Winter Grabs

 

Come winter in the Great Lakes, the players are scarce and many of them don’t play fair. “Player” is a term steelhead swami and swing guru Jeff Liskay, aka Great Lakes Dude, uses to describe the minority of steelhead that are eager to chase down a swung fly. And players are the target of those anglers seduced by the allure of using a highly ineffective, yet adrenaline-rush-inducing method to hook the freshwater version of the migratory rainbow trout that swim up the Great Lakes tributaries in the fall and winter.

December means cold north winds and short days. They combine to drop the water temperatures into Walter Payton (#34) territory. Trout, like all fish, are cold blooded and cold water slows their metabolism to something less than a bear’s in hibernation. Shivering fish prefer to hang in slow, soft water where they expend as little energy as possible while waiting for warmer days. For reasons that maybe only a fish biologist can understand, there’s usually at least one fish in the pool that’s willing to hop off the couch and pursue a fly. This is the player.

Every once and awhile the winter player will act like a Red Bull-fueled teenager and crush the fly with enough aggression that they hook themselves and the angler is just a bystander happy to go along for the ride. More often, the player will test the angler with something less than an enthusiastic grab; in other words, they don’t play fair.

While we imagine fish inhaling flies, sometimes it seems that they are more interested in inspecting than eating. It is impossible to say exactly what a fish is doing during its inspection but sometimes it feel as if they’re plucking at the feather or fur hanging off the end of the fly. Often, the pluck occurs at the end of the swing, when the fly is dangling directly below the angler. A fish striking a fly from the rear doesn’t provide much of a hooking angle. Also, an angler may ease up at the end of the swing or even fall into a bit of a trance. A pluck at the end of the swing sends a jolt up the tight line and the angler is prone to respond by raising the rod tip. Unfortunately that just pulls the fly away from the reluctant suitor. After making that mistake recently, I quickly hung my head in shame, bent over in disgust and put my hands on my knees. The fish plucked again. I was double plucked. I over-reacted, again.

The “pluck and duck” occurs when the fish pulls at the fly briefly and then quickly ducks back to the couch. The fish may be enticed off the couch again by a slightly different swing angle or a smaller (or brighter or larger or duller) fly. But more than likely, the fish is on the couch for the duration.

If the “pluck and duck” gets the imagination racing, the “pull and drop” just gets the angler muttering and wondering why bother at all. The pull and drop is like a half-hearted handshake. The fish grabs the fly, makes the classic turn and the angler responds with a proper hook set, but there’s nothing there. No weight. No fish. Nothing. Was the pull real? Maybe the sink tip was simply dragging across the bottom? No, it was definitely a pull. But where did the fish go? Maybe the drag was too tight and the fish felt the tension of the line too soon? Maybe the hookset came too soon? Or maybe the fish just decided the feather and fur isn’t protein? All fishermen overthink the fish’s decision-making. Swing fishermen excel at over thinking.

And sometimes we think wrong. We think that the swing is slower than normal because the

sink tip is dragging along the bottom when what’s happening is a lethargic, yet hungry, fish has grabbed the fly without sending a tell-tale signal up the line. Instead of pulling the line, the fish is just a weight on the end of the line. An angler who thinks the sink tip is dragging might try to mend the line or gently raise the rod to get the tip higher in the water column. This manipulation of the line when a fish has the hook in its mouth usually results in the fish shaking its head. That head shake sends a signal up the line, into the rod and finally to the angler’s hand. When the signal arrives, it often results in the angler jerking the rod back. Sometimes the hook is set, but rarely well. The fish has the advantage over the surprised angler and the fight often ends quickly with a slack line and an angler thinking about how they will respond the next time they feel the “weight,” and wishing for an early spring, when the players are more likely to play fair.

Hot Week on Steelhead Alley

Every spring on Steelhead Alley there is at least one hot week. A week where each riffle and run seems full of steelhead either making their way up from or back to Lake Erie. A week when aggressive males and hungry drop-back females will crash through a riffle to catch up to a swung minnow fly.

This is that week.

This week the steelies carry every color in the rainbow, and a few more, on their bodies. The old fish are black. The
fresh fish chrome silver. Green backs, pink sides, red gills, yellow eyes and white mouths.

