I don’t mean to sound greedy. But after potting 23 steelhead and breaking 300 on Tuesday, all I could think about was landing more.
Fair enough, but things don’t always work out the way you hope they would. How many times have you planned a fishing trip, only to see Mother Nature and the elements conspire to crush your dreams with cruel indifference? We were supposed to get 3-5 inched of snow overnight, which would mean slush-filled creeks for most of the morning. And with temperatures predicted in the upper 30s/low 40s, melting would follow, then runoff. I didn’t have a good feeling.
But forecasts change, weather people are notoriously often not right, and we got only an inch of snow, if that. We were so optimistic, we started the day an hour earlier than yesterday. There was a little slush in the system, but far less than the day before, and it was all gone within an hour. Best of all: no one was out fishing. We saw three other anglers all day, and then only for a couple hours. That meant I could bounce around the creek and fish wherever my little heart desired. (My phone later told me that I’d walked and waded nearly 3 miles).
The suckers are in! Or singular, if you like, as this was the only one I found over two days. It was a little early to be matching the hatch with sucker spawn or Crystal Meths, although the patterns absolutely work any time during the season.Despite the lamprey scar, a breathtakingly beautiful fish. The water was still barely above freezing, but on this day the steelhead had a lot more fight in them. We worked upstream, targeting likely holding areas, concentrating on the ones that held fish and presenting flies until the bite stopped. I went from one landed to a half dozen, and then a dozen by about 1pm. It was already a fantastic day.One tank of a hen steelhead. While there were several good battles, I had three over the course of the day that truly tested my landing skills. I really wanted to land this fish, as she kept bulldogging me and running and refusing to come civilly. By early afternoon, a front began moving through; it got gusty and noticeably colder, and while it didn’t shut down the bite, it definitely tapped the brakes. The water began to take on color. And then, there were no more eats. It was time for lunch and another section of river.As you can see, the final section of river had a tea-with-a-few-drops-of-milk opacity. My batting average was not the best in this last mark, as I went 2-for-5. But I have no right to kvetch. The hump day total was 17 steelhead in the hoop, giving me 40 for the two-day trip. Did this really happen? Wasn’t I trapped by hundreds of feet of deep, wet snow a few days before? Weren’t conditions supposed to be entirely unfavorable? This is the argument for, “You don’t know if you don’t go” — and this is steelhead number 322.
I hightailed it out of CT Monday at 4pm, just as the blizzard was winding down, and drove to western PA, arriving a little past 1am. My goal was to fish a couple days, and hopefully inch a little closer to the magic number of 300 steelhead landed (I was on 282 for those of you keeping score at home). Folks, the trip exceeded my most wildly optimistic hopes and dreams. I not only made 300, I obliterated it. Details to come in a post next week, and you’ll also want to check out my Instagram for more!
This is the last steelhead of the two-day trip, which put me at 322. I’ll let you do the math.
It’s been unusually cold this December in western PA. So much so that many of the steelhead tribs have been locked with ice. But mid-last week, there was a warming trend that offered both remedy and disaster. We (Number 3 Son Gordo) were scheduled to fish both Thursday and Friday. When we arrived on Elk Creek Thursday morning, conditions were as good as they’d been in a while: some ice, some color in the water, but very fishable lanes. As the temperature soared into the 50s, conditions deteriorated rapidly. First came the ice chunks — hundreds of them, in a seemingly endless string — floating down the cafeteria line, destroying any chance to make a drift. Next was the color: a light stain that morphed into a heavier stain, and finally an opaque mess the color of tea and milk. And of course, all this runoff was cold, making the water temp a feeding-unfriendly 32.5 degrees. Oh. I forgot the wind. 10-20mph, with 30+mph gusts. Sound like fun? This was about as challenging as winter steelheading gets.
Gordo’s first steelhead on the fly! Gordo’s been steelheading for ten years, but it’s all been float fishing with a spinning rod on Ontario tribs. The wind made casting a challenge — even I struggled mightily at times — but Gordo was able to get his fly where the fish were feeding. This buck came in some faster water at the head of a dump-in. As the water colored up, the fish began to move into softer water farther down in the pool.While I was amusing myself with a pod of fish downstream, Gordo was getting the hang of fly fishing Erie tribs in sub-optimal conditions. He ended up with five on the day, which is excellent given the wind and water, and a pretty good day, period. You can see the infernal ice chunks we were dealing with. They would suddenly materialize, and you had to wait for them to pass before you could resume fishing.Can’t let Gordo have all the fun, can we? By noon, conditions were bad enough to make the bite non-existent. So we made the command decision to head way upstream in search of cleaner water. We found it, but it only lasted an hour. Before it turned, I managed a spirited buck in a swift, undulating slot hard against a shale wall. I dropped one more, then fouled one, which I don’t count as a landed fish. If you’re keeping score at home, six in the hoop brings my grand total to 288 steelhead landed. So close! Continued warming and heavy overnight rains turned the creeks into raging torrents of chocolate milk, so we had to cancel Friday. It was frustrating to miss a day’s fishing, but I’m grateful that we got a day in.
