Cleveland Steel

BFC Alums,

I could use your input here. 

Recently made the move to Cleveland, the home of the LeBron James economy, rivers that catch on fire, great healthcare, and above all else, a Steelhead season that is about to start.

I've got plans to head out out to hit new waters over the next few weekends; so, I went to just check all my gear that I took with me in the move. Waders, check. Vest, check. Reel, needs some new line, but check. Fly boxes, need recommendations on what to use (suggestions welcome).

I finally got to all my rods and I open up the case for my 8-wt and found this:

Somewhere over the course of the last few years, the tip of my Scott got snapped off. I did some research and Scott has a good repair policy. Any idea how much a fix like this would cost?

I'd have to send the rod away to get it patched up. Will a 6-wt rod suffice for the early portion of the season? I had originally contemplated turning this 9-footer into an 8'6" but thought better of it after I found out their repair policy.

Also, never really fished for Steelhead before...any tips?

That Road West...

Here in the Northeast it's been a long, cold winter, cold enough to reduce a man's testicles by half and long enough to send them fleeing into his body in search of warmth, to drop only at the sight of the bluewater in July. Let's just say we are all glad to see the winter release it's death grip, God help us come December 2015, moving south may soon be the only option...

In light of warmer weather, Dr. Steelegood, Albanian Steele, and myself found the road west to Pune'taski. The release was a robust 1250 cfs at the dam plus any additional runoff. A tic more water than we'd like but spirits were high nonetheless - we were going to be fishing again, on open water, can't knock that!

Day one produced some solid action...

...even a double here and there...

...Albanian Steele's shimmering brown was a fine finish to the first day!

Day two brought on fish of a slightly better size class.

While setting up with the owner of Fox Hollow, we learned that the dam discharge schedule had changed - the fishable 1250 cfs was set to spike to 2750 cfs overnight. Our trip was going to be cut short by one morning of fishing but with over 20 Steele to the net and a few browns in the mix, who could complain. 

Tight lines to all pursuing open water as spring settles in, and congrats for making it through the winter. It was a tough one!

Revival

Pyramid Lake in Nevada is one the greatest stillwaters I have ever fished. This lake also has a great story, a story that is usually always the opposite of what we are used to hearing. This fishery was completely fished out in the beginning of the century and the Lahontan Cutthroat trout fully extinct by the beginning of the 1940's. In the early 1970's the original fish that was thought to be gone forever was found in the Pilot Peak mountain range located on the northern border of Nevada and Utah. Through more than 30+ years of working with the strain, making sure it was completely genetically pure, and with the Paiute Indian tribes blessing they were reintroduced into the lake in 2006.

According to the local biologist these fish are now thriving like they did in the past and growing at a faster rate than anyone could have ever imagined. Fish that have only been in the lake 5 years are already reaching well into the 20 pound class. Ten pound fish are as common now as catching the 4 and 5 pounders just five years ago. And the 20+ pound class fish seem to be the new bench mark that was 10 pounds for all anglers just a few years ago. 

First light on Pyramid Lake

The finer techniques that I used to catch these fish were midging and throwing streamers. As you can see I didn't connect with any of the 20+ pounders but, did find a few smaller ones. Definitely looking forward to fishing this stillwater more in future and witnessing this once lost fishery now thrive in its original home.

Hiked a few miles with my float tube to one of my favorite backcountry lakes in the Eastern Sierras. 

I also fished the American River and a few of its smaller tributaries in Northern California. Right now  the kings are at the end of the spawn, while the first few early steelhead are moving into the river. 

Who would have thought that a king would eat a red copper john.  

In The Cages

Some time ago, Dr. Steelegood and I, after an encounter-less day on the Salmon River in upstate New York, came up with an analogy for swinging flies for steelhead.  It goes, swinging flies for steelhead is like being in a batting cage trying to get a hit, but you're blindfolded and also the pitching machine doesn't actually throw balls every pitch.

That's the glass-half-empty take on the whole endeavor, and exceptions certainly exist, but there are some valid comparisons in there:  both the batter and steelheader take 'swings' in attempts to achieve their ultimate goals; a fundamentally sound cut with the bat and the picture-perfect cast may be, and often are, unrewarded; the batter and the angler are all alone in their areas of work - the batter's box and the river. 

Of course we can debate what the "ultimate goal" is.  I'm pretty sure any big leagues hitter loves seeing the ball fly over the fence, but I bet they also love the sound of the crowd as they near the box, the feel of the dirt under their spikes and the intensity of staring into a pitcher's eyes.  Thankfully my own contract doesn't depend on the number of steelhead I tail each season. 

With so much going on in the river and in my mind, I sometimes over-analyze the situation when I'm "in the cages."  For sure, confidence catches fish, so a restless mind must be quieted.  I have asked myself, Just what exactly are we doing out here?  Sometimes answers to the simple questions can help quiet the bigger ones. 

