Erie tribs « currentseams.com

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.

I can’t be the only person who feels this way.

You go on a fishing trip to unknown waters where there are going to be crowds. You’re unsure about what the energy will be. Competitive? Territorial? Downright rude? I must confess that I have a tendency to expect the worst from my fellow man (or woman). But, we can always hope for the best. And on my first solo run to the Erie tribs for steelhead, I got hopes and dreams and better angels.

It started Thursday morning when I was speed wading in the dark to the mark I wanted to fish. I could see headlamps bobbing in the woods upstream. I could tell they were moving at a slower pace, and as I closed ground I could see it was a guide with three clients. I caught up to them, and asked the guide where he was heading; in my mind, they were there first and would get dibs. I reassured him that I wasn’t going to race ahead and Bogart their water. The guide was appreciative, so much in fact that he asked for my cell number. His idea was that if I was blanking and they were pounding them, I could fish near them. Or if vice versa, we could share water.

It was a most excellent way to start a day. I was so excited by this conversation that I suddenly realized I was 100 yards past my mark. (I suspect the pre-daylight savings darkness had something to do with it, too.)

Cut to an hour later. First light. I saw Chris wading upstream toward me. I’d met Chris the day before when I came to the creek to scout some water with my guide, Bob Packey. Chris was new to fly fishing and had a positive energy and friendly spirit. He remarked how he’d seen me pounding fish up yesterday, and that he was having a tougher go of it. So I told him that if he was blanking, come find me later and we’ll see what we can do about it.

Around 11am, Chris shows up. I could tell from the look on his face that he had been struggling. He confirmed that he hadn’t had a touch. Come on in here, Chris, and let’s take a look at your rig. I didn’t like the size or placement of his shot, so we re-rigged. I told him what I’d learned about the 50-foot run I’d been working, how I had been approaching it, and where I thought he’d have success.

You can imagine how cool it must have been for Chris to hook up within a few casts. All told, he got into four steelhead in about a half hour. Chris’ excitement was matched only by the positive wave of sheer enjoyment that washed over me as I watched him do battle.

**Chris getting acquainted with one of the locals. Sometimes a little instruction goes a long way.**

The next day, I fished for just over two hours. I saw an angler looking for space, and I told him if he cared to wait, he could have my spot in 10 minutes. He did, and I ended that session with a smile on my face.

Thanksgiving is a season when we acknowledge the many blessings we have. I’m thankful to have met some nice people on the river. I’m thankful for the opportunity to give to someone in need. I’m a confident person, but I am humbled by this experience. Thank you for reading, and please do likewise the next time you fish.