Steelhead Alley In The Winter

The Alley got its first significant snowfall of the year. There's something about the first snow of the season. It ushers in the winter steelheading season. This the time of the year when only the most hardy anglers venture out. The Alley can get tremendous amounts of snow, especially along the eastern shore of Lake Erie. Lake effect snow as we call it, is produced  when a cold air mass moves across long expanses of warmer water, warming the lower layer of air which picks up moisture from the lake, rises up through the colder air above, freezes and is deposited on the downwind shores. That's why the eastern side of the lake gets more snow, because of the lake's position. I live in the western suburbs of Cleveland and we rarely get lake effect snow. Where I live we can get 3 inches of snow and out by Ashtabula they can get 3 feet of it. 

Today, I'm on Conneaut Creek and they got dumped on. As I drove east, I hit several bands of snow coming off the lake. A few flakes would flutter about and gradually it got more intense and finally I would hit a squall. I had to pretty well go to a crawl and hoped motorists behind would slow down. Generally, squalls are short lived and I was back to good visibility. I reach the exit on the interstate and head for one section of the creek. The roads are snow covered and my Jeep handles it well. I drive down a country road and turn off onto snow covered dirt road. The hill going down to the creek is fairly steep. My Jeep Cherokee has BF Goodrich mud terrain tires and they grip the road hard as I make my way down. I reach the end of the road and I'm the only person there. 

I step out the Jeep and I'm standing in about a foot of fresh snow. The temperature is about 28F and the winds are light. I dress and I'm snug as a bug. I use a balaclava to keep my neck warm and a toque cover my head and ears. In both pockets are hand warmers and I carry a small micro fiber towel to dry my hands. The walk to the first pool isn't far, just across the campground. I trudge through the snow and in past years I've walked in deeper snow. I see the creek and the surrounding landscape is a winter wonderland as the trees and bushes are covered in it. Hard to believe that just 3 months ago, the leaves on the trees hadn't turned color and I was complaining about the heat. The creek is emerald green in color and I start at the head of the pool and work off the main current. 

Flakes of snow swirl about and very soon a band of snow will be going through. I look to the north and the sky is dark. The snowfall becomes more intense as I strain to see the float. Flakes pelt my face and my hands are getting wet. I pull my hood over to keep my toque dry. I keep my head down so my face isn't getting the full effect of the snow. It becomes so bad, that I reel in the line and wait it out. I get out of the water and sit on log. Eventually, the snow stops and I enter the water and start fishing.

The pool I'm fishing is small. but always holds fish. It doesn't take long for the first fish of the morning as I land a small female. She looks like a recent arrival as she's bright silver. The next fish is a large male and he's more dark. He has a mixture of charcoal, silver and red. The pool gives up a couple more fish and I start to head downstream to another one. As I walk down I brush along the willows and snow falls off the branches. The flakes appear again and another band of heavy snow hits. I hear the flakes land on my hood and look across the creek. The falling snow dances and once it hits the water instantly disappears. With this much snow, I can't see anybody making the long drive out. Most of them wouldn't dare attempt going the hill where I'm at. If we get anymore snow, I'm concerned I might get stuck.

The snow relents and I scan the pool. I watch the current hug along the opposite bank and follows the bank and it curves and eventually tailouts at the next riffle. This pool is deep and long and I slow down my presentation. The float drifts along and slowly goes under the classic winter take. Due to the cold water the fight isn't very long in duration. I see a large female come to the surface and she doesn't offer any resistance. I gently pull her along the edge of the rocks and I use the hemostats to pop the hook out. I use my boot to push her back and she slowly swims off back to her resting place.

With the colder temperatures coming next week, it won't take long for the streams to ice over. The sides will freeze over first and the water temperature will eventually reach freezing. When that happens, slush appears and it makes fishing virtually impossible. I've seen streams clogged in slush and that's why I don't get up early. Every season, when I get my morning coffee, I'll drive down to the Rocky and see guys fishing in vain in the morning hoping to get a drift off. If the sun is out, I'll wait until afternoon and by then, most of it is burned off and the added bonus is those guys that fished in the morning are long gone as they succumbed to the cold.

I hit a few more spots along the river and the fishing for the most part has been slow. But that is expected in the winter as it can be very challenging. The foot and half of snow when I arrived is over 2 feet deep. I lug my wet waders and boots into the tote box and close the hatch. I start the Jeep up and back up towards the gate. The Jeep is in four wheel drive and start to accelerate when I hit the hill. The Jeep's tires digs in and the engine roars. It goes through the snow like a tank and with little effort makes it to the top. Before getting on the interstate, I stop at McDonalds for a scalding cup of coffee. It hits the spot and I get on the interstate. The highway is free of snow and ice as crews have been out all day clearing snow. The weather report isn't calling for any snow for the rest of the day. I set the cruise at 70mph and enjoy the ride home. 

What's For Dessert?

The Brits love giving hilarious names to their foods. My mother is British and I remember as a teen visiting my grandparents in England. One time we were at the grocery store and there was a package of faggots ( pork meatballs ) and I started snickering. Luckily, my grandparents never forced us to eat them, as I thought British cuisine with the exception of fish and chips was absolutely horrible. But it would of been great to hear my grandfather say at the supper table "I've got nothing against faggots, I just don't fancy them."  

Tonight, I was at World Market browsing the food section and came across cans of spotted dick. Spotted dick of course is a British sponge pudding. If I had a Christmas party next week at work, I would of bought it and baked the boys a lovely cake.

Photo Credit - yourfoodchoices.com

600 Miles For Steelhead

Anglers will go to extremes when comes to chasing their favorite quarry. I know some guys I fish with making long journeys to chase steelhead. Some will go to Indiana for skamanias in the summer. Others will go in the fall to Salmon River in New York or the Manistee in Michigan. And others go north into Canada on the Nipigon or St. Marys for early summer steelhead. That's the allure of our passion, going to a place that we never fished before or dreamt about it or we simply need our fix.

Rain has pretty blown everything out here in Ohio as I see the huge spike on the flow gauge for all of the rivers. Tomorrow I start my vacation week and I'm not going to sit on the sidelines. I'll be heading over to Pennsylvania tomorrow morning to fish Elk Creek. Pennsylvania didn't get as much rain as we did, but enough to blow out the creek out. Pennsylvania's steelhead streams are much smaller than Ohio's and can come down to fishable levels in a matter of a day. The creek on the gauge had peaked and started to drop. I was pretty confident that tomorrow I would have decent conditions.

