The trip was organized far in advance by a young man as a Christmas present to both his father and his father-in-law. All three men had varying experience with trout, but this was to be their first steelhead outing.
After a brief breakfast meeting, we headed to my favorite access point above Folly’s End Campground. It was soon apparent that all three men had adequate 7 wt. outfits, but only Jim was truly ready, as both Rich Sr. and Jr. needed leaders and tippets. We briefly fished the initial runs, searching for fish along the way. As we approached the first big hole, I recognized two clients of mine from years past. Despite my attempt at conversion, they remained bait fishermen who were catching only suckers on this morning. My discerning eye was able to pick out only a few steelhead mixed in with this large sucker school, so we continued downstream.
The fish we were able to see and target were very few over the next few hundred yards, and none took our offerings. As we rounded the bend above the second hemlock hole, I saw several large steelies in the fast water just above the cascading waterfall. While I was still positioning the three, Rich Jr. caught his first. As striking fish continued to cooperate for the next hour or so, all three had considerable trouble ridding themselves of the terrible habit of continuing to hold the fly line after each hook-up resulting in numerous pulled hooks and broken tippets. Junior repeatedly hit and hooked branches behind him despite my continued encouragement of the roll cast, but he did catch another fish.
Following a flurry of strikes on large (#6) olive-then black wooly buggers, the fish became dormant. After trying various nymphs and other minnow imitations as well as terrestrials, different colors of sucker spawn were used until we found success with cream angora SS # 14. By early afternoon, a light Cahill hatch encouraged me to continue with the light patterns as more fish turned on. Although all three had incidental sucker catches, only the younger Rich caught steelhead with any consistency. Jim’s back pain became more intense, eventually dampening his spirit in his pursuit of the trophy steelhead. The elder Rich hadn’t yet given up on his efforts, but all three were quite tired.
Finally, at 3:45 PM, we started back upstream planning to continue to cast to any fish encountered. Our efforts remained fruitless until the run just below that first big hole. With Rich Jr. at my side, I spotted a beautiful mature male in full spawning colors. Directing junior to the proper approach I said, “Stand there and swing your fly 4 to 5 feet upstream of his head…you’ll have only one try so make it perfect!” His less than perfect cast spooked the fish and it entered the hole disappearing into the school of suckers.
After taking one final group picture, I asked Rich Sr. how many steelheads he could see in this hole as a test of how my “fish spotting instructions” had worked. Although he spotted a few, he still had trouble separating the steelhead from the suckers. I encouraged him to cast to a particular fish I suspected was the trophy we had just seen enter the hole. His first few casts were off target prompting me to redirect. He had a tandem set-up and I told him to try placing the fly he could see (the larger one in this case) directly in the strike zone of the fish. After two more casts, he was able to reach the strike zone consistently. With every expectation the fish would hit, I intently watched each drift until I saw his mouth move ever so slightly. I whispered, “I think he has it so lift and take up your slack.” Apparently, senior didn’t hear me as the fish moved into the faster current and began shaking his head violently. “He’s got it, he’s on it!!!….Lift, lift, lift…what are you waiting for???” Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Rich Sr. reacted appropriately. The fish was well hooked, and senior fought it admirably for 10 to 15 minutes to the net. As I prepared the fish for pictures prior to release, I realized the 7 # 28 inch beauty had “eaten” both flies. The large (#6) olive WB was hooked to the left mouth corner, and the # 14 cream SS, the right. To have caught his first steelhead, a fine trophy no less, after a long and tiring day, despite a delayed hook-set (of two hooks), with or without coaching…this, I call FATE.
The image of this fish and many other trophies may be viewed in the CATCH REPORTS section of my web site PASteelheadGuide.com

Our day was cold (low 20’s) and had plenty of wind and snow flurries to go along with the low, clear streams nearly devoid of fish this spring. The basics of fly-rod use and casting were begun “on the job” in an area of lower Elk Creek having abundant back casting room. As the morning progressed, I found my greatest difficulty trying to mold the brute strength of this construction worker into the finesse required of a steelhead fly-fisherman.

No fish were caught that morning save a large sucker I hooked and landed during a demo cast. We took a long hike thru the woods back to the car, checked out the waters under Whiteman’s bridge, and headed for the Legion Hole.

Marty and I covered the fast water run above the hole without success, even though I had caught one the day before. The bait fishermen were doing well at the hole, especially one using salted minnows. Various minnow imitations were tried without success. Eric, the third member of the group got extremely cold and left for home early.

Another move was in order…to warm ourselves in my car and hopefully change the proverbial “luck of the Irish.” On the way back to the car, I whispered to Tim, “I’m going to fix Marty right up with some practice on the steelie smolts,” having found a hole just full of them on my scouting mission of the day before.

We parked the car at Struchen Flats, totally alone in the huge parking area. After a quick lunch of sandwiches and candy, we hit the first hole. I tied a small chartreuse sucker spawn on Marty’s tippet, walked him across the creek to the best spot, and watched as his float twitched with his first strike. After some fine-tuning of his hook-setting coordination, he hooked and landed his first steelie…a mere 6 inch beauty. With loving care, we released this and a few more somewhat larger fish until I saw three large shadows deep in the hole and below the actively feeding smolts! With further coaching, Marty enticed a larger fish into a strike, but missed the hook-up.