This week pods of new fish enter a run every 15 minutes or so. Anglers laugh with joy and give thanks with each new arrival.

This week the fish, powered by warm water temps, leap from the river, sending thousands of tiny water drops into the air. The fish make reel drags sing and 10 foot rods bend into giant capital "Cs."

This week the catching is almost too easy. This week the arm will tire before the sun goes down.

This week makes one almost forget about the frozen feet, iced eyelets and fishless days of December; let alone the iced over rivers of January and February.

This week the wild ramps cover the forest floor. The buds on the trees are beginning to pop. The geese are more aggressive than the steelhead. And the mallards are paired up.

This week likely won't last a full week. But it is hot week. Fish on.

Defending Steelhead Alley

Recently Trout Unlimited named the Lake Erie watershed as one of 10 special places at risk due to "fracking" in the Central Appalachian region. Since no significant fracking is being done in the Lake Erie watershed (yet) reasonable folks can argue with the designation.

But the good news is the announcement prompted Brian Bull, a reporter for ideastream, the Cleveland-based NPR affiliate, to want to learn more about our precious and fragile watershed. A friend connected me to Brian and a few anglers met Brian on the Rocky River this morning to show him a piece of Steelhead Alley. Mike Durkalec, aquatic biologist for the Cleveland Metroparks and author of the weekly fishing report, provided the technical expertise. My friend Terry and I tried to provide a little color commentary.

Brian wasn't equipped to wade -- which is a good thing since he was carrying a digital recorder. But he did walk the bank and demonstrated a high-degree of patience as I took him in search of steel. (I hooked and lost a few; and foul hooked a few more while Brian was with me. Of course, this one came to the bank shortly after he left the river.)

Throughout the morning I tried to put into words how important the fishery is to me and my fellow steelhead fanatics. Fly fishing has long been my best form of mental therapy and the opportunity to catch a steelhead as long as my leg is why I call Northeast Ohio home. More than anything else, it is what has held me here for nearly a quarter century.

While I have decidedly mixed emotions on issues like shale oil and gas drilling, I tried to be clear to Brian that fans of Steelhead Alley need to do more to take care of our land and water. Every property owner along the Lake Erie tribs and regular visitor to our Metro Parks has seen the effects of poorly designed developments and inadequate water drainage systems. When so-called "100-year floods" become annual occurrences, we should all take heed and think more about how and where we build. But issues like storm-water runoff have rarely held our attention. Aldo Leopold's call for a land ethic was prescient but we no more hear his wisdom today than we hear the thumping wings of the passenger pigeon.

Yet, I remain an optimist. I am hopeful that if more of us love our rivers we will do more to protect them. Yes, a consequence will also be that more anglers will crowd our rivers. But the only way that I can think of to protect Steelhead Alley is to have more people love it. I look forward to hearing how Brian captures this story. And I hope the attention will encourage more people to experience and protect the Lake Erie watershed.

Confounding Conneaut

I hooked my first Ohio steelhead on Conneaut Creek two decades ago, and I've caught plenty of fish from this scenic river near the PA border over the years. But that doesn't mean I have a clue as to how to fish it.

I was reminded of that reality as the sun rose behind thick gray cloud cover on Saturday. A steady drizzle fell. As the morning lightened it became clearer that the river wasn't. The Conneaut often carries a tannic tinge -- particularly in the fall -- that hides the creek's rocks, ledges, runs and (of course) its fish.  On this morning the river was making the transition from tanic to muddy and the leaf hatch was heavy. Usually it takes the Conneaut a little longer to muddy up than the other rivers along steelhead alley. Usually. Just not this morning.

But the current still had a good pace to it and I thought the high water might attract a fresh push of steel. I fished my way upstream checking out a few promising holes and skipping those that were occupied. Nothing. I admired the yellow oaks, the red maples and always green pines as I kept moving upstream; succumbing to the belief that something different would be around the bend. Nothing. Nothing but leaves that is. Some casts I'd hook three, one on each hook and one attached to the split shot. I watched a few other anglers catch nothing as well.

