Steel Pursuit

How to Judge a Guide

2012-01-25T18:37:00.000-08:00

The great philosopher Al McGuire once observed: "If the waitress has dirty ankles the chili should be good." As someone who dined at the same chili haunts favored by the most colorful coach college basketball will ever see, I think I know what Al was talking about.

Making chili -- or more accurately working at a chili diner -- is a tough job and you don't want anyone too fancy behind the counter because more than likely they won't be able to hack it. The same can be said for being a fly fishing guide. Something like: If the guide's fingers are cracked and dirty then the fishing should be good.

My recent fishing outing with Zeke Hersh of Blue River Anglers reminded me the pounding taken by a real guide's hands. I'm not talking about the hands of a "weekend guide" like the golf caddy who once guided me on mountain stream. I'm talking about the folks who guide for a living. The ones who spend more time at the vise than in front of a TV. The type of full-time guide Eric Stroup writes so passionately about in River Pimp. The hands of these guides tell the tale. If I fish three days in a row, my fingers get a little raw from all the knot tying. A real guide's fingers are just one giant callous. The cracks are filled with dirt that apparently won't come out no matter what they do. Their fingernails feature deep grooves caused, I guess, from testing the sharpness of hooks. The pads of their fingers look like pin cushions after having been pricked by thousands of chemically sharpened hooks.

I type for a living. My hands aren't tough. So I'm always a little embarrassed when I take a look at guide's hands. His hands show how much he truly loves fly fishing and what he's given to the sport. So next time you meet your guide for the first time, check out his hands. If they're as rough and raw as sandpaper, get ready for a good time on the water. If they look like mine, find a new guide.

Rises on the Blue River

2012-01-21T09:19:00.000-08:00

The sun was still hidden behind the mountains to the east when the first small rainbow came to the net on the Blue River last Sunday. Zeke Hersh of Blue River Anglers made sure the day got off to a great start. After a brief drive south from his shop in Frisco, we hiked to the river and we started fishing a narrow run with two tiny midge patterns.

The trout didn't mind that the air temperature was in the teens; and I tried not too as well. This stretch of the Blue River is kept ice-free because of an unusual effort to reclaim the river after a long history of mining in the area. Part of the river flows underground, returning to the surface warm enough to keep flowing despite the winter temps.

In one run it appeared that the trout had found a warm-water seep as dozens were bunched up in a small section no bigger than a water bucket. They regularly hit the midge patterns, although it was hard to get a good drift in the slow water were they huddled. The Blue is also home to wild brown trout. While they may be wild, they're not selective. Two attacked the pink strike indicator with enough gusto that Zeke considered tying on a pink hopper fly for kicks.

Upstream, beavers and a deadfall helped create a substantial pool filled with crystal clear water and literally hundreds of trout. Several large browns sat under a pine tree that had fallen along the far bank. Others were stacked up at the tail of the pool. Zeke rigged up an egg fly pattern and the browns eagerly inhaled the fly. It was fun to watch their gills flare in the four-feet deep pool as they fought hard to shake the fly. By now the sun had come over the Ten Mile Range and was fighting a battle with a pesky cloud. We had about 25 minutes of clear sunshine and the added warmth kept the guides from freezing and encourage a prolific midge hatch. Dozens of fish started to rise in the middle of the pool and Zeke rigged up a double dry fly rig featuring tiny (size 20 and smaller) sprout midge patterns. The brown trout were forgiving of my sloppy casts and Zeke netted several browns in the 14-16 inch range. A few even leaped from the 34 degree water into the 25 degree air -- I'm sure they regretted that decision. I laughed with each jump. Even for a dedicated steelheader, there is nothing more fun than hooking rising trout on tiny dry flies and then watching them leap from the water. That the stream is surrounded by snow covered mountains only added to the moment.

Zeke helped make the fishing easy -- which is what good guides do. He knew the spots. He had the right patterns. He helped me adjust my casting. And he put up with all of my mistakes with good humor. What more can a sport ask for?

Eventually the cloud covered the sun again and the guides on the rod and even the fly line began to ice up. I was freezing up, as well (thanks in part to a leaky hip boot) and my casting was getting even sloppier. After a brisk morning of fishing, it was time to go thaw out.

I look forward to returning to the scenic Blue River and fishing again with Zeke.

Blue River Ahead

2012-01-12T19:15:00.000-08:00

On Sunday I will do something I've never tried before -- fly fish for stream trout in the winter. I've spent much of the last 26 winters standing in nearly freezing water fishing for steelhead, but I've never tried to catch your standard brown, rainbow or cut in the winter. There are plenty of opportunities to give it a try as the Central PA limestone streams are fishable throughout much of the winter, but why risk hypothermia for a 12-incher when you can do the same and catch a ten pounder?

But this weekend I'll be visiting the Cadet out in Colorado and I've decided to try the Blue River near Frisco. I've hooked up with Zeke Hersh at Blue River Anglers and we'll give it a shot on Sunday. I've written before that I haven't had the greatest of fishing luck when out with guides. And I'm certainly testing my luck by planning on fishing when the high temperature on Sunday is about freezing. But I've learned that fishing a new stream without a guide can make for a frustrating day. And even if the fishing isn't great, the lessons learned and experience gained from spending a day with a day with a skilled anglers pays dividends in the long run. And besides, Zeke can keep his hands warm while I fish and the he'll be able to tie the knots that I'm too frozen to tie...

I look forward to learning a little more about the mountain streams of Colorado and experiencing a mile-high trout or two -- if I'm lucky. Zeke told me to dress warm -- thankfully I've got the gear for that. And he said the winter fishing has been pretty good this year. Of course, that was before the temperatures dipped below zero earlier this week. We'll see what Sunday has to offer. Regardless, it will be new, fun fishing experience.

Strong Steelhead Run Attracts Poachers

2012-01-11T17:42:00.000-08:00

The 2011-12 steelhead run in Ohio is as strong as it's been in years. Nothing like a lot of rain and temps in the 40s to lure waves of rainbows up the tributaries of Steelhead Alley. Check out the reports from Mike Durkalec with the Cuyahoga County Metroparks if you doubt the strength of this year's run. (Sweet photos from swing king Jeff Liskay in this week's edition.)

That's the good news. Last night at the Emerald Necklace Trout Unlimited meeting at the Rocky River Nature Center Metroparks Lt. Sean Flanagan shared the bad news. Poaching is at an unprecedented level. He said the Metroparks police are making a concerted effort to arrest people seen snagging fish or keeping more fish than permitted.

The Lieutenant encouraged everyone to keep an eye out for poachers and to call the Metroparks Police, 440-331-5530, to report any violations. He noted it is helpful to know the license plate or type of vehicle being used by the poachers. He cautioned anglers not to approach poachers. A phone call will do the trick.

Poaching is one of the downsides of having a remarkable fishery in close proximity to so many people. Anglers that care about the future of the fishery can do a lot to limit the abusive practices of others. It is our responsibility. Make the call.

One Fish, Spey Fish

2012-01-08T18:10:00.000-08:00

Not the best shot, but it will do.

The head shake brought the 12’ 6’’ spey rod to life. The tip bounced up and down as the steelhead pulled against the pressure. The leverage provided by the extra long fly rod gave me a much larger advantage than the standard 10-footer, and after a few runs and rolls on the surface, the five-pound fish came to the bank. A six-inch-long black articulated leach fly with silver flash hung from its lower lip.

The steelhead was the first fish of 2012, and the first fish hooked on a swung fly this season. I’m still less than a beginner with the spey rod, which I bought a few years ago at the annual banquet of the Trout Club of the Cleveland Natural History Museum, . One lesson with Will Turek, a few years back taught me that spey casting is dramatically different, but not exceptionally difficult. About one of out of five casts today were respectable. The rhythm of creating a good anchor and using the lower hand to do more of the work improved slowly.

I’m still developing a sense of where the fly is as it swings through the pool. The high water required me to wade deeper than I’d like to get the fly into the heart of the run. The 35-degree water pulled the head out of my body and made concentrating on the casting more difficult. But a steelhead on the end of the line will always warm you up. The steelhead hit about 20 minutes into fishing the long pool. No other fish would show themselves in a little more than two hours of swinging flies through the pool and the run below it.

Swinging big flies usually doesn’t produce as many fish as dead-drift nymphing, but it’s a fun change of pace and hopefully I’ll continue to progress with the spey rod this spring.

Tribs of Steel

2011-12-31T08:13:00.000-08:00

After a few fairly unsuccessful hours of searching for steelhead in the main creek I decided to follow Rem up an even smaller tributary that I once hiked up about 15 years ago but never tried to fish. Good call, Rem. Melting snow and a light drizzle filled the tributary with greenish brown water that was murkier than the flow in the main creek. Much of the trib is narrow enough to jump across, but in a few spots it widens to about five to ten yards across.

Rem explored a few fast moving shoots as I walked under the pine trees and went in search of a pool. About 50 yards upstream the tributary filled up an elongated pool at the base of a large bluff. Knotty pines stuck out of the bluff at crooked angles, their branches hanging over the water. At the head of the pool the water came plunging out of run, crashed into the bluff wall and turned left. At the tail, brownish water backed up before rushing into the top of the next run. Three steelhead could be seen in the tail and the water appeared deep enough to hold several more. Branches from a small tree hung over the tail of the pool, making a cast in the tight spot even tighter.

Fishing small tributaries for large fish can be challenging. And it's definitely a change of pace. Roll casts are required. Quick, small mends help get the drifts right. Hook sets need to be gentle to avoid sending the flies into the overhead branches. Once the fish is hooked, the fight usually ends quickly. Either the fish heads into one of the many deadfalls and breaks off or is successfully pulled to shore. There just aren't a lot of options for the fish in these small ribbons of water. Fishing these small tribs can be both productive and fun when the conditions are right -- rising, murky water. Fishing them when the water is low and clear is pretty much out of the question, unless you like using your hands (illegal).

On one of the first drifts through a mid-sized male steelhead holding unseen in the deeper water hit a pink egg fly and put up a modest fight before coming to the gravel bank. I turned the pool over to Rem and kept hiking upstream through the woods. The water thinned out over the shale bottom and there were fewer holding spots. A narrow channel turned up a fresh looking skipper with a light pink gill plate that eagerly inhaled a black stonefly. He tried his best to wrap around a deadfall before sliding onto the bank.

After hiking upstream about a half mile, I headed back downstream and hooked two more out of the first pool. I'm not sure if conditions will ever be right to fish the trib again, but the memories will last.

Old Spot Made Anew

2011-12-27T11:53:00.000-08:00

After spending much of December away from the rivers, I had a few hours free this morning to visit one of my favorite spots on the Rocky River and was surprised to see the changes that Mother Nature had wrought. The tail end of the pool, which used to push up against the far 100-foot-high shale wall now cut right down the middle of the river channel. From a distance I could see new boulders sticking up in a wide chute that carried the water out of the pool. Gone was the narrow channel that occasionally held fish, but mostly just ate up flies.

The narrow channel was filled in by tons of rock -- all of which had come cascading down the cliff sometime over the last three plus weeks. The altered flow seemed to have deepened and widened the big pool. The chute below will be interesting to fish once spring comes; it looks promising but on the Rocky it is common for promising spots to be neglected by the fish.

With water temps in the high 30s, I guessed that the fish would be in new, wider tail of the pool. They were, as is a small tree 0r perhaps a very large branch. I hooked three, including the 7-pounder above. And hooked the tree a few times, for good measure.

Rivers always change. Time to learn this old spot all over again.

River Pimp: A Book Review

2011-12-06T16:51:00.000-08:00

"If our father had had his say, nobody who did not know how to fish would be allowed to disgrace a fish by catching him." -- Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It

If they weren't born in different eras Eric Stroup and John Maclean (Norman's father) would have been great friends. They share a strong faith in God and know that to step into a flowing trout stream is to restore and refill one's soul. They also believe that fly fishing is not to be trifled with. It is serious business, deserves our respect and, most importantly, is worth preserving for future generations.

As Ed Engle writes in his introduction to Eric's new book, River Pimp, A Journey Through Life in the Fly Fishing Industry, "Fly fishing saves Eric time and again. Now he understands that we all may have to save fly fishing."

River Pimp is the first fly fishing book I've ever read about the business side of fly fishing. We've all experienced the fishing business as customers. I've even been a customer of Eric's -- he guided me on Penns Creek two years ago and excused my failures by assuring me that Penns is the "major leagues of fly fishing." (The picture below proves I at least fouled off a few pitches during my day in the big leagues.) But I've rarely given much thought to the business of fly fishing. Eric has, and he writes about it with great passion and power.

He shares the downside of trying to tell it like it is. A very informative article he wrote for Fly Fisherman magazine (he is kind and never identifies the publication) about his home river, the Little Juniata, spawned enough venom and hatred to start a small skirmish. The conflict earned Eric the nickname that he made the title of his book. And I think it tells a lot about Eric and his wife Tracey that they embraced the name. Eric won't back down from his beliefs.

You should read the River Pimp if you've ever wondered what the guide was really thinking as he watched you put down the umpteenth fish with another errant cast. You'll enjoy the River Pimp if you've ever fantasized about chucking it all and "fishing for a living." (If you're like me, you'll laugh at the stories and acknowledge that you're not nearly tough enough to survive what Eric's been through.) And you should definitely read the book if you care about the future of our woods, our rivers and our trout. Eric makes a compelling case that how we shop and who we shop with will dictate the future of fly fishing. Shop your local fly shop; don't buy discounted stuff online. And definitely don't buy from the big box stores. Buy flies tied by people who fish the rivers you fish. And hire a full-time guide.

If you do all those things you will definitely spend a little more money, but what you'll gain is priceless. You will support those who are doing the most to protect, preserve and enhance the sport, culture and passion we care about so much.

River Pimp is Eric's second book. The first, Common-Sense Fly Fishing, is a great help to anyone looking to catch more fish on the river. River Pimp won't help you catch any more fish, but it will give you a new appreciation for the business-side of fly fishing. One note, you may have to wait a few weeks to get a copy of River Pimp. A second printing is being done to take care of some editing issues in the first edition. It's worth the wait. Add River Pimp to the list of books to read while waiting for the next hatch.

Ten Pounds of Silver

2011-12-05T16:18:00.000-08:00

Heavy rains early last week induced a fresh run of silver up the Lake Erie tributaries and by Saturday a.m. the streams in Pennsylvania had dropped to the lower-end of what I consider fishable. Odds were the stream would be packed with weekend warriors, but it was worth a shot as our calendars finally aligned and Jerry and his two boys, as well as Rem, were able to make the trek.

We were pleasantly surprised to be the first car in the lot as the eastern sky started to turn pink, but we were joined by a few more cars even before we started hiking downstream. When Elk Creek gets low the spots that hold fish can be few and far between and if your desired spot is occupied it can make for a long day of fishing pocket water as you search for the next unoccupied run. Our desired spot only had one other angler and the five of us spread out and tried different pieces of a big pool, a run in front of the hole and a bunch of riffles below.

The pool held several fish and there was enough fish in the other spots to keep us entertained as we traded places. As the morning brightened it became clear just how many fish were in the pool -- too many to count. Most of the fish were silver as dimes. The fish must have headed upstream on Tuesday or Wednesday and hat gotten stranded in the hole when the water dropped. A large, wide shale shelf with just a little water flowing across upstream limited their ability to continue their southward journey.

The fish would take turns moving up to the head of the pool into the fast water where they would regularly inhale single eggs and nymphs. I ran out of a favorite yellow stonefly pattern that I have to remind myself to fish when the conditions are right.

The biggest fish of the day was a 10 pound male that fought like a bulldog before finally coming to shore. Everyone got a chance to hook fish and land at least a few. The fish regularly reminded us that they have plenty of energy, even when we think they are ready to be beached. On days like this, a net would come in handy.

Jerry observed after the day was over that it's more fun to explore new water rather than fishing the entire day along the same familiar stretch of Elk (we've been fishing this stretch for four years or so now). I agree, but at least once a year it's fun to have a full day of constantly fighting fresh steelhead. Next time we head east we hope to explore some new water on Conneaut Creek. Memories of 10 pounds of silver will tide me over until then.

Silent Steel

2011-11-20T16:55:00.000-08:00

The water silently flowed through the pool. A squirrel busily chewed threw a nut in the tree behind me. The Waterworks reel spun in reverse as the steelhead headed upstream to the head of the deep pool.

Just another quiet Sunday afternoon on the Rocky River.

Old River, New Spots

2011-11-19T16:24:00.000-08:00

Lakes change over decades, rivers change every season. Heavy floods this summer have altered much of the Rocky River west of Cleveland.

So far this fall, I've noticed the following changes along one of my favorite half-mile stretches of the Rocky.

A long slow pool is now at least a foot deeper in the tail as last year. The tail will hold more fish than ever.

A run that used to have two bends in it is now as straight as a ruler. It will be interesting to see if it holds fish like it used to. A visit today would indicate the answer is no, but I will continue to give it a try.

A few new boulders and a broken-up bottom seemed to create a new run in the middle of a stretch of river that has never held a steelhead in the years I've been fishing the Rocky. However, today the run was empty, perhaps next time. It will be worth checking out again.

About 25 yards upstream a small shelf that had previously not been deep enough to hold fish, had broken up over the summer and the heavy floods had carved out a 3-foot deep run behind the shelf. The new run is fairly short and fast. It cuts tight against the river's west bank. To get the fly down to the bottom of the run, the fly has to be cast upstream onto the bedrock shelf. Today the run held at least one steelhead, which I hooked only briefly.

More changes upstream haven't been explored yet. This is why river fishing is so much fun. Every season on a river is a new experience.

Product Review: Simms Rivertek Boa Boots

2011-11-16T17:19:00.000-08:00

Wading is hard on the feet. Walking across cobblestone-sized rocks, slippery shale and unnerving boulders cannot be confused with a stroll on the beach or even a hike in the woods. Several years ago while fishing the Little J in Pennsylvania, a friend had to stop fishing his feet hurt so bad. He blamed it on the rocky bottom. I blamed his boots.

