It seems ridiculous to say — especially since I wrote the book — but yesterday was my first day in 2026 fishing the Farmington River. I was going to go last Friday, but I deemed it too cold, and decided to wait for more clement conditions. Turns out, the giddy sun and warmth had zero impact on the catching.
We (Farmington River guide Steve Hogan and I) decided to fish above Riverton based on two factors: the water would be warmest there (we took two readings and got 38.5 and 44(!) degrees), and it would be lowest and clearest due to it being above the Still River. As you can imagine, the false late spring weather drew crowds of anglers; I can’t remember the last time the Riverton town lot next to the bridge was jammed so full of vehicles. Nymphing was the game, and we hit multiple pockets and runs between the dam and the town. Parking wasn’t easy as there was still a substantial amount of snow lining Hogback Road.
I told Hogan that I grade myself when I’m fishing and not catching, and I gave me a B+/A-. I do this because If I’m not catching, I want to make sure that it’s not because I’m committing some fundamental error or missing strikes. Folks, I was on the bottom all day and I no longer have the flies to prove it. I dredged up several nice sticks. We saw midges and olives and couple other un-IDed bugs. What we didn’t see was a fish caught. Not us. Not anyone. But, better fishing is coming. A lot happens this month. We’re just three weeks away from April!
Early March is one of the toughest windows to fish on the Farmington. We gave it about 3 hours, then called it a day, which, given the sunshine and warmth and cigars, was not bad at all despite not having even a courtesy tap.
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.
When I blocked out February 24-25 for steelheading in western PA, I was certain that it was a plan that would never see action. The creeks were an impenetrable wall of water in its solid state. Not happening. Then the thaws came. The ice released its lock on the creeks. And suddenly, by golly, we had optimism. This could happen. The trip is on.
Then came the blizzard. I can get pretty motivated when there’s something in the way of something that I want to do, and I figured that if the snow stopped early enough on Monday the 23rd, I could still make the drive and be fishing on Tuesday. However, I didn’t expect over 18″ of heavy, wet snow. But I was snowblowing the driveway at 11am, the snowflakes still flying. My neighbor, who has a plow, usually clears the shared driveway. But as time moved farther past noon, and it still wasn’t cleared, my worst fears became reality. My neighbor was away. If I wanted to fish, I would have to clear about 300 feet of that snow — the last horrible 6 feet, a pudding of heavy-as-wet cement glop, by shovel. Ugh. No way. The trip is off.
But no, dammit, it isn’t. I’m going steelheading tomorrow. So I fired up the blower, steeled my back, and had at it. And that’s how, at 4pm, I found myself heading north on I-91. I had wet roads until Albany, then lake effect snow on and off from Rochester into PA. Safely in bed, I was out like a light at 1:30am.
The silver lining to this tired angler cloud is that you don’t need to start early on a winter’s day, especially if there’s likely to be slush in the water. I was fishing by 10:30am — perfectly civilized — and while slush was a problem, it wasn’t a deal breaker. I got maybe one good drift out of 6 casts. I missed the first bite because he ate where I didn’t expect it. The second miss was a foul. Finally, I was on the board. This fish was the third of the day; I’m particularly captivated by the see-through tail. Already, yesterday’s shoveling horrors seemed worthwhile.By 11:30am, the slush was almost gone, and I was hooking fish in earnest. When I’d left CT, I was at 282 steelhead landed. I was hoping to drive home somewhere in the 290s. But the fish kept coming, and there came a point in the time-space continuum when I dared to think: I could break 300 today. Yes, I think I can. What happened next was a phenomenon that I only recognized several days later: I got into the zone. Nothing else registered — not the cold, not the ice, not my hunger, not the time. I was, as the colloquial expression goes, unconscious. Find fish, cast, mend, drift, adjust and mend, set, fight, land. Geez, the last time I looked at my watch it was 11am. Now, it was after 1pm. 299, baby! Ringo Starr sang, “It don’t come easy,” and he ain’t lying. We found a pod of steelhead in a whitewater plunge and run, including a couple huge dark horse bucks. But they were most uncooperative. So we moved down the run to another short stack of fish, their location belied by dark backs against the light green substrate. First cast. Big upstream mend. Dead drift. Indicator goes under. Sweeping set downstream. Fish on. It was a fine steelhead for number 300, a chunky hen in the 8-10 lb. class. Despite the barely-above-freezing water, she put up a fight worthy of her size. With pink and rose on her flanks and secondary and tertiary rainbow colors on her cheeks, she was an absolutely gorgeous creature. So, yeah. I kissed her. It was a little after 1:30pm.Over my steelheading career, I’ve noticed that the sudden arrival of a cold front has an immediate, negative effect on the bite. Around 2pm, the wind picked up, the water began to stain, and bites became a scarce commodity. We took a lunch break, and headed to a different mark, where the water was the color of tea with a drop or two of milk. We picked several pockets and runs and pools, but found diners in only one of them. I missed the first, landed the second, and called it a day at 305. Not in my wildest dreams did I think this would happen on this trip. Had I been in a different mindset, I would have brought a truly special cigar to celebrate the occasion. Tell you what: what I smoked tasted just damn fine.Madelaine’s is my go-to eatery, and I was ready for a celebratory dinner of their meatloaf and an IPA. What?!? Closed on Tuesdays?!? I ended up at The Barracks, which as you can see looks a little like a disco-casino-local bar mashup. The cheeseburger was excellent. The Yeungling draft most quenching. Yep. I was going to sleep well tonight.