I returned to my car and decided to give the spey rod a try. The good news was that I didn't hook a leaf on every cast. After some trial and error (mostly error), I was able to get some decent swings as I fished down a long, relatively straight stretch of river. My casts were passable. A steelhead rolled about 30 yards downstream. I worked my way down. And then kept going as no fish decided to interrupt the swing. I watched a spin fisherman sling a spinner across the river. He caught leaves too.

The rain kept coming. So did the leaves. The fish didn't.

I'd like to say that the Conneaut confounds me because I don't fish it very often. And there's some truth to that. But mostly, the Conneaut is just one of those rivers that holds its mysteries better than most. That is why I like it so much.

Single-Handed Swing

Spring has finally arrived in Steelhead Alley and that means it's time to swing minnow flies for aggressive males and drop back females. The fish have moved out of the deep holes and into the riffles and gravel runs. While some of the local rivers remained high late last week, the Rocky River was dropping fast. On Friday morning before work, I opted to swing with the single-handed 10 foot rod Thomas & Thomas using a simple marabou minnow fly that has become my "go to" fly when the water is clear.

While there weren't as many fish as I expected, a few could be seen in the shallows, and a few more were making wakes as they moved up into the flats. The sun wasn't yet over the east ridge when the first steelhead hit the fly on the swing and went tearing downstream. I chased after and managed to land it in slow water up against the bank. The two-foot plus long fish held in the slow current in front of my feet for about 30 seconds after being released. I stood over her, admiring the natural tatoos on her back. Eventually she moved into the main current and swam off.

A bit later a smaller, but similarly spirited fish picked up the fly as it swung through the deepest part of the run. I managed to get downstream of the fish, kneeled in the shallow riffle and eased him to my hand. His pink cheeks glowed in the morning light. I removed the hook from the corner of his mought and he splashed me with his broad tail as he hurried off to resume his business.

Some mornings are better than others. This was a good one.

Tube Triumph

Tube flies have been around for a long time, but over the last five years or so they've become much more popular on Steelhead Alley and this past fall I finally succumbed to buying a kit and started tying my own. I decided to try out the tubes even though two store-bought versions failed to produce a single strike. I was won over after a day of instruction and fly tying by Jeff Liskay. We tied up a sample fly at the end of the day and it was much simpler than I anticipated. Of course, that fly also has failed to produce a strike. Rick Kustich's new book,  also provided ample of reason to give tube flies a try.

I've tied up several this fall and winter and have tried them sparingly. All anglers prefer to use flies they have confidence in. Sometimes that confidence is based on experience and sometimes it's based on intuition. Before today I lacked confidence in the tube fly.

The water was running a brownish green on the Rocky River about noon as I walked up to the river. Conditions looked perfect for a dark marabou streamer behind some T-11 sinking line. I resisted the temptation to tie on an articulated intruder fly and instead tied on a black and purple marabou fly with a cone head in front. One of the appealing characteristics of tub flies is that you can add cone heads simply by slipping the cone on the line before tying on the fly. The cone rides down the leader and rests on the front of the tube. It's an easy way to add (and remove) weight.

I assumed I would need the extra weight to get the fly down in the heavy current. I had the pool to myself except for two geese hanging out at the head. A large hawk that squawked from the sycamore tree took off in search of rodents. Water tumbled down the 60 foot cliff, providing a constant soundtrack as I double-spey cast my way through the run. I was beginning to wonder about my fly choice when a hard strike caused by spey rod to jerk and the reel to scream. The strong female steelhead skated across the surface as I tried to tighten the drag. She then ran fast straight up stream, forcing me to reel up line as fast as possible. After a hardy fight she came to shore with the tube fly stuck in the side of her mouth.

A few drifts later a second steelhead struck the tube. And after moving downstream, two more fish hit a pink and white tube fly. Yep, tubes work. It will be a little harder to pick which fly to use next time I'm on the river. That's a good problem to have.

Why I Love February

Long shadows cast across unmolested snow.

My tracks and no others.

Frozen leaves, waterfalls and winter green
water.

Silver on the swing.

Why I Hate February

T.S. Eliot called April the cruelest month but he never lived in Steelhead Alley. I hate February because it rarely gives us a day like today -- blue skies, 40 degrees -- and when it does the sun neither rises early enough nor sets late enough for those of us with office jobs to get out on the water.