Good wading boots can make wading much easier on the feet and therefore the angler. I recently bought a pair of Simms Rivertek Boa Boots to replace a rapidly fading pair of studded Simms boots. (These were the old model with the studs riveted into the bottom and the rivets were beginning push up through inside of the boot -- sort of like walking on nails.

The true quality of a wading boot cannot be judged during year one -- a really good boot proves its worth over time. But the early verdict is two thumbs up on the Boa Boots. First, the boot's neoprene lining makes it ridiculously easy to get in and out of the boot. I've got a terrible back and bending over to pull of my boots at the end of a full day on the river sometimes caused so much pain that I could barely drive home. Not anymore. The boots practically slide right off. And while they are on your feet, the neoprene lining and Vibram sole are very comfortable (at least so far).

The Boa laces - also used on snowboards -- are incredibly easy to tighten and loosen. And once tightened down, the steel wire laces stay tight. No more stopping to re-tie shoes. No more cold fingers fumbling to untie the laces at the end of a long day. Just pull up on the nob, pull the tongue to loosen the steel laces and step out of the boot. That simple.

The only drawback to the Boa is that Simms charges extra for the stud screws. (And you definitely need the studs as rubber soles are slippery when when wet...) While the screws probably won't push through the boot like the studs did, the extra fee for the screws pushed the total price of the boots north of the $200 mark. Pricey yes, but so far worth it. If the boots are this comfortable in two seasons, they'll be a bargain.

First Ohio Steel of the Fall

2011-11-12T15:09:00.000-08:00

Leaves piled up on the surface of the big pool on the upper Rocky River. The current through the middle of the pool was barely enough to move leaves from the head to the tail, where many got caught in a slow eddy and were pushed back upstream. The flat surface of the pool reflected the shale cliff and the angled sunlight bounced off the waterfall that tumbled down that same cliff.

Steelheaders are optimists and we're more optimistic when the air temps are north of 50 than we are when they are south of 4o. M

ost weekends I wouldn't even bother trying to fish the Rocky when the water flow is down near the century mark. But there aren't many blue sky 50 degree Saturdays in November, so after scouting the pool I decided to put on the waders and drift small flies under a strike indicator through the mid-section and tail of the pool where the water is deepest.

Getting a drift was a challenge as the current often faded leaving the flies stranded on the bottom. I hooked into a silver sucker, and that was quickly followed by a brief head shake from a mystery fish. (Fly fishermen are free to declare a lost fish to be a trout, even though it could just as well be a sucker.) I continued to work the different seams of the wide pool hoping to bump into a steelhead.

I cast almost across the pool, hoping to have the brassie and egg flies drift along the shelf before dropping int

o the deeper part of the run. The strike indicator slowly drifted downstream, barely moving before coming to a complete stop. With a downstream sweep I picked up line and set the hook. A steelhead responded to the hook by splashing on the surface, disrupting the silent pool. A few moments later the fish cartwheeled out of the water and then ran upstream. Because I was using 4X tippet in the clear water, I gently pressured the fish to get it turn back downstream. After a few more runs I was able to land my first Ohio steelhead of the fall season; later than normal but I'll take it.

Grand Mystery

2011-11-09T17:29:00.000-08:00

Frost weighed down the tall grass along the bank of the Grand River as the sun climbed to the top of the trees lining the ridge of the valley. The low light made it hard to tell whether the river water was stained or clearing. The flow was about as low as the Grand gets as the fall rains had stopped for more than a week. Overnight lows were in the 30s and the water temp had dropped into the 40s.

Two friends were fishing even farther upstream and two more were closer to the lake. The idea was that one of us would bump into fish and we'd connect before noon and fish together. That was the idea anyway. Rem and I tried a few spots that had produced fish in past years -- both runs and pools -- and didn't bump into anything. As daylight spread it was easier to see that the water was stained slightly and carrying more leaves than one would like. And as the sun climbed higher the breeze picked up, putting even more leaves in the water. Golden leaves drifted down and filled the slow water at the edge of a promising pool. A hawk glided overhead in the blue sky. But the fish never showed.

We headed to another spot downstream and discovered the same luck.

Research had indicated that fish that were hanging out near Helen Hazen earlier in the week had headed up stream. But we couldn't find them. They are in there somewhere, but the Grand is often a mystery, particularly in the fall. It is the biggest river in the Ohio stretch of Steelhead Alley. There is more water to cover than any one person can cover in a day. And on this day, not even three groups of fishermen could find more than one river walleye and a skipper.

Every angler we encountered told a similar story. The Grand is less than sixty miles from Elk Creek, but it might as well be a million miles away. It's a completely different type of river requiring another skill level. Maybe one of these days I will solve the Grand mystery.

Meet Me at the Net

2011-11-02T17:36:00.000-07:00

Ed Novak has written a book that I look forward to reading called Meet Me at the Net. It's about his experiences in Steelhead Alley with a group of friends. The excerpts ring true to our fishing group. The Alley is indeed a great place that builds friendships and provides memories.

MidCurrent put a link to Ed's book on its website this week. Hopefully it will boost sales for him.

Low Water Steel

2011-10-30T16:26:00.000-07:00

Low, clear water and big fish require small flies and fine tippets. That's a recipe for 50 fly day. Juris and I spent nearly as much time tying knots as we did fighting fish; and we smiled all morning long. The fish were plentiful and surprisingly the anglers were not on Elk Creek.

The day started off with a bald eagle lifting from a sycamore tree and heading upstream. We followed. I assume the eagle had as much luck as we did as the low water narrowed the places where the trout could hang out.

The fish were easy to find and as long as they were holding in the faster water, a good drift with a small nymph or egg fly would result in a strike. That's when the explosion would occur. The rainbows would burst from the water -- the third fish of the day jumped at least six times before coming to shore. More often than not, the fish would snap the line. Oftentimes the line would break after accumulating a bunch of leaves as it cut through the water -- pulled by the steelhead.

Broken lines and blue skies made for a great morning. But throughout the day I thought of the site we had seen during the drive east -- safety crews working on an overturned SUV in the westbound lane. Tragically, one person died and another was in serious condition. Saying prayers for them both.

Sight Fishing Stress

2011-10-23T17:23:00.000-07:00

Sight fishing for trout pushing 10 pounds can be -- to say the least -- nerve wracking. Fly anglers on Elk Creek are used to having their nerves rattled. The freestone stream clears quickly and holds an inordinate number of steelhead -- of the synthetic, but substantive strain.

On Saturday the creek was clearing as the afternoon sun moved across the treeline on the far bank. I expected to start to see fish moving through the narrow chutes and cuts that appeal to steelhead as they move south through the creek that has a bottom that is mostly flat shale. Fresh steelhead -- thanks to their olive back and silver sides -- are almost invisible in slightly murky water that turns green as it clears.

Most of the deep holes -- too deep and murky to see into -- held fish, and as I walked from one hole to the next I kept checking the chutes, but all appeared empty, and my drifts came up empty. Inside a narrow cut in the shale, a trout showed itself by moving its tail. A waving tail is often the only hint that the appealing dark spot is actually a fish. Of course fast moving water can create an optical illusion that persuades the angler that the rock is a fish. And after a dozen or so unsuccessful drifts through the run, I was beginning to wonder whether the dark spot was fish or fractured bottom.

I peered hard into water, hoping to cut through the glare and reassure myself that I wasn't wasting my time.

I adjusted the weights trying to make sure I was getting to the bottom of the cut without getting snagged. Each drift came up empty, adding to the anxiety. It had to be a fish, didn't it. Why wouldn't it take my fly? I was debating whether to move on or change flies when I finally got the drift right. The fish moved, inhaled the minnow fly and its head shook in response to the Mustad piercing its mouth. The shaking head sent vibrations up the line, through the 10 foot fly rod and up my arm. Anxiety turned to adrenaline as the steelhead rocketed out of the water and peeled line off the reel as he headed downstream.

Leaves and Steel

2011-10-23T17:22:00.000-07:00

It just looks like this steelhead is trying to eat the oak leaf. The Great Lakes steelheader must get used to leaves this time of year.

A closer look shows a minnow fly in the steelhead's mouth.

Yes, that is a Simms boa boot in the background. The boot lives up to its hype. Very comfortable and very easy to get on and off. What more can a river rat ask for?

Deciding When to Go

2011-10-16T22:44:00.000-07:00

The windshield wipers whipped back and forth to clear off the water spray generated by the silver pickup truck in front of us as we headed north on Interstate 71. The drizzle had turned into a steady rain and by the time we got to head east on Interstate 90 Jerry and I were debating our decision to fish Elk Creek.

The USGS charts (the Internet's greatest contribution to the river angler) showed the rivers were high, but starting to drop and the web cam -- yes there are web cams on rivers -- showed a few hearty souls were on Elk Creek. But as we drove east the rain got heavier and the second guessing started. A phone call to one of the bait shops told us that the rain hadn't arrived in Erie yet and we decided to keep going. All fishermen are optimists and irrational. In this case we were optimistic that the rain showing up on the radar would magically not head east.

We told ourselves that we'd get a chance to get out of the house, go for a walk and scout out the river. Of course we could have done the same thing much closer to home.

By the time we arrived the river was full, brown and telling us we should have turned around. The sky started spitting rain before we even got rigged up and kept falling most of the day. Being the hard-core anglers we are, we fished despite the conditions. Jerry got a dunking after I dramatically misjudged the depth of one hole, but he kept on fishing. (He's harder core than most, including me.)

Jerry picked up two fish and I lost one. Not the best of days, but better than staying home.

October Optimism

2011-10-08T17:03:00.000-07:00

There is nothing like a beautiful crisp fall morning to get one heart's racing in anticipation of fresh steel. And this morning was about as good an October morning as one could ask for. The pre-dawn sky was filled with stars and void of clouds. The temperature was 54 degrees, according to the car thermometer. The temp dropped nearly 10 degrees as the car dropped into the Rocky River valley.

As the sky lightened I hiked down to the water trying to keep my optimism in check. This was more of a scouting trip than a fishing trip, I reminded myself. Few fish are in the system, despite the wet end to September. And three straight days of bright sunshine and daytime temps approaching the 80s were bound to discourage fish from running upstream. Regardless, I was eager to get my first look at a favorite stretch of the river. Heraclitus observed long ago that one can never step into the same river twice, nor can one fish the same river twice. Rivers change constantly and the Rocky changes more than most. Its soft shale bottom gets scoured by summer floods and large slabs of shale break free, altering the rivers flow and depth.

The big pool I wanted to explore was deeper than the past spring. A long, snaking foam line nearly cut the pool in half its entire length. The October optimism only grew as I tied on a minnow fly and began to explore the pool's new depths. As the sun rose the optimism slowly faded with each uninterrupted drift.

I decided to focus more on exploring the pool and understanding its changes. More fish are on the way. My optimism will be warranted, just not today.

Synthetic, Stupid Fish OK With Me

2011-10-06T18:57:00.000-07:00

This evening I was reminded Anders Halverson pretty much nailed it when he declared the rainbow an "entirely synthetic fish." I was also reminded that I don't mind.

Today was one of those beautiful fall days that needed to be enjoyed by standing in flowing water. A cloud free blue sky helped elevate temperatures into the 70s. Red, yellow and light green leaves seemed to glow in the angled light cast by the setting sun. Neshannock Creek beckoned after a day of meetings in the Mahoning Valley. On Tuesday, 700 rainbows were stocked in the creek. Most of the fish that had been stocked earlier in the year died in the summer's heat; the second year in a row that few fish survived the elevated water temperatures.

The "hatchery fish" had grown to 10 to 14 inches on a diet of food pellets while living in tanks. While their DNA said they were rainbows, they are truly a synthetic version of their ancestors. Nonetheless, their pink and silver sides added valuable color to the end of beautiful fall day. While catching a hatchery fish fresh from the truck is not particularly challenging, it remains a thrill to feel that tug on the end of the line. It is a tug that pulls me back to a simpler, quieter time. A time when I sat with my father and waited (not so patiently) for something, anything to pull on the end of my fishing line. We talked as we waited. We admired the scenery as we waited. We learned as we waited. But mostly we waited for that tug.

That tug has a very strong pull, even if it's done by a synthetic fish.

Hanging Bird

2011-10-06T18:50:00.000-07:00

One of the many reasons I love to fly fish is during nearly every outing nature shows me something new. Today it was the rather grisly site of a bird hanging from a tree. No, the bird wasn't lynched. But darn close.

It appeared that the bird had made the same mistake that the rainbow trout in Neshannock Creek make -- it mistook a piece of fur, fuzz and a hook for an insect. In the bird's case, the hood was hanging from tree -- the result of a wayward cast and busted line. I imagine the fly dangled from the tree limb and the small bird swooped down upon it, inhaled and was hooked.

I can only imagine how long the bird flailed away trying to escape from the hook, only to have the barb penetrate even deeper.

Another reason for us anglers to take more care with what we leave behind during our visits into the woods.

A note on the picture: The image is blurry because it was taken through the plastic carrying case that now protects my iPhone. See the earlier post on "Taking a Talbot" to understand why the phone now stays in the case.

September Steel?

2011-09-17T16:20:00.000-07:00

Cool days and chilly nights trigger the biological clocks of Lake Erie steelhead and the clocks are now ticking. Reports that a few early fish had made their way up both the Erie, Pa., streams and the Rocky River in Ohio got me out of bed this morning and on the river.

More anglers than expected joined me in the lower part of the Rocky. I fished a nice run that a few years back produced an early season skip jack. I swung a white streamer hoping for a surprise, but not expecting much more than the chub that attacked the streamer. The Rocky was still full of summer silt and carried the odor from the Lakewood sewage treatment plant.

I tried one more spot and picked up a sucker. I thought I saw a steelhead in one of the runs, but it was just an early season mirage. Nonetheless, it was good to stand in the water, listen to it rush toward the lake, and watch the great blues hunt and the deer drink.

In a few weeks the fishing will be better. I'll be there. But this September will be steel free for me.

Waiting for Fall

2011-08-21T17:47:00.000-07:00

The cool air (relatively speaking) that greeted us as we walked out of the house this evening (it was 67 degrees before the sun went down), hinted at what is to come. Leaves on the ground in the backyard when I cut the grass on Friday night did the same.

After one of the hottest (and strangest) summers on record, can we begin to think about autumn? Of course not. But the steelhead addict always gets excited a little too early. The fawns still have their spots, but they are fading fast. Yellow school buses will be out next week. And soon there will be a few geese overhead. Then the steelheader's palms will start sweating a little and we'll longingly look to the west, hoping for the first beautiful gray, cool rain to get things started. A few of us will even try casting along the river mouths in hope for an early arrival.

Yep, summer is winding down and the new year is coming. It's not yet here, but soon. The waiting has begun.

The Fly Fisherman's Paradox - Shale Version

2011-08-15T18:18:00.000-07:00

Every honest angler (that's almost an oxymoron) for trout in North America deals with paradox. We cherish our cold water streams, yet recognize that many of those streams (ranging from the Green and Madison out West, to the Delaware and Youghiogheny in the East) are cold because of man, not nature.

We love our brown trout, but know that man brought them here from Germany. And we enjoy the leaping rainbow, even though it is mostly a synthetic fish and the steelhead I pursue are transplants from my native West Coast.

Perhaps there is nothing we anglers look forward to more than the road trip (or plane trip) to our favorite stream or a bucket-list stream. Yet, we know the very act of hitting the road damages the environment on which the fragile fish we pursue depend.

Earlier this month, while driving to and from a Pennsylvania river, I came face-to-face with another paradox. Gas wells. Horizontal gas wells that depend on hydraulic fracturing technology -- better known as "fracking."

Drilling these deep wells to tap into the Marcellus and Utica shale requires thousands of gallons of water laced with toxic chemicals to break up the shale and release the gas. Drilling companies haven't always handled that water well; damaging invaluable waterways. And as a new paper by the Stark Development Board kindly points out: "The environmental track record of the industry historically has been very good, but given the consequences of even a single failure, 'very good' is not good enough to operate in a self-regulating oversight model."

So clearly, if we are to protect and preserve the water in Pennsylvania and Ohio then meaningful and substantial regulations need to be in place. Yet, we know that even with those regulations in place an accident will likely happen with severe consequences.

On the other side of this paradox, oil and gas underneath our feet means jobs, economic wealth and perhaps less reasons to send our young men and women overseas to build nations where none have ever existed. As someone whose job it is to help strengthen our region's economy and whose daughter's soldier is patrolling a desolate stretch of Afghanistan, this is a powerful paradox.

When in search for wisdom and guidance, if not answers, I turn to Aldo Leopold.

Aldo wrestled with his share of paradoxes.

"A conservationist is one who is humbly aware that with each stroke [of the axe] he is writing his signature on the face of the land."

And he conceded the limits the land ethic he so passionately and effectively espoused.

"We shall never achieve harmony with the land, anymore than we shall achieve absolute justice or liberty for people. In these higher aspirations the important thing is not to achieve but to strive."

Is it too much to hope that gas companies will strive to achieve harmony? Probably.

Aldo warned us that:"We abuse land because we regard it as a commodity belonging to us. When we see land as a community to which we belong, we may begin to use it with love and respect." The optimist tells me that Trout Unlimited and other groups with legitimate concerns about the "very good" track record of our gas companies can somehow persuade the drillers to be part of the community. But then I'm good at kidding myself.

Ultimately, I know that Aldo is right when he says: "Examine each question in terms of what is ethically and aesthetically right, as well as what is economically expedient. A thing is right when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability, and beauty of the biotic community. It is wrong when it tends otherwise."

So I'm stuck in the paradox, challenged at both ends. By Aldo's standards, most of what I love about my fly fishing life just isn't right as much of the water and most of the trout -- while beautiful -- are the result of an altered biotic community. And certainly, the inevitable accident that will come from drilling will damage the biotic community somewhere.

