmon. His netting skills are exceptional. Very recommended.

Number of steelhead we landed on our two previous floats with Jim: 3 (I guess we were due.)

Number of steelhead I landed in 2012: 1 (sometimes the bear eats you).

Number of steelhead I’ve landed in the last 13 months: 41 (sometimes you eat the bear).

On a scale of 1-10, energy I felt from being out on the river on a spring-like November day with my son catching steelhead: C’mon.

Striper mini-report: Our Blessed Lady of the 3/0 Shot

A quick zip in, zip out striper mission yesterday to see if anyone was around. They were, for a brief window. I missed the first 45 minutes (according to the other angler I spoke to — I didn’t get your name, but thanks for sharing the water). But for a half hour, it was nearly a Bass-O-Matic.

Hellooooooo down there.

Little guy big mouth

 

While the fishing wasn’t very technical, there was a key to success: getting the fly to the bottom where the bass were hanging out. I was fishing a floating line with a four-foot section of T-11 sink tip and a weightless soft-hackle about three-to-four inches long. Not deep enough. Once I added a 3/0 shot to the leader and threw some mends, it was bottom — and striper — city.

And then, like that, they were gone. I tried a few other rips (not easy to find with a 10-20mph SW wind disturbing the surface) but decided that when the local who fishes this spot all the time left, he knew something I didn’t. And off I went.

The tide comes in. The tide goes out. Leaving lovely sculptures in its wake.

Outgoing

Not a bad way to begin a steelhead trip

Just got back from three days on the Salmon River. This fall’s steelhead fishing has been very spotty, so wasn’t I more than pleased to land this magnificent chrome hen a few hours into the trip. Full report to come.

“Do I look fat in this picture?” Yes, dear, you do, and bless every single one of your powerful pounds. She took me into into backing in just a few seconds.

Big Steel 11:14

P.S. Inquiring minds will want to know, “what fly?” Size 10 60-Second Copperhead.

Housatonic Mini Report 10/29/14: More fun with streamers

After last week’s rains placed her flows into the thousands, the Hous TMA was down to a very wadeable 988cfs. The water, however, still had a moderate stain, and it was noticeably colder than last week. Cloudy conditions with a bit of a breeze. Fished a floating line with a seven-foot leader. I tied up a yellow and white marabou articulated streamer the night before in the hopes that it would discourage the smaller fish from jumping on. That kind of worked. I still had plenty of bumps, but the foot-long fish weren’t making it much past the initial strike stage. I did manage several some-teen-inch fat rainbows that kept me entertained with their cartwheels. In the higher flows, even a mid-teens fish felt substantial. I bounced around to five different name pools, and I had action in four of them. Getting stoked for a steelhead on a streamer next month.

Fat, aggressive, and obstreperous. Just the way I like my rainbows.

Housy Rainbow 1

Do I have something on my lip? I had confidence this streamer would work, but it’s nice to get approval from the target audience focus group.

Housy Rainbow 2

Small Stream Mini Report 10/24/14

A fairly gloomy type of day with drizzle, heavy mist, and fog-covered mountaintops — also known as breathtakingly beautiful. The drive was long, the woods and water chilly, and the creek was up and slightly stained from the recent rains.

The brookies were hunkered down today. I could tell right away that the dry would be unproductive, but I gave the Improved Sofa Pillow and the Bomber a fair shake. After pricking several and landing a couple, I switched to subsurface. That made all the difference. Weighted micro buggers and bead head soft-hackles in both dark and light colors met with approval.

Mountaintop shrouded in mystery. What secrets would her brooks reveal?

IMG_2471

I wouldn’t say it was a banner day, but one thing’s for sure: three hours on a remote mountain stream beats the tar out of sitting at one’s desk. Especially if there’s a Rocky Patel The Edge Corona Gorda in the mix.

Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” vividly rendered on Salvelinus fontinalis flank.

Van Gogh 2

Housatonic Streamer Report: Party Like It’s 1986

I can still remember that October day almost thirty years ago. I had just been let go from my first job, and since I was still living at home (opportunity), I decided to fish my brains out before my parents starting bugging me (motive) about acting like a responsible young adult. One of my adventures took me to the Hous. It was sunny. The flows were perfect. And I had two containers of mealworms and a can of corn to impale on my Eagle Claw snelled hooks. This was at a point in my fishing life where counting fish was critical to defining success. (Idiot.) The final tally was seventeen trout. I couldn’t wait to get home and brag to my father.

These days, the upper Housatonic doesn’t get nearly as much attention from me as it should. Even today, I only managed two-and-a-half hours. But, oh my goodness, what an amazing little session.

The plan was streamers. Last night I tied up a couple old favorites, soft-hackled versions of the classic Black Ghost and Mickey Finn on #6, 3x long streamer hooks. Since I would be fishing with a floating line, I added a large black brass cone head, seated with weighted wire. Ten minutes in, I still hadn’t had a bump. What was a spotty sprinkle hard turned into a steady rain. I was thinking this might not be my day.

Wrong. Once I moved out of the shallows (I still don’t know the river as well as I’d like) and started delivering the Black Ghost into some deeper runs, the hits began in earnest. They took the streamer on the swing. The dangle. And the strip. Sometimes they’d swipe, miss, and come back for more.

After a half-dozen or so, I switched over to the Mickey Finn. Boom! What a pig of a rainbow. Most of the customers were cookie cutter foot-long rainbows, but this wannabe steelhead went on the reel almost immediately. A few of the rainbows today had those telltale wide pink bands, large intact fins, and the disposition of a feral cat. I really wanted that gator brown, but these fish were keeping me well-entertained. I looked at my watch. Two hours in. I had no idea how many fish I had done battle with.