Monday morning I'm at the gas station filling up my Jeep. I love my 1991 Cherokee Laredo. Even though she's old, she's in great shape. Over the years, I put on a lift kit and got off-road tires. But she has a thirst for fuel. The pump clicks and I look at the amount $50.00 and I'll probably go through more than half a tank there and back to Elk Creek as it's a little over 200 miles round trip. I'm on the road before most of the minions are heading to work into Cleveland. I arrive at the upper section of the creek and there's nobody at the campsite. Over the years, I've had a love/hate relationship with Pennsylvania. I hate the crowds and I don't find the streams all that challenging. But the number of fish landed can inflate one's ego.

The creek is running dirty and it doesn't take long for me to start racking up the number of fish caught. It's a quiet morning except for the odd crack of a rifle as its deer hunting season. With my orange toque on, I'm pretty sure that I stick out like a sore thumb against the grey landscape. I continue my way downstream hitting fish and I'm concerned that I burning through a lot of sacs. The high water brought in a lot of fish. I take full advantage of the conditions because the window for prime fishing conditions can be brief. By tomorrow, this section will most likely be clear. I'm down to my last container of sacs and I've reached the cliffs. This section at times will hold the mother load of fish. The creek runs along the cliffs swiftly and right off the current is the shale ledges and fish pack themselves like sardines. A novice could slaughter them in the current conditions right now. By the time, I'm out of bait, I've lost count of how many fish I caught, probably well over 50 and for some of the diehards I know, they would consider that an "average" day. I start to walk back and I feel the drops of rain hitting my jacket. I look at the weather on my phone and more rain is coming. I suspect that tomorrow the Elk could blow out. On the way home, the rain comes down harder. I get home and I see the Elk is on the rise, heading for a blowout.

Tuesday morning I wake up and see the Elk has blown out. Today will be spent at home chilling and tying sacs. This time, I took an extra pack of eggs out. I toll at the table as I tie one sac after another. It's a tedious process that at times I start to hate, because of the monotony. Wednesday morning I'm back on the road and I stop in Ashtabula to fill up. The pump clicks and its $55.00, nobody said chasing steelhead was cheap. I continue on I head back to the same place, but instead, I head upstream from the campsite. The creek is a little higher than it was Monday but still fishable in my book. I walk along the empty campers parked near the edge of the creek. I see the bridge and there's nobody fishing there. The water swirls about around the supports and the pool runs along the cliffs. I toss the float out and move it to the seam. It chugs along and quickly goes under. The first fish of the morning is a dark male and I have a feeling it will be another "average" day. The pool gives up a lot of scrappy fish for the taking. Within an hour, I'm over double digits. Pennsylvania stocks the lion share of steelhead into Lake Erie. They annually stock over 1.1 million smolts into their streams that run into Lake Erie. Compared that to Ohio that only gets to stock 400,000 smolts annually. Then you wonder why so many anglers go to Pennsylvania. Personally, I think it's excessive, but I'm not complaining this morning. I move farther upstream to another section after getting my fill. It's refreshing not having to rub shoulders with others. I cross over and start at the tail end of the pool. The creek runs along a series of small cliffs. The hemlocks hang over and are still wet from the rain. I watch the bubbles and toss the float out into the middle. The float moves along and goes under quickly. I watch a bright silver fish leap from the water. It thrashes about and with the heavier tippet I land the fish quickly. So far on this trip, I haven't seen one person. That in itself is amazing as there's always someone coming up the creek. I can relax and fish the entire section without having to worry. The pool gives up quite a few fish as I shuffle upstream. There's another large pool farther up that I want to go to.

It's already late morning and the bite has slowed down. I stand in the middle of the creek working the ledges along the cliffs. I've already noticed that the water visibility is getting better. By tomorrow, it will be either green or clear. Fishing clear conditions on the Elk is difficult. The fish really have nowhere to hide. Some will squeeze tight against the shale ledges hoping they blend in. For the brighter fish, it might help. As for darker fish, they're a sitting duck. Most anglers will resort to a single egg. The problem with that is the hook is so small that a light tippet will only work. These aren't the 12" trout that the state stocks in the spring. Most steelhead will shred a light tippet with little effort. Whenever Pennsylvania's streams run clear, I'll be in Ohio. The bite starts to pick up again and I'm down to one container. I've pretty well cleaned out the pool and I start fishing pocket water and small runs.

By mid-afternoon, I'm out of sacs and I start the long walk back. As I'm walking back, I'm trying to figure out where to go tomorrow. There's no rain in the forecast, the streams here will be most likely clear. The only option I have in Ohio is the Ashtabula. It's the smallest of the Ohio streams and usually runs a day or two behind the Elk after a blowout. I hit the highway and I look over at as I'm crossing Conneaut Creek, it's still running high and dirty. When I see the exit to Ashtabula, I pull off and head to Indian Trail. It's not a long walk to the river as I walk down the hill and along the trail. I see the river and it's a little dirty. By tomorrow it will be better and I make the decision to head there in the morning. Before I get on the highway, I see that I need to fill up. I stand by the pump and I know what the dollar amount will be $47.50, I'll probably go through a quarter tank by the time I hit Cleveland.

Wednesday night I have another date with the kitchen table as I slave over a pile of eggs. I grind it out as the days of getting up early, driving, walking and tying sacs is taking a toll on me. I finally finish and hit the sack. The alarm blares as I stumble out of bed. This will probably be the last trip for my vacation, but I've said that before as the guys will twist my arm to go out. I'm surprised I haven't received calls from them about the fishing. The drive to Ashtabula is about 70 miles. I get to the river at first light and there's nobody there. The Bula as we call it is small compared to the other streams in Ohio. The river isn't stocked, but there's talk of eventually stocking. Back in heydays, Ashtabula was a thriving industrial community. It was common back in the 50s, 60s, and 70s to dump wastewater in the river. The result was decades of sludge that accumulated on the bottom. It became so bad that the EPA declared it an "area of concern" That's why the river was never a candidate to be stocked by the ODNR. There is news that in 2013, the lower section of the river will be dredged to remove contaminants.

I'm far upstream from the city. This section of the river is primarily shale and I know this section very well. I look for shadows in the water as that's where the ledges are. If it was clear all you see is a flat rock bottom with a few deep cuts. The number of fish here is significantly lower than Pennsylvania. I have no idea how many steelhead come upriver. I pick away at some fish, but it's a couple here and there. I have to really work the water, unlike the Elk where I can toss a float out and predict with great accuracy that a fish will hit. I plug away as I head downstream seeking out long pools and runs. It turns into a grind as there are a couple spots that don't give up fish. Ohio can humble the best of steelheaders. My back is aching as I stand in a run as all week I've been walking miles of water. My phone rings I see it's one of the guys. I answer and tell them it's a grind on the Bula. He asks if I'm going to Conneaut and I tell him doubtfully as it's getting late in the day and I'm tired. We do make plans to go out this weekend as I'm taking Friday off to rest.

