Tag Archives: travel

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.

‘Tis the Season…for Steelhead. (And other musings on rigging for the Erie tribs)

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!

Menhaden action alert, Farmington River book, IFTS, and other fishy goings on

The first thing I’d like you to do after reading this opening paragraph is head over the ASGA website and sign their official letter calling for major reductions to the menhaden harvest. It will take you less than five minutes, and it’s an excellent use of your time. Long story short: Atlantic menhaden are a critical bait and ecosystem fish; they’ve been grossly over harvested; that needs to stop now. Please do this, even if you don’t fish for striped bass. We need all the voices we can get.

Galley copy for the Fly Fishing Guide to the Farmington River has been reviewed by yours truly and sent back to the editors. This was simply my review and comments on their edits. I was pleased to discover that the edits weren’t substantial, and book flowed from one subject to another like…a river? There. I’ve made my unfunny joke of the day. Maps were also reviewed, and I really like the artwork. If you don’t know the river, you’ll find them highly useful. Next steps: the whole shebang gets put into page layout, then reviewed. That should happen in November. We’re getting closer!

A successful spawn means more of these. This fish was sampled by DEEP last September during broodstock collection for the Survivor Strain program. If you see a redd and canoodling trout, be like The Beatles and let it be.

Speaking of the Farmington river, the spawn has begun. If you’re fishing, please be on the lookout for redds! They are generally lighter, oval-shaped patches surrounded by dark substrate. Keep a safe distance. And of course, never target spawning fish. That’s just bad form.

A reminder that the International Fly Tying Symposium is November 15-16, now just over two weeks away. I’m doing a wet fly seminar on Saturday and a Farmington River tying demo on Sunday. More on those coming soon.

Let’s give small stream wild fish a break

Right now is a good time to not go fishing for wild trout on small streams.

As you already know, most of the state is abnormally dry, and the northwest hills are officially in drought. Don’t let the recent rainfall kid you — our small streams are running at a CFS fraction of what they should be.

While nature finds a way, the stresses of summer heat and trickle flows no doubt took a toll. That alone would justify giving small streams a break. But right now is pre-spawn and spawn time. I ventured out yesterday and was stunned by the severity of the low water. The spawn is a stressful time for fish, exacerbated by the dire conditions of late summer. With so much of the stream bed exposed, wild fish will be challenged to find spawning gravel. I didn’t see any redds yesterday, and it may be that the fish are so stressed, and have so few gravel options, that on many small streams we won’t see a successful spawn this fall.

Learn how to identify a redd: typically oval in shape, small gravel, lighter in color than surrounding bottom. There may or may not be fish nearby. It goes without saying, never target fish on a redd!

You don’t have to be a fisheries biologist to reckon that if that is in fact the case, it does not bode well for future wild fish populations.

So here’s how you can help: for the time being, don’t fish small streams. Give the trout a break. Once we get back to normal flows, enjoy — but please be on the lookout for redds and spawning gravel (dime and pea-sized substrate). Most of all, stay out of the stream bed — no wading! — until late March. It’s good for fish. And good for everyone who loves fishing small streams.

Farmington last week and now, back to the book

I did two lessons last week on the Farmington. On Tuesday, I took Joe on a wet fly excursion. We stuck to the lower river; at 140cfs, it had the most water, and the weather was cool enough that the water temp never got higher than 66 (3pm). The fishing was predictably slow; we found success by moving around (we fished three different marks) and targeting the deepest, fastest-moving water we could get into. Joe was a strong wader, and sometimes that’s the difference between fishing and catching. Trout love to hang out in places that are difficult for land animals like humans to navigate. Joe stuck four and we put three in the hoop. In difficult low-water conditions, that was pretty darned good.

Joe having at it. As you can see, the clarity of the water was excellent, and when the flows are low, that usually works in favor of the fish. But Joe kept at it, was enthusiastic, and figured out where he needed to put his flies to catch fish. Great job, Joe!

Friday was a different story. We had rain Thursday night, which had me all fired up because it would mean higher flows and a little color in the water. While those conditions manifested, the fishing stunk out loud, which depressed me no end. I guided Dan and Sean, and we spent the bulk of our time nymphing. We stuck to water just below the PTMA; our reward was not another angler in sight. Although we bounced around — we fished four different marks — we could only manage two touches. Bah-phooey on those trout. The good news was that both Dan and Sean showed tremendous improvement over the course of four hours. When you actually see clients getting it, and making better casts, presentations, and mends, it’s very gratifying. Both deserved better than what the river gave them, but they’ll hit right in the future and reap the rewards of their lesson.

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I’m back on the book, so this will be my only currentseams post this week. The publisher has sent me the galley copy, which is all of their edits in a document, paged format. My job is to read and review and comment. That’s over 300 pages of reading, so I need to hop to it. I’ve only made it through 20 pages, but it’s a happy feeling when you still like what you’ve written so many months ago, and the edits are generally light. AFAIK, The Fly Fishing Guide to the Farmington River is still on track for a June 1 2026 release. Natch’ , I’ll keep you updated with any news as it comes in.