It's enough to make one want to go fishing to sort through it all. And at times like these, I am reminded of the wisdom of the good judge, who said: "(I fish) not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important, but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant and not nearly so much fun."

Into the Mist

2011-08-08T17:38:00.000-07:00

Mist rose from the Youghiogheny River downstream of Confluence, Pa., on Saturday afternoon. The mist provided evidence that the summer heat wave that ruined July was continuing into August. And it showed that the bottom release dam a few miles upstream was keeping the river water at temperatures that would keep the trout very comfortable.

From up on the road I could see the rings created by rising trout rippling across the water's surface. After a

morning of fishing the rapids downstream with only one rise, I was pleased to see rising fish. But from a distance I could neither judge their size, nor species.

As I stepped into the cool water, I noticed three things that told me this was going to be different. First the water was flat. No riffles. No runs. It rolled downstream as smooth as glass. The river was more close to 200 yards wide and not a ripple, except for the occasional ever-expanding rings sent out by the rising fish. Fish were rising regularly and they were large. First their noses would appear, then their heads, bigger than my fist. After inhaling their food, their shoulders would break the surface. From where I stood they looked they were wearing shoulder pads. They would flick their broad tails like a broom on the surface as they returned to the depths.

Earlier this year I had seen a few rises on the State College streams, but those fis

h weren't as large, nor where they steady feeders. But this is what every trout fisherman hopes for when he starts rigging up, a hatch met by rising fish.

I stepped into the water and bent down to get a good look at what had the fish's attention. Drifting calmly on the flat water, wings erect, were size 16 blue winged olives. The miniature armada kept coming as I scanned the surface upstream. I tied on a BWO dry fly and started casting in the direction of a rising trout. I quickly was reminded how lame my casting skills are. My clumsy casts put down one trout after another. I could have blamed it on the table-top smooth surface or the clear water underneath. But casts that sprayed water and dropped flies on top of fish were the real cause. I did generate one rise, but missed on the strike.

The CSX train rolled past along the far bank. More trains and trout. I could hear the sound of rapids downstream, but couldn't see them. Otherwise the river was quiet. No one else was around. The normal flotilla of rafter and kayakers had died down by late afternoon, perhaps scared off by the rain.

The intermittent showers slowed the hatch. But the trout kept rising sporadically and I worked on my casting and tried my best to get into a position where I could get a drift without spooking the trout. I cast across stream 15 yards to a rising trout. A snout broke the surface, I held my breath as the fish started to descend back into the river and then raised my rod to set the hook. The fish immediately jumped from the water, showing both his size and his color -- golden brown. It says something about how resigned I was to continuing that day's bad luck that I convinced myself that I had hooked a rising carp. That illogical notion disappeared as the brown trout swam past me in the clear water and I could clearly see his big spots and flat tail.

A few moments later the trout came to hand. It was the largest Pennsylvania brown trout that I've caught on a dry fly in more than 15 years. It was followed by some bigger and some smaller fish, including two long rainbows.

As dusk fell, the mist deepened. I couldn't see the river surface more than 10 feet away. If the fish were rising, I couldn't tell. I didn't mind. I waded out of the mist smiling, knowing that on this night I would dream of tiny sail boats, glassy rivers and rising trout.

New Water

2011-06-20T12:53:00.000-07:00

It is understandable that on fishing trips that require 10 hours or more in the car that one wants to fish where one knows there are fish. But, one will never experience anything new if one always fishes the same water.

On nearly every trip to State College I try to fish someplace I haven't tried before. More often than not these excursions come up empty. But if one doesn't try, one never learns. So on Sunday morning -- Father's Day -- I explored a new stretch of the Little Juniata. The sun was coming up as I pulled into the fishermen's parking lot upstream of the town of Spruce Creek. The river was out of sight so I had no idea what to expect as I walked through a brackish slough that likely held water from the spring floods. The trail ended at a spit of gravel just downstream of an island to my left. To the right was a wide stretch of flat water that showed no signs of life.

I decided to start at the faster water against the far bank that squeezed past the narrow island. I could easily cover the run with roll casts as I stood with the wooded island at my back. A brown trout inhaled the nymph riding under the caddis fly and I landed it with high hopes of more to follow as I worked my way upstream. But the 20 yards of water produced no more fish.

I worked my way back downstream as the sun started to heat up the morning air. Downstream there was an occasional ring expanding across the flat water's surface. I waited and watched. Several more rings provided all of the incentive I needed to hike downstream. The bank was high and tangled with trees and brush, so I decided to slowly walk down in the river. I tried to limit my wake and quietly walked to a deadfall up against the bank to tie on a dry fly and wait for the fish to resume surfacing.

The fish in the middle and against the far bank were clearly small, but I didn't mind. They were rising and I had a chance to catch trout on a dry fly. I tied on an x-wing caddis on 6X tippet and slowly worked my way into casting distance. I paused again and waited. I could see large boulders under the water's surface that were undoubtedly providing shelter to the small trout. I cast above the boulders and let the fly drift back toward me. I was pleasantly surprised when a brown trout rose quickly, slashed at the fly and then returned to the depths. A few moments later another trout hit the fly and put up a little fight before coming to hand. That routine would repeat itself for the next hour or so. I would cast to a rising trout, the trout would rise to the caddis and more often than not the fight was on. I was alone on the water, except for the ever-present trains.

As the sun rose higher the fish became less willing to rise to the surface. I slowly worked my way upstream, noting that the river remained deeper against the far bank. I have a feeling this stretch is very popular during a sulphur hatch. I switched to a beetle as I started to fish under the trees that lined the opposite bank from the island. Near the spot where I had caught my first brown trout earlier that morning, another larger trout rose quickly and went back to the bottom. I cast the beetle under the tree where the trout had just surfaced and was rewarded with a solid strike. The chunky brown exited the water three times before coming to the rocky shore. I released him and a few minutes later reluctantly walked back to the car.

This water was no longer new. I looked forward to fishing it again.

In the Narrows

2011-06-19T19:57:00.000-07:00

The narrows section of Fishing Creek, aka Big Fishing Creek, is an appropriately named stretch of a beautiful stream that flows through one of the many valleys around State College. The narrows is paralleled by a road so access is relatively easy and property owners generously welcome anglers, except on Sundays.

On this Saturday afternoon I fished a section that had been very productive for me the year before. It starts with a fast, narrow riffle that spills into a long flat pool, before turning again through a riffle and run that rushes past one of the more beautiful cabins on this stretch. I came up empty in the fast water, which didn't bode well for a productive afternoon. There were a few sporadic rises in the slow moving pool and I tied on a parachute ant since there was no hatch.

On the first cast a small trout rose to the ant, but the fish eluded the hook. Or more likely, I eluded the fish. I struggled to cast over my left shoulder, as pine trees lined the bank over my right. I managed to get a good cast out to where a trout had risen a few times. As the fly drifted back toward me a trout rose from the bottom to interrupt its journey. I hooked this fish true and enjoyed feeling life pulse through the St. Croix 5-weight rod. The trout pulled hard down into the deep part of the pool before rushing back toward the surface, breaking out of the water and into the 80 degree air. He did a cartwheel or two before tiring and coming to hand. The golden fish with colored spots and red gills quickly swam back into the pool once released, leaving me with a reminder of why the narrows is such a special place.

Solitude on Spring Creek

2011-06-19T18:42:00.000-07:00

I arrived at Spring Creek before dawn on a Saturday and there wasn't another car in the lot at Benners Spring. What did all of the trout fishermen in State College, PA, know that I didn't?

Spring Creek is a beautiful, relatively small stream that is exactly what its name says it is. Decades ago pollution and mistreatment all-but killed the stream. But it has recovered well and has a significant population of brown trout and (at least based on my experience) fewer rainbows. Highway construction around State College -- primarily done to move football fans in and out on fall Saturdays -- has added some stress to the stream, but it remains a beautiful cool ribbon of water.

I started fishing the Benners Spring stretch about six years ago and it is now my first stop (and normally my only stop) while visiting Spring Creek. This was the first time I was the only car in the lot.

I crossed the new wooden bridge over the stream and began my downstream hike. Bunnies feeding on the green grass on the trail scattered in front of me as I hiked for about a mile downstream to a favorite stretch of riffles and pools. The river narrows a little in this stretch and drops over a series of limestone shelves. The fast water provides protection and some of the pools can get four feet deep.

Several brown trout, ranging from 8 to 14 inches, fell for scuds, copper johns and zebra midges. None of the flies seemed to work better than the next, but the action was relatively consistent. As is always the case, the big one got away. I cast up tight against the bank, set the hook after the line paused on its downstream drift, and tried my best to keep the brown trout from running into the bushes hanging into the river. I failed, or at least my blood knot did as the trout ran the line against a shallow rock against the bank.

A foggy haze slowly burned off as the morning sun rose over the trees and hit the water. I kept working my way upstream, picking up a few trout here and there and enjoying the sounds of mallards, cranes and rushing water. The only indication that I wasn't alone in the world was the distant sound of airplanes taking off and the hum of new highway on the other side of the ridge.

At 10:30 I called it a morning and hiked back to the car, passing a few anglers on the way. Several cars were in the parking lot. A black snake and her baby sunned themselves on rock pile next to my car. I felt like doing the same.

Solitude on Spring Creek is to be savored, as is the mid-day sun.

Trains and Trout

2011-06-18T23:36:00.000-07:00

The piercing screech of steel wheels rolling down steel tracks fills the valley every 25 minutes or so nearly drowning out the rushing water of the Little Juniata. The red, yellow and and white cars pulled by the Norfolk Southern engines zip by, their reflection coloring the clear waters of one Pennsylvania’s best trout streams.

Trains disrupt solitude on the Little J. By mid-June the sulphur hatches are history and most anglers are headed to other rivers. After walking downstream from the town of Spruce Creek I’ve only seen two other anglers, and they headed downstream out of sight. I fished along the Espy Farm stretch. Espy Farm is part of the Spring Ridge Club, which is more than a little notorious in fly fishing circles. Spring Ridge unsuccessfully tried to close this stretch of the Little J to public access. Its business model is to offer “private fishing” on what has been historically public waters. While I can understand their stated goals of conservation. But as Aldo Leopold said, Conservation is a state of harmony between men and land. Spring Ridge has created plenty of disharmony while trying to conserve. I don’t begrudge the people of Spring Ridge their rights, I just wish they’d find a way to balance them with public’s right to enjoy public waters. I like fishing in the shadow of the farm. I like reminding the owners that it is our water too. And it is a beautiful spot that doesn’t require a long hike. And this evening I am eager to be fishing, not walking. I’ve been on the road nearly five hours. I worked the phone most of the trip and it’s time to let the waters wash away all thoughts of work.

Sporadic hatches of cahills and slate drakes brought a few trout to the surface and I was able to entice them with the imitations I had picked up from Spruce Creek Outfitters. Allan Bright knows his stuff and it’s always worth stopping in to say hello when fishing the Little J. It has been at least a year since I had anything resembling success on dry flies. Sadly dark came before I was ready to shut it down. I walked back upstream, carefully using my wading staff to keep my balance on limestone shelves and rocky bottom.

Another train roared by. I’d dream that night of trains and trout.

Taking a Talbot

2011-05-24T16:41:00.000-07:00

I stepped forward but fell backward. I landed on my back in the knee deep water and discovered there was more current here at the far edge of the river than I expected. Instead of bracing myself and popping back up, I bobbed in the water trying to catch my balance. I thought of the bad choice I had made back at the car a few hours earlier and tried to get my feet under me. The water filled my waders. The chill that ran down my spine wasn’t just from the water. I knew I couldn’t drown. It was too shallow. The water wasn’t moving fast enough. But why couldn’t I get up? As panic began to set in, I got my feet under me balanced myself on the rocks and rose out of the river. Water poured out of my jacket sleeves. I felt the water from my toes to my chest in the waders. But at least I was upright.

I drudged to the small, grassy island that had been my destination. I first pulled my i-Phone out of my jacket pocket. This was the bad choice I had made earlier this morning. I had planned to leave it in the car, but decided at the last minute to bring it with me to keep it safe from vandals. As if someone was going to break the window on my car parked in the small parking lot off the main drag in Volant, Pennsylvania. The phone’s screen flickered and flashed before going black. Toast.

I cursed. I pulled myself out of my waders, dumping the water from each leg. I shivered slightly before putting the waders and rain coat back on. I now had a choice. Fish wet or go home. It has been years since I’ve taken a dunking in a river. The last good one was my first year of steelheading on the Brule River in Wisconsin. I slid off an ice shelf into what I thought was a three foot deep stretch of river. It was actually over my head. Thankfully my cheap pair of waders had an elastic waste band that kept much of the water out. I’m not sure how I did it, but I pulled myself up onto the ice shelf and scampered up the hill back to my car. I should have drowned that time and I’ve taken great care in wading ever since.

The last time a fishing colleague took a dunking was my first Pennsylvania fly fishing trip nearly 20 years ago. Me and two friends drove to the Kinzua dam on the Allegheny River to fish the caddis fly hatch below the dam. I knew next to nothing about Pennsylvania trout fishing and my colleagues knew just a little bit more. We had driven more than three hours to get to the river. Within five minutes of entering the water, one of my friends slipped on a rock and plunged in. He emerged soaked from head to toe. From then on, taking a dunk in the river was named after him; he had taken a Talbot. He returned to his truck to crank up the heat and dry off. He knew we couldn’t quit just five minutes into the fishing trip.

After I took my Talbot on Neshannock Creek, I chose to head home. I had already caught a nice trout that morning … more than we did that day on the Allegheny. But I really quit because I was angry at myself for making several mistakes, not the least of which was not leaving the phone in the car. I fish to relax. And there was no way I was going to relax with a short-circuiting i-Phone in my pocket. Instead I drove home and bought an Aquapac i-Phone case and a new i-Phone. Lesson learned.

Town Fish

2011-05-24T16:35:00.000-07:00

Neshannock Creek cuts through the southern edge of the cross-roads village of Volant, Pennsylvania. The village is home to several quaint shops that are common in communities in Amish Country. Looking for a piece of nature art for the family room or a tea kettle for the kitchen or an antique plate for the dining room? Volant has a shop for you.

More importantly, the creek is home to a put-and-take fishery of browns and rainbows. There’s some hold-over fish. In the summer the creek warms up considerably and the smartest trout find a few deep springs that provide shelter from the swelter. Early in the season, Neshannock has some nice hatches and can offer an enjoyable break from chasing steelhead.

The river tumbles over a small dam before flowing through a small park and past the obligatory Orvis shop. This in-town stretch is very popular with weekend anglers and even though I prefer fishing in solitude, I often fish it to get a feel for what is going on in the river. On this day the river was running a little high, but clearing fast. The sun was dropping over the Pennsylvania hills and the crowd was starting to thin out as I munched on a Subway sandwich and watched the river flow through the park. I was in no hurry to start fishing. There’d be plenty of time before dark to pick up a few fish.

A boy about 12 swung his fly rod back and forth as if it were a sword. He tried flip the strike indicator upstream and have it drift back down toward him. Sometimes it worked, but most of the time the giant orange ball fell near his body, line piled up on top of it. I thought of our son, who was soon to turn 21. He had stopped fishing at about 12. I wasn’t a good teacher of the sport. And he had fallen in love with a sport that gave him adrenaline, not peace. He was at peace with his life, and the adrenaline gave him energy and a boost of self-esteem. I tend to let life frustrate me, and fishing reminds me to ease up and relax. I think my son has it more right than I do, but I’ll still take fishing over paintball.

Downstream an angler drifting nymphs under a strike indicator picked up a fish every fifteen minutes or so, but in general the fishing was slow.

By the time I got rigged up to fish several people had left and there were only a handful of us sharing the quarter mile stretch from the dam to the bridge that carried the state highway that bisected the village. I drifted a walt’s worm through a few of my favorite runs, picking up a few small brown trout and one large carp, which broke me off. I decided to fish the fast water up by the dam -- a place I hadn’t fished in several years. I was pleasantly surprised to pick up a few bigger browns, one rainbow and a bunch of large sunfish hanging out in a big eddy in the middle of the river.

I waited for dusk to settle in -- hoping for a hatch of some kind. None materialized. A few fish slapped the surface, but nothing regular. Content to have caught a few town fish, I headed back to the hotel.

Four Days, Five Outings, One Red Fox

2011-04-30T14:08:00.000-07:00

The deluge of spring 2011 continues, but we caught a break in the latter half of this week. Steady rains had the main tribs of steelhead alley blown out early in the week, but my I still got to fish on Wednesday. After a day of great meetings in Wooster, I stopped by Apple Creek, a small stream that the local Trout Unlimited club stocks.

Despite the heavy rains, Apple Creek was running clear on Wednesday evening. There was a heavy current and things looked promising. But other than two chubs I came up empty in 45 minutes of fishing. I look forward to returning and fishing the stream more thoroughly.

By Thursday evening the Chagrin River was dropping and fishable. With my wife off visiting the Global One at Ohio University, I took advantage and drove east after work. I fished the barking dog hole (if you know the area around Mayfield Road you know the spot) with one other angler and picked up several nice fish. Most of the fish were very dark, signs that they had been in the river a bit.

Friday morning before work, Rebecca joined me on the East Branch of the Rocky and we hooked into a few fish in the drizzling rain. Hopes for a banner evening on the Rocky fell short, but three of us managed a few fish. On Saturday morning, I returned to the best spot from Friday and enjoyed a morning of solitude and steelhead. For a few hours I had the river to myself. My only company was a red fox that emerged from the woods to walk about a quarter of the way up the 100 foot-high shale cliff. The fox headed downstream walking along the cliff wall as if it were a hiking trail. At one point I was certain he'd have to turn back, but somehow he kept from falling off the cliff and scampered along. He must have had some velcro on his feet, or perhaps was part mountain goat. About 40 yards downstream he turned to look at me and stood on the cliff without moving. I wish I could have taken a picture, but I had my hands full. The fox showed up just as I hooked a steelhead.