I end the day and it's been a decent one. Friday will be spent sleeping in and relaxing. I fight through rush hour traffic and I see the yellow light come on telling me I'm low on fuel. I've driven a little over 600 miles this week and spent close to $200.00 in fuel. For a lot of the hardcore steelheaders, 600 miles is a drop in the bucket. I've probably driven thousands of miles during the season going to the far reaches of the Alley. I've probably dropped a couple thousand dollars in fuel in that time also. But, that's the price of pursuing my passion as money is no object. But this upcoming weekend, you can bet I'm leaving the driving to others. 

Cattaraugus Creek

Every angler has a dream destination to catch their favorite fish. For me it's British Columbia's Skeena River and it's magnificent wild steelhead. I've often dreamed of fishing either the Kispiox, Babine or Buckley rivers, standing in the cold pristine waters looking up at the mountains cloaked in mist. Both my parents and sister live in that province, unfortunately it's a 700 mile drive from Vernon to the Skeena. So I had to settle for something a little closer to home and that was the Cattargarus or known by local steelheaders as the "Catt". Many years ago, I was suppose to go there, but high water made fishing all but impossible. For years, it sat on the back burner and I could never get anybody to go for a variety of reasons - work, rather fish the Rock or being denied by the wife.

This past weekend I finally made it there and it's another notch on the rod. The Catt is considered the jewel of Steelhead Alley as it's the largest steelhead tributary that runs into Lake Erie on the American side. Steelhead can run as far as Springville Dam, which is 34 miles from the lake. The lower end of the river is flat and wide and loaded with gravel. There are many deep pools and holes that will hold fish. This is the most popular section of the river and is considered a pinner's dream. But, nearly all of it runs through the Seneca Indian reservation and you need to purchase a special licence. The middle section runs through the Zoar Valley one of the deepest gorges in New York. It's a wild, scenic place full of wildlife, numerous waterfalls and old growth forests. If you want seclusion and are anti-social, then the Zoar's your place.

Several buddies went up several weeks ago as all of Ohio's streams were running low and clear. I received the call that the four of them nearly landed 30 fish. I course, I love to bust their chops and called bullshit. Kidding aside, I knew it was possible as the Catt was nearly unfishable this fall due to rain. Finally a break in the rain and it was enough time for the river to finally come down. Timing is the key, because when it blows out, it can take weeks for it come down. That's because it drains a huge area, a lot more than the Grand River. I've heard that some springs the river goes unfished because of the snow melt and rain. 

Earlier in the week, I talked with a friend about going. I was game and nothing was going to stop me from getting there. The river was at a perfect flow and I wanted to get away from Ohio as the fishing here has been pathetic. Hoping to get to bed early turned out to be another late night as I had a lot of things to do - tie sacs, watch the football game, and trying to purchase a licence online. I didn't hit the sack until almost midnight. With a little over three hours of sleep, I knew I was going to have my hands full with the drive out to New York and back. We left at 4:00A.M and it would be about a 3 hour drive. We finally got off the turnpike and the tripometer was over 170 miles if we drove another 40 miles we would be at the border. Not wanting to spend over $40.00 for a licence, we opted to fish outside of the reservation. The first place we stop was in the town of Gowanda. We parked practically next to the river and fished one spot the guys did well a couple weeks ago. The river had a chalky color and the visibility wasn't that great. Farther up there was a mix of bait and fly fishermen working one pool. I was pumped to hook into my first New York steelhead. The fishing was very slow as only one fish was caught. We fished several spots downstream and nothing was happening. This theme would be replayed over the day.........ugh

Due to limited time and not wanting to make the 3 hour drive back in the dark, we made the decision to fish the Zoar Valley. The Zoar wasn't very far from town, about 10 minutes south. We turned onto the road and the first thing I noticed a large sign greeting people by stating that nobody and I mean nobody will get any permission to hunt my property. To make his point clearer, nearly every tree along the road had a posted sign. We continued down the road and there were more signs and I wondered how much money this person spent on signs, probably thousands of dollars. I figure he would be the type of person to greet you with a shotgun pointed in your direction when knocking on the door. We dressed and started the descent down into the Zoar. When we finally made it down, I was awestruck at the height of the cliffs. These cliffs were 4 times the height of the ones on the upper Grand. The river itself was a mixture of blue and green colors. It mainly ran over shale as I could make out the ledges and cuts. It reminded me of a giant Ashtabula river with a lot of flow. Because there are limited gravel areas in the gorge streambed, fish push through it rather quickly. As a general rule, steelhead prefer to hold and rest over gravel, but there is fishable pocketwater and many shale ledges in the valley where fish pause temporarily on their upstream journey. The river was low enough that we figured some fish stopped to rest and waited for the next high water. 

  

Right off the trail, there was a pool that held a lot of promise. It was fairly long with large rocks. Along the river, it was littered with rocks and at times it made walking difficult. As I walked I knew both boots were spitting cleats. Upstream I could see the typical V shape of the cliff that announced where the main and south branch of river meet. Even though on the flow gauge the Catt was slightly under 300, it had a pretty good flow. For the insane whitewater kayaker, this section would be a blast at higher flows. As for a drift boat, I would be hesitant to use it through here, because the shale bottom and ledges and many large rocks were barely underwater. One wrong move and the boat would suffer a lot of damage. As for a pontoon boat, I wouldn't even dare use it. I could see the breaks and seams were fish could be holding. We started working the pool and nothing was happening. I moved downstream working the tailouts and still nothing. I surprised with the sheer number of rocks in the water, that I didn't snag bottom. The only action was when Dave hooked into a large fish only to have his  leader break due to a large rock. Dave mentioned that yesterday, a local angler told him the fishing was better downstream. We heeded the advice and started to walk down to the cliffs. 

We made it down and I looked up, the cliffs were incredibly high and steep. Several trees were precariously hanging on the edge. The cliffs themselves were chiseled and scarred by thousands of years of rain and runoff. The entire section along the cliffs were a pinner's delight - a long slow moving pool that eventually tailed out about 200 yards down. But before we fished the cliffs, we worked a pool below a large set of rapids. I finally hit my first fish of the day as I watched the float popped twice and go under. I set the hook and felt the rod throb hard. The fish hit at the tail end and then I noticed the leader was wrapped around it. The fish started to drift into the rapids that spilled into another large pool. As the fish tried to fight, I had to hold the rod high to prevent the leader from fraying on the rocks. By then the fish had unwrapped itself and was trying head back into deeper water. I guided the fish between two large rocks and managed to beach it. It was nice large hen and her bottom caudal was worn - a sign of a repeat spawner.

