Tag Archives: steelhead

Erie Tribs Steelhead Report, Nov 5: Of technical fishing, lockjaw, and persistence

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.

The Last Steelhead Blast from 2024

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!

November Erie and Pulaski Steel Reports

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.

Tip of the week: check those hook points

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.

Reaching the century mark: Steelhead #100

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.

Currentseams Tuesday Night Zoom 3/16, 8pm: “Almost Anything Goes: Fly Fishing Q&A”

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!

Steelhead (semi) success and happy Thanksgiving!

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.

Skunk’s off. Also something to be thankful for.

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

Thanks to the FRAA for hosting me

You’re never sure how a new fly fishing presentation will play out, but the feedback is in and the final tally is, “The Little Things” does not suck.

Many thanks to the FRAA for hosting me. There were a lot of familiar faces, and it’s always nice to not be the youngest person in the room. And thanks for so many post-presentaion questions. Speakers like lots of questions. Except maybe if you’re President Nixon during a Watergate-era press conference.

“The Little Things” matter in fly fishing. I caught this brown this summer in the shallows just a few feet off the bank as darkness fell.

Dry Brown 7:14

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.