A couple months ago, I took a steelheading trip.  Before I made my first cast, our guide gave us his expectations for our fishing.  He had answered my question before I could put it into words.  It's nice to know what you're doing out there.



Self-explanatory, perhaps.  Good to know, surely.  Easier said than done, oftentimes.

It'd be hard to envision a better trip.  The river was prime, the scenery stunning, the camp-life superb, company top-notch, the fishing awesome and the catching even better.  Between four of us, over four days, we touched 30. 

 



Getcha fish on, fisha.

Sun goin' down.  This spot is known as Chukar Flats.  It was the last hole for us that day and the bait would be a Waller Waker.  Cast after cast I watched that helpless, black bug skate and skip around that run, into and out of currents, speeding up and slowing down.  I saw her take it the first time, but it didn't stick.  Two casts later I only heard it, then she was off running. 

I get by with a little help from my friends.

I get high with a little help from my friends.

Deuces!

I can't recall the name of this spot, but I hooked two here.  My guide was just finishing the sentence, "Right about there is where it happens," when I got yanked.  I lost that fish, after which he said he had never had a second encounter in the hole.  Five casts later I got grabbed again.  I wonder if he was lying?

Willa, boat dog.

 

Feast in there.

Fish dat.

At the end of the whole thing, we broke the gear down and prepared for our run of The Narrows.  Aptly titled.  Only on a steelhead river will you find such a spot.  1000 CFS crammed into an 8' wide chute.

Swing, batter, batter, swing...

Pop that cherry...

You always remember your first steele and my buddy and fellow Bates alum - Gabe - landed a real chrome beauty this past weekend!

Hail Mary

After dropping my wife off at work yesterday I made a quick decision to go chase some fish for the day. You see, I'm recently unemployed, and one of the first things I did with my new-found freedom was to meet a friend from Montana and head out to the OP for a week, and now I've been bit by that Steele bug. Pretty bad, really. I mean I'd always been keen on 'em, but to stand in the middle of fabled waters in the right conditions just knowing that the next cast might produce the fish of a lifetime; a wild winter-run OP steelhead... The hook had been set. I'd elaborate but in doing so would also be preaching to the choir, and I'm digressing anyway. Point being, I got Steele on the brain. The wifey's been working late a lot anyway so that bought me plenty of extra free time. There's a tidy little river that runs into the Columbia a little ways north of here so I decided to throw my gear in and hit it for the day.

The first place that had been suggested to me already had people in it so I moved on. I pulled off above there a little ways at a picnic/day use area to set up and prepare myself to capitalize on the day's potential. Immediately upon attempting to slide the tip section of my nymph rod out of the sock the tip broke off. Awesome. That's the second time I've broken that rod since steelhead fishing opened in October, and who knows how many times total. We all know how casting with a broken tip is, especially nymph rigs, and I could feel the day's potential withering already.

I made do. I fished some decent looking water here, swung a little bit there, but hardly did more than piddle around with each piece I stopped at. I was mostly annoyed with casting with a broken tip and not having found any really satisfying swing water yet. Later in the afternoon I decided I was done messing around with the whole nymph getup and moved upstream to one last spot that was supposed to have some decent swinging water. There was a big, deep hole where the river turned 90 degrees right where I parked and I got out to take a look, knowing full well that if fish were going to be holding anywhere it would be in there. Actually, I think my first thought was, "Damn, I'd like to snorkel this right now because I know there's more than a few fish hanging out down in there." I wasn't wrong. Almost immediately I spotted about four fish of varying sizes holding pretty tight, almost abreast of each other, deep, quartered downstream towards the bank in the ginormous eddy of the backwater. I figured as much, but didn't see much hope in enticing let alone even reaching those fish. So be it, I moved on.

I texted a friend asking about where the good swing water was, but he had mentioned that with the cold water temps the fish wouldn't respond well to swung flies and that nymphs were much more productive right now. Dammit. Along with the hope for a tug on the swing my thunder for enjoying the rest of my day swinging good water was swiftly stolen. I went back to watch the fish. There were maybe six now I could see down there. The flash of a shivering flank caught my eye as one of the fish appeared to pick up something near the bottom. Hrm, well that's interesting. Then I noticed a small rock ledge upstream that appeared to make a pretty reasonable casting platform. Hell, not only that, but it was a actually a great platform specifically for a left-handed cast, and such is my specialty. I also realized that from that platform I could reasonably nymph to those fish like I would normally, only facing downstream and fishing the eddy back to me. The slow churn of the cogs in my brain began accelerating into a palpable buzz in my ears. My chips were down, but I was quickly hatching a plan to go all in.

