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.
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!
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!
Ok, so it’s not my pattern — it’s Jeff Blood’s pattern. But the Blood Dot Egg is a classic guide fly, and I was delighted to share it with the readers of On The Water magazine‘s “Guide Flies” column, written by Tony Lolli. (Thanks again, Tony, for letting me play!) This is the single best egg pattern out there, and it’s so ridiculously easy to tie that you won’t fret when you sacrifice one or three or a dozen to the bottom gods. Steelhead season is upon us. Now, if we can only get some rain.
After fishing two Erie tribs in OH and PA last December, I knew I would have to get back there. Soon, nine-ish hour drive be damned. I had to wait a full 10 months to do it, but it was so worth the wait.
Unlike the northeast, Steelhead Alley has seen very little rain this summer and fall. The timing for my trip could not have been better, with a decent slug of rain before the weekend that marked the true start of the fall run for many tribs. Still, the water was on the high side of low — if that makes sense — meaning that 90% of the fish would be in 10% of the water. The spook factor would likely be very high, along with angler traffic.
Adding to my challenges was that I had zero experience fishing public waters. So I hired the guide I used last year, Bob Packey of Solitude Steelhead Guide Service. Bob focuses on fishing private water — an absolute treat — but that would do me no good when it came to public water. So we formed a game plan: fish Wednesday morning on private water for a few hours, catch a few fish, then bounce around to some public access marks so I could learn some spots. Since Bob has deep domain experience on Erie tribs, I knew I’d be in good hands.
The dread cold front hit the night before day one, putting the steelhead in winter mode. We saw runs and slots that held dozens of steelhead, but even with precision casts and presentations, they were just not having it. Once the sun rose and the water inched up a precious degree or two, the natives decided to play. We had success with sz 14 Blood Dot eggs and sz 10 White Deaths fished as the point fly on a two-fly rig under an indicator. Switching to the White Death fly was a revelation, as fish that couldn’t be bothered with eggs suddenly opened their mouths and moved to take the fly. Bob is a terrific guide, and I’m learning so much from him about this unique fishery. Photo by Bob Packey.We had to work for our fish in the morning of day one, but beauties like this always make it a labor of love. I also stuck a big ol’ brown trout — funny how that’s considered by-catch when back home it would be a trophy. By 11:30am we were at a public access point on Elk Creek. Although there were plenty of anglers — “crowded” on Erie tribs is not the same as “crowded” on the Salmon River in Pulaski — we were able to find a half dozen highly productive marks because so many anglers were fishing in the wrong place. Cracking the Erie tribs fish-finding code is a major part of success. Once Bob showed me what to look for, finding the fish was much simpler task. The answer to the question, “Was that the bottom or a fish?” On all three mornings I fished, the steelhead were sluggish at first light. Once they turned on, there were far fewer fouls. When I foul a steelhead, I try to rope it in fast. I find I have very few breakoffs; most of the time, the hook comes away without breaking the tippet. I caught and released several fish that had hooks imbedded in their fins or bodies.What a rugby ball of a hen! She took the top fly on my rig, Clyde Murray’s Spider, size 12, in low light. My strategy on days two and three was to focus on a few marks and learn them cold (as much as I could in a few hours). Not all of the water was productive over the course of two days — steelhead are on the move this time of year — but I certainly had fun trying different flies and different combinations in different runs at different times of the day.So that’s why I lost that fish…Elk Creek living up to its name, a small window of wonder on an early morning when I was the only angler on the water for a few hundred yards. My final tally over 2 days and 3 hours was 20 steelhead landed, a bunch lost, and immeasurable fun. A little more rain, a little more flow, no bitter cold. Those are my hopes for December. Steelhead dreaming is a thoroughly enjoyable pastime.
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.
For the second consecutive year, our #1 slot goes to steelhead. Normally, my August trip out west would have been the runaway winner, but what I experienced over the course of two days in December in Ohio and Pennsylvania was nothing short of extraordinary. Let me tell you about it…
Saturday, December 17: Conneaut Creek, OH. This trip was years in the making. I’d originally booked a trip to Steelhead Alley with guide Bob Packey (you can find Bob at Solitude Steelhead Guide Service LLC) for a fall trip, but we got flooded out. We rescheduled for last spring, but when the date all the fish had returned to the lake. That left us with a long wait for mid-December 2022. But oh, my goodness, what a worthy wait.
My plan was to drive out to Wooster, OH, on Friday the 16th to pick up #2 Son Cam from college. What should have been a nine-hour drive turned into well over ten, thanks to a snow squall in the Poconos. By the time we had dinner and reached our lodging in PA, it was pushing 11pm.
Conneaut Creek reminded me of the Sandy Creeks north of NY’s Salmon River. A medium-sized creek, shale bottom, water with a peculiar greenish-brown tint, and fish that hold in its deeper pockets and runs. Cam, who could hardly be called a fly fisher — his only serious big river foray in the last decade was this summer in CO — was into three steelhead before I even had my rod set up. Such is the teaching acumen of Mr. Packey, who knew the water by rote and had Cam casting and presenting functionally in minutes. I was using Bob’s leader system with one of my yellow yarn indicators, which was a good choice for me since I had great difficulty seeing Cam’s indicator. (I learned and relearned many lessons on this trip, and the first was: always fish the way you are most comfortable/have the most confidence in.) I dropped my first hookup, but before long I was putting my first Erie trib fish in the hoop.