After that there wasn't a lot of action. Maybe there wasn't that many fish here. As we walked down, we could see two anglers fishing the lower end of the pool. Both were using spey rods. If there was a place to swing flies then they were in the right place. The river here wasn't that deep, maybe three feet deep, but it had a lot of places for fish to hold. We shuffled down stream, pulling off some Olympic distance drifts. But we had no takers and I was puzzled at the lack of action. The two people fishing told us they only caught one fish. It was a little after 12:00P.M and we had about a couple more hours before heading back. We tried another spot had promise - a long deep pool below the island. It was fairly deep over 6 feet deep, but nothing was biting. Due to high winds, there was a lot of leaves in the water and it made drifting at times difficult as the float would get lost in all of the litter. We had one more spot below the two branches of the river. We passed 3 other anglers and they had no luck either. We made it to the spot below the branches and it was a large shale ledge. The water here had a nice green tint and the low water above probably prevented any fish from making it over the series of stair cases. As with every other spot we didn't get a hit. I walked up to the south branch and it was barely flowing over the shale bedrock. It was almost 1:30 and we decided to call it a day.

The drive was brutal as I fought to stay awake. Only after filling up in Erie did the cold wind knock some sense into me and the steaming mug of coffee saved me from dozing off. Even though we didn't have the number of fish we hoped, I was very impressed with the Catt. It's a beautiful river and very challenging for either the pinner or fly fishermen. It's a long haul from Cleveland and if I was going to fish it again. I would purchase a reservation licence and spend a night at a hotel. If you have the time and money, I would add this place to your list.

Has The Internet Ruined Fishing?

Has the internet ruined the fishery? It's a subject that has riled up a lot of anglers here on Steelhead Alley and around the country. Personally, I think a lot of people are over reacting. Why? Any resourceful angler will find the necessary information, whether the internet existed or not. If it were to shut down tomorrow, I'll bet that most of the streams along the Alley would be full of anglers. If you asked them where they got their information from it would be from a bait shop, a buddy or hire a guide. 

However, there's a growing movement of people that absolutely hate what the internet has done to the favorite fishery. Here is a sampling of what I generally see whenever a thread gets blown up

"I'm sick and tired of these losers asking to be spoon fed, get off your lazy asses and do your own leg work"

"I can't find solitude anymore"

"More and more property will get posted"

"I hate people that give out specific locations"

"Our fishery will be ruined by out of towners"

The internet has made fishing a lot easier for today's angler. All the information is available with the click of the mouse - state fishery departments, USGS flow data, Youtube, Facebook, blogs, e-magazines, and even Uncle John's webcams at his camp on the lower Elk. The majority of anglers still use fishing websites to find out what the pulse of the Alley is like. I never post a report on the two most popular sites for Lake Erie steelheaders - steelheadsite.com and ohiogamefishing.com, because I've been banned from both. I'll admit for shits and giggles, I loved to stir the pot and rattle the moderator's cages. Both have declined in membership over the years because of the constant bickering and accusations. That biggest complaints are spoon feeding and naming locations on the rivers. The haters will attempt chase off any newbie or out of towner that dares to ask any questions.

If there's one thing the internet has created, it's the lazy inept steelheader. Instead of going out and learning from trail and error, they'll post question like "Are there any fish in the rivers?  or "Where are the best locations?" They'll start breaking out in a cold sweat Friday night and go into full panic mode when they get up Saturday morning and there are no reports. They come up with all of the excuses. They can't risk wasting gas because they live a couple hours away and there isn't enough time to figure out where the fish are. I call bullshit, because I live about 50 to 100 miles away from some of my favorite streams. I spend a lot of money on fuel and every angler knows that even the best conditions doesn't gaurantee you'll be hooking into fish. 

I tell newbies, the most reliable information is from the USGS website. They have stations on the Rocky, Vermilion, Chagrin, Grand, Conneaut, Walnut, and Elk. I have the flow data down pat as I know what is fishable on any given day. I also have several friends on speed dial and we're constantly chattering what river is producing and what river to avoid. More than often, I've bailed several friends out of a lousy outing and put them on fish. 

The internet isn't going away and I just see it as another tool to use. I've used it to gather information recently for a trip to the Catt in New York. I researched for any reports and I downloaded several maps of the Zoar Valley. Steelhead Alley has more steelhead per mile than any other streams in the lower 48 states, so word is bound to get out. Big numbers of fish equals big numbers of people. So don't panic when the latest person posts his latest outing and notice that 100 people viewed it because more than likely it's a bogus report to deflect pressure off his river. Because I know a lot of people who have done it. 

Fishing Solo

When I moved here 12 years ago from Alberta, I didn't know a soul here. Since I was an introvert, that made it even harder to connect with other people. My first few years on the Alley was mostly spent fishing alone. I didn't mind, because I wanted spend as much time as possible on the water. It was a unique fishery as I never fished this type of water. My first impression of the rivers was how on earth does this support any life? Most of the rivers here flowed over shale bedrock and the water was clear. It looked so sterile and it would be the last place for a steelhead to be. But these rivers did support a large number of them and I was eager to start learning.  

I decided to venture far from home. The river I would be fishing today, would be the Ashtabula. The Ashtabula is a river that isn't stocked by the state of Ohio. But the river does get quite of fish. It's the smallest of the Ohio's rivers in length and size. After a rain event or snow melt, it's the first river to be fishable.

It was a fairly chilly morning out as the temperature was hovering a few degrees above freezing. I wasn't in a hurry today as I arrived at first light. Walking down to the ravine I could see the signs of the first frost of the season. It was eerily quiet as the only sounds were my boots rustling the leaves on the ground. I could see the my breath as I looked to the horizon waiting for the first rays of sunlight. Looking down the water had that dark tea color and there's a smile on my face. Because that meant, I had a good chance of getting fish. 

As with every fall the trees litter the streams with leaves and in some spots the piles in the water can be measured in feet. As the leaves start to decompose, they release tannins and the water starts to get that dark tea color. Some steelheaders believe that tannic conditions can affect fish as it effects the PH level in the water. I started believing that as I fished several spots that hold a lot of fish when the water is lower. I plugged away working the deeper cuts and ledges. A few hours into the morning, I managed one small hen. The day before I got a report that the fishing was outstanding but that window of prime conditions closed Sunday morning. As the morning progress, I could see bottom in a lot of spots and that same spot we fished the week before and caught over 10 fish when the river was higher was visible right down to the bottom. I checked the time and it was almost ten and I knew I needed to make a move.