The fishing was great, the catching would have been better if not for three large trees that dropped off the cliff and into the river a few days ago. The steelhead have already learned to run for the trees when hooked. More on the trees and the steelies that use them to escape later on.

Turkeys, Tail-less Raccoons and One-eyed Trout

2011-04-14T18:58:00.000-07:00

Things I learned, saw and thought as I spent about 10 hours pursuing steelhead over the last three days on the Rocky River.

My home river is within a 30 minute drive of close to 1 million people, so I shouldn’t be surprised when there are anglers around every bend.
I cherish those few spots on my home water that allow me to hook a silver bullet without another angler in sight.
A raccoon without a tail is a rather odd looking creature.
Even one-eyed trout enjoy sucker spawn.
There aren’t nearly as many trout in the rivers of Steelhead Alley this year as in the past, and the fish aren’t telling us why.
I hope it’s “still early,” but suspect it’s “nearly over.”
Male turkeys on the prowl for their hens fill the dawn air with a piercing gobble. Never heard them on the Rocky before. I look forward to hearing them again.
Deer seem to enjoy watching me as much as I enjoy watching them.
The moment between the time when you sense a strike and set the hook is pure magic.
Anglers are like teenage girls, they travel in packs and they congregate in all of the “cool” places.
Steelhead throw diamonds from their tails when they leap from the water.
Sunsets lose a little of their power when one is wearing sunglasses.
Wet wading boots can really stink up a car.
A lot of anglers stand where they should fish, but rarely do they fish where they should stand.
After breaking off a few rigs while trying to beach a few steelhead I began to rethink my decision to stop carrying a net.
I’d carry a net if I owned this one -- who wouldn’t want to carry Excalibur with them?
Strong, heavy fish in strong, heavy current equal a sore arm and a happy angler.
The unexpected fish -- such as the one pulled from a winter hole in mid-April -- remind us that nature, like the one who created it, is a mystery.
Suckers are ugly.
Steelhead are beautiful.
Fly rod designers are pretty darn smart. How can four pieces of graphite bend into a “C” without breaking?
Some anglers are slobs and oblivious to the damage they do to the environment, but most behave themselves.
I am blessed to get to spend an hour on the water before 8 a.m. meetings and a few hours more before dark.
I love the sound fly line makes as it slices through the water following a hooked steelhead rocketing upstream.
Steelhead like white minnow flies the way I like Snickers.
This spring’s steelhead season will end, as they all do, too soon, but it will generate many lasting memories.

Steelhead Countdown

2011-04-12T19:07:00.000-07:00

The calendar says mid-April, but the fish log is pretty much empty this steelhead spring. So that means the count-down to the end of the steelhead season causes a little more anxiety than normal as I try to make up for a winter of discontent and a spring of disappointment.

Each day that passes with the waders sitting unused in the back of the fish-car is a another day closer to when all of the steelhead return to their summer home of Lake Erie. I can handle summer without steelhead, but only because I overdose on the steelhead drug all spring. So far this year I’ve barely been able to scratch the itch.

Tonight, at last, I found a few fish in the lower Rocky River and landed a beautiful, silver 30-inch female that was hanging out in a deep run behind gravel. As she used the strong current to put an arc in the 10 foot Scott fly rod, I savored the moment, but also wondered how many more days of fishing we’d enjoy this spring.

Such is the lame life of a steelhead addict.

Sucker Commute

2011-04-12T18:35:00.001-07:00

The long wait ended this morning, but the disappointments of spring 2011 continued. I made my way to a favorite stretch of the Rocky River before dawn knowing that I’d only have a brief stay before heading downtown for an 8:30 meeting.

River flow and water temperature were in my favor. But the ever-changing weather seemed to be just as confusing to the fish as it was to me. Sunday’s temperature hit nearly 80 as I flew out to DC for a series of meetings on Monday. The heat followed me east, but by the time I flew back to Cleveland on Monday temperatures had dropped into the low 40s and it felt like winter was on its way back.

The cold, rainy spring has kept the rivers too high to fish more often than not. And the few days when the rivers have been in good shape, the steelhead have been very elusive and this morning was more of the same.

The only fish I encountered, whether in the riffles or the deeper runs, were striped suckers from Lake Erie.

It left me wondering if the Lake Erie steelhead were trying to emulate their West Coast brethren and become the fish of a thousand casts. Sadly, I didn’t have the time a thousand casts this morning.

Dam Gone, Leopold and Steelhead Celebrate

2011-02-28T18:54:00.001-08:00

Aldo Leopold and the steelhead are happy today. Leopold's Land Ethic artfully made the case that dams do more damage than good and while the damage done by the dams of the Midwest pale to those in the Northwest, nonetheless all those who believe in the Round River have to be cheering today.

Heavy rains and melting snow took out the small dam in Gates Mills on the Chagrin River this morning. NewsNetFive.com has some good pictures of the scene. While I regret the flooding downstream (and all across Northeast Ohio), the dam needed to be removed and Mother Nature did us all a favor.

Our children used to capture crayfish and catch smallmouth at the base of the dam. While it brought us hours of enjoyment, the dam totally disrupted the natural flow of the river, warmed the water upstream and destroyed miles of potential native brook trout habitat. It is hard to say how the river will respond to running free again in the years ahead, but for the short term it means steelhead will be able spawn upstream to the barrier falls in Chagrin Falls. More than likely the cool headwaters of the Chagrin and small tributaries will result in more successful spawning of steelhead. Steelheaders are already celebrating on Steelheadsite.com.

And it is possible that some of the native brook trout in the Chagrin watershed will be able to expand their territory. To protect and enhance the brook trout fishery, I'd be willing to halt stocking of steelies in the Chagrin. But that will be a long way off, I'd guess.

For now, I'm just glad the dam is gone.

Searching for February Steel

2011-02-27T19:09:00.000-08:00

After a fishing-free January, I at least got out twice in February. The big thaw that hit two weeks ago caused the Lake Erie tribs to hit flood level. But on Saturday afternoon, Feb. 22, one of the tributaries of the Grand was fishable. Ice flows crowded its banks, and the water flo the hole to myself and was pleasantly surprised to hook into a long, strong fish during the hour I was on the water. The fish made several runs, knocking the winter’s long rust off of my fighting skills. As the fish started downstream I knew something wasn’t right. As the fish came to surface the hook was in its side. I was fishing with a dropper, so it’s possible it didn’t start off there. Nonetheless, the first steelhead of the new year was foul hooked. I didn’t want to put any more stress on the fish, so I pulled hard to break the line. That brought a quick end to the fight and not other fish showed themselves in an hour of fishing.

Here’s a more productive March.wed greenish-brown or was it brownish-green. Three other anglers had the same idea as I did. It wasn’t much of an idea, but it was better than suffering another day of cabin fever. No fish were found, but it was indeed good to be out.

Today I tried the waterfall hole on my home water. The foot of snow that fell on Friday was beginning to melt and the water was was moving at about 300 CFS. It was definitely more green than brown, but plenty murky. The melting snow kept the water close to 32 degrees. I had the hole to myself and was pleasantly surprised to hook into a long, strong fish during the hour I was on the water. The fish made several runs, knocking the winter’s long rust off of my fighting skills. As the fish started downstream I knew something wasn’t right. As the fish came to surface the hook was in its side. I was fishing with a dropper, so it’s possible it didn’t start off there. Nonetheless, the first steelhead of the new year was foul hooked. I didn’t want to put any more stress on the fish, so I pulled hard to break the line. That brought a quick end to the fight and not other fish showed themselves in an hour of fishing.

Here’s a more productive March.

Dream Streams

2011-02-13T13:24:00.001-08:00

In this winter of our discontent I sadly find myself visiting rivers only in my dreams. These nocturnal visits to favored locations of my subconscious have been going on for years. But this winter they’ve provided more solace than in the past.

The tributaries to Lake Erie that are my home waters have mostly been locked up with ice since mid-December. I’ve moved well beyond the symptoms of cabin fever. With no southern fishing trips on the horizon all I can look forward to is the promised thaw and the dreams of rivers never fished -- and never to be fished.

I generally fish -- or at least visit -- three dream streams. All conjure up memories of past fishing spots, but none is real. They are verdant and fish-filled. The weather is always good; nonetheless I don’t recall ever catching a fish in them. Sometimes even our dreams reflect real life.

One of the streams flows narrow and fast through a green meadow on its way to Lake Superior. It is about as far from a North Shore stream as one can imagine, but in my dreams it cuts through the Sawtooth Mountains and is visited by both steelhead and wise anglers. It is always crowded with anglers assuring me that I should have been here yesterday.

The second stream meanders through a grassy opening in a hardwood forest. It reminds a little of a stretch on the Brule River in northern Wisconsin. That river will always be my true river of dreams, as it is where I first caught trout on dry flies and landed wild, albeit transplanted, steelies. The dream stretch is home to rising trout. It is accessible by a dirt road, but for some reason I neglect to visit this stretch until it is nearly dark.

The third stream is a cross between Big Fishing Creek and Penns Creek in Central Pennsylvania. A wide, swift stream it rushes over big boulders and past beautiful rustic homes. I’ve spent some time on the deck of one of those homes, and in my dreams I’ve even walked down to the river. But I’ve never made a false cast, let alone pulled a fish from its clear waters.

I’m sure Freud and others could tell me what’s behind some of these angling dreams. But their meaning is irrelevant. For now, they provide a respite from a long, ice-filled winter. I know that soon the ice will be pulling away from the banks and heading downstream. But for now I will have to be satisfied with my dream streams.

Fishless January

2011-01-31T18:50:00.000-08:00

January ends today as it began, frozen. Temperatures rose above freezing only a few days in the month and those days did not coincide with days off of work. That meant the waders stayed hanging in the garage. The rods stayed safely in their cases. And I suffered from severe cabin fever.

As the gang at Chagrin River Outfitters proved, the hardest of the hard core could find both open water and steelhead this month. But things just didn't work out on my end.

Some years I can fish straight through the winter, but the last two winters have been colder than normal. The shallow rivers of Lake Erie's south shore are jammed with anchor ice and the 10 day forecast offers no promise of a thaw.

Time to break out the cross country skis.

Year-End Steel and Ice

2010-12-31T13:19:00.000-08:00

The year ended with unseasonably warm temperatures, which made a lot of folks eager to get one more fishing outing in before the calendar flipped. The air temp was 46 degrees as I headed north to the Rocky River before dawn.

The thaw hadn't yet melted the ice on the upper river, but the lower Rocky was pretty open. A few sheets of ice clinging to the bank allowed for the opportunity to not only walk on water, but also float downstream. To the right is Tim as Huck Finn riding an ice raft to parts unknown.

The fishing was expectedly slow. Water temps were just above freezing. The flow was perfect and the water was green in the deeper runs. Shortly after starting I foul hooked a skip jack. About an hour later a big, red striped male inhaled a green, soft hackle nymph that I just started tying. He put up a hearty fight in the cold water, occasionally running under the shelf ice against the far bank. Eventually he ran the line around a branch submerged in the river. I was able to get downstream of the branch to try and clear the line, but my line got snagged up in old fishing line twisted around the branch. The steelhead broke off. In frustration I pulled the large branch out of the river and found a few hooks, a nest of tangled line, about 10 split shot (someone really wanted to get down...) and two spawn bags wrapped around the branch.

Done in by debris.

We didn't see any other fish caught. And two pin fishermen said they only moved one fish.

Regardless, it was still a great morning on the water, and hopefully the weather foreshadowed a mild start to 2011.

Christmas Bounty

2010-12-31T12:23:00.000-08:00

Christmas is not about presents, but nonetheless Christmas presents are pretty cool; particularly fishing related presents.

This year I was exceptionally fortunate in the fishing presents department.

First, my friend Jose, a wood carver who lives in the small town of San Lorenzo el Cubo, Guatemala, carved an amazing fish for me. He gave it to me while we were visiting the folks in Antigua. Jose is an exceptionally talented artist and our home is full of his work. The fish carving is very detailed and beautiful. I feel extremely fortunate to have Jose as a friend. And if anyone would like a wood carving from Jose, let me know and I'll work out the details. All he needs is a picture and he can carve it.

On Christmas morning I received a double gift from the Cadet. A journal and a wading staff, both from FishPond. The Cadet knows better than most his father's fishing addiction and it was incredibly kind of him to feed the addiction. I think the wading staff is his subtle way of telling me I'm getting older. I know I've wished I had one with me a few times over the last few years, and I look forward to trying it out on the Grand River this spring. The Cadet certainly knows how to make Dad feel blessed.

Parking Lot Whine

2010-12-05T18:33:00.000-08:00

The gray clouds pressed down on the barren tree tops and snow flakes blew in the wind. Temperatures hovered at the freezing mark. The dreary weather was being reinforced by the parking lot whine.

"I've been fishing these rivers for thirty years and I've never seen the numbers so low," one angler assured another. "Didn't see a single fish; slow water or fast water," complained another. My wife has observed that stream fishermen complain a lot -- the water is too high or it's too low. Or the hatch is over or it hasn't started yet. We'll say anything really to explain our failure to outsmart the fish with a pea-sized brain. And the whine was flowing about as strong as Elk Creek itself on Saturday at mid-day.

We anglers whine because it is easier than remembering the wisdom of Judge John Voelker, who told us that trout "respond only to quietude and humility and endless patience." If there is no crying in baseball, there should be no whining in fishing for trout.

And I certainly had no right to whine. We were on our way to Buffalo to pick up the Global One, and my wife agreed to humor me with a brief detour to the river. She stood on the bank and shivered as I checked out a few holes near the parking lot. As I searched the water I thought that perhaps the whiners might be partially right. Although, I had hooked into more than a dozen fish the previous week, they had been found way upstream. Many fishermen don't appreciate how steelhead move in waves and one stretch could be barren, while the next run could be full of fish. I haven't fished Elk enough this year to know whether the numbers are down, but I suspect the parking lot anglers were short on endless patience. In search of quietude, I decided my best bet was to avoid fishing the long slow pools -- where winter steelhead (and the humans that chase them) often hang out. Instead, I chose to explore the loud, fast water that most fishermen walk on past.

The water rushed over boulders and broken shale just upstream of a slow stretch that apparently held more anglers than fish. Winter steelhead generally avoid whitewater and fast runs, but this run included a handful of pockets deep enough for fish to hide in. I figured that a few fish that were likely pushed out of the pool down below by the day's parade of anglers might be hiding among the boulders.

I added a second split shot to make sure the fly would get to the bottom of the deeper parts of the run, and I promptly hooked into a solid buck. The run would quickly yield two more fish before the buzzer sounded and it was time to head back to the car to resume the drive to Buffalo. As I hiked back to the parking lot, I thought of the whine I had heard an hour earlier. My only whine was that I wouldn't have more time to enjoy the wonders of Elk Creek on a gray December day.

How Sick Are We Fishermen?

2010-11-24T14:04:00.000-08:00

Thanks to John Protasiewicz over at Fishing Beyond the Catchable for highlighting this hilarious, yet sad video that captures the obsession of those of us who are hooked, literally, on chasing illusive fish.

Watch, laugh and weep.

Connie Teaches a Lesson

2010-11-21T16:38:00.000-08:00

Steelhead are not supposed to be easy to catch. Along with musky and Atlantic Salmon, they are often called the fish of a thousand casts. But the transplanted steelheads that return to the tributaries of the southern shore of Lake Erie can spoil the avid steelheader. While not necessarily easy to catch, they are generally at least easy to find -- particularly when the conditions are right.

Thousands of fish begin to return to the rivers in the fall and large pods of fish can be found holding in pools and runs this time of year.

But on some days, like today, even the Lake Erie steelhead can be elusive. The conditions on Conneaut (Connie to her friends) Creek this morning seemed nearly perfect. The new USGS gauge read just above 200 cfs and was dropping this morning. We arrived at dawn to a river carrying a strong flow and tanic stain from the upstream bogs. Several cars parked along the access in the town of Conneaut (a small town in Northeast Ohio that is far past its prime, but still holds some charm) indicated that several us had the same idea.

We fished about a mile upstream and back. We saw one fish hooked, and rumors of a few others, but that was it. Hiking back I tried the inside portion of a fast run where the river narrowed. On the first drift the line stopped, I set the hook and the fish screamed downstream. The hook popped out before I had a chance to try and turn the fish. After a few hours of fishing without any action, I wasn't ready and paid the price.

We headed upstream and fished a beautiful stretch full of some nice riffles and runs. The scenery was marred by the constant soundtrack of I-90 in the distance.

Several spots looked promising as we walked upstream, but no fish could be seen in the stained water. I spotted a large male at the tale of a run. He spooked, but Jon picked up three fish in the head of that run while drifting a jelly stonefly alongside a rootball. I continued to cast without results.

We hiked upstream more than a mile and only encountered two other anglers. Jon landed one more female hen in a pool. Andy and I just continued to cast. The water never rose about 41 degrees; which may have contributed to the slow fishing.

The Connie hid her fish well today, and taught us that steelhead takes patience, focus and skill. Today there were likely 1,000 casts and not a single fish to show for it. Nonetheless, I have much to be thankful for as we head into Thanksgiving week.

Spey Sucker

2010-11-14T16:49:00.000-08:00

The lack of rain gave me an excuse to break out the spey rod and practice some casting on the Rocky River. I was too lazy to make the trek to the Grand River, perhaps the only river with enough water to make it worth fishing.

Casting went better than expected considering I hadn't cast the rod in several months. Hopefully there will be some real rain sometime soon and we'll get the long-awaited fall run of fish.

The lack of water today left the steelhead nowhere to hide and they chose the lake over the river.

I was surprised mid-morning by a small sucker, which hit the minnow fly. Not what I was hoping for, but it was a fish nonetheless.