Giving my first Erie Mykiss a kiss. If this had been my only fish of the day — or, let’s get greedy and say the first of five — I would have left the creek a happy man. Little did I know the magnificent bounty that awaited us in the next pool. (Unless otherwise credited, all photos by Bob Packey.)We hiked/waded upstream several hundred yards to the next mark, a deep slot in the tailout of a faster moving pool. I’ve included this photo to show you the incredible shale walls that surround many of the Erie tribs. We were literally fishing from the ledges upon which you see each of my boots — backs to the wall — it’s only a few feet of wiggle room, and if you make a wrong step you’re into deep, 34 degree water. This mark was phenomenal; we had to alternate casts/presentations, and for the first several it was a hookup on every cast. After that, we took turns, the rule being you presented until you hooked up. We’d been using egg patterns — Bob’s favorite is the Blood Dot with an egg body and apricot supreme dot. I switched over to some of my bugs, and hooked up on a 60 Second Redhead and a Copperhead Stone. You can use two flies in both PA and OH, and that was the setup we fished with over both days.The third mark was an intriguing maze of ledges and submerged formations that created several fish-holding slots. I remember Bob suggesting we prospect in a mysterious looking pocket not far from our feet. Gold — or should I say chrome — was struck after a few casts. We fished a bit, ate some lunch, then went back at it. I’m good for at least one act of stupidity per trip, and on today it was a missed hook set that went straight over head and sent my leader cascading into the unreachable upper branches of a tree. While Bob was building a new leader for me, Cam hooked and landed this beauty with me handling net duties. We ended the day far downstream casting to a pod of steelhead that suddenly had lockjaw. My best guess was the cold front that was pushing through; the mercury had dropped, the wind had picked up, and it was a classic case of game over. My final tally for Saturday: 14 steelhead. After countless hours of disappointing fishing in near-freezing water and sub-freezing air in rivers and creeks long ago and far away, I had to ask myself: Was it all a dream? I fell asleep that night certain that it was not.
Now, before I continue, the reader must understand that it took me 40 hours of fishing time to land my first steelhead. It then took me over a decade to land 99 more. This will make what I am about to tell you seem positively magical.
Sunday, December 18, Elk Creek, PA. Bob had warned us that the water in Elk Creek was painfully low and clear. This would would make sight fishing easy; the tradeoff would be that the fish might be uber spooky, and their instinct for self-preservation could overpower any primal urge to strike. The weather had turned decidedly colder; air temperature in the 20s, buffeting wind gusts, lake effect snow squalls. We spent the entire day picking ice out of our guides.
The section of Elk Creek we fished is a hydrological wonderland. There are long sections that are literally only inches deep, and long glassy, glides that race over slippery, table-like pitches of shale. The bottom in other sections is a hodgepodge of skipping stones. Sprinkled throughout are small pockets only one or two feet deep; virtually all of them hold fish. Then there are deeper pools, veritable steelhead hotels with room for a hundred or more. Add in the clarity of the water and it’s an aquarium effect on steroids.
It was in the midst of this steelhead fantasyland that I decided to have one of my worst mornings, technique-wise, of my fly fishing career. Shoddy hook sets, late hook sets, hook sets in the wrong direction — it was embarrassing enough that I made Bob promise not to tell anyone. I wasn’t happy with my casting or my presentations, either. But sometimes you can do everything wrong and still land steelhead. Happily, it was that kind of day. I’m pleased to say that eventually, I got it together, and at one point it almost seemed like the steelhead were being delivered to my feet via conveyor belt. Figuring it all out put me in an even better mood, and I didn’t want to leave this paradise.
Holy aquarium, Batman! This just-released steelhead is 90% submerged, yet it looks like it’s high and dry on the rocks. The astonishing water clarity and cloud cover made for some exceptional sight fishing. I found this steelhead in a pocket the size of queen mattress. Nonetheless, you had to make a precision cast and presentation to get a hookup. At just over 33 degrees, the water had the fish firmly in winter lethargy mode. Thanks to Bob for letting me take this shot without revealing our location. Photo by Steve Culton.I mentioned a — ahem — less than stellar start. That improved during the morning, and by lunch time I was really dialed in. We were fishing a very slow moving, deep water pool that was loaded with steelhead. At Bob’s suggestion, I’d been using one of his tiny indicators, a mini-corkie in fluorescent yellow and orange. The takes were nearly imperceptible; the indicator didn’t go under. I didn’t even wobble or pause. It just slowed a tiny bit, a subtle enough deviation that you could only perceive it if you were simultaneously watching the tiny foam bubbles alongside it. In water this cold, a few fouls are unavoidable; I was delighted to see that these steelhead were indeed eating, as I hooked fish after fish, fly nestled firmly in the mouth every time.And that’s a wrap. Sunday’s score: Steve 21. Final tally: 35 landed over two days. Cam was also well into double digits. Well done, Bob Packey. Well done.
As you may know, I am currently occupied with getting ready for my oldest son’s wedding. In lieu of new material, I’m recycling some of my favorite posts from years past. Let’s continue on the steelhead kick (man, I really want to tie into some fresh chrome!). Six years after its publish date, Soft Hackles for Winter Steelhead remains relevant; I still use these flies, and whether swung or dead drifted along the bottom, they still catch fish.
Ever notice how 36-degree water doesn’t feel as cold when you’re releasing a steelhead?
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