I drove over to the next river and it was in much better condition color wise but the flow was still strong. Usually when flows are strong, steelhead generally don't tend to hole up. Even though there was a lot of leaves in the water, it had more of a clay based stain, but the visibility was good. The first spot didn't produce and usually when nobody is there at eleven - the fishing sucked. I knew it was going to be one of those days of banging spots all the way up river. That was the case as I worked seams and tailouts and it was one or two fish here and there. I guess I was one of the lucky ones because a lot of people I talked to got shut out. As I drove back back home I stopped at Harpersfield dam to see what the Grand looked like. As expected it was high and unfishable, but I wondered how many fish made it up as last year it was dismal. Last season was the first time I didn't fish that section of the river because of very low numbers of fish. With no rain for the rest of the week, it looks like I might make a visit there this weekend.

Run for the Border

Last season nearly every steelheader did some type of rain dance, prayed at church, or secretly performed some type of sacrifice behind the woodshed. Unfortunately the fish gods would have none of it. Once in a while we got a sprinkle and we were thankful for that. This season, the opposite has happened -  rainfall by the buckets. So far to date, we've nearly broken the record for most precipitation in one year here in Northeastern Ohio. Since September, we've received rain nearly every week. The majority of steelheaders are not complaining and many will say bring more rain.

With heavy rainfall also meant a lot of days lost to rivers blowing out. That's where a PA license comes in handy. So far, my license has been paying dividends especially during the first time out. When Friday rolled around I could see another large green blob invading Ohio on the weather channel and the weather honks were calling for 80% chance of rain. The honks got it right as it started raining late Friday, as I watched the flow gauges creep up and finally spike into the "your fishing for the weekend is toast" category. I clicked on the Elk's flow and it was in the "go fish" zone.

Saturday morning I woke to see that almost all of the Ohio tribs out east had blown out. The only rivers that escaped the rain were the Rock and Vermilion. During the early fall, I'll avoid the Rock like the plague as it attracts some of the dumbest anglers in the area and the Vermilion is off my radar during the month of October. But when I checked the weather for Erie, I could see a large green blob parked over the lake. I hoped it would be light rain and the flow gauge was starting to crept up. That afternoon, I decided to go for a road trip out east. I often like to drive the rural roads where ever I go. One of my favorite drives are the country roads of Geauga and Ashtabula counties. The drive was much better as I replaced the shocks on the Jeep. Prior to that it had the handling characteristics of a boat riding on choppy water.

The fall colors were bright against the dull grey skies, the weather on the other hand was down right nasty - gusting cold winds and low clouds. I brought the camera along and snapped some pictures of old barns and farm houses around Amish country in Middlefield. Whenever, I'm there I'll stop at Middlefield cheese for their great Swiss cheeses. I drove north towards to the sleepy hamlet of Thompson as many wineries that found in that area. I crossed one feeder creek that ran into the Grand and it was ripping pretty good. After several hours of driving the roads, my stomach started talking and I stopped in Willoughby's historic downtown and eat at one of the many restaurants found along that section of the street. Dinner was bummer as I had a pulled chicken pizza. It should of been called the tossed lettuce pizza because chicken was far and few between.

 When I arrived home, I checked the flow for the Elk and as I expected it shot up to nearly 140 on the gauge. I wasn't too worried even though the Elk was a raging torrent it can drop 2 feet overnight so I was confident enough to tie some sacs for tomorrow's trip. I called Dave and he agreed that the Elk would fish and if it didn't we had other options to go to.

I woke at 4:30 and the Elk as I predicted dropped back down to respectable 30 on the gauge - a tad high, but great for goober size sacs. We made the drive out and arrived at first light. As expected there wasn't anybody around and we walked down to the creek. It was high and the visibility wasn't great, but it was fishable in my books. The only thing that concern me was the flow as I thought it was a little too strong for my liking, as the bottom here lacked a lot of structure. We fished breaks in the current and nothing was hitting. I walked down to fish some pocket water and stirred up a fish resting at a tailout. I watched four anglers walk down and mill about debating whether to stay or go. I could see the looks on their faces that drove a far distance and conditions were not what they expected. It probably didn't help that they had spinners and flatfish. We planned a move and I planted a stick in the water to see how far down it would drop if decided to come back later.

We drove farther down and the number of people was a lot lower than the previous time out. We were practically at the lake's doorstep and the water here was even more dirtier. Most of the angler were using lures and all of them were a little cranky that nothing was hitting. I could barely see pass my knees, however in Ohio, I fish this type of water all the time. We banged away and nothing was hitting. We figured maybe the lake was rough that the fish didn't push in as the crashing surf would of pounded them into patties. It was two hours in and no fish so I made the call to head up river, figuring the creek was a little cleaner. We pulled in the lot was almost empty, about 2 cars which for a Sunday is unheard of. The creek here was a lot cleaner, but had a slight stain to it.

Even though Pennsylvania stocks a gazillion fish, the fishing can be either boom or bust. As I mention before, many locals feel a 10 fish day is lousy, even pathetic. Today was a tough day in steelhead Shangri-La as we had to work for them. All of the fish we caught had been in the river for several weeks and I figured most of the fish were in the mid and high sections. Nothing was crammed like sardines in the pools and runs. We was two or three fish here and there and you had to pound the pavement so to speak if you wanted good numbers. We returned to the same spot that we fished at first light and the creek dropped about 4" in a period of 7 hours. Just shows you how fast Pennsylvania's streams can drop and in a couple of days all of them will be low and clear.

The Skunk

 

Every angler experiences it from time to time, the dreaded skunk. When we throw everything out in vain, we cover endless miles of water, and we look to the sky and curse in frustration. 

In my case, it was literal as I came upon a dead one lying in the water on the lower Conneaut. It was waterlogged and ripening. The smell was overwhelming. Which made me think, was he responsible for the all of the non-action downstream? It was morning and early in the steelhead season. I had pounded several holes and pools downstream without much success. The dead skunk should have been taken as an ominous sign that things might not be fine and dandy today. But, I'm a half glass full kind of angler. I looked at him one last time and wondered if any of the critters would have to the courage to feast on his filthy rotting corpse. 