If it weren’t for the weather, this might have been the best show ever. But you don’t get to decide on such things, and when a once-in-a-decade snowstorm is thrown at you, you deal as best you can. But I come not to bury this year’s show (certainly not under 18″ of snow!) but rather, to praise it.
The Edison show is the largest fly fishing show on the east coast, and, perhaps, in the world. It has it all: vendors from rods and reels and gear and fly tying and books to guides and shops and lodges and fishing/destination travel. It’s got dozens of some of the best fly tyers in the world. If you want education, you’re in the right place: you can partake in presentations and seminars and demos and classes put on by some of the best anglers in the world. (If you want to be a rock star, you can’t hang out with Aerosmith for a few hours. If you want to become a better angler or tier, you can take a small class with George Daniel or Tim Flagler.)
Seminars! Getcher seminars here! What an honor to be included on a list with such fly fishingluminaries. All seminars are included in the price of your admission ticket. That’s a win for everyone. Classes require an additional fee, but it’s money very well spent — I get people telling me years after they’ve taken a class how much it improved their fishing. Thank you to everyone who took a class with me this year.
As a presenter, the Edison show is, for me, a multi-faceted journey into fun. I get to speak to (hopefully) large groups of people; that’s something I love to do. I get to reconnect with old and distant friends, and make new ones. I get to wander the show floor and discover all the fly fishing and tying items I didn’t know that I needed. I get to be a fanboy. And, I get to teach classes and turn other anglers on to new concepts that will help them catch more fish.
I did multiple talks on the Farmington River and was delighted by the size and enthusiasm of the crowds. The book is generating a lot of excitement, which seems to be growing exponentially. The Fly Fishing Guide to the Farmington River is at the printer, with a projected release date of June 2026. Stay tuned here for release details as they come in.Fly fishing is serious business. Or not. A little pre-seminar festivity with Landon Mayer, Jason Randall, and Chuck Furimsky.My annual pilgrimage to Wu’s Shanghai Dumpling in Edison. This is THE place for authentic Chinese dumplings and udon. I always make sure I get enough to take home. Not exactly low-cal dining, but oh-so-scrumptious. My buddies Chris Steinbeck and Pat Dorsey from the Blue Quill Angler. The BQA booth is my safe haven in Edison; I can hang out between gigs, take a load off, and socialize with passers-by. If you’re going fishing in the Denver area, these are the people to see! I managed a little bit of shopping, coming away with four wet fly capes at a bargain price, and another pair of Renomed scissors. You’ll be hearing more about Renomed on this site soon, these scissors are, by far, the best I’ve ever used.
And then on Sunday, the snows came. But the show went on, as it always does. This year, I’m doing the Lancaster show, which is March 14-15. I’ll have a tying station. See you there!
Today’s question comes from Charly F, and it’s a good one. Q: What might you fish on the Farmington during January to March with no real hatches going on?