In the UK, they celebrate November 5th — Guy Fawkes Day — with fireworks. In western PA, the day wasn’t nearly as explosive. Low, clear water; the approaching cold front lockjaw syndrome; wind and leaves; and the need for highly technical presentations were all formidable obstacles. But I can be the kind of angler who likes a challenge, even more so when I know the fish are there.
We fished Elk Creek, and the good news/bad news was significantly more water than this time last year, but far fewer fish. Places last year where the steelhead were wedged in like sardines were this year distressingly empty. Low, clear flows on these creeks require a certain level of stealth, and technical casts and drifts. To get dour, on-high-alert steelhead to eat, you’ve got to nail a perfect cast, then make all kinds of technical mends to keep the fly on target. Weight and indicator adjustments are a constant dance you perform until the judges tell you that you’ve got it right.
The first fish in the hoop is always a relief. I’ve been known to say that all I need is one steelhead to make me happy, and on most days that’s true. I had seven eats in the first three hours, and sealed the deal on three. Not a great batting average, but I did have some bad luck in the form of a snapped tippet, and another that mysteriously wriggled off after I slammed it with a powerful hookset. Blood Dot eggs, size 14, were the menu item of choice. By late morning, we decided to take a break and seek our pleasures elsewhere.
We did a bit of walking to try to get away from other anglers, but the story on new ground was the same: low, clear flows, leaves, and precious few fish that we could see. We finally located a pod of about a dozen fish, but in addition to the previously mentioned lockjaw, these steelhead seemed more interested in canoodling than eating. Two darker alpha males set the tone in the pool, chasing fish away from their lies, with the pod constantly shifting position after their antics.
Then, the rains came. This was a boon to the bite; the fouler the weather, the more takes. When bite windows open, you’ve got to jump on them, and so we did. I had one epic eat from a fish that was part of pod hiding under a ledge. The presentation was tricky. I had to cast into the main current, then drag the flies toward the ledge in front of me, resume dead drift, and hope the team of two would pass through the strike zone unimpeded by the edge of the shale barrier. As the flies moved into position, I had to switch to a quasi tight-line presentation. Of the dozens of attempts I made throughout the afternoon, one worked. That was my favorite fish of the day.
One of the alpha males that — finally! — made a mistake. Guy’s got some shoulders, and clearly, he’s been in the system for a few weeks. I lost a substantial chrome hen to a hysterical display of leaps and rolls. When I stuck the hookset, she bolted upstream like a dragster coming off the line. One, two, then three spectacular leaps worthy of a tarpon had us cackling with delight. She made a beeline for a shale ledge and rolled, then did it again, and on the second one she spit the hook. What tremendous sport! I finished the day with nine to hand, which I considered a major victory given the conditions. Yup. I love steelheading.
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!
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.
It’s easy to tell I’ve been steelheading. All you need to do is look at my right thumbnail.
That’s where I test the sharpness of my hook points. (You do know that a sharp hook is the single most important thing in fly fishing, yes?) There’s nothing more important than a sharp hook. This becomes self evident with any bottom-style presentation. The fly tumbles downriver, bumpety-bump, over sand, rocks, boulders, sticks, and whatever other things might be lurking down below. Contact — especially repeated contact — with any of them can result in a dull hook point.
So when I snag the bottom, the first thing I do before the next cast is check my hook point. Even without a snag, I am constantly checking my hook points. Every ten casts should be a no-brainer. Maybe you want to check after every five. Do it every three or two or even one and I still won’t call you crazy. Au contraire. You, dear sir or madame, are being a savvy angler.
You’ve heard of striper thumb? This is steelhead thumbnail. To check sharpness, you drag the hook point across your nail. The point should stick to your nail like Scotch tape. If it doesn’t, the hook isn’t sharp. Off it comes. Most steelhead are won and lost at hook set. Be ruthless about the sharpness of your hooks and you’ll catch a lot more fish.
Steelheading isn’t fair. You can do everything right and still drop fish. I know I am going to lose steelhead due to an occasional sloppy hook set. I know I will lose steelhead because sometimes the fish bests me. I know I will lose steelhead for no other reason than plain bad luck. But I will never lose a steelhead because my hook points aren’t sharp.
Finally, after so many disappointing outings, I hooked and landed my 100th steelhead. Not the prettiest fish given the time of year, but beautiful and perfect in his own way. It was an eventful day — full report to come next week. In the meantime, here’s a picture worth a hundred words.
We’re back! This Currentseams Tuesday Night Zoom is all about you — specifically, your questions. Trout, small streams, smallmouth, steelhead, stripers — flies, rigging, gear, tactics, presentation, how-to — ask away and I’ll do my best to answer. If you haven’t been getting the Zoom links — I send them out Tuesday late afternoon — please check your spam box. If you’re sending a request to get on the list, please don’t wait until 7:45 p.m. Tuesday night…I won’t be checking my email that late. Thanks!
I just got back from a two-day steelhead trip with middle son Cam. You’ll understand that I’m a little wiped, and with the holiday tomorrow, a little busy. So the full story will have to wait. I can tell you that the conditions were challenging and we had to work hard for every fish. Until then, here’s a little salmonid taste to tide you over on turkey day. Be safe, be well, and please know that I am truly thankful for your readership and following.
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