The skunk happens when we less expect it. The conditions can be perfect. But, whatever reason, the fish won't bite. There's noting we can do. It can be maddening, because there's been times when I thought I would gotten skunked and I couldn't stop the fish from biting. But there are certain times when the skunk will rear its ugly head and that usually early in the season here along the Alley. 

It was unseasonably warm and the creek was running low and clear. I knew before heading out that my chances of getting skunked were good. The other option would to be sitting at home and doing nothing but thinking about the better days ahead. The Alley was experiencing a beautiful Indian summer. You couldn't ask for a nicer day. Most of the guys I knew would be out on the lake, getting in the last perch or walleye outing before the winter winds would usher in the end of the season. 

I walked down the train tracks and my boots kick up some dust, It's been another dry fall, but weeks before the stream blew and there were reports of fish moving in. Conneaut is practically on the state line with Pennsylvania and the creek does start in that state. Both states stock steelhead in it and Pennsylvania's fish are a fall run. That's why Conneaut is a popular stream early in the season. When I get the bridge, the stream is barely flowing. I see two angler watching their floats barely move.

I don't even bother to fish above them, because most likely that spot has been pounded for weeks. Deep water was few and far between on the lower section. The only action I was getting was fighting off the repeated hit and run attacks of the resident creek chubs. I would watch with great disdain as the float popped up and down. It was wasn't that violent take that is often associated with steelhead. I would flick the float as if they were that annoying fly bothering me. When I reeled in the line, I would see the sac nibbled down to the last few eggs. By now that glass that was half full, is gradually getting a little more empty. In most spots, I can see right to the bottom. I'm starting to run out of deep holes and pools. It's almost late morning when I finish up at the last spot and the riffle above is barely registering a gurgle. I stand on one othe train trestle supports and look over at the shale ledge. It relatively dark and could possibly hide some fish. I work the spot and my gut tells me there probably isn't any in there or they've been caught repeatedly. The glass is empty and I'm resigned that today isn't going to be the day. I chug some water, hang my head and head back downstream.

We've all had our fair share of the skunk, even the most experience steelheaders have had those where they have nothing to show for. Lucky for me, my skunks are few and far between. On the way back, I see my old friend baking in the sun and not a single fly is hovering around him. 

The Week After

Yesterday ushered in the first day of autumn, but summer didn't want to relinquish its time here on the Alley. For many that was perfectly fine as the temperature was to be in the mid 70s. With the beautiful weather on Sunday that meant most anglers in the area were out on the lake fishing for perch or walleye. For the steelheaders, the diehards were scattered across the Alley. For many this would be the first trip out since last spring. Many were eager to get that first fish of the new season.

During the week we received more rain. Unfortunately the far east got nothing but a tinkle. As expected there the fish were parked in the lower reaches waiting impatiently as they've endured a barrage of spoons, flies and sacs over the past couple of weeks. Early season steelheading in Pennsylvania can be described in one word - clusterfuck. I've seen pictures of people surrounding one hole about the size of a kiddie pool with a dozen fish in it. The water is as clear as a fish bowl and all of the anglers are determined to get one of them to bite. I've often said that for punishment such as poaching or fishing without a license, that person should be forced to fish the Project Waters on the Walnut for the entire season.

For once it was nice not having to drive. I sat back and enjoyed a coffee as I was offered a breakfast burrito. Just what I need to go with a stomach full eggs and bacon. We arrived at first light and there were a couple of cars in the lot. In the coming weeks, the number of people will increase, but by then the all of the rivers will have fish and their will be plenty of room to spread out. 

Last week, I got a couple jars of fresh coho eggs from the bait shop. Early in the season, I'm reluctant to use them. Deep inside my freezer, there were plenty of eggs from last fall. I have just enough to get through the fall when the bait shop gets a fresh shipment of salmon eggs. Last night I thawed a pack out dated 12/4/10, I took the sniff test and they didn't have any funky odor. I poured the eggs into a bowl and felt them. The eggs were firm and bright. Spending the extra money for a vacuum food sealer paid off. 

We went back to the Grand and fished the same section. It started off like last week - uneventful. For the first couple of hours two skippers were caught at the head of the run in fast broken water. Boredom started to settle in and I felt the urge to move. I'm always the first to make a move. The old timers I was fishing were content to the beat the spot a little more. I walked upstream to the faster pocket water where I caught my first fish of the season last week. I couldn't find any takers, not even a chub. Dave and Bubba were fishing the tailout when I hear one of them yell out. I turned to see he had a large fish that was running wild. Bubba tried to get line out of the way. I watched a large bright fish explode from the water and it quickly broke the line. That's why early fall is so fun as the fish are fresh and the warmer water gives them energy to wreak havoc.

As the morning progress I my left foot starting to get wet and I sighed. Earlier in the week, I saturated the insides of my waders trying to see any dark spots that would reveal the source of my leaks. Unfortunately, isopropyl alcohol can only reveal so much. I hoped the patch job would slow the deluge to a trickle. Instead my foot got wetter and wetter and it started to make that annoying sloshing sound. I suspect there is a leak somewhere on the neoprene footie. Since the water was still in the 60s, it was nothing more than a slight annoyance. If it was December, most likely my foot would feel like a brick. If the fishing was great, I would of toughed it out

With the a soaked foot, I struggled to walk over the rocks as my boots spit out half of the cleats I put in the night before. I really regretted buying these boots as I curse as I stumble and roll over the rocks. I look like I'm slipping on ice and I try to maintain balance and composure. Once I finally get to spot, my legs are burning. 

Last time out both me and Dave caught our first fish of the season. Bubba on the other hand posted a shutout. It was mid morning when Bubba finally shook the skunk off and I was left holding it. It was a nice fish unfortunately due to Bubba's massive girth the fish looked like a wee minnow as I took the money shot. For me it was a fruitless morning as I worked and reworked the spots trying to get a hit. It was one of those days we all experience - nothing goes right. The leaking waders, line issues and not getting any action. We got back to the truck, I pulled my waders off and you could hear the water splash out. My socks were completely soaked as were the bottoms of my fleece pants. Both of my feet were pasty white and terribly pruned. 

It was in most part a slow day as one fish was caught here and there. With latest high water, we thought more would push in but as I said before you have to be in the right place at the right time. Tomorrow will another day painstakingly looking for those troublesome leaks. Hopefully next week I'll be tossing the skunk around somebody else's neck

September

Cool weather over the past week has stirred many diehard steelheaders out of hibernation. Old friends are starting to call one another for the latest happenings and any shred of information. Over the past week, I've started stocking missing floats, hooks, and sinkers. Replaced the line, cleaned the reel, and inspected the boots for missing cleats. For this diehard, the past spring was a distant memory albeit a bad one. I was so disappointed with the spring run that I stopped fishing in the middle of April. Many were hoping that this season would be much better than the previous one.