A: Let’s start with the hatches. There are times during the winter when there’s plenty going on hatch-wise. We don’t have the glamour mayfly hatches, but midges hatch year-round, and are a primary food source. You won’t see trout splashing on the surface like you will during a June Sulphur emergence, bit it is possible to find trout sipping midges or W/S Caddis (a hatch that is sadly on a downward slope) or early stones on the surface or in the film. It should be also noted that March is very different from January and February. But that’s an entirely different article!
If the question is, what does Steve Culton fish on the Farmington in the winter, I can be more specific. I used to do some winter dry fly fishing on the Farmington, but for various reasons I’ve cut back on that. (If I saw fish actively feeding on the surface, I would not hesitate to go the dry fly route.) Most of my winter fishing is nymphing or streamers. The method I choose depends on conditions and what I feel like doing on that day or hour. Much of what is hatching or available to trout in the winter is small. So if I’m nymphing, we’re talking a point fly no bigger than a #14 (like this Frenchie variant) and a dropper above it that’s a #18 or smaller, like a Starling and Herl. That gives me a mayfly/caddis nymph and a something midgey to show the trout. I’m less hung up on patterns than I am presentation: the best winter nymphs are often the ones that are presented at a dead-drift along the bottom in a trout’s feeding lane.
The book will be a tremendous resource for anglers who want to fish 12 months a year. I’ve divided the year into three-month quadrants, and list fly patterns of all types. You’ll also find seasonal strategies to help you determine fly selection, and when and where to fish.
Streamers are a different animal. You’ve got to be willing to accept blanks in the winter. But if the streamer bite is on, you’re going to have fun. I tend to favor core patterns like Coffey’s Sparkle Minnow or my Deep Threat. I don’t go bonkers trying to find a magic color. As with nymphing, presentation matters. I may simply do mended swings. I may go for depth with an integrated sink tip line, weighted fly, and then a slow retrieve. I may do both. What is paramount is that I cover water. I’m looking for that one trout that has a protein payoff in mind.
What’s important to note is that the winter bite can be notoriously fickle. Some days, it doesn’t exist. Other days, it’s 30-45 minute window. Some days (however rare) the feed bag is on from 11am-3pm. Hope that helps!
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.
Part memoir, part how-to, Ed Van Put’s A Flyfisher’s Revelations: Practical Tips, Strategies, and Wisdom From 50 Years Experience from Skyhorse Publishing. print ISBN: 978-1-5107-8333-1, is absolutely essential reading for any serious trout angler. I loved this book. I’d only heard about Ed after he passed away a year ago, so the name carried no particular weight. That’s a pity, because this is a man I would have like to have sat down with for a chat or an interview — or even better, spent some time together on a river.
If you want to be one of the 10% of the anglers who catch 90% of the fish, Ed’s book is an excellent place to start.
Your permission to believe me comes in the form of a back-cover blurb, where Lee Wulff calls Ed, “one of the best trout fisherman I know.” Once you dive in, you quickly glean that Lee is spot-on. While one of Ed’s claims-to-fame is that he valued presentation over fly selection (he’s known for using very few different patterns on the river, and clams that 70% of his dry fly hookups came from on an Adams), there are plenty of fly patterns pictured, and recipes, in the book. That’s of particular interest to a fly tying nerd like me.
This book works for both beginning and advanced anglers alike. I’m always thrilled when someone who I perceive to be a better angler than me talk about concepts and tactics that I myself teach. Rookie anglers will be able to grasp the over-arching principles without getting bogged down in minutia. I also liked that he starts every chapter with a meaningful quote from another angler. My copy is filled with highlighted sections for future reference.
Now, I’ve gotta go through it all again. There’s more fish to be caught!
I’ve gotten to the point in my steelheading journey where I’m confident that if I get a good hookset, I have a better than 50-50 chance of landing the fish. Of course, steelhead behavior and flows being dynamic X-factors, it doesn’t alway work out that way. But you do your best and take what the river gives you.
In recent years, I’ve felt a sense of something between dread and lingering malaise with my trips up to Pulaski. Maybe it’s because the river isn’t particularly beautiful. (Wait until you’ve seen what they’ve done to the river from Altmar to Pineville. I can’t say that it’s an improvement.) Maybe it’s because the town itself can be a wee bit depressing. Maybe it’s the constant crowds and the resulting pressure. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but whatever. This year felt different. I was very much looking forward to fishing with old guide friend Row Jimmy and tussling with some Lake Ontario brawlers. Let’s do it!