Tiny Trout, Thrilling Catch

2010-11-01T17:39:00.000-07:00

On Saturday evening I caught the smallest steelhead of my life and was thrilled to do so. This tiny smolt was my first-ever river-born steelhead that I've caught in the Lake Erie watershed.

From Chautaqua Creek 2010

There is little reproduction of steelhead in the Lake Erie streams because they get too warm in the summer for the smolts to survive. But Chautaqua's water quality and temperatures do support steelhead until they head downstream to the lake to grow up.

Unlike hatchery fish, this steelhead has an upright dorsal fin. Would love to meet up with this fish again in a few years.

Chautaqua's Beauty

2010-11-01T17:12:00.000-07:00

Judge John said it best:

"I fish because ... I love the environs where trout are found, which are invariably beautiful, and hate the environs where crowds of people are found, which are invariably ugly."

Chautaqua Creek is as beautiful a south shore Lake Erie stream as I've fished. Jack and I explored it on Saturday and Sunday. The leaves were far from peak, but the woods were still painted in yellows, browns and crimson. Each turn in the river offered a new miniature waterfall where the whitewater plunged through shoots, rushed across gray shale, and then fell to the pools below. The river's rumble drowned out the geese overhead. The only reminders of civilization were the occasional freight trains heading both east and west along the tracks that parallel the lake's shoreline.

From Chautaqua Creek 2010

The steelhead cooperated, as well. Their silver flash, green backs, pink stripes and red gill plates added to nature's abundant palette.

From Chautaqua Creek 2010

Judge John was fortunate to be able to leave the crowded environs and return permanently to his beloved northwoods. I am back in the ugly place were crowds are found, but I carry the memories of Chautaqua's beauty with me.

From Chautaqua Creek 2010

Newbie Lessons

2010-11-01T16:23:00.000-07:00

On the drive east to explore Chautaqua Creek, Jack (a steelhead rookie) asked a very good question. What are the most common reasons why an angler loses a steelhead? Over the next 48 hours Jack would learn the answers for himself, and a few other lessons too.

Friday night wee declared Saturday to be a learning day and Sunday to be a doing day. And things worked out pretty much that way. Here are five of the lessons that all newbies learn as they explore Steelhead Alley for the first time.

1. Forget the back cast -- there's too many trees back there on the narrow streams that flow into Lake Erie. A simple roll cast or flip cast (with the help of a few split shot) does the trick most of the time.

From Chautaqua Creek 2010

2. Without a good drift there will be no fish. A drag free drift is necessary in most types of fly fishing. But I've found that steelhead are much less forgiving than most trout, particularly the hatchery fish that many new anglers cut their teeth on. Getting a good drift requires the angler to pay close attention and understand what is happening under the water. No daydreaming.

3. Set the hook downstream. The fish are facing upstream. An upstream hook set simply pulls the hook from the fish's mouth.

4. Set the hook even if you think it's the bottom. Steelhead hug the bottom for the most part, and that's where the fly needs to be. That means your flies are going to get caught on the bottom. Any pause in the drift, set the hook. Jack learned that sometimes the bottom moves and puts up a heck of a fight.

5. Don't hold the line or the reel too tight. When steelhead take off nothing can stop them, just let them go. Having a death grip on the cork with the line underneath your fingers will result in a snapped leader, punctuated with a sharp crack that sounds like a gun shot.

From Chautaqua Creek 2010

Learn these lessons and you too can find yourself getting ready to release a mighty steelhead into a Lake Erie tributary.

First Fall Silver and Synthetic Fish

2010-10-18T16:54:00.001-07:00

From Oct steelhead 2010

October brought the best kind of weather -- cool nights and steady rains -- but I've been traveling a lot and working more, so I haven't had much chance to check out the early runs of the Fall 2010 season. But on Sunday, Anne (armed with camera) and I (armed with Scott 7-weight) decided to head east and explore. We started on the Conneaut River, which I vow to fish more every season. It's been years since I've caught the Conneaut when the flow/timing was right and Sunday was more of the same. The water was low and the flow slight. Only a handful of spots in the two miles of river that I hiked had deep enough runs to hold fish. The Conneaut carries a tanic color in the fall that helps shield the fish from view, and can tend to discourage the angler on an early season scouting trip.

Because Pennsylvania stocks the Conneaut, it is the Ohio river that gets the earliest run of fall fish. Undoubtedly there are steelies in Conneaut already, but I only saw one skipper caught in the morning and all I managed was a single sucker.

The morning started overcast, and it looked like it might rain so I decided to make the drive along Highway 5 and check out the lower Elk in Pennsylvania. As we pulled into the jammed public access lot it became clear that not enough Browns-Steelers fans had decided to tailgate in advance of the game. As I walked down river the fishermen were stacked up, filling every likely spot. Thankfully two anglers exited as I was considering my options and I moved into a deep run that still held a few fish despite the heavy pressure.

On my first cast I hooked a shiny female on a bead-headed brassy and slowly brought her to hand. Oh, if steelheading were always that easy. Anne got some nice pictures of the second fish of the day (by then the sun had come out and the clouds had vaporized). The bright sun made the fish even more skittish and we decided to end the day early.

After lunch at the Avonia Tavern, we checked out the steelhead at Trout Run. It's always a little sad to see hundreds of steelhead stacked up in the small creek trying in vain to find a way upstream to spawn. Trout Run is where the eggs for future stockings are harvested, so for those of us who love the Pennsylvania steelhead run it's a necessary evil.

From Oct steelhead 2010

While it can be fun to watch the fish try to jump the falls, it is also a reminder that there's nothing truly natural about these rainbow trout. As Anders Halverson points out, these truly are a synthetic fish.

Finally Rain, But It's Early Yet

2010-09-16T17:43:00.001-07:00

The first meaningful rain of the early fall fell today -- actually it blew through. The storm send the river flow gauges rising and prompted thoughts to shift to steelhead. Sadly, the fly reels still sit in the crate in the basement. The line needs to be cleaned -- or replaced. Leaders need to be built. Split shot needs to be replenished. In short, I am unprepared for the season that controls my calendar.

One reason I'm not ready is I know it is highly unlikely I'll be standing in a river soon. My grandmother turns 100 this month, and that takes priority. I will be visiting her twice in the next few weeks. By the time things settle down it'll be mid-October and the leaves will be littering the rivers.

The fall will blow past almost as fast as today's storm. But I will carve out time to stand in the rivers, feel the press of current against my knees, and forget -- for a moment -- all those things that don't really matter, but take up so much space. Fish on. Very soon.

Prepare for the Asian Carp Invasion

2010-08-23T17:45:00.000-07:00

The battle over the Asian Carp is heating up -- but heat doesn't mean light. The latest story from the ongoing court battle continues the same theme that's been out there for months. Asian Carp will destroy the Great Lakes ecosystem, but if we try to stop the invasion by blocking the Chicago River we'll destroy commerce.

I doubt that either scenario is 100% correct. The Great Lakes ecosystem has been "destroyed" a few times over. The lamprey -- which traveled from the Atlantic via the St. Lawrence Seaway -- destroyed the Lake Trout; altering the Great Lakes ecosystem forever. (Not to mention the overfishing of the Great Laeks.) Growing up in Milwaukee I remember the rotting odor of dead alewives that ruined more than a few summers along the Great Lakes. The alewives followed the lampreys through the Welland Canal and up the seaway. They didn't belong in the Great Lakes any more than the Pacific Salmon stocked to eat them. Let alone the steelhead stocked to entertain me and thousands of other anglers.

Those creatures were followed by many other hitchikers that arrived aboard ocean going vessels, including a few kinds of mussels that now filter the turbid water of Lake Erie to the point that it is gin clear. That clarity is contributing to algae blooms and other troubles.

Suffice to say the Great Lakes ecosystem is messed up and has been for decades. Of course that is no reason to welcome the carp. I just wish blocking the Chicago River would be enough to keep the carp out. Unfortunately, humans have consistently shown a propensity for putting fish and other creatures where they don't belong without regard to the consequences. (See lake trout in Yellowstone Lake; not to mention didymo in all sorts of places.)

So my bet is the Asian Carp will arrive in the Great Lakes one way or the other.

Both sides of this debate have been messing with nature for decades (remember the flow of the Chicago River has been reversed). As Aldo Leopold said: A thing is right when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability and beauty of the biotic community. It is wrong when it tends otherwise.

We've been doing the Great Lakes wrong for more than a generation. I have derived tremendous pleasure from some of the wrongs done to these blue jewels. Sadly, I doubt there is much we'll be able to do to prevent the next wrong. Perhaps this wrong will encourage us all to put more resources into restoring the integrity, stability and beauty of the Great Lakes (even if that means removing the steelhead I pursue) and (even better) restoring the Chicago River to its natural state.

The Promise of a Cool Morning in August

2010-08-16T18:08:00.000-07:00

Cool crisp air greeted me this morning as I exited the attached garage and headed down the driveway toward the plastic mailbox on the edge of the cul de sac that we call home. After weeks of 90 degree plus temperatures and humidity to match, the cool air jolted my system and prompted one thought and one thought only: steelhead.

It will still be weeks before the first steelhead begin to poke their noses into the tributaries along Lake Erie's southern coast in the initial scouting runs, but the day is approaching. Some people flip the calendar on December 31 to start their new year. I flip mine sometime in September -- after the first cool, drenching rain of late summer hits and the next steelhead season begins.

Today's cool morning air signaled the countdown has begun for next season. July and August can be the longest months of the year for a Great Lakes steelheader. I had promised myself that this year I would practice with the spey rod and chase some smallmouth bass. But other issues -- ranging from work to an upper back sprain -- have gotten in the way of those promises.

Now it is time to make another resolution -- get the back healed before the steelhead calendar is flipped.

Heading to FLA - Mosquito Lagoon

2010-07-04T19:14:00.000-07:00

The Cadet and I will be hopping on a Continental flight to Florida tomorrow. We'll be spending some time with Anne's family and hanging out at Cocoa Beach. Florida is not my favorite place in the world -- mainly because trout don't hang out there.

But the salt water fishing is supposed to be pretty good and we'll spend Wednesday exploring Mosquito Lagoon and the nearby environs with Capt. Doug Blanton of SightFishing. He's cautioned that the fishing has been a little slow now that the heat of July is in full force. But the Cadet has agreed to head out with me at dawn and give it a rip. It's been a long time since the Cadet and I have been on the water together. This will be the first time trying fly fishing in the salt. Lots of reasons to look forward to dawn on Wednesday.

In Praise of Walt’s Worm

2010-06-17T17:23:00.000-07:00

The flies landed just upstream of the massive boulder in the middle of the river and the current pushed it to the inside edge of the boulder. The leader paused in its downstream drift, I raised the rod and the line went tight as the chunky brown trout rushed upstream with a Walt’s Worm stuck in his mouth.

There are few flies as easy to tie as the Walt’s Worm. Wrap some lead on a 2X nymph hook. Dub some rabbit’s fur and wind forward, adding bulk as you head to the hook eye. Its sheer simplicity should make it very popular, but in the wacky, upside down world of fly fishing (where big numbers equal small flies etc.) the easier the fly is to tie the more doubt it generates with the angler – particularly the fly-tying angler. If fly fishing could be that easy, the thinking goes, then why would we go through all of the frustration of blending 3 different kinds of dubbing to get just the right shade of olive on those BWOs? Or why tie a psycho nymph with six different elements and precision when wrapping some bland tan fur on a hook will do?

That fish would eat such a simple piece of fur reminds us that the elaborate lengths we fly fishers go to in pursuit of our passion – the breathable waders, the high-tech graphite fly rods, fluorocarbon tippets – isn’t always necessary. That fly fishing can be so darn complicated tells us more about the anglers, than the trout.

As Eric Stroup reminds us in his outstanding book Common-Sense Fly Fishing, we would all be well served to keep simplicity in mind as we wade into the stream. Eric notes that the creator of Walt’s Worm – Central PA angler Walt Young -- apologizes for its simplicity when he shows others how to tie the pattern. “I’m sorry folks, I wish I could make it more complicated than this.” Indeed, if he did it would be a bigger seller in fly shops across the Northeast.

I’ve read about Walt’s Worm for years now but generally scoffed at the notion that it could outfish a more elaborate nymph. But after reading Eric’s book and benefiting from several of his simple tips, I decided to tie up a few and add them to the box. After all, they’re so easy to tie that even I couldn’t screw them up.

After a day of meetings in Youngstown on Wednesday, I headed east to fish Neshannock Creek. The river water had warmed after several days in the low 80s, but steady rains kept the current flowing strong and the water cool in the deep runs. I had hooked a few rainbows in a run on a hare’s ear nymph, but the fishing was slow. Not wanting to add split shot, I decided to add a size 12 Walt’s Worm to add some extra weight to the rig before heading downstream to fish the giant boulder.

From Steel Pursuit

The brown trout hit on the first cast and in the next 30 minutes a half dozen trout – rainbows and browns – inhaled the Walt’s Worm while ignoring the fancier flies on the line. As it is with many things in life, simpler is better. And there are few flies simpler -- or more effective -- than Walt's Worm.

What the Guide Said -- Drown the Ants

2010-06-07T18:38:00.000-07:00

After a challenging hour of nymphing for brown trout on Spring Creek Sunday morning, I thought of what the guide had said the night before at the end of an even more challenging day/evening/night of fishing on Penns Creek.

“We should have tried the sunken ant again in the evening on those sporadic risers,” Eric Stroup suggested. From the tone of his voice I knew he wasn’t all that sure about the idea – after all the fish were pretty tough to come by all day long in the clear water of Penns. Yes, a few had moved to the ant about mid-day and a more skilled angler would have landed some of the big ones. But as it was we didn’t see a single fish caught by any other anglers – and there were more fishermen on the stream than I see most days steelheading on the Rocky River. And the few fish I caught all came on different flies. But one thing about trout fishing, there’s always another fly to try – even if it is in hindsight.

I sat on a flat-topped bolder along the bank of Spring and watched the water rush over one of the handful of limestone shelves that broke up the half-mile stretch of straight stream. Thunder rumbled overhead, a reminder that at any moment the promised thunderstorms could bring a premature end to the trip. I pondered which fly to try next and decided to turn Eric’s hindsight into foresight. He was dead on.

After switching up my leader so it could handle a dry fly as an indicator, I tied a size 14 black wet ant as a trailer behind a Royal Humpy. I wanted a real good indicator fly that would float well and I could see easily. I considered a parachute ant on top, but decided the Humpy would hold up better and I didn’t want to spend a lot of time greasing flies or swapping them out when they lost their float. I’d only seen a few fish rise that morning, and there weren’t many bugs on the water – unlike Penns. So I figured if I got any action it would be down below. Spring Creek is one of Central Pennsylvania’s most bountiful trout streams. The trout are plentiful and aren’t nearly as particular as those in Penns or Big Fishing Creek. In many ways, Spring is an ideal trout stream. Easy to wade, a nice path along on its bank. Its beauty was only enhanced by its relative solitude on this Sunday morning. I had seen two anglers fishing a stretch near the parking lot, but as I walked down the old dirt admiring the green canopy and hillsides there were no other anglers in sight. Indeed, I would fish about five hours that morning and only share the stream with three deer, a muskrat and a few ducks.

I had fished spring on Friday evening and Saturday morning, before joining Eric for the trek into Penns. (How Penns could be crowded and Spring empty remains a mystery, since Spring is close enough to State College to be considered urban fishing in these parts.) By mid morning Sunday I had caught enough fish on the trip to consider it a success by my low standards. But I knew there were more fish to be had, if only I could hit upon the right fly.

I had seen a brown trout flash in a narrow corner slot up against the far bank where water flowed over a limestone shelf and took a slight right hand turn and flowed in my direction back across the stream. The slot was smaller than a coffee table. The water was moving fast enough that I thought the fish would be a little less particular about my presentation. Penns Creek made my limitations as both a caster and a mender quite evident and I wanted to try to put the odds back in my favor.

While my casting form causes guides to cringe, I can get the fly to land pretty close to where I want, and at 15 yards I was able to land the Royal Humpy at the head of the slot and watched it shoot back down toward me. But I couldn’t watch it for long. On the first good drift the fly was pulled under and I set the hook on a brown trout that turned out to be about 10 inches long. Remarkably I took six browns out of that slot – a few in the 14 inch range. All of them hit the ant hard and fast and put a nice bend in my five-weight rod. The same held true as I explored other pockets of fast moving water as I hiked the creek. If a brown failed to take the ant in the first few casts I could move on because 15 minutes of working a spot wouldn’t turn up a fish. More often than not, I hooked a fish in the best looking spots.

Below one limestone shelf, branches from a tree along the bank extended right into the water providing an ideal overhang for the trout. It was nearly time to head back to the car for the four-hour drive back to suburbia, but this run just looked too appealing to pass up. I landed the Humpy at the edge of the shelf and the fly quickly got engulfed in the fast water that shot under the branches. As the fly headed under the leaves I decided to cast again, but as I lifted the fly rod I felt a heavy trout on the other end and a large brown surprised me by leaping out of the water right at me. He jumped a few more times with the acrobatic skills of a rainbow. The hefty brown brought a close to a trout filled morning and a weekend of many memories.

Thanks Eric for reminding me to drown the ants.

Lucky Seven with Eric Stroup?

2010-06-02T18:24:00.000-07:00

In my 30 plus years of fly fishing I've had the pleasure of fishing with six different guides in California, Utah, Montana, Colorado, Pennsylvania, and New York. Every experience has been good, but I've yet to have a great guide experience. I'm hoping that will change Saturday when I get to spend the day with Eric Stroup of the Spruce Creek Fly Co. Eric's new book, Common-Sense Fly Fishing, has paid for itself many times over and I review his tips nearly every evening -- if I cannot be fishing, I might as well pretend. The book is a godsend for anglers like me that don't get enough fishing time in to hone our limited skills. Following Eric's tips and strategies has allowed me to spend more time this spring catching fish and less time pondering what the heck is going on in the stream.