Meanwhile, please do your best rain dance…

Montana, Part II: The Kootenai Smudge

Unless you’re a setback player, you’re very likely puzzled by the author’s intriguing choice of a headline. For you non-card-types, a smudge is a bid where you declare that you will not only make all four points, but also win every trick (when each player reveals a card they’re holding). Smudges are rare, and if you’re lucky to make one, you get five points.

So, if catching three different species of fish is a hat trick and four is a grand slam, what’s a five different species? Pentachamacallit? So smudge it is. And on my second day of fishing the Kootenai (pronounced KOOT-en-ee by the locals), I scored a smudge.

This was a day that I fished solo, under the capable guidance of my guide Jeff from Dave Blackburn’s Kootenai Angler. We floated a different section of river, starting below the town of Libby. While the river is still wide and overhead-deep in many areas, there’s a lot more gravelly structure, pocket water, and whitewater pools. I far preferred it over the section we’d fished the day before. We did a little bit of everything: wet flies, dry-dropper, nymphing, streamers. It turned out to be a smudge-tastic day.

Let’s start with our new old buddy, the Kootenai Redband Rainbow trout. The ones I connected with — and they were plentiful — were generally under a foot long. Nonetheless, they were spunky and frantic when hooked, and I can’t even begin to describe their breathtakingly beautiful flanks adorned with delicate parr marks.
It’s a sucker! It’s a bonefish! No, wait. It’s a northern whitefish, native to these parts. Despite their appearance, whitefish are a salmonid. Every one I hooked was taken on a nymph. This was the biggest one by far, and she gave me a good tussle. Two down.
On this day, I hooked and landed my first cutthroat trout. Consider me a fan. Another native fish, these are beautifully colored and look like someone took a fine point black Sharpie to their sides as an exercise in minimalism. This fish was an epic eat. We were fishing western style, pounding the banks with a hopper-dropper, when we approached a grove of trees with overhanging branches that nearly touched the waterline. Naturally, the sweet spot of the run was beneath the branches. I made a cast, and began mending, dropping my rod tip nearly into the water so the floating line would clear the branches. Three…two…one…and whack! She ate the hopper right where we thought she’d be. That’s one take I wish I had on film.
A few minutes later, I asked Jeff what that green thing in the water was. As we got closer, we could see it was a hopper going for a swim. We fished him out of the water and put him on the oar to dry off. We were going to use him for a science experiment, but before we could send him on his way, he decided to go for another swim. I haven’t seen many hoppers in the water, but this was proof that it does happen — and the way this thing was struggling, it’s not surprising that they get eaten. My fourth species was a pikeminnow. Sadly, no photo. But before you laugh at the noun “minnow,” you should know that they grow over two feet long! Mine was about 18″. Pikeminnow are a member of the dace family.
If you look under the maxillary, you can see the reddish band that gives the cutthroat trout its name.
Ooh. Ahh. Ohh. To complete the smudge, I offer you the cutbow. As its name suggests, it’s a cross between a rainbow trout and a cutthroat trout, with characteristics of each. I was fortunate to be able to tangle with a half dozen of these gorgeous creatures. Is it time to go back to Montana yet?

Farmington River Report early September: a wet fly lesson, broodstock sampling, challenging conditions

I guided — we’ll call him “Bob” because he’s in incognito mode — last Thursday. We did a little dry fly and a lot of wet fly. The Farmington can be a highly technical dry fly arena, and sometimes it comes down a perfect drift and a little luck. But a good starting place is a long leader. I was happy to see that Bob was using a 13-foot minimum line-to-fly leader/tippet length. We added a couple more feet of 6x and had at it. Unfortunately, we missed the Trico spinner fall, but we did manage some practice, and by the time we made the decision to go to wets, Bobs drifts were noticeably better.

We spent the next six hours on classroom, then banging around the PTMA, as well as above and below it. Like many people who take a wet fly lesson with me, Bob had to learn to wait a few beats — “Are you still there?” — after the hit to let the trout hook itself. We missed a handful of strikes, but stuck four and landed three, which was pretty darned good under some tough conditions. Low water/seasonal hint: all of our hookup came in fast, bubbling water.

A lovely wild brown from the PTMA, taken by Bob on my Drowned Ant soft hackle. And on the first cast! At first, Bob thought he was hung up on a boulder. But boulders don’t shake their heads…

Which brings us to the conditions. We’re out of meteorological summer, and the water is running clear and low. Because of the drought, the trees are behaving like it’s fall, turning color and especially shedding leaves. On windy days from now until the trees are bare, expect organic matter to be blowing into the river. Leaves were a constant challenge for us on this gusty day. The trout and bugs are also in a transition. Most of what’s hatching is very small (there are exceptions, like Isonychia). The trout are getting into pre-spawn mode. This adds up to more frequent windows where fish are much harder to catch. Bob was the only angler I saw land a fish on Thursday, and we encountered multiple anglers who were astonished by our success. Well done, Bob!