When I looked at my schedule this morning it said "maybe." As in, maybe it would be worth putting the gear in the back of the fish car and maybe I'd be able to exit the office early enough to get onto the Rocky River before dusk. But the 2 p.m. meeting got pushed back to 3. And then the phone rang. And then it was just too late.

Perhaps we'll get lucky and the rain, thaw and snow won't completely mess things up this weekend. But I'm prepared to hate February, again.

Steelhead & Baseball

I've never kept track of my land-to-hookup. While I try to keep close track of water flows, flies used, temperature etc., tracking my "batting average" has never seemed all that important. More than likely it's because I'd be closer to the Mendoza Line than I'd care to admit.

But over the last few weeks of 2012 I found myself reflecting more on my batting average and it struck me how much similarity there is between hitting in baseball and landing a steelhead. One morning I hooked up four times before landing a fresh female. Much like a solid base hit toward the end of the game can turn an 0-for into a multi-RBI game, one solid steelhead can salvage what otherwise was a frustrating, frozen morning.

Follow up that fish with a four-for-four day while swinging a pink and white marabou intruder fly and you'll start thinking you've got this game all figured out. In baseball terms, you're seeing the ball well as it comes out of the pitcher's hand and you can tell from the way the seams are spinning whether it's curve, slider or fastball. You've got yourself convinced that you've finally cracked the code and there's no turning back.

Of course, the next day you're back in the batter's box and you can't buy a hit. You're so frustrated that what worked yesterday isn't working today that you're too distracted to respond when a steelie finally hits your fly on the swing. And even if you do hook up, you've lost your focus and lose the fish. You drudge home with another 0-for on the resume.

As the great hitter/fly fisherman Ted Williams said: Hitting is 50% above the shoulders. Or perhaps Yogi Berra was right when he said: You can't hit and think at the same time.

Video: December Steel

December Steel from Mike McNeese on Vimeo.

I've never taken the time to do steelhead video -- I struggle as it is just to take a picture or two. I know nothing I could do would compare with this cool video by Mike McNeese, a cinematographer from Central Ohio. The fun fly fishing site Chi Wulff gave it some much deserved love this week and I decided to do the same.

I've frequently fished the spots Mike captures on video and I'm pretty certain I was landing some fresh steel on swung flies just to his south as this video was being taken.

New Season, New River

Every summer Mother Nature remodels the rivers that feed into Lake Erie providing new places for steelhead to hang out during their runs upstream. Sometimes the changes are subtle. For example, a pocket at the end of pool on the Rocky River under a tree shifted downstream about five feet.  Once I figured out that change, two fresh fish quickly came to the bank. I expect the fish liked it when the pocket was farther upstream and the tree provided more protection from anglers.

Sometimes the changes are dramatic. Heavy floods washed a lot of gravel out of prime holding spots on Elk Creek leaving nothing but flat shale bottom behind. Long stretches of flat shale are like fish deserts. There is no gravel or boulders to create pockets or breaks for the fish to get out of the current. Stretches that once held dozens of fish are now barren. Perhaps somewhere downstream there are new holding spots filled with gravel from upstream. If those spots exist I haven't found them yet.

Searching for a Swing Partner

Swinging flies at dawn is always more fun with a partner. The partner must be willing to give a tug. This morning the best I could generate was a bump and more than likely that bump was generated by a rock. Rocks can't tug and they certainly don't dance.

The river level on the Rocky was about perfect as the sun rose behind me. Suspended silt in the water gave it a light brown hue and an occasional maple and oak leaf drifting by added some splash of color. A great blue heron let out a blood-curdling shriek before trying to land on the cliff in front of me. Mallards drifted by before flying by. About three quarters of the way down the long pool a fish splashed. It was a big enough splash to be a steelhead, but it could have been a bass or even a sucker.

This was my first outing for steelhead in the fall of 2012. I never expect to catch anything my first time out. And I increased the odds against me by using the spey rod. I changed flies and sink tips until I could get a swing that didn't catch on the shale bottom. With no dance partner available I focused on improving my double spey cast. The practice will come in handy because soon there will be more potential partners in the rivers of Steelhead Alley.

Newbie Lessons

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.