And that's what a good guide does; he strips away all of the distractions and helps the "sport" focus on what it takes to hook a fish. The first guide I fished with said he could help me hook a fish, but landing them was pretty much up to me. And after fishing with multiple guides, I've decided that's pretty much captures things. There are a ton of factors that are beyond a guide's control -- weather, flows, hatches etc. and the "sport" needs to accept that reality. But the good guides know where the trout hang out and the techniques required to get at least a few to strike. And the best guides share enough information to enlighten and entertain the "sport."

After listening to Eric speak earlier this year in Cleveland and after reading his book, I'm pretty sure I'll be enlightened and entertained. And I'm pretty sure he'll be able to show me where the trout hang out on the Little J and surrounding streams. But whether it turns into a great guided trip is really going to be up to me and all those factors outside our control. And right now the "weather" factor doesn't look promising with scattered thunderstorms forecasted for Friday/Saturday. And the flows are looking pretty low. Yep, I'm trying to prepare myself for things not living up to expectations. But I will stay optimistic tha the fish gods will smile on guided trip number 7.

Get Down -- Lessons in Nymphing

2010-05-22T05:33:00.000-07:00

Most trout feed sub-surface because, as Willie Sutton would have said if he were a trout, that's where the food is. More specifically the food is along the stream bottom -- where caddis larva, crayfish, sculpin and dozens of other creatures make their home.

This is why getting "down" is so important. If the fly isn't near the bottom, the fish won't see it. They can't eat what they can't see. And then you can't catch.

I was reminded of this reality during recent visits to Neshannock Creek near Volant (check the conditions at the Neshannock Creek Outfitters.), Penn. This beautiful little stream provides good spring trout fishing, with occasional hatches. But mostly it's a stream to fish with nymphs. It's stocked pretty heavily and has a nice holdover population. So when the flow is good and the fish are able to hide in the runs it is relatively easy to hook into some fish. But not if you don't get down.

On a recent Saturday evening I fished for nearly an hour before fully appreciating this lesson. I started fishing a shallow riffle and was bouncing the bottom -- and getting hung up -- with some frequency. But when I moved to a deeper run I couldn't feel the bottom at all. I added a second weight and fished for another 20 minutes before deciding I needed even more weight to get down. On the first cast with three split shot I hooked a rainbow on the green weenie. A few casts later I hooked a brown on the copper john. And that routine would continue for the weekend, as long as I was getting down.

Looking at the Season's End

2010-04-28T18:47:00.000-07:00

I interrupted my evening commute home to visit the East Branch of the Rocky River to see if the curtain had fallen on the West Side Steelhead Run, 2010 Edition.

The rain from earlier in the week may have brought in a last push of fresh fish, but a friend didn't see any in the lower river and the East Branch was already running low and clear. One eager angler hung an old male from a stringer and asked me to take his picture. I was overdressed for the job (wearing sport coat and dress slacks) but complied. I watched two fish hold in a run. Not sure if they were the last two in the river, but they might as well have been. Perhaps there'll be some more fishing on the Grand, but I think the West Side steelhead story has been told for the year.

Morning Rush

2010-04-26T17:19:00.000-07:00

With a sound like that of newspaper ripping, the fly line cut through the water as the steelhead with the minnow fly in its mouth rushed into the big bend pool on the Grand River. Minnows, spooked by the fly line zipping through their home behind a mid-stream boulder leaped from the water, for a moment looking like miniature flying fish.

The fish pulled line from the Lamson Waterworks real and dove deep. As the fish pulled the line through the water it vibrated like a guitar string. In the low dawn light I could see the gray backing zipping through the guides. All of the fly line was out of the reel and the fish -- if it was so inclined -- had several hundred yards of a pool to play in. I had to get the fish under control. As I reeled up line and tightened down the drag, she rocketed from the water, showed me her porcelain white belly, flipped one more time for good measure and crashed back into the Grand.

The noise of the splash filled the valley at Beaty Landing. It was just me and the fish on this beautiful, gray dawn. My wife was asleep at the B&B a few miles away. And I was enjoying another morning in paradise.

From Steel Pursuit

After a few more head shaking runs, she finally came to the bank. After snapping her picture -- with the minnow buried in her mouth -- I returned her to the river and headed back to the car.

I expect that there will be at least one more push of fresh fish this spring, but if not, this was the right way to end the season.

The Telegraph Take

2010-04-26T17:15:00.000-07:00

When everything works as it is supposed to while nymphing for trout, the fly rod, leader, and fly line work as a telegraph tapping out signals to the angler. When the telegraph connection is working, nymphing can be nearly as much fun as watching a brown trout rise to sip a spinner drifting in the film.

The other evening, while trying to show by little brother Super K the finer points of steelheading, the telegraph was working just fine, but the steelhead weren’t. Low water and heavy fishing pressure had the old males in deep run more than skittish. The normal flies weren’t working, but I could feel them bounce along the bottom. I switched to smaller nymphs and worked to keep them on the mossy bottom. The Scott 7-weight (learn more about great Scott fly rods by reading Jerry Darkes’ Fish Dog blog) is sensitive enough to send out a message when moss attached to the trailing nymph. I’d pick up the drift, remove the moss and try again.

The skittish fish would bump the line, sending another set of signals to the telegraph operator. The frustration built, but I wanted to avoid a foul hook up so I focused on keeping the drift as clean as possible. Too slow a drift and the flies would catch on the boulders. Too fast a drift and the flies wouldn’t get down to the fish. A good drift would send the steady tap, tap up the telegraph wire as the split shot bounced along the bottom.

From Steel Pursuit

And then a new signal was sent. A dead stop signal. Sometimes the signal sent when a fish inhales the nymph is all but subliminal. I referred to it earlier as the moment. Well, this is the other side of that coin. It’s not the crushing take of a trout hitting a swung fly, but it is a strong signal nonetheless. Reliving the take later I can imagine the fly being sucked into the fish’s mouth and stopping as its drift through the run comes to an abrupt end. That stop sends a signal up the leader, through the fly line and into the head of the telegraph operator. The response is to lift the right arm, set the hook and hand the rod to Super K so he can enjoy the fight. For a 13-year-old the fight is the fun part. For the 48-year-old telegraph operator the fun part is getting the message.

Truly a Grand River

2010-04-14T17:50:00.000-07:00

Saturday and Sunday were spent on Ohio's biggest steelhead river, the Grand, which flows through Lake County. Draining more than 700 square miles of Northeast Ohio, the river flows through agricultural lands, forests, exurbs and small urban centers. Heavy siltation from the agricultural land and the large drainage area can make the Grand unfishable for weeks at a time every fall and spring. But when it drops below 1,000 cfs (and this past weekend it was about 300 according to the gauge...which is questionably accurate), the fishing can be grand, indeed.

Before dawn on Saturday Jon and I stood on the bank of the river about a mile from my favorite spot for Mexican food, La Mexicana, in Painesville. We were the only anglers in site. A gaggle of Canada Geese expressed their displeasure at our presence. A beaver stopped by to check us out. Our flashlights showed the water was clear. Slowly, as the sky brightened over our shoulders we started making tentative casts. Jon hit the riffles, I tried the deep, fast run. It was still more dark than dawn when Jon hooked his first steelie.

The fishing never really slowed down after that. Jon used a silver minnow fly with a bright green head to consistently hook into a mix of drop back and fresh fish. I used my standard minnow fly to hook enough to wear out my arm. Other anglers, late to the party, fished the shallow rivers as Jon and I concentrated on the deeper runs as the skies brightened. A steady stream of fresh fish would push through the chute and hold in the run. When hooked, they would leap from the water and splash their way downstream into a small rapid. Chasing after the fish was treacherous thanks to a giant boulders strewn about the shallows. Once again the cleated Simms wading boots saved me from several dunkings. We fought fish for for five hours. Several of the fish exceeded 30 inches.

From Steel Pursuit

The smile never left Jon's face and we both walked back to the car at noon satisfied and sore.

I returned with Jerry on Sunday afternoon for Jerry's first outing of the new year.

From Steel Pursuit

The water had gotten a little murkier since Saturday -- and more crowded. However, the lone fisherman fishing the spot Jon and I occupied the day before departed upstream shortly after we arrived. While the fishing was a tad slower on Sunday, we still hooked into plenty of fish. The hour before dark brought several fresh fish running through the shoot.

From Steel Pursuit

The rod spent plenty of time bent in a half-circle.

We hiked back to the car in the fading light, retelling stories of fish that wanted nothing to do with coming to the bank. Better yet, we closed the evening with a visit to La Mexicana.

Summer Steelhead in April

2010-04-05T17:35:00.000-07:00

Several days of 80 degree temperatures in the first week of April can be viewed as a sign of global warming by some, but to the steelhead fisherman it's just a sign that it's going to be a really tough spring. First there was the winter that wouldn't end, and now a heat wave?

The water temperature on the Rocky hit 65 degrees today, which has to be a first week of April record.

Other than taking Easter Sunday off, I've spent some time on the rivers during the heat wave. On Saturday, I got my first Spey lesson with Will Turek. Will showed incredible patience as I failed to translate his land lesson to the water. By the end of four hours I had learned enough to know I wanted to learn more -- unfortunately my shoulders couldn't take anymore. Spey casting is actually easier on your body than the traditional fly cast, but only when you know what your doing. I will have practice a lot to keep quiet hands in the box, set the anchor and create the white mouse with anything resembling grace. I hope to try out the Spey rod for real this weekend.

After the lesson on the Chagrin, I returned to the car to get my single-handed Scott rod. It felt tiny compared to the Spey. I hiked back to the river intent on hooking and landing one of the fish I had watched hold in a narrow chute on the edge of some intimidating whitewater. Interestingly, none of the dozens of fishermen who had walked by during our lesson had tried the chute -- and the two dogs that had romped through it apparently hadn't scared them off permanently. After less than a dozen drifts with my white marabou minnow fly, an aggressive male crushed the fly. After a brief fight and extended struggle to remove the fly from deep inside the steely's mouth, I headed back home, thinking of steel and Spey.

From Steel Pursuit

Hooking fish isn't too difficult in these conditions. When the water gets above 50 degrees, the minnow fly seems too good to resist. As seen in this picture, the white marabou, red tail minnow fly isn't much to look at, but it sure is effective.

From Steel Pursuit

Skinny Water Steel

2010-03-30T17:46:00.000-07:00

The flow on the Rocky River is dropping fast and the temps are rising. That means the steelhead fishing is heating up. Today, after work, I headed south to try the East Branch. When the flows are about 500 cfs, the East Branch of the Rocky is an attractive, yet skinny stretch of water from the dam downstream to the parkway bridge.

The water was turning green and that had the fishermen out in force. I thought I could squeeze into a spot, but after watching a guy in hippers walk over a few fish in the run I wanted to fish, I opted to take a short hike to a quieter stretch that usually holds a few fish. Against the far bank is a narrow, gravel lined channel that is a few feet deep when the river is a little high. Two fish were holding at the head of the run as I walked across the river. I cast my white minnow fly to the bank about 10 yards up stream of the fish and the current carried it right to them. As it swung in front, one of the two steelies made an aggressive jab at the fly. I tried to set the hook, but after a brief tug came up empty. Thankfully the fish didn't spook and after a brief pause, I tried again. A few casts later, a female crushed the fly and took off downstream after I set the hook.

Because the fish was hanging out in a narrow chute -- or skinny water -- there wasn't much room for her to run and I quickly brought to the shallow stretch in the middle of the river, took the fly from inside her mouth, and returned her to the river.

After fishing a deep run nearby, I headed back downstream to the spot where I had started. The crowd had thinned out and a few large steelhead cruised up to the head and then back into the tail of a faster, deeper run. I worked the mid-section of the run, where the water was deepest and quickly hooked a small, dark male. He too enjoyed the minnow fly.

There's not a lot of places to fish on the East Branch, but on higher water days it can be a fun place to stop on the way home from work to do some skinny water fishing.

Breaking Out the Spey Rod

2010-03-28T18:23:00.000-07:00

Today I started a new chapter in my fly fishing journey -- a chapter called Spey. Last spring I bought a two-handed Spey rod made by St. Croix at the Trout Club Banquet. But I never put it to use and it sat in the basement all summer and fall. Right before Christmas I finally got my large arbor St. Croix reel rigged up with a Skagit line thanks to the folks out at the Backpackers Shop.

I booked a half-day Spey casting lesson with Will Turek for next Saturday and will encouraged me to give the rod a try before the lesson. So after hooking several steelies this morning the old fashioned way, I hiked back to the car, rigged up the Spey rod and headed back to the run. I have watched enough You Tube videos to get a rough idea of the basic Spey cast -- which starts with a simple roll cast and then gets a lot more complicated.

The run I fished is a wide, but shallow stretch of the Rocky River, featuring some gravel, boulders and left turn in the current. A few male steelhead were actively cruising behind a two female spawners, and I thought it would provide an entertaining way to break out the Spey. It really is a mistake to try and learn how to cast while fishing. One should simply learn to cast first, and then fish. But being the impatient soul that I am, I did both at the same time ... with predictable results. I casted weakly and hooked nothing on the swing. I did manage some decent roll casts and worked on my D loops and repositioning the line. I got comfortable enough that I look forward to the session with Will to really learn what to do.

I did manage to hook two fish -- one fair and one foul -- by using the Spey as a giant nymphing rod. Sadly, I discovered the St. Croix reel jams up when spinning in response to a steelehead swimming north as fast as a rocket... May have to buy a new reel...

More on the education of a Spey fisherman in the future.

The Rocky dipped below 500 cfs this afternoon, before rising again thanks to the steady rain. Sure do hope we can fish some the next few weeks.

Steel Dawn Followed by Blowout

2010-03-22T18:07:00.000-07:00

This morning the Rocky River level had reached the upper edge of the low range -- 200 cfs -- for good fishing. There was just a hint of color in the deeper runs and the shallow riffles were clear. Overcast skies kept the dawn light to a minimum and the steady rain and cold breeze was enough to cause saner folks to stay at home. But I stood in the Rocky River not far from the interstate staring at a half dozen steelhead trout. This is the time of year when the fishing gets easy. Spawning fish may not be all that eager to eat, but they can be enticed to strike a swung fly. But it's much more fun to swing flies into the deeper runs behind the spawners. The aggressive males wait behind the spawning females for their chance to finish the job of fertilizing the eggs. The males will chase anything -- other steelehead, and certainly minnows.

They crushed the minnow fly with enough regularity to give me a sore arm, and fought hard enough to make me wish I was better at tying knots.

Sadly I could only fish for an hour before work called. I was hoping to fish the morning and evening commute, but no such luck. The rain fell long and hard to the south and sent the river above 800 cfs by the early evening. Blown out, as they say. Not sure when it will be fishable again, but the steel will be there. So will I.

Mystery Moment

2010-03-22T17:52:00.000-07:00

There is a mystery moment when nymphing that every experienced angler knows, but only the really good anglers understand. I don't come close to understanding the moment -- and I know that I often don't even recognize it when it occurs.

But sometimes I get lucky and get to experience the moment. Then I try like heck to remember just exactly what it was like so I will do a better job of recognizing it again when it occurs next. But for the life of me, I cannot recall enough detail to add much to the slim memory folder in which I hold what limited fishing knowledge I have accumulated over the last 40 plus years. It's kind of like the elusive dream you cannot recall upon awakening. Instead of a clear memory you just have a strong sense that it must have been a great dream ... if you could only remember what it was about.

Last week that kind of steelhead moment arrived with the sunrise on the Rocky River. The river was as fine a green tint as it's been all spring. The water was still cold from the lingering snow melt, and the steelhead hadn't yet moved into the river in large numbers. I cast slightly upstream, allowing the fly to sink before it passed me and headed into the deepest part of the run. I tried to keep the rod ahead of the red monofilament leader to keep in contact with the three small split shots bouncing near the bottom. Then the moment occurred. I cannot really say what happened. A signal was sent from line, to rod, to hand to brain and I lifted the rod sharply in response. But what sent the signal? I'm sure the line paused, but I don't remember seeing it. I may have even felt a slight bump caused by the female steelhead inhaling the two-inch white marabou minnow fly tied below the nymph. But if I did, I really don't remember what that bump felt like.

I just lifted the rod, felt the unmistakable weight of a steelhead, set the hook and held on for dear life. She took me for a long ride that morning, but I ultimately walked her to the far bank to land and release her. But the whole time I fought the fish I was trying to remember the moment. But there just wasn't enough there to remember. I will have to pay more attention next time.

St. Patrick's Steel

2010-03-17T17:27:00.000-07:00

After spending seven hours in a dim meeting room, I ended St. Patrick's Day on the Rocky River. Bright sunshine contrasted with the murky, high water. Downstream of Morley's Ford I encountered several signs of spring -- suckers. The one to three pound fish fill the Rocky after ice out. They foreshadow the major spring run of steelies by a week to 10 days.

After working a run for 45 minutes with nothing more than suckers to show, I headed south to the East Branch of the Rocky. Water was murky, but a little lower than down below. A half dozen anglers stood in the normal spots, but there was plenty of unoccupied holding spots. Jim spotted a fish working behind a boulder, and said he saw some others in the riffles. I wasn't seeing any fish, but kept high sticking the runs with a green sucker spawn and small black stonefly dropper. A few black flies (a stretch to call them stone flies, more like overgrown midges) were coming off the water.

Using a tip I picked up from Eric Stroup of Spruce Creek Fly Co. this past weekend, I made sure my fly rod stayed in front of the leader as it cut through the run. The line paused, I set the hook and a skipjack came bursting out of the tan-colored water. The fish had inhaled the black stone and after a few brief runs came to the hand. Amazing how one fish can make a day full of meetings into a great day, indeed.

Sunshine and Steel Spike Winter

2010-03-06T11:45:00.000-08:00

The fish's broad green back matched the green tint of the water. The hook hidden inside the chartreuse yarn pierced the fish's mouth. The fish pulled hard, stripping forest green fly line from the Ross Reel. The fish pulled winter away with it. The brilliant blue sky and bright sunshine slowly melted the thick snow lining the river bank. But it takes a steelhead to erase the gray that had borrowed deep into the angler this winter. A combination of deep freeze, deep snow and too much of everything at work made this one of the longest, dreariest winters this angler can recall.