During the past week, we had scattered storms come off the lake and from the south. The end result was some streams rose and others were bone dry. The streams way out east didn't receive any so that crossed off several from the list. Several streams close by were running slightly lower but I didn't want to deal with elbows and assholes. We decided to head to one our favorite river and turned out to be a great decision.

The alarm buzzed acting like a starter's gun, telling me the marathon has begun. It was still dark out as I stumbled down to the hallway to the kitchen. Filling the coffee pot and cooking bacon and eggs in the frying pan. I thought about last season and how terrible it was. A couple weeks ago me and several friends talked about what the upcoming season would be like. Some thought it would be a repeat as these types of things usually don't turn around in one year and others hoped it was a fluke. Me being the eternal optimist, hoped the fish would return in bigger numbers. Walking out the door, I was greeted with the crisp, cool air and I could see the faint light on the horizon. I checked the tote box to make sure that I had everything. The forecast for the day was calling for sunny skies and summer like 72F. I arrived at the river at first light as a couple of friends pulled in. The last time we fished here was in late March and we crushed them that day. 

We walked down the trail and could see the river was low, but had a good flow and color. Upstream we could see 4 anglers fishing one popular spot. The day before I picked up some fresh salmon skein and tied some sacs. In the other jar was sacs I froze in April. In the past, I've had issues with old sacs that spent the entire summer hidden deep in the freezer under massive piles of chicken, pork chops and steaks. I thawed them out and they looked and smelled all right, but then again I'm not a steelhead. 

With it being so early in the season, we knew the number of fish would be low. In Ohio, the number of fish tend to be in the low numbers, as some of them start to trickle into the lower reaches of the rivers. It's usually the most experienced and dedicated steelheaders that find them. The water still felt warm to the touch and September is a month where you have to be at the right place at the right time. We started off at the long pool, working in tandem looking for that certain holding spot. Another angler was fishing and told us nothing was caught and didn't see or hear any fish rolling. I still find it odd fishing for steelhead when the trees are green with leaves and reeds tall. 

The first fish of the year was Dave's - a typical Steelhead Alley steelhead about 24" and 4 pounds. He was the first to get the skunk off and we had our work cut out for us. We gradually shuffled down the pool hoping for that tell tale hit of a steelhead. But there was none and we walked downstream to fish a large deep sweeping pool that is usually better when the water is colder and lower. But in early fall it provides the wary steelhead the shelter and safety they seek when conditions are bright. But turned out to a productive spot for catfish as another angler farther down was drifting sacs along some downed trees. We chuckled as we thought he might be drifting chicken liver flavor sacs but both fish were fairly fat and full of spunk.

I was still wearing the skunk and to make matters worse, both of my feet were starting to get wet because of leaks in my waders. I had all summer to make repairs and I kept procrastinating. I have come to terms that no matter what brand of waders I have, I'll eventually spring leaks. With the water being warm, it was bearable but there is no way I'll stand for that in the frigid months to come. So wader repair is a top priority this week.

The same spot farther up that we fished in the morning, still failed to produce me the first elusive fish of the new season. I had to start thinking like a fish. Where would I be when the water is warm and low and the skies bright? The first thing that popped in my head was pocket water. There were a series of cuts and pocket water that rushed around several large rocks. I took a sac that contained fresh salmon skein and drifted along one seam and the float shot under and I felt that tell tale throbbing and explosive run of a steelhead. The fished charged out into the middle of the river and raced up and down. Being mindfully that warmer water can stress fish, I quickly brought it in. It was bright and shiny as a newly minted coin. The skunk was off my neck and I took a quick shot and released it. The same spot produced two more fish, both were juveniles as one leaped from the water and fought like a 10 pounder. The other was a little more than 12" and it's hard to believe that 6 months ago it was a 8" smolt. In that span the fish almost doubled in size and is testament of the productive waters of Lake Erie.

It was late morning when we returned downstream to the same spot and the 2 anglers that fished with had caught 6 fish, most of them skippers. By then it the sun was high in the sky and the fish had shut down. I couldn't complain as it only September 18th and better days are ahead.

Lazy Days

Finally, I can wet a line. During the past several weeks I've been slammed with work and I've had very little time to do anything else. Even with the down time, the heat and humidity has basically sapped whatever little energy I have left over. I seek refuge in the living room, as I'm a prisoner to my air conditioner. Maybe it's my way of reserving energy for the upcoming steelhead season. Summer is like a fasting for me as I wait patiently for the cool winds to whip across Lake Erie and the early morning crispness of mid September that gets me stirring.

The times I wanted to fish, the weekly late afternoon thunderstorms have trashed the rivers. This weekend the weather was perfect, albeit very bright and hot. I didn't stray far from home and fished the Rock for carp. The river was very low, barely flowing and the deeper pool took on that murky color from the silt and algae. I fished one my favorite spots along the muni golf course as I've done well there in the past. The water was extremely warm and had a somewhat smelly odor. That's probably due to the algae scum slowly baking in the sun or maybe I'm naive that I'm actually wading through untreated sewage. I probably wouldn't want to know what the water quality is like and I probably don't want to know. But only if some hideous red pus filled sore showed up on my lower extremities then I'll will inquire.

As with the steelhead, the number of carp in the river during the past several years has been lower. In past years, there would be at least a 100 fish in the several pools, but today your lucky to see maybe 20 fish per pool. I could see several fish loitering under the branches of several downed trees. Usually that's not a good sign as the fish are too lazy because of the heat. I tossed some corn in good faith that I could get some to come out and play. But, they ignored my offerings as they're probably sick and tired of corn.

I did find a couple of players cruising the flats looking for food. Several of them were on the larger size and I was still trying to perfect my "stealth" technique. I tied on a #6 hex nymph that could pass off as either a dragonfly nymph or grossly deformed crayfish. With a couple of false casts, I casted the fly where I think the fish might come and that's a big but. I stand there and it becomes a waiting game. Will the fish go left or right? I watch about 4 carp feeding as they have their faces scouring the bottom. I don't react or do anything until the fish get close by. 

One of the fish slowly turned in the direction. He methodical feeds sucking up the bottom and spitting out the contents. I'm not sure where the fly is relation to the fish so I twitched it. The fish suddenly stops and started to inch closer debating whether to eat it or ignore it. Not wanting to go home empty handed I twitched it again and the fish bought it. It inhaled it and I quickly set the hook. The fish bolted downstream looking for any cover trying in vain to snap the line. Luckily there wasn't any and the fish was tanked after it blistering initial run. It wasn't the prettiest looking fish as it had some red sore near the tail and anal fins.