Conditions were just about perfect: dam release of 750cfs, 39 degree water, air temps above freezing with no precipitation. We fished the upper river on the first day, not far from the Altmar launch. There were steelhead in the immediate vicinity, but most of them were in front of other boats. We pecked away with egg patterns, but I dropped the first four I hooked. That had me flummoxed and moderately concerned.
Ta-dah! Fifth time was the charm. I’m continuously mystified by fish that get off vs. fish that get into the hoop, as I’m doing nothing differently between the two. Stick that fish, let them run when they want, keep the rod cork pointed upstream, don’t let ’em breathe…why do some fish become unbuttoned and others not? Mysteries to contemplate over a cigar and single malt.
We finally got to slug it out with a pile of fish after a couple boats left. By this time, I was throwing the old favorite 60-Second Redhead, and the hits just kept on coming. However, the conversion ratio still stunk. I ended up going 2-for-11 on the day with one foul (I don’t count fouled fish as landed). Most of the fish came off well into the fight, and I suspect it was a combination of pressure from me and current…and maybe hook size? To be discussed further at another time…after I get over my terrible .181 batting average.
One that didn’t get away.
Day two was a bit of a curveball. Jim had to cancel due to an appointment that couldn’t be missed, so I did something I’ve never done before: floated the river with a different guide. Jason Julien proved to be most excellent. We returned to the scene of yesterday’s bonanza, but the action across the length of the pool was a shade of what it was a day before. The good news was that I stuck and landed the first two fish I touched. We hooked one more and lost it right as it was about to be netted, so It was hard to get upset about that. (If you’ve never fished from a drift boat, steelhead are far more difficult to land because you can’t get them out of the current and into softer water.) And 2/3 reads a lot better in a box score.
I’ll take two of those. After a couple hours of not-a-touch, I informed Jay that sometimes the key to hooking up is a cigar. Out Lady of Blessed Gispert Churchill came through. For those of you keeping score at home, we’re now at 282 steelhead landed.
Much to talk about today. I’m currently recovering from last weekend’s International Fly Tying Symposium. That is, I’ve unpacked everything, gotten back to my regular sleep and eating (and coffee!) schedule, and here I am, clacking away at my keyboard on currentseams.com.
While this is the largest fly tying show in the world, there’s a sense of intimacy about IFTS that resonates with me. (If Goldilocks tied flies, she’d be all over this show.) I behaved myself wallet-wise, coming away only with a pack of size 14 Ahrex North Country Spider hooks (LE810). My Saturday seminar on Tying and Fishing Wet Flies was very well-attended, and I want to thank everyone for showing up and for asking so many thoughtful questions. I couldn’t have asked for a better tying bench mate than Peter Simonson, who specializes in classic Carrie Stevens-style streamers. I spent the rest of the day tying wet flies and soft hackles and socializing and answering questions about the Farmington River book.
The view from my bench Saturday morning. What a treat to reconnect with so many old and newer friends, and to put faces to names of currentseams subscribers.
After a delicious banquet Saturday evening — complete with a wonderful fly tying swag bag from show sponsor J.Stockard — I was featured fly tier Sunday morning. The subject was Farmington River Favorites, and we managed to get through each of the four food groups (nymph, wet, dry, streamer). Again, many thanks to everyone who attended. I truly appreciate your support.
But the highlight of the show for me was formally becoming a member of the Regal Pro Staff. I’ve been tying on a custom Regal Revolution for years, so this was particularly gratifying. Those of you who know me know that I don’t endorse anything on these pages that I don’t use and love, and I’ll be talking more about my Regal vise in future posts.
And now, me too! There are so many incredibly talented tiers in this group, and I’m honored to be a part of the team.
Finally, I’m back on the book for a bit: page proofs are in! These are basically an e-version of the layout of the book, complete with photos and other visual reference. I go through it, make minor corrections as needed, send it back to the publisher, and the whole shebang goes to press early next year. Exciting times! People stopping by the table showed a lot of interest in the book, and even if you don’t fish the Farmington a lot, I’m comfortable telling you that much of it — fly patterns, how to, hatches — is applicable to southern New England trout streams.
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.
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