I spent a few hours the last few days restocking my steelhead boxes, mostly egg patterns. But I did whip up a batch of White Death Zonkers as well. (What an appropriate name on Halloween!) I also tied a few new patterns, because I like to occasionally experiment with flies and steelhead and conditions. It’s a never-ending project, and while I’ve made huge strides in the last five years toward mastering that fish, steelhead remain wonderfully enigmatic and fickle and subject to the whims and caprices of nature.
First up this year will be the Erie tribs. On that fishery, I use a different leader system than I use in Ontario tribs. I learned it from steelhead guide extraordinaire Bob Packey. The butt of the leader is a 9-foot stepped down taper: 4′ of 20lb., 3′ of 17lb., then 2′ of 12lb., terminating in a power swivel. I use clear Stren nylon for the butt. From there, it’s tippet, typically 6lb. fluorocarbon, 12″-18″ to the first fly (you can fish two flies in PA and OH), then about 16″ of tippet tied from the bend of the top fly, terminating in the point fly. Steelhead fly fishing is one of the few instances where I’ll use fluorocarbon.
If you don’t have this book, you should.
Your shot goes on the butt section just above the power swivel. In normal-to-higher flows, the top fly is typically a brass bead head. In low-to-trickle flows, I may not use any weight, and both flies will be unweighted and sparse. I like wingless shot. I struggle with seeing white and certain shades of orange, so my indicator must be bright or fluorescent yellow. Missed takes are missed fish! If I can, I like to use my own yarn indicators. In base flows, conditions dictate that I use one of those foam tab indicators.
The vast majority of hookups come on the point fly, so that’s typically my high-confidence pattern of the moment. Blood Dot Eggs in egg with an apricot supreme dot are a favorite, along with White Death Zonkers if the flows are good. You can see more on “Building a more Erie tribs-Appropriate Fly Box.”
Steelhead fly fishing is one of those endeavors where you can do everything right and still have things go wrong. However, the more things you do right, the more you tend to have success. Confidence catches fish, and having a proven leader system takes rigging guesswork out of the equation. Fish on!
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.
As promised, here’s a pre-currentseams oldie but goodie. The events took place in December 2009, my first real winter steelheading trip. It’s amusing now to read this over a decade later, recalling how raw I was and little I knew about hooking and landing steelhead. I’ve included a link to a video old fishing buddy Todd Kurht made where you can see the battle and the beast. I hope you enjoy this little slice of steelhead dreaming,
“That Boy is a P-I-G pig!” With apologies to Babs from Animal House (and the steelhead involved) he truly was.
We started out on a beautiful winter morning with moderate temperatures and plenty of sunshine in a pool I had never fished before. The water was low (>350cfs), cold (33 degrees), and crystal clear. I had high hopes for this trip, my first winter steelheading venture, and I thought the conditions would only help us out. I sparked up a churchill to start enjoying on the walk down to the river. An hour later, I was still puffing on it, fishless. Bob had moved to spots elsewhere, and Todd and I were beating the water thoroughly. I just didn’t know this spot well. I spent a half hour around a really sexy-looking stump tangle before wading over to discover that the water was much shallower than I thought.
Then, I waded though a deeper channel that I didn’t know was there, and realized that that was where I should have been fishing (later confirmed by Trapper, one of the good guides, who shared the pool with us and his client). But, such is the learning curve on new waters.
I had tied on an Opal Blue Estaz egg and was fishing a current seam along the far bank when the indicator paused. I set the hook like I had already done dozens of times today, only this time the rig didn’t come flying out of the water. It stuck. And then the water boiled up 50 feet away from me.
I could see it was a good sized fish, but I didn’t have the full picture until the first run. Criiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiink! The drag sang out in the warm December air. The fish rolled again, and I could see once more that it was a good fish. Todd was on the scene by now, and confirmed it was a sizeable steelhead. And that’s when the line went slack.
Well, I told myself, that’s why they’re called “steelhead.” At least I had hooked a big fish, and at least I had my adrenaline rush for the day. Can’t win them all.
So why is my fly line moving upstream at a very rapid pace?
You must understand that I have a minimal corpus of knowledge when it comes to steelhead. “Rookie” would be accurate. I had forgotten how quickly they can turn on a dime and shoot upstream. The last time this happened was the first steelhead I hooked over a year ago. I lost that fish. Frantically, I stripped and reeled line as the fish passed me. Yes! Still on. I reset the hook as hard as I dared, and the fish dashed downstream at a breakneck pace, peeling line off the reel like I’d never experienced.
Again, understand that my experience base of fighting a fish like this on single digit test tippet is nil. The steelhead melted through the flyline in a matter of seconds. I was into the backing good. Of course, Todd is kibitzing the whole time, providing moral support, and telling me this is a great fish. I kept thinking, “Todd, you just put the whammy on me.” I decided nothing ventured, nothing gained. I was uncomfortable with well over a hundred feet of line out, so I started to reel in. Every time I felt weakness on the other end, I reeled in more. I regained the majority of the line before the fish blistered off on another long run. But all this oxygen-burning fury was taking its toll. And for the first time, cigar clenched in my teeth, puffing away, I felt good about landing this beast.
Finally the end was in sight. I had the fish in the shallows. At this point I felt if it broke off, I had at least achieved a moral victory. Todd came up behind the fish, tailed it, and a prize that was measured in pounds, not inches, was ours.
Talk about good fortune: the egg fly was dangling from a paper thin section of tissue in the steelhead’s mouth. We took some pics then released it, watching it porpoise as it skulked back to its lie. Not a bad steelhead to be your first on a fly you tied. And here it is.
This caption was not part of the original piece, but the photo was. I believe this is still the largest steelhead I’ve landed, and I’d estimate it to be about 15 pounds. You can see the fly dangling by a thread of tissue — such is the case when planets align and good fortune is in the forecast.
I went and sat on the bank to savor the rest of the cigar. I was shaking. I think I giggled out loud for a half hour.
The battle preserved on video. Maybe I’m being too hard on myself, because I think I at least look like I know what I’m doing. The main even is from about 0:23 through 1:03.
The best colors for the Crystal Meth fly are the ones the steelhead want to eat…or the ones in which you have the most confidence.
Debates on the best color for Crystal Meths, egg patterns, and beads for steelhead and trout are never-ending. Everyone has their theories. Everyone has their favorite colors. Everyone can prove you wrong. So I stand by my opening statement. In case you don’t know what a Crystal Meth is (besides one of the best fly names ever, right?) it’s a sparkled-up version of a Sucker Spawn. You can tie them with or without a bead and a Krystal Flash tail. When the steelhead are feeding below salmon redds — and even when they’re not — the Crystal Meth can be a very productive fly. And since they’re firmly in the junk/guide fly category, you don’t fret when you lose one to the bottom gods.
Our Lady of Blessed Crystal Meth — chartreuse — accounted for my only fish on this painfully slow day.
So, what are my favorite colors for the Crystal Meth? Here’s a handy-dandy photo reference chart. I use them all, but if I had to choose a top three, I’d go chartreuse, fluorescent blue, and fluorescent fire orange. YMMV.
currentseams.com 