I cut everything off my line. I started with a fresh 9' 20# salmon leader. I figured I would need the extra oomph to help cast the monstrosity I was about to concoct. At the end of the leader I tied a perfection loop to drop my flies from. I wanted the thickness of the leader for casting but felt that I should try to be stealthier in my presentation, so I attached a piece of 2x fluorocarbon via clinch knot directly to the loop, and threw three BB split shot onto the loop itself. That's almost 9' of leader to my split shot; I needed the length to help deliver my flies deep. From there it was about 18" to a Pat's rubber legs, dropped with a small 8mm bead and stinger about 18" behind it.

I took another look at the fish and measured their position against landmarks on the bank before scrambling down the bank into position. The ledge made a perfect platform to stand on, but an upstream breeze made reaching my mark difficult. I crept forward and climbed onto a downed tree just upstream from the fish. I finally was in range, and after a few botched attempts finally landed a cast in the approximate area where the fish were holding. It was an achingly slow drift, but only one or two casts in and my indicator started to dip. I ripped into it, arguably premature, and nothing. Huh. Well, I doubted that I could be hanging up on bottom so that was reassuring. A few more casts and I got another one into the zone. Sloooooow drift, bob bob goes the indicator. Wait another second, bob bob, SET! After a few vigorous head shakes the fish tore off around the pool, peeling line with it. Concerned about my position on the log I climbed back to the ledge, tightened my drag a bit, and nervously settled into playing the fish. It was healthy and strong, the kind of fight that really satisfies what we as fisherman seek. She ran up, she ran down, she ran deep. I played her towards the ledge and got a few glimpses before she'd take off again. After a few moments of give and take, enjoying the scream of the reel when she ran and recovering line when she slowed, the fish began to tire. I eased her up and over the ledge and a moment or two later had her tailed. BOOM.

I pulled out my phone and snapped a few quick picks with her in the water, backed the hook out of her jaw, and sat there for a moment enjoying the beautiful, wild fish that I held before me. I gently lifted her out of the water to steal a kiss, then slid her back into the current and watched as she descended to the inky black depths of the pool. I pulled out the flask and sat there for a second, elated with my success, just taking it all in.

Pure. Wild. Satisfaction.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye.

Though I doubt this should be necessary, but might any of you Salmon River fanatics need a little something to galvanize your love and dedication for chasing Steele in upstate New York, let me present you with this:

http://www.thisriveriswild.com/

All I can say is, Damn; I've never had a stronger desire to forsake the wild, native Steele of the fabled PacNW and head back to good ole Pulaski to chase chrome. Better up the ante of your aspirations, because those dream can come true east of the Mississippi...

Just wanted to share that with you all.

I'll just put these here

I took a bit of a road trip for steele last month.
1,900 miles to western NY from my door.
Last year I timed it perfectly and this year I was a bit off, blown off color water was waiting for me but I had to drive.

                                                              In the hills of VT.

                                                   A few chubs casting in Lake Champlain.

                                                                  Iphone said this was the quickest route

I was combining a trip to visit my friend Ben, who I met hiking the AT in 2003. He lives near the Canadian border in NY so a pit stop there to catch up was a nice treat.

Then off to a native American reservation for what I hoped would be stellar solo steelhead fishing.

                    She's blown, hard to tell but blown. $45 dollars for a three day means that I fished it anyway.

Day two meant finding another piece of water near by that held fish and was less chocolate like.
I spotted this sticker in the parking lot and was feeling positive.

Western NY has some beautiful water. I stuck a little guy just above that rock on the swing, on an ugly tube.

Skunk was off and I was feeling great. I only met two sports all day, both native NY'ers and both were exceptionally nice, offering me first pass through runs or a snack or smokes. I was refreshed to have met these two. I started feeling like I should in turn be a proper gentleman and fish a classy fly.

 

A guy I met on the internet gave me that fly and I lost it on my fourth cast. I went fishless that afternoon because of that fact, I am sure of it.

Day three had me meeting up with my friend Mike D and his father. We headed back to famous water and swung hand tied flies. The best part of fishing with the Redspot Fly crew is that you get to steal a few bits of the fly box. I have some goodies for you boys.

I had a fish to the beach and lost it, my friends landed hogs above me ( like fishing with Wilkie, Keith, Clark and JLR ) I smiled and took photos.

Day four had us driving north of Buffalo to a smaller creek with rumors of large browns. I sucked up my pride and left the spey rod in the rental car. I was working a bead today. "Redemption Sunday"
We need to go back and spend some time on this crick boys, I encountered a line of jovial snaggers at the damn and as many moldy salmon as you could count. The bead works.

A great road trip all around. I send my best to the boys headed out this weekend, I am sorry I can't be there shoulder to shoulder with you.
Live Life
Jasper