My First Fishing Trip to Pulaski, NY
DudeX Crushes a Huge Steelhead Despite Adverse Conditions
I just got back from the hardcore fishing trip of a lifetime. We fished 15 hours a day despite rough weather, and explored new species and techniques. I landed a hard fighting fish against all odds, and created a fish story that will not soon be forgotten. On Saturday, a guide named Justin and I (right, l to r) rowed all over the place and only landed only one brown trout all day, about four pounds. We were chasing steelheads though, and Sunday was the day.
Our Plan
Four guys I hadn't fished with in a while invited me to join them (Adam and Erik MIllers, John Salzman, and "Tippy" Tom) on a fishing trip to Pulaski, NY, a small town on the southeastern coast of Lake Ontario. We ventured four hours north of the NJ motherland to catch Steelhead Trout during their annual spring migration to spawn in the tributaries that feed the big water. We planned to fish the legendary Salmon River during the best weekend of the year, but God had a different plan.
God's Plan
He wanted us to have a challenge, because He knew we were up for it. God made the normally clear, calm rivers into class three rapids the same color as chocolate milk. A vicious rainstorm attacked in the stealth of darkness at 3 AM, two hours before we met our guides Saturday morning. God laughed. As a reslt, the power company that controls the water flow through the hydroelectric dam 12 miles up the Salmon River opened the flood gates wide to compensate for excess runoff water, running an obscene level of 5,800 cubic feet per second (3,000 is considered a lot).
So, we had to get creative and work hard for our fish. We perservered with the same tenacity and determination of a steelhead swimming upstream. Despite the obvious frustration, no one surrendered or complained except me and John. We each anticipated hardcore fish story but, we surrendered to the fact that we'd have to try fly fishing in remote creeks instead of the usual spots. We patiently left the results up to God, and He delivered! Victory, redemption!
Fly FIshing for Our Pride Back
On Sunday, Erik, Bill (the guide) and I opted to use fly tackle rather than spin-fishing, finding it an interesting challenge and something different. Because it's much harder to land a steelhead on the fly, there is a unique pride to it. I find it more fun than using conventional tackle. I need to start tying flies again.
The picture below is a purple version of the pink pattern we threw all day on 7 weight Diamondback fly rods. We only managed to hook a few fish on them, but landed none. They always cleverly jumped off the hook, and so our anticipation built. We persisted with the fly gear, and I didn't catch the above fish until late in the day, using spinning tackle. I dropped two other ones using flies before. The challenge of landing one on fly fishing gear is an elusive feat.
Our guide, Bill, a nice guy who strongly resembled Ths Simpsons' Ned Flanders, lead us to perhaps the only clear water in the area. We hiked through cow pastures about a mile to an amazingly clear, narrow creek where the steelheads migrated to spawn on remote gravel beds uninterrupted by fishing pressure. We had the place all to ourselves.
For a few hours he taught us the intricacies of fly-fishing for steelheads and how to spot them in different stages of the spawning process. He pointed out a few male and female fish on their beds, and we put hundreds of casts right on their noses, only managing to jump a few off, but never land a single one. Frustrated, but encouraged by Bill's instructive style, and the overall coolness of our experience, we resolved that we had learned a lot, and would come back to fish another day. Then, we'd crush 'em, when the weather was better.
Steelheads 101, Taught by Ned Flanders
I needed to catch a steelhead before I went home. As we walked back to the truck after our educational tour of Skinner Creek, I had this vision in my mind of the first set of spawning steelheads we spotted on our way in. Previously, I had casted flies to them literally hundreds of times unsuccessfully. The spawning ones would not bite, but I presisted. Erik and Bill ate lunch as I threw another hudred or so flies perfectly placed right in the feeding zone of the spawning couple.
I feared these fish simply didn't share Seinefeld's George Castanza's propensity for sex and eating. So, I called over Bill and asked his opinion: was it my fly? What the hell? I had made every cast perfect. How could we get them to eat? What is the move here?
Reinvigorated by his lunch break, Bill said, "I'll show you how to hook one of these damn fish," and he grabbed the spinning outfit and selected a pink-dyed cluster of real steelhead eggs as bait, and tied them into a cluster, using a translucent nylon sack. This is meant to replicate the actual membranes which hold the eggs into "sacks". He opted for a size eight hook (small), and hooked the female on the first cast. But, he had clumsily foul-hooked her in the back. Because of guide's honor, he broke her off, which left the larger, and more colorful male vulnerable to my imminent domination.
I was glad he didn't hook her because I wanted to hook one myself. And now that the male wasn't focused on spawning, the lone fish was more likely to crush my bait. And on the first cast, the male ate. Recalling all the lessons I learned about these picky and tough warriors throughout the day from Bill, and from dropping a few, I was more careful in hooking him this time. Here began the battle to the death between me and a large, male steelhead trout.