But today winter would drop away, like the boulders tumbling off the cliff walls guarding the pool.

The Rocky River carried enough sediment to give it a dark green hue. The flow was slightly higher than normal and the water was barely above freezing -- thanks to the snow melt. The cold water kept the fish sluggish and shy. Hooked three suckers in the lower river and two chubs in the upper before the giant steelhead ended winter.

Unexpected Hookups

2009-12-21T17:22:00.000-08:00

No one will ever confuse Steelhead Alley with the relatively pristine Pacific Northwest. Our rivers are relatively tiny and they often flow through urban environs. While the scenery is rarely majestic, (the Grand River in Ohio is an impressive exception) it can be beautiful. Occasionally the urban environment intrudes on the overall experience. Sometimes the intrusion arrives on the end of the hook.

Here's a list of things that I've hook in Steelhead Alley -- other than steelhead themselves:

1. A bulldog -- He greeted me at the car one day and followed me to the river. No idea where he came from and who he belonged to. But he liked to eat flies. I had to cut the leader as he wondered off with an egg fly in his upper lip.

2. Shopping carts -- Steelhead on both the Rocky River and Elk Creek have rested in the break created by a shopping cart mid-stream. I'll cast anywhere there are fish, and that means hooking a stray shopping cart.

3. Suckers -- They follow steelhead upstream in the spring and are amazing eaters.

4. Carp -- Some of my brethren love fishing for "fresh water bonefish." I haven't gotten there yet.

5. Pants -- Thankfully there wasn't anyone inside them.

6. Flies -- Fish long enough and you're bound to hook onto someone else's lost rig. If you're lucky, the flies haven't yet rusted out and you can add them to your fly patch.

7. Rocks -- Hooking the bottom is part of steelheading, but I remain surprised when the bottom stays attached to the hook long to be released by hand.

8. Gas lines -- Pipelines crossing rivers also serve as water breaks and can shield migrating steelhead. They make for tempting places to cast. Too tempting.

9. Metal Drum -- There's an old metal drum on a nice stretch of the Grand that protects fish and attracts hooks. I know better than to try it, but I succumb to its siren song too often.

10. Smallmouth Bass -- Usually they are small, but a three pounder a few years back provided some excitement.

11. Brown trout -- A small, stray Brown trout on the Rocky River remains one of the highlights.

Busting Ice

2009-12-13T11:38:00.001-08:00

Ten-foot long icicles hung from the cliff high above the Rocky River. Winter is here in Ohio, and that means one has to work a little harder for the steelhead. Late Saturday afternoon I headed down to the Rocky to see what was happening on the local stream. A combination of work and weather has kept me off the Rocky for most of the fall. And the ice wanted to keep me off on Saturday. The shelf ice on the pool I wanted to fish extended out about 5 yards and was a good half-inch thick. I spent 10 minutes breaking it up from the tail end of the pool. Huge ice flows crunched and cracked as they drifted through the rapids downstream. After resting the pool a bit, I started drifting flies through the tail of the pool. No fish showed themselves.

A plug fisherman, trying the run at the head of the pool did manage a 26-inch male. It was a reminder that these steelhead like to eat large stuff.

Belated Report from Erie

2009-12-13T11:34:00.000-08:00

On Dec. 5 we made the trek east to once again explore upper Elk Creek. Arctic blasts had brought the temperature below 32 degrees and that meant the fish were a little sluggish. The water had dropped fast and was a little lower than I like it. But despite the rough conditions Rebecca managed to hook several fish and landed this beautiful one, which gave her the opportunity to show off her Alabama hat.

Fishing Right

2009-11-24T18:08:00.000-08:00

If Paul Simon is right and there are 50 ways to leave your lover, than there are probably at least that many ways to lose a steelhead. Each one carries a lesson with it. Some are small, and some are large.

Today I lost the only fish I hooked and the experience reminded me why I fish.

After a long meeting out at Holden Arboretum, this afternoon I decided to visit the Grand River -- Ohio's largest steelhead river. Rarely does the Grand fish well in the fall, but the unseasonably warm and unusually dry fall has made the Grand pretty much the only river worth fishing of late. The flow was about 200cfs and the water clarity was gin. Visibility was pretty much unlimited in the slow pools. I tried swinging minnow flies for a bit through a deeper, slow run and came up empty.

I then switched to a nymph and peach sucker spawn and tried a narrow stretch of fast moving water that looked about three to four feet deep. I added a large split shot to get the fly to the bottom of the run. I could feel the split bounce along the bottom. I extended the cast to get it to drift along the far edge of the run. About mid-way through the drift the line stopped. I set the hook, expecting bottom, but was pleasantly surprised to feel a firm head shake and sudden acceleration as a steelhead rushed upstream. The adrenalin rush ended with a quick pop. I had been trying to feel the drift by keeping the fly line between my fingers and as my mind wandered I had allowed the line to wrap between my fingers. Of course when the fish felt the hook and shot upstream the line tightened around my fingers instead of exiting from the reel and the tippet snapped in an instant.

The experience of losing that powerful fish is why I enjoy fly fishing so much. Fly fishing demands concentration. One cannot succeed at fly fishing while thinking about the previous meeting, or while mapping out the next meeting. The river and the fish demand our full attention. If we don't give them the attention they deserve, then we learn a new way to lose a fish. When we give the river and the fish the attention they deserve, the thoughts and worries that plague us are washed downstream, carried away to a distant place. A place where -- if we were truly honest with ourselves -- they belong. Most of the worries and anxieties that we carry with us each day are insignificant. Yet they invade our minds and set up permanent residence. They distract us from the things that really matter. Fishing, when done right, washes away those distractions and frees the mind to reflect on God's bounty, the friends that we share that bounty with, and our responsibilities to pass it along to the next generation. I fly fish because it helps me remember what matters -- even if it takes a mistake to deliver the reminder. And that is why, as I walked from the river, I said a little prayer that the next time I am on the water that I will have the wisdom to let the river carry my worries away. And that I will fish right.

Of Magic Flies and Psychos

2009-11-21T14:40:00.001-08:00

Every fly fisherman dreams of the hot fly that works like magic when drifted through a run. The search for the elusive magic fly is one reason why there are so many different fly patterns in the world. Although we know there is not such thing as a fly that works all the time, that doesn’t me we don’t keep searching.

After nearly two decades of fishing the southern coast of Lake Erie for steelheads I have certainly developed a handful of favorite flies, but none is magic. There is no match the hatch requirements for Lake Erie steelhead -- no dry flies or emergers to worry about. Fly choices break into three categories: eggs, nymphs and baitfish.

In low water conditions – like we experienced today on Elk Creek (4.5 cfs on Brandy Run USGS gauge) – I tend to opt for the psycho nymph fly in size 12 or 14. Not sure who came up with the name or why it works. But I suspect the orange body makes it look a little bit like an egg. The purple collar may serve as a trigger – purple egg flies often outperform more naturally colored eggs. And the boits and yellow shuck give it the silhouette of a caddis fly. In other words it’s got so many things working that when the conditions are right, steelies love it. It’s not a magic fly, but on mornings like these it does the trick.

Steelies were packed into every slot of fast moving water that was a foot or more in depth. The key to fishing narrow, fast moving water is to use small flies and mend line constantly to create a natural drift. Fast water can push the leader and fly around easily, creating unnatural drag. In low water it’s easy to tell when your fly is dragging – rather than drifting naturally. The fish – sensing an unnatural invader of their territory – quickly get out of the way.

Today, the fish were more than a little skittish, and frequently scattered rather than tolerate my fly’s presence. But several fell for the psycho, including this one – which was wearing his fall colors with pride.

Rivers of a Lost Coast

2009-11-19T17:29:00.000-08:00

Wondering how Gramps did on the Russian River back in the day. Great clip from the Rivers of a Lost Coast documentary. Will our rivers ever come back?

This Is November?

2009-11-14T07:23:00.000-08:00

November in Northeast Ohio marks the beginning of Elephant Season. That is the season of the year when a large gray cloud (of elephantine proportions)settles over Lake Erie and its coast and rarely disappears for four plus months.

Not this year.

We've instead been graced with dark blue skies and bright sunshine. This morning there is not a cloud to be seen as I look out the south facing window. The forecast calls for more of the same the next few days. Complaining about such glorious fall days would be ridiculous, so I wont'. But where is the rain?

Weather.com promises there may be some moisture late next week. But a closer look reveals that the chance of rain is still under 50%. The flow at the Rocky River is below 60 cfs and the Grand is dropping near 100. I don't recall ever seeing it that low in the fall before. This is painful news for us steelhead addicts, but we find some solace in knowing it will end -- eventually.

In the meantime, it's time to head out back and try to gather up some more leaves and get the grass cut. It's another beautiful day in paradise and we might as well take advantage of it.

Swinging for Steel

2009-11-07T16:48:00.000-08:00

There are many ways to hook a Great Lakes steelhead on a fly. Some ways are more effective than others -- depending on the water conditions. But the most exhilarating way to hook a steelhead is on a swing. Swinging large streamers, tied to imitate bait fish, is a relatively simple fishing technique. It involves casting a fly slightly downstream in the current and mending the line so it slowly swings through the the run. As it swings, first broadside to the current and then straight downstream, the fly entices a fish to strike. At least that's the theory.

The reason it's such an exciting way to hook a steelhead is there's no doubt about the take. Unlike dead drifting nymphs and egg flies, there is no need to watch for subtle changes in the lines movement through the current. When a steelhead strikes a fly on the swing the jolt can all but rip the rod from your hand.

This morning on the Grand River (300 cfs), while fishing the inside seam of deep run, a steelie crushed a white minnow fly, put up a spirited fight and ultimately rolled into the net. The fish was one of only two to come to the hand today. But the brilliant blue sky and unseasonably warm temperatures made for a great day on the river. Will try to repeat it Sunday.

Elk Creek With the Wife

2009-11-01T17:11:00.001-08:00

I've been fishing Elk Creek for about 15 years and, remarkably, my wife has never tagged along. Anne doesn't fish -- at least not much. But she enjoys the outdoors as much as I do, and loves to use her camera to capture God's wonders. But she's always deferred on the long haul east, mainly because the thought of waking well before dawn doesn't have much appeal to her.

But this morning I was in no hurry to get out early, and Anne took me up on the offer to head east together. We started out at the Legion Park and found the water high and dark (due to the decaying leaves). Anglers were reporting few fish and there didn't seem to be promising spots to fish that would be convenient for Anne. So we headed south to a stretch of the river upstream from Folly's. I hadn't fished the stretch in years, but found it to be in good shape. The water was clear in the riffles, but murky in the runs. A nice stretch of broken water was open and I moved in while checking with the man fishing upstream. He said he had hooked a few, but had only landed one. He landed another while I was getting rigged up and I figured we were in for a good day.

On the third cast I hooked and landed a nice male on an orange crystal meth with a bead. I proceeded to hook several more over the next 10 casts and lost them all. And that became the storyline of the day. The fish would move through every 20 minutes or so in pods and I'd hook several in a row, only to lose them all. The fish often charged right at me, sometimes in the water and sometimes through the air. Suffice to say the fish were hot and my skills were limited. Anne took several pictures, but grew tired of sitting on a log watching me fail to land a fish. She had decided she wanted to get her picture taken with a steelhead. And I spoiled the plan by failing to land another. Hopefully it won't take me 15 more years to give her a another chance to have her picture taken with an Elk Creek steelie.
Anne has Erie trips usually involve getting up before dawn to get on the water at first light. So AnnNow that the kids are off doing incredibly amazing things of the

Hidden Fish and Pocket Water

2009-10-18T17:46:00.000-07:00

Avid Lake Erie steelheaders encounter three kinds of fishing situations. First, one often has the chance to site fish to pods of steelhead in murky to clear water. Second, is blind fishing in a spot where fish have been caught before. You may not see the fish, but experience guides both your expectations and your drift. Finally, and most challenging, is fishing a new stretch of river where one has to think and study the water to find fish.

On Saturday, after hooking a few fish on a familiar stretch of Elk Creek, we went for long hike to fish a stretch that I had never tried before. The water was a little murky, particularly in the faster runs. And the fish seemed to be avoiding the slower pools. The strategy was simple. Find fast, deep water and probe the depths for steelhead. There are very few spots on Elk Creek with good pocket water, so there was a lot of hiking and occasional fishing. The key was finding spots where busted shale and rare boulders conspired to channel the current through narrow chutes. Whitewater would bubble up as the water crashed into the rocks, or tumbled over shale shelfs. The whitewater provided additional cover to the steelhead. The water rushes through the chutes so fast that it can pick up and carry even weighted flies past the fish so fast that the fish don't even notice. The conflicting currents can create small areas of slack water; that is why it's know as pocket water. A well placed cast, followed by a few strategic mends can slow the drift and get your fly down deep in the pocket, and out will pop a silver-as-a-dime steelie. At least that's the theory.

The above female proved out the theory on Saturday. After inhaling the pink and red egg, she took off screaming downstream. The reel spun and I chased. At one point, she charged back at me and I quickly picked up as much slack as I could. After a few minutes, I was able to bring her to the bank and snap this picture before returning her to the stream.

I learned a few more spots that hold fish on Saturday, and look forward to the next chance to pick some steelies out of the pockets along Steelhead Alley.

Old Spots, Quiet River

2009-10-11T16:26:00.000-07:00

Returned to the Rocky River on Sunday morning and decided to fish some old holes as I did years ago when I started fishing the Rock. The river was fairly empty below Morley's Ford and the conditions were a little marginal -- visibility was eight inches or so. The flow was around 200 cfs, which is about as good as it gets on the Rocky.

After swinging flies without luck, I switched up to drifting buggers and nymphs under a float. I fished two runs that were among my favorites years ago when I started fishing the Rocky. I've rarely fished the spots in the last few years because I've become enamored by other spots, and these two holes often attract a crowd. There were no crowds today, but then no fish, either. Nonetheless, it was fun to fish the old holes again. I look forward to revisiting them again, soon.

After the walk back to the car, I bumped into a spawn sack fishermen who said he hooked two. The fish are there. It' up to me to find them.

Fall Colors, No Silver

2009-10-10T16:08:00.000-07:00

Fall colors were in full glory today (unfortunately I didn't bring the camera to document) on the Rocky River. Leaves ranged from lime green to bright red, with a lot of yellow mixed in. The front blowing through frequently traded gray clouds for white and then back. Sun and blue sky snuck through the clouds often enough to light up the leaves.

The river was a light brown, about 8 inches of visibility. Several golfers were out trying to get in a late-season round of golf. Based on the number of anglers in the river, this will be a crowded year on the Rocky. It's very early, but promising reports of an early run attracted lots of people to stand in all of the regular spots. I swung streamers for an hour or so without luck and didn't see any other hook ups. I didn't mind. It was nice to be out on a beautiful day.

Fresh Steel

2009-10-04T16:21:00.001-07:00

Early fall steelheading means fresh, shiny as a dime, fish. The early fall rains bring up the most eager and freshest steelhead. Today we hooked into a few on Elk Creek. The water level was a little lower than expected, and the crowds were about what one would expect on a cool fall Sunday. Juris landed the first fish of the fall, a 7 pounder that came to the shore about 7:30 a.m. after inhaling a psycho nymph.

My first steelhead of the fall came a few hours later (after losing a handful) south of the Conrail tubes. The large male was hanging out in a deep chute. I had fished the chute earlier in the day and foul hooked a fish. On the way back upstream I decided to try it again and hooked the male on an egg fly. Juris hooked one about 50 yards upstream at about the same time – a long-distance double header.

A nice start to the fall season. More fishing ahead.

Return of Hungry Howie’s

2009-10-04T16:19:00.000-07:00

Juris arrived a little after 5:30 a.m. with a Hungry Howie’s pizza box in the back seat. It must be steelhead season if there’s a cold pizza in the back of the Land Cruiser. There are many traditions in fall steelheading, but the most important is the cold pizza. Not just any pizza, but Hungry Howie’s. I have no idea what the pizza tastes like warm. Over the last four or five years I’ve only had it cold – and after several hours on the stream. Nothing tastes finer than Hungry Howie’s streamside…

October Arrives With Promise

2009-10-01T16:33:00.000-07:00

Work has kept me pretty distracted since returning from Yellowstone, but it's hard to miss the cooler temps, gray skies and water-filled gutters. Yep, it's steelhead time. Now the question becomes when will I be able to enjoy it?

The Rocky River is starting to drop and probably was fishable in the upper reaches today -- but work called. And how many fish will be south (upper) this early? Hard to say, but more than most people think.

Tomorrow, I head east for a day of meetings far from the steelhead rivers. But when I'm done, I will likely drive north as fast as the fish car will carry me to explore the eastern Ohio/western PA streams. That's the idea, any way. But a heavy rain Friday could blow those plans out the window.

There are already reports of a decent early run in the Erie area -- although the real big numbers won't be in a for a few weeks.

But now is the time to get serious about not letting work get in the way of the really important stuff. Hopefully the next post will be about fishing...

Threats of Rain

2009-09-21T18:11:00.000-07:00

Went for a walk this evening through suburban hell. It was sprinkling so we opted for umbrellas; which was my effort to be an optimist. My Dad prays to the gods of corn and rain, and perhaps I will start...

The Rocky River gauge showed the water spiked today -- up to a level where the water might be flowing again -- after the overnight rain. But hopes for more rain this evening were dashed, despite threatening skies. The rain will find you, they just won't say when.

Picking a West Yellowstone Fly Shop

2009-09-21T17:39:00.000-07:00

I spent a week in Yellowstone National Park in early September 2009. It was my first visit to this natural wonder upon wonder. This is the fourth installment of my reflections on the wonders and lessons of Yellowstone.

