Erie Tribs Steelhead Report, Nov. 6: 2 States, 3 Marks, 8 fish

Nov13

We had a quarter inch of rain overnight, so we decided to roll the dice on some fresh fish entering the system. Sometimes, it doesn’t take much to trigger a migration in steelhead alley. So we headed to a spot in PA about a mile away from the lake. We had to move well upstream to distance ourselves from the crowds, but we were in position at 6:45am, normally a little late but just right for today. We strategically carpet bombed a deeper hole, but that turned up blank. (We saw only one other fish landed the entire time we fished this general section, and it came from this hole.) Undaunted, we moved downstream to a swift run, more of a slot, that bordered a bleached tree trunk which created an enticing current break.

I had just made the comment that, with the climbing sun in my face, it was a wee bit difficult to see the indicator — but not to worry, because with the current moving so fast, the fish would set themselves. On cue, indicator down and fish on! I lost this steelhead to a snapped tippet, another when it ran between a pinch point of two submerged boulders, and two more to the whims of the steelhead gods. But I brought three to net, and, bad luck aside, considered myself ahead in the bargain.

Silver in the gold of the morning light. Clearly, this first pod of fish came in from the lake overnight — newly-minted coin bright, aggressive takes, and spirited runs. Their freshness, the speed of the water, and the rocky bottom made for some challenging landing conditions. They weren’t bashful about leaping out of the water, or peeling off line in a hurry. Each one brought to net was a hard fought victory; each release a moment to savor, coupled with the thought that we might cross paths again this winter.

As the action tapered off, we declared victory, and headed to Ohio. The rains had missed there, and the water was low but fishable. Unfortunately, the low flows meant far fewer fish in the system; Holes, pools, slots, and runs that normally would have at least a few occupants were barren.

This steelhead was part of a pod of a half dozen fish that we rousted from beneath a ledge. We let them resettle, and came back a hour later to fish for them. She was the only one we could get to eat. The Ohio fish were far more dour than the morning group in PA; I had as many fouls as fair eats. We managed four properly hooked fish, and three cigars. That’s a win.

My intention was to get up early and fish a few hours before driving back to Connecticut. But I was dragging. What’s more, I was dreading having to battle crowds and jockey for position. So I made the command decision to head back to PA and fish until dark. At first, it seemed like I’d sent myself on a futile excursion. I couldn’t find fish in any of the usual places. The water is a highly popular mark, but I only encountered three anglers over a 750 yard stretch; as it grew darker, I had the whole place to myself. Being the stubborn sort, I went back a favorite slot hard against a submerged ledge beneath a fly-eating tree. Second cast, the indicator disappeared, and I buried the hook in the steelhead’s jaw. A fine, fresh camera-shy hen who bolted the moment I removed the hook.

I’m not sure what I liked more: catching that fish, or sleeping in the next morning.

The Last Steelhead Blast from 2024

Dec26

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!

Re-thinking my steelhead box

Oct27

About this time every year, my thoughts turn to steelhead, and of course, steelhead fly tying. I pull out my steelhead chest pack and the two fly boxes within its zippered pouches. The “big box,” as I call it (both boxes are, in reality, the same size) doesn’t change much from season to season — it’s mostly streamers and experiments and one-offs and flesh flies. The nymph and egg box, however, gets a serious going over and then a restocking.

But, things are a little different this year. I’ve got plans for two sorties to Steelhead Alley. These rivers and creeks are a universe away from a big, brawling river like the Salmon in upstate New York. They’re smaller, with different bugs and different water color and clarity and flow (very low right now) and different bottom structure. So I should be thinking differently with my flies.

What I’m currently tying up is generally smaller and more muted. I’ll give you a closer look next week. But right now, I’ve got corks to fill.