The Battle of Skinner Creek
I pulled up on the long, mid-flex rod's tip slowly and set the hook in the corner of the fish's hookjaw (called a "klite"), which is a part lucky, perfect hookset. He immidiately burned 50 yards of line off the reel in a downstream charge reminiscent of hooking a lightning bolt: there was no stopping him. I chased him downstream reeling in line when I could, and running as fast as I could in my neoprene waders, jumping over rocks, ducking under trees, and still keeping the fish under control. I had no chance of stopping the run, so I had to chase him down. I could not see his size under the water. This fish was extremely strong and had a lot of endurance. It felt like I was hooked to the bottom at times, because I could not move him at all. So I positioned myself downstream from him and hoped to exhaust him eventually using the current to my advantage. Then, he adapted and started swimming upstream, which would eventually wear him down.
Now I knew about the legendary fight of a large steelhead. This fish was the whole reason we made the long trip, wasted all our time and money. I was not about to lose it by making a careless mistake. I cannot remember being more focused at any other point in life.
Bill came over to try to coach me how to "beach" the fish by pulling him upstream, and I started getting pissed because that was impossible. I knew intuitively that I needed to get a net on him in the middle of the stream by muscling him into exhaustion and using the current to tire him out. It is harder to swin upstream. I told him, "That is impossible, and if I try to do that, I will break the line." He continued persistently, and I told him, "Give me the f#$*ing net!"
Bill angrily said, "OK," threw the net on the ground, and walked away.
Erik laughed and rushed across the river all grins to assist in the epic battle of death between me and the mighty fish. Once Erik entered the stream, the fish decided to make another charge downstream for round two of the battle. He found a hole (behind me in the picture) in which to hide from us, and Erik wisely positioned himself with the net about five feet downstream from the hole, and I was about five feet behind him angling. After a few minutes of stalemate, I managed to get a few turns of the reel on him, using the stream's current to my advantage.
Any gain I made against the strong fish was offset by a head-first furious run into the deep hole. This fish was not tired every time we thought he was. Whenever I got him out of the hole a few feet, we could only see his powerful tail propelling him back into the dark depths where he disappeared and hid. I got him inches away from Erik's netting distance a dozen times, and whenever he realized he was about to get netted, he took off again, back into the fortress of the hole. I had to battle him out carefully because of long tree roots on which the line could have been tangled, and probably would have if I wasn't extremely focused.
An angler of lesser prowess would have lost the fish, and a hundred things could have gone wrong. My pride was on the line, and my long-time fishing buddy stood by alertly with the net for his final chance, which he successfully took after a half hour of heated battle.
This above fish, who I have named "Ditka" will be immortalized on my wall when I pick him up at the taxidermist next year on my Salmon River trip. He was measured at 32 inches and 13.5 pounds, after drying out and losing some weight for 2.5 hours. The guide recommended a taxidermist, Maggie Rathje, who does award winning work: http://fishwish.homestead.com/
Is there a difference between Steelheads and Rainbow Trout?
Yes, and no. Steelheads are genetically identical to rainbow trout, but they are anadromous, meaning they migrate from salt walter to fresh water to spawn, which causes changes in their appearance, size and bahavior. The scientific nomenclature for both fish is oncohyncus mykiss, meaning they are the same species. From a fisherman's perspective, a steelhead is more desirable because they are a much hardrer fighing fish, and are large more often than the non-migratory variety. Often thought to be a different species, the true difference in the fish is how they fight.
Why then do some rainbow trout make the decision to travel hundreds of miles and return to the waters of their birth to give new life? That is a lot of work, and it separtes the steelheads from the rainbows. Among icthyologists and fishermen alike, there is much speculation explaining the phenomenon of migration which differentiates them.
Bill, our guide explanied that glaciers landlocked the the originally sea-running species into two forms with identical DNA. To that I replied, "Hmmm," stroking my chin.
NJ Steelheads?
Upon researching the word "anadromous", I discovered that the correct etymology describing the variety of steelheads in the Great Lakes is actually "potamodromous," because these fish migrate from a body of fresh water to another to spawn. They never enter salt water for a second of their lives. The theory that steelheads are unique because they reach salt water as a phase of their development is null and void, then. They just migrate - that is the difference.
Does that make the rainbows in the Pequest River, which migrate up the river to the feeder stream at the hatchery every fall steelheads? Based on the reasoning above, I submit that it does! Steelheads are in Jersey!
They certainly fight hard like a steelhead, and much harder than the local rainbows. I got the fish mounted. Why the hell not?