On the way out, I stopped at one of the name pools to watch another angler cast to rising fish. I only stayed for five minutes. Dozens of trout were feeding in a gentle foam line, sipping tiny BWOs.

When I got into my Jeep, the gas gauge said almost empty.

Bullshit. My tank was full.

Long before I started fly fishing, I knew the Mickey Finn was an effective streamer for fall trout on the Hous. While I’ve made a few changes in materials for my soft-hackled version, the color scheme is the same. Yup. Red and yellow and silver and black are tasty.

10:14 Housy Raindow

Return of the Good Night For The Five Weight

Some day, I’ll have to tell you about the two nights in October many years ago when I caught seventy-five striped bass on the five-weight. But for Friday night, one was the number I happily settled for. It’s been a tough fall for me, with many hours put in for very few stripers. Such is the price of exploring uncharted potential big bass waters.

So Friday night I returned to some old haunts in Rhode Island. Even on the inside, a steady 15mph southwest blow made casting a chore. The first place I fished was a blank. I wasn’t feeling it from the start. So I went back to the truck for for Plan B, swapping out my three-fly rig for a single fly, a Crazy Menhaden flatwing/bucktail hybrid.

I spooked a bass on the wade out, so that was encouraging. Inside of five minutes, I had a follow and a missed hook set. Also encouraging. Then nothing during a half hour of casting, mending, swinging, and dangling. Weeds were a minor nuisance. Suddenly, bang. I was on. A twenty-four inch bass in a ripping current on a five-weight is about as much fun as you can have wearing nylon pants and rubber boots. If this were a Hardy Boys book, I’d say I chortled.

The last stop was anticlimactic. How far the mighty have fallen: this used to be a place I’d visit when I absolutely positively needed a striper. I don’t think I’ve taken a bass here for three years now. But the heavens were lovely and deep, and a shooting star was my reward for looking up at the right moment.

The wind was still blowing when I climbed into bed at 3am.

Crazy Menhaden flatwing/bucktail. Friday night, one of these in the 7″-8″ range made a crazy good-enough mullet.

Crazy CU

Fall colors

The woods were ablaze this late morning/early afternoon. A substantial leaf hatch, though, is a lot easier to deal with on a small stream. The char certainly had no problem picking out my size 16 Improved Sofa Pillow and size 16 Elk Hair Caddis.

Spooky fish today — most of them gave the fly a single whack, and that was it — no return business. Not surprising given the recent low water levels. A good number of them were hanging out in tailouts, making an upstream dry presentation challenging. Many more were locked into the whitewater plunges and deeper runs. I induced a few larger members of the tribe to strike, but most of what I raised was smaller, which I always like to see, recruitment being critical to the next few years’ outings.

Went subsurface on the way downstream, and as usual, stuck some brookies where none were forthcoming on the dry. Even after yesterday’s rains, the water was medium-low, cool, and clear. Creamy midges and size 18-20 tan caddis out today.

I am fortunate to be able to say, “I feel like going fishing today.” And then actually doing it. What a nifty little dark horse. He took the caddis in a seam just off a pocket plunge.

IMG_2458

Farmington River Report 10/14/14: Beware the leaf hatch

From my perch twenty-five feet above the river bank, I could tell I was going to be up against it. Hundreds and hundreds of orange and yellow swimmers. And that was just one run. Still, I was all in for swinging wets on this overcast, humid, decidedly August-in-October morning.

At first it seemed like I’d made a poor decision. Nearly every cast produced a hook-to-foliage connection. Finally, a bump that was readily distinguishable from the benign pressure of ex-flora. A recently stocked rainbow on the soft-hackled BHPT. Moving on, I was having a rather uncoordinated wading day. Even though the river was down, it seemed like it was my destiny to stumble. After recovering from one near swim, I discovered my rig was hung up on a submerged rock. I gave the line a roll cast to try and free it, but no. With a temper just short of rage, I gave the rod an upward set. The rock thrummed with energy. Now, surprised glee. Another rainbow, this one broad of shoulder and cantankerous, on the Hackled March Brown. One more trout a hundred feet down, then back to the truck to rig for depth charge.

They sure look pretty on the trees. But oh, what a pain-in-the-ass once they’re in the river.

Farmington Foliage

There was another angler in the run I wanted to nymph, so I watched him throw his streamer for a few minutes. As he moved a polite distance downstream, I entered the run where a disorganized series of riffles formed the head of the pool. First cast, the indicator stalled, I set, and an acrobatic rainbow cleared the water like a proper steelhead. Sadly, his leap was sans hook. I gave him a few minutes to rest, then went at him again. This time, hook set. Off he went, peeling line. I didn’t think he was fish-on-the-reel big. Turns out he wasn’t. Foul hooked just below a pectoral.

I was going to visit another spot in the TMA that I hadn’t fished all year, but you can’t lie to yourself. I wanted to go to that other place. So I hurried to a favorite deep, mysterious hole where, as the poet said, stone is dark under froth. Only a juvenile Salmon seemed willing to eat. Three more casts, I said. And on the second, the indicator dipped.  A wild Farmington River brown, some-teen inches long, on the size 16 soft-hackled Pheasant Tail dropper.

I valued that fish above all others today. But the rainbows reminded me that Pulaski and November are coming soon.

A credible summary of today’s conditions.

October Brown 2014