I wanted to fish some more but unfortunately, I couldn't find my neoprene socks and I paid for it. Blisters and the back of my feet rubbed raw. Not wanting to flirt with some infectious unknown waterborne disease or parasite, I decided to call it a day. I hobbled back to the car, thinking about the colder days ahead because I can't believe how fast this summer is going.

I Hate Slobs

For weeks, I have been battling the mother of all colds. I can't get rid of this little bastard of a bug. Every night I'm practically hacking a lung out or I need industrial strength Draino to unclog my head. But it won't keep me in bed - not for this diehard steelheader.

Finally for once the sun decided to poke its head out and stay for the day. The rivers were down to fishable levels and many were hoping for a last kick at the can as it was May 1st. With gas at $4.15 per gallon, I wasn't going to make a long haul out east. I decided to stay closer and fish the Chagrin. The lot had about 6 cars and I didn't have to think really hard where they were fishing.

I fished the mid section of the river and the first thing I noticed at the first gravel bed was no redds. In past years, this section would be littered with redds and fishermen. With the high water, there would be signs of redds dug out near the shore, but there were none. All I saw was two lonely males looking to fornicate. Unfortunately, they were late for the party. Farther up I fished a run and caught a couple of measly dropback hens.

As I wrote last week about the spring steelheaders, there is another one that I forgot to mention - Fattie McSnaggingpants. They're the fat slobs usually found around gravel. They're fat like a bear and often have the temper of one. Extremely territorially, they have no patience for some youngster loitering around their fish. This bonehead made it clear to me as he furiously pointed at the 3 fish when I crossed over. I looked at him and made sure he could read my lips "eat shit loser". I should of walked on the fish and pleaded that I didn't know. Sometimes, I'll do it just to be dick. Like an old bear he huffed and puffed and I knew he wasn't capable of chasing me because his XXXL neoprene waders would hinder his ability to run and would probably drop dead from overheating if he did so. He went back to plundering what available fish he could floss.

I walked by several gravel beds and I didn't see any redds or fish. I fished the pools and runs and got nothing. Maybe the fish blew through it and beyond the collapsed dam. I walked back and Fattie was on the bank trying to look for fish - what a douche. He scowled at me as he didn't forget my pleasant exchange.

I drove several miles past the dam and parked at one of the park's lot. This section of the river had some very nice water. It was a mixture of riffles, pools, nice long cuts along the bank and submerged trees. There wasn't a person around and I used the opportunity to scout some more water. Access was very easy as the trail was very close to the river. I could see this section holding a lot of fish during the winter months. But it was the same here as downstream - no redds. I fished one run and managed to catch a couple of drop back males that were hiding in a dark deep hole. I fished several more pools and didn't catch anything. I talked to a couple of anglers and they didn't hit anything. They shared the sentiment as me that were happy to see this terrible season come to an end.

It seems to me that most of the fish ( if there were any ) are long gone.

Floss Fest

April showers bring May flowers, unfortunately they also keep the streams high and muddy. So far this month its been rain, rain, rain and more rain. I thought we lived in Ohio, not Mawsynram, India   ( for you jeopardy geeks it's the wettest place on earth ) not to mention, it has been a very cool month. For many, we hoped that the cooler weather will keep the fish around longer. This time last year, many of the fish were long gone back to the big pond as we had a hot, dry month. So far this year, the fish have decided to bypass Ohio all together so nobody had an idea what to expect.

Considering it was Easter Sunday, that meant most of the anglers were stuck at home with their favorite mother-in-law or snacking on the labors of Junior's egg hunt. Not wanting to waste time with spring cleaning, I hit the road as I was curious to see if any fish moved in. With the rivers blown, it was back to the same ditch I fished several week ago. I arrived to see some cars with out of state plates. It seems for some reason this ditch attracts out of staters. I walked down and the creek was running dirty - nice. There was one guy below and he fit the description of a spring time steelheader - neoprene waders, trucker cap, fly rod, smoke hanging out his mouth, enormous vest and can't read water.

I fished below him as I watched this idiot doing the typical technique that spring steelheaders are known for - flip and rip. The spot he was fishing was about the size of my dining table. There must of been a pod of fish, because he was flipping over and over and over and once in a while I could hear him curse that he missed one. I seriously despise assholes like him, because they are the worst form of anglers, at least snaggers don't hide the fact that their snagging fish.

I quickly hooked into several drop backs hanging along the banks under the trees. All of them had the signs of being in there for some time - scars, ragged fins and dirty looking. The bozo above was still trying to get them to "ahem" bite. I was releasing a fish and then it happened, I bent over to pop the hook out and my camera fell out into the drink. I quickly grabbed it and cursed "not again" I have a terrible track record for dunking cameras and phones into the water. I popped the battery cover open and I didn't see any trace of water - whew. I thought maybe I got it out fast enough that water didn't have a chance to get in. I took no chances and kept in my jacket pocket to dry for several hours.

I walked downstream and the creek was lower than the last time I fished. I could see a couple fish here and there, but I had bigger water in mind. Then I could see about 8 guys fishing a riffle and it was an orgy of flossing. I know a lot of fly fishermen and most are ethical when it comes to spawning fish. I guess these were the out of staters and they wanted fish bad to justify the loads of money they spent on gas. All of them were in their twenties as they whooped and hollared as their hooks popped out the the fishes ass and backs.

Since I was bait fishing, I wasn't terribly concerned on finding a spot and I pretty well had the entire pool above to myself. I worked the head and the float shot under and it was a large fish as it caught the attention of the crew downstream. I fought pretty hard and it was a large fresh male. I was able to get to the rocks and it was a fine Manistee - broad shoulders and sporting a mean kype. I managed a couple more fish and they were spawned out hens. There wasn't much else to fish downstream as it was littered with trees and branches.

I walked back to the falls and was treated to a great sight. A steelhead leaped from the water and tried to make its way up the falls. I could see it was a fresh fish as it furiously splashed through the water. It got about 10' up and finally realized that better waters ahead weren't in the picture and quickly slid back into the depths. I fished the run below and picked up some fish before I decided to call it a day. When I got back to popped the battery into the camera and turned it on - It worked!! Thank god because I wasn't looking forward to buying another one.

As for the number of fish coming in? Who knows, if their smart, fornicate quickly and race back to the lake before the fair weather fishermen have a crack at them because we all know they get about 2 weeks in and call it a season.