But wait, there’s more. Normally, the slug of rain we received over the weekend would mix things up a bit. However, Tuesday through Thursday this week, the CT DEEP will be drawing down the dam release to do their annual broodstock sampling. You can still fish the river, but vast stretches will be rendered as rock gardens. If you do fish, please give the sampling crews a wide berth. Things should be back to normal by Friday.

However, that normal will still mean challenging fishing — which makes every trout you land even sweeter. Catch ’em up!

And, we’re back! (Plus some odds and ends.)

Hopefully, you noticed I didn’t post last week. Maybe you even missed me a little. I was way out west — Montana, Idaho, Wyoming — on a family vacation. Oh, you betcha there was fishing. I’ll get to that in greater detail later this week, but for now, I fished the Kootenay in NW Montana, Hebgen Lake in southern Montana, and the Madison and Henry’s Fork rivers in Montana and Idaho. We drove around Yellowstone and Grand Teton for a couple days, but (sadly) no fishing in either location for me.

I’ve never been to this part of the country, let alone fished it, so it was all new and wondrous. The water I fished was unlike anything we have back here.

You’re kidding, right? We stayed in a private cabin on the banks — really, as this is the view just a few feet from the back porch — of the Kootenay River in northwestern Montana, a ‘way up near Canada. That far north, and at the western edge of the Mountain Time Zone, it gets dark late. This photo was taken at 9:24PM!

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Before I left, I finished a piece for Surfcaster’s Journal on fishing small flies for striped bass. This will be essential reading for anyone who’s interested in fishing a three-fly team in marshes with small bait-imitating flies, or sight fishing with smaller patterns on beach fronts or flats. I’ll let you know when it comes out.

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I just received the first pass on rendered maps for the Farmington River book, and I think they look great! My goal was to have a graphically simple, eye-to-brain-friendly design for you, dear reader, and the artist hit it out of the park. There’s a large overview map, and then five detail maps that focus on the 22-mile stretch from Hogback to Farmington.

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On the home front, the Farmington is running at a fantastic, cool, trout-friendly summer level, reminiscent of yesteryear when the MDC wasn’t toying with the flows. Tricos are the big little hatch right now, which horrifies night owls like me. Get on it, early birds, while you can.

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Finally, I have some availability the rest of this month and through September for guide trips/lessons. If you’ve been hemming and hawing about getting out with me, this is best time to do it for the rest of the year. I used guides on my trip out west, and even I learned a ton — I’m a better angler than before I left. You know where to find me.

The importance of keeping a log

Although I’ve been fishing for over five decades, I didn’t start keeping a fishing log until the summer of 2004. At this point in my life, I was seriously devoted to fly fishing. Being an autodidact, I reckoned that I’d learn more, quicker, and retain more if I could journal and reference my outings. I wasn’t wrong.

Since then, I have logged every fishing trip and every lesson I’ve given. I’ve filled six 192-page books with all kinds of data: place, time, date, water and air conditions, and then a journal-style description of the outing: what worked, what didn’t, what I think I could have done better, etc. What were the hatches/bait, and how strong were they? How were other people doing? What did I do well?

My O.G. log entry about a Farmington River outing with old pal Paul Kingsford. I didn’t even know some of the proper names of the pools; that’s Hawes, aka Bikini Rock, that I called “the big rock boulders/cliffs.” I haven’t changed the format all that much in the last 20+ years.

About 10 years ago, when life seemed to get exponentially busier, I got into a good/bad habit: voice recording my outings, then transcribing them into the journal. It was good because I didn’t have to write it all down immediately; the recording was made minutes after getting off the water, so everything was fresh in my memory. Later, during transcription, I might remember additional details. The bad habit part began when I would get lazy and not fill the pages with reports for weeks. I beg to report that my sloth has gotten so profound that I am now two years — you read that right — behind on my transcriptions. I’ll be getting to that shortly after I post this.

Some of you may wonder why, with today’s e-tech, I even bother handwriting it. Fair point. But I’m an analog guy at heart, and there’s something about my own script that adds humanity to what would otherwise be a cold, antiseptic printed document. Besides, I like my leather-bound hardcover books.

These books are more than a nostalgic preservation of memories. They’re a detailed roadmap to success. I can watch my progression as a fly fisher. I can observe how my best practices evolve. Not everyone’s a writer, but my journals were an invaluable resource when I was writing my Farmington River book. And these journals serve as a bittersweet reminder of what we’ve lost: the epic blitzes on Block Island, the prodigious power of the W/S Caddis hatch, the 50 smallmouth nights on the Housatonic. I still have it all at my fingertips.

I like to say during a lesson or a presentation that I’m not right. But I’ll stand by this statement: if you want to become a better angler — and catch more fish — you should be keeping a log.