Fly shops in West Yellowstone are like bars in a small Wisconsin town. There's one on every corner and usually one or two in the middle of the block, too. And just as Wisconsin gas stations make most of their money selling beer, it seems most gas stations in West Yellowstone do a fair fly business. (For all I know you can get your fishing license after mass.) Google has 46,200 links in the query "West Yellowstone fly shops." That's some options.

How did I pick Blue Ribbon Flies? Well, first off there was 1% for the Planet, a nonprofit the Craig Matthews, owner of BRF, helped start that is pushing business to give a little bit back to the planet. I like the organizations backed by BRF and like the way it takes advantage of the law of big numbers: a few really big businesses (and some smaller ones) donating a little bit adds up to a lot of money. Second, Craig was kind enough to give a few interviews to podcasts that I like to listen to and I found him to be funny and not dead serious. I love to fish. It's pretty much all I think about most days, but I still try not to take it too seriously and I don't like fly guys who treat it like it's rocket science.

Third, Craig promptly responded to an email I sent months ago giving me all of the basic advice a newbie could ask for and more. I thought it was pretty neat that the guy who wrote the book and did the video and all that other stuff still took the time to respond to the "info" in-box.

So that's how I picked Craig and Blue Ribbon Flies. I am pretty sure I would have enjoyed the service at Bud Lilly's Trout Shop, and I probably should have given them more consideration since they've been advertising in one of my favorite magazines, Fly Fisherman, forever. This video alone should have sent me to Bob Jacklin's fly shop.

And I'm pretty sure Madison River Outfitters is a great operation from what I've seen. And the small shack on the corner that simply said "Fly Shop" probably would do the trick too. Indeed, I imagine it's pretty hard to run a bad fly shop in West Yellowstone for much more than a season. Competition is stiff and I expect that elevates everyone's standards.

But starting at BRF was a good decision for me.

Too Nice in September

2009-09-20T16:52:00.001-07:00

Went for an hour plus hike along the East Branch of the Rocky River today. The hike seemed like a million miles from Yellowstone, but it was great to hike along a river again. The humidity and heat reminded me that autumn is still just a rumor. It is very unpolite to complain about beautiful weather, but I'm ready for some grey skies and rain. A few raindrops fell on the way home from church tonight, but I'm not getting my hopes up. Although it would be great to get some steelheading under the belt before the rivers are clogged up by the falling leaves. Yep, when it comes to the Great Lakes steelheader, there's always something about the weather to complain about...

Dining in Yellowstone

2009-09-20T16:08:00.000-07:00

I spent a week in Yellowstone National Park in early September 2009. It was my first visit to this natural wonder upon wonder. This is the third installment of my reflections on the wonders and lessons of Yellowstone.

First off, we didn't dine much during our stay in Yellowstone. We did our best to limit our food expenses and that meant instant oatmeal and PB&J for breakfast and lunch most days. We found the dining inside the park to be unremarkable. Each of the lodges had similar fare. It's been a long time since the price has scared us away from a restaurant, but the thought of paying high prices for "comfort food" will do that to you. We ate most of our meals at the cafeterias or delis inside the park. The food was OK and lived up to expectations. Anne particularly enjoyed a hummus sandwich from the deli. Keep your expectations low and you'll be all right.

Our finest meal was at the Cinnamon Lodge north of the park between West Yellowstone and Bozeman. The log-lodge is on the banks of the Gallatin River. Its open dining room invited us in and the helpful staff brought us a cold microbrew and all was right with the world. The bison steak was delicious and the fish tacos were outstanding. I've decided bison is much tastier than traditional beef. I'm now in the hunt for more restaurants that serve bison. Although I doubt any will bring with it the scenery and comfort of the Cinnamon Lodge.

While staying in West Yellowstone we dined at the Gusher Pizza and Sandwich Shoppe. The pizza was very good and the beer was cold. What more can you ask for? The meal at the Wolf Pack Brewing Company was fairly forgettable. Sadly, the brewery didn't have any of its own brew for sale. But it had plenty of microbrews to satisfy. Lots of fast food and quasi-fast food in West Yellowstone. I'm sure we missed some fine dining, but I'm glad we got a chance to try out the Cinnamon Lodge.

Where to Stay in West Yellowstone

2009-09-17T18:11:00.000-07:00

I spent a week in Yellowstone National Park in early September 2009. It was my first visit to this natural wonder upon wonder. This is the second installment of my reflections on the wonders and lessons of Yellowstone.

There are many lodging options in and around Yellowstone Park for the novice visitor to wade through. But know this, no matter what you decide you will spend an amazing amount of time in your car. The road system (despite road closures) is really quite good, but there’s just no way to make 2.2 million acres easily accessible from any one location. So whatever your lodging choice, be ready to drive.

The main decision faced by Yellowstone visitors is inside or outside – do you stay at a lodge/cabin/campground inside the park or at a lodge/cabin/campground/motel/hotel outside the park. We stayed in the area long enough to try both options. We spent four nights at a cabin at the Old Faithful Inn. And we spent two nights at the lovely West Yellowstone Bed and Breakfast. (Considering I was heavily medicated for herniated discs during the visit I was particularly glad we didn’t try to camp, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try it in the future.)

The cabin came as advertised – spartan. A bed, desk, toilet, sink and shower provided us with all that we really needed and there wasn’t any room for anything else. Being near Old Faithful gave us a quick taste of Yellowstone as tourist mecca. Watching the throngs line up early for the next water show convinced me that Walt Disney was enviously watching from above. The Park Service tries to keep the focus on the natural environs and not the “entertainment,” but whenever that many tourists are assembled Mother Nature invariably gets hip-checked out of the picture.

I wish the more remote locations, such as the Roosevelt Lodge, were open post Labor Day. I would have preferred staying farther north and east – particularly since the fishing in the Lamar Valley was rumored to be hot. But ultimately we found that the Old Faithful area is a pretty good launching spot for seeing the rest of the park. And based on all of the guidebooks, lodging inside the park doesn’t vary much. Come with low expectations and you’ll be happy.

We didn’t visit the north, northeast or east entrances of the park, so I cannot comment on the “outside the park” lodging opportunities there, but my bet is they are simply down-sized versions of the madhouse that is West Yellowstone. Our guide Nick from Blue Ribbon Flies lamented how that town has changed since he arrived in 1981. Back then there was only one paved street and a just a few rustic motels and cabins. I’m struggling with how to describe it now. American kitsch from hell may be too harsh, but the layer upon layer of souvenir shops atop third-rate lodging options nearly sent me rushing back to high-brow Jackson.

Staying in West Yellowstone has four big advantages. It makes visiting the lovely, nearly tourist-free northwest corner of the park easier (check out a map and see why). It means one doesn’t have to wake up nearly as early to arrive at the fly shop by 8 a.m. to meet your guide for a Madison float trip. It gives you an opportunity to check out some of the beautiful scenery outside the park, including Hebgen Lake and eastern Idaho. And spending time amid trinket shops and laundromats will make you appreciate God’s wonders inside the park even more. And one really should focus on Yellowstone for its natural beauty and just ignore all of the messiness on its edge.

Yellowstone Bed & Breakfast is as far away from messy as it gets. Immaculate, bright and comfortable, the home of Deborah and Scott Clark provided us with a much needed respite during the tail end of our Yellowstone journey. Located less than five miles out of town, the B&B offers everything that a weary traveler seeks: firm beds, hot showers, delicious breakfasts and peaceful silence. (Of course if you want to catch up on ESPN SportsCenter or watch the U.S. Open Finals you can do that, too.) Scott doubles as a guide at Blue Ribbon and makes furniture, too. His handy-work is on full display as he built the rustic home and much of its furniture. Deborah, and daughter Sky, will entertain you with stories of grizzly bears and towering snow drifts, or they’ll politely leave you alone to silently enjoy the warmth of their home. There is a rhythm to the B&B that meshes perfectly with the Yellowstone experience and I look forward to our next visit (and meeting Sky’s new baby brother or sister). We will be back and if you want to spend some time outside of Yellowstone Park, I encourage you to stay at the Yellowstone B&B. Come with high expectations and they’ll be exceeded.

Next: Dining in Yellowstone

Must Be Steelhead Season

2009-09-16T17:12:00.000-07:00

It must be time to chase the Steelie. John Nagy has another great article on Steelhead Alley in the issue of Fly Fisherman Magazine that arrived on the day I returned from the trip to Colorado and Yellowstone. (Mother Nature didn't get the issue and has decided to extend summer...)

Sadly, the magazine's web site hasn't yet received the facelift the magazine received. So if you don't subscribe, head out to Borders and pick up a copy. It's worth the effort.

Getting to Yellowstone -- A Novice's Journey

2009-09-16T16:53:00.000-07:00

I spent a week in Yellowstone National Park in early September 2009. It was my first visit to this natural wonder upon wonder. These are my reflections on the wonders and lessons of Yellowstone.

Lesson 1: Getting There

One can read dozens of books, watch several DVDs and go bleary-eyed looking at Yellowstone web sites (I did all of the above). But nothing can prepare the novice for the wonders inside Yellowstone’s 2.2 million acres. The first lesson we learned was how to get to and from the park. Or, perhaps, how not to get there.

Our trip coincided with a parents’ weekend visit to the U.S. Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs to visit our son, Cadet Third Class Matthew. We figured we could make the drive northwest on Labor Day (at the conclusion of parents’ weekend) and do the return trip to the Denver airport a week later. Thankfully my wife thinks long-distance driving is fun and she was up for the 20 plus hours of round-trip driving. But even she agrees that flying to Salt Lake City, Bozeman or even West Yellowstone is worth the extra Benjamins – no matter how many – to shorten the drive time to the park. It turns out that one spends an awful lot of time in the car in Yellowstone, and driving 10 plus hours to get there just makes one dread the return drive so much that it’s hard to enjoy all the driving through the park.

Monotonous does not begin to describe the drive across Wyoming. Neither antelope nor windmill farms did much to liven up the flat, endless highway. Snow fences are the tallest, most significant structures in many Wyoming counties. (Most counties number them to keep track…) Driving past small oil operations with their accompanying double-wide residences prompted imagined conversations between husband and wife. “Got a good job today, honey.” “Great, where will you be working.” “Outside Wamsutter.” “Wamsutter?” “Yep, it’s not far from Rawlins.” “Rawlins? Where will we live?” “Outside Wamsutter.” “Where?” “On the company grounds.” “Huh. Why?” “Well, there’s no other homes within 40 miles and not too many paved roads either. But it’ll be great. You’ll love the neighbors.”

The drive improved greatly as we headed north and drove along the Hoback River. This is a river I had never heard of and I was immediately mesmerized as it emerged from the Gros Ventre Range and wound through the ranches and mountains before reaching the Snake south of Jackson. I will return just to fish the Hoback.

We stopped in Jackson to play the role of tourist. Pictures were taken at the antler arch in the town square. Art galleries were admired -- before and after suffering from sticker shock. T-shirts were laughed at. The only purchases were a few post cards. We’re cheap.

Whether you drive long distances or fly somewhere closer in your trip to Yellowstone, you should take the time to visit Grand Tetons National Park. There is a reason that the Lonely Planet features a picture of the Tetons on the cover of its guide to the two parks. While we hadn’t yet witnessed the wonders of Yellowstone, we couldn’t imagine that they could top the visual impact of the Tetons towering over Jenny Lake. They didn’t. For sheer visual stunner, the Tetons are off the charts and are worth the hour plus drive south of Yellowstone – even if it’s extended by 30 minutes because of construction…

We arrived Tuesday afternoon at the Park’s southern entrance. We cruised through (with our pass bought in the Tetons) and the park began to teach us even more lessons.

Next: Where to stay in Yellowstone.

Sept. 19 Steelhead Seminar

2009-08-31T17:22:00.000-07:00

Wondering about Lake Erie steelhead? Wondering how to get started? Tired of not catching the silver ghosts? Then the place to be is the Backpackers Shop in Sheffield Village on Sept. 19 at 10 a.m.

Jerry Darkes, who has a fun blog here, will be among those on hand willing to share secrets. There's no better fly shop in Steelhead Alley then the Backpackers Shop. I've dropped a fair amount of change in there over the years and I'm looking forward to spending some more...

If I'm not on the water I'll see you there on the 19th.

Steelies Are In - First Reports of New Year

2009-08-30T18:38:00.000-07:00

Late August can either remind us of the summer swelter so common in the Great Lakes or it can foreshadow the crisp autumn to come. There's been a lot of foreshadowing going on the last few days, including gusty winds and a steady drizzle this morning.

The cooler temps and slight rain prompted the first steelies of the fall to poke their noses into Walnut and Elk creeks over in Erie. The gang over at FishErie.com are reporting some early success. Unquestionably those fish will head back to the lake when summer returns (as it always does). But they'll be back, perhaps about the time we return from Yellowstone.

Over in the nation's first national park summer is all but over, and the grasshopper fishing on the Gallatin is off the charts. Fly Fishing In Yellowstone has become one of my favorite blogs this summer. I will be watching it closely the next few weeks and praying that the fishing holds up and winter holds off. I hear it can come early in the park.

Obama's Guide's Interview

2009-08-18T18:44:00.000-07:00

President Obama's visit to the Yellowstone area included a stop in the Gallatin River to try out fly fishing for the first time. The guide, Dan Vermillion, did a great interview with Outside Online after the thrill of a lifetime. My favorite line was: Obama "fished two-and-half hours in weather that would have sent most of us to the bar."

All of us fly fishing addicts have done the same at one point in our lives, but not many have done it the first time on the water. It shows me Obama is one hooked fly fisherman. Welcome to the fraternity Mr. President.

Time to Start Thinking Steel

2009-08-11T17:24:00.000-07:00

This week has been the hottest of the year. Nonetheless, it is time to start thinking about steelhead. We are less than 30 days from the first reports of steelies sticking their noses into the Erie streams, only to rush back out when the temperatures rise above 80 again (which they will).

This year will be a little different for me. Instead of planning my first steelhead outing of the year, I'm counting down the days to Yellowstone -- read the Chi Wulff blog for the latest news from there. By the time I'm back from Yellowstone, I'm hoping the first serious run of fish will be in Conneaut and Elk creeks and it'll be cool enough to merit a drive east. Last year the first steelhead didn't come until October. It's been a cool summer (except for this week) so I'm betting on an early run.

Target Practice for Yellowstone

2009-08-11T17:05:00.000-07:00

A couple more days of fly casting practice has helped me improve my line control and accuracy. I still have a lot of practice ahead to get ready for the Madison float trip with the gang from Blue Ribbon Flies. But I can begin to see some real progress. Now I have to work on limiting how I use my shoulder. Old habits of swinging the fly rod arm are hard to break, but a sore shoulder after a few minutes of casting serves as a good reminder to use weight shift instead.

I am now able to cast 25 feet of line with ease and can semi-consistently hit a target (leaves in the grass) at 30 plus feet. I will have to measure out the double haul later in the week, but I think I'm casting more than 50 feet. It's time to put out targets at 30, 60 and 80 feet and see how I do. I may have to head to a field nearby, as I think I'm running out of room in the side yard.

15 Minutes Closer to Yellostone

2009-08-08T17:32:00.000-07:00

Fifteen more minutes on the lawn working on the power stop and timing. As Lefty Kreh promises, 15 minutes of practice a day will make you a better caster. I'm slowly improving my ability to shift my body weight to cast rather than relying on my shoulder and elbow.

I'm now able to unroll a 35 to 40 cast fairly consistently. I still get too many tailing loops, but I can at least now figure out what is causing the problem and fix it.

The wind was picking up today and I was able to practice casting into and under the wind. I'm expecting to face much tougher wind conditions in Yellowstone National Park than I've experienced in central Pennsylvania.

Bill Tapply RIP

2009-08-06T18:13:00.000-07:00

All of us who write for a living and love to fly fish dream of following in the footsteps of the Tapplys. Sadly, the son, Bill, passed away last week.

This is from MidCurrent:

Author Bill Tapply died Tuesday evening after a two-year struggle with leukemia. Tapply was a prolific writer, producing more than 40 books and thousands of magazine articles, mostly about fly fishing and the outdoors. He was perhaps best known for his more than two dozen New England-based mystery novels, including the recent Bitch Creek and Gray Ghost.

His stories of fishing with his father, the great outdoor writer Tap, will stay with me forever. They remind me of my own cherished (but very different) fishing experiences with my father. I will miss his clean, simple prose.

15 More Minutes of Practice

2009-08-06T18:04:00.000-07:00

Catching a tree with yarn should be challenging, but I've managed to do it twice during my nightly casting practice sessions. Tonight I caught the tree/shrub lining my neighbors garage on the back cast. The line wrapped around a tiny branch and held tight. At least it is easier to remove than a fly with a hook ...

My 15 minute practice sessions are designed to help prepare me for the much-anticipated Yellowstone trip, which will include a float trip with the gang at Blue Ribbon Flies. I am trying to use Lefty Kreh's techniques.

Lefty talks about shifting your body rather than swinging your arm (and wearing out your shoulder). I'm hoping that by early September I've got that technique down, because my shoulder won't stand up to a week of fly casting.

Yellowstone Countdown is On

2009-08-03T17:33:00.000-07:00

In about a month we'll be making our initial trip to Yellowstone. I took the 5-wt into the side yard tonight for what I hope to be the first of many practice sessions. Let's just say my casting skills are very rusty. I cast for bass with an 8-wt a few times a month, and I spend September through May chasing steelhead. The last time I did any serious dry fly fishing was 2008 during the Trico spinner fall on Spring Creek.

The Yellowstone trip will include a Madison float trip with Blue Ribbon Flies. I've never been on a float trip and really would like to avoid too much embarrassment with my limited casting skills. If today was any indication I have a lot of work to do. While I can cast a good 50 feet with little trouble, I also can turn my leader into a batch of wind knots in no time. So I've got quite a bit of work to do. Time for a refresher course with Lefty.