Tim had gone downstream earlier, so Marty and I got the car and picked him up. Since he was almost “frozen” by the bitter wind, we all took a break and hit the Elk Creek Inn for a bowl of soup.

An hour or so later, it was back to Struchen Flats. Before donning my jacket, and with the heart of the eternal optimist I am, I attached my landing net…”just in case.” This time we headed downstream with Tim leading the way, and Marty at my side helping to spot fish in the smaller runs.

Carefully approaching one of these areas, I told Marty to stare at the foaming water for a steelhead tail. It took a while until he finally saw it. I then went through exactly what he was to do after hooking the fish, as Tim walked back to see why we stopped. “There’s Marty’s first steelhead,” I said. After the “post hook-up plan” was explained to Marty’s understanding, we rehearsed the perfect drift. I added a split-shot a few inches above the chartreuse egg fly. The first 50 or 60 drifts ensued. Although Marty gained intimate knowledge of the large witch hazel branches just above this run, he never actually hooked them! The fish moved in response to a few of the presentations, but wouldn’t hit. After trying various egg and sucker spawn patterns as well as nymphs, I tied on my own emerald shiner marabou imitation and added another tiny split shot.

The steelie hit on about the third drift! Marty lifted the rod perfectly as had been rehearsed. “Don’t palm the reel or hold the line…let the rod and drag fight the fish…OK, reel in some line…keep steady pressure on her…keep trying to lift her out of the hole, and as she gives in a little, try to bring her toward this gravel bar.” Marty followed my coaching perfectly. “If she heads downstream, point the rod at her and we’ll follow.” After a few more minutes of cautiously increasing pressure, the fish tired. I slowly walked below the hole with my net ready, as Marty eased the fish toward the net, expertly giving a little slack as she entered its’ opening.

“Well done Marty!” A shade over 6.5 #, the two-foot long female was a fine specimen and offered a fittingly successful conclusion to a difficult first fly-fishing day for this young man. The photos helped capture and preserve the joy of this unforgettable event.

A short story by Doc Wally.

The “steelies” were thick in this hole yesterday.  Because it was still too dark to see all the fish, I cast my fly into the upstream current.  This first dead-drift stopped abruptly at its’ mid-portion.  In order to avoid the frequent incidental snagging associated with fishing holes crowded with fish, I gently lifted my fly rod tip.  A greyhounding trophy “steelie” promptly destroyed the near calm of the eddy current.  He jumped twice more on his upstream run.  Prevailing light didn’t permit a clear view of the fish, but I knew he was big and already down to my backing.  Just when my thoughts turned to following him upstream, he turned back — forcing me to reel quickly — wishing for something more efficient than my 1:1 ratio fly reel.

When he next felt the pressure of my drag, three more jumps occurred at the  tail-end of the hole.  He then began to tough it out near the bottom.  By now, it was obvious that he was upper lip hooked and tiring rapidly.  A few minutes later I was able to beach him.  He weighed a little over 11 pounds on my hand scale — a beautiful male!  Since Larry, the Fly Shop owner, had a certified scale not 15 yards from me, I decided to have him accurately weighed.  An official 11# 15oz. placed me in 3’rd place in the Elk Creek Sports Steelhead Contest ending on December 31st!  After rushing him back to the stream, a very difficult 5-minute revival was rewarded by a lively fish returning to mid-current to mate and perhaps fight again.

A few smaller fish occupied the rest of my morning — most coming on white patterns of my streamer or sucker spawn.  Since my hunt for larger fish was otherwise fruitless here, I decided to try Walnut Creek after lunch.

Walnut was as clear as Elk, but much more crowded.  Most holes held horizontal and vertical layers of fish, but only horizontal elbow-to-elbow layers of fisherman. My first hook-up was a 7-8 pound female—nothing spectacular — on my white streamer.  A few other smaller ones ensued as well as an incidentally snagged fish.

Manchester hole was unbelievable!  I almost never fish this hole except for the tail waters and its’ very upper portion.  An older man was fighting a horse of a fish at the tail waters. As I watched, eagerly wishing to connect with one that size, the 10 to 15# class fish broke the 6# tippet but remained in view.  Since there wasn’t room to present my fly to him, I ventured upstream.

At the upper end of this huge hole, I spotted a large male.  My excitement was so extreme that I quickly laid down a cast to an envisioned perfect position.  Either because of my adrenaline level, or the slight wind from my right, my tiny split shot touched his nose in this mild current.  This infuriated the fish, causing him to turn and quickly swim a tight circle looking for the cause of his disturbance.  He meanly glared at nearby fish that promptly veered clear of his intimidation.  For the next few minutes, I continued to dead-drift my streamer past his nose to no avail.

When I was just about to change my pattern, something else disturbed the fish, and he suddenly turned downstream the moment I was pulling my fly for the next cast.  With the white streamer fast to his dorsal fin, he took off downstream at full speed!  Fortunately my drag was light on that first run.  “Fish on …coming down,” I yelled as the elbow-to-elbow fisherman lifted their lines in sequential unison as so many toy soldiers, their rifles.  He took all my fly line, some of the backing, and was still moving down the hole when I decided to follow.

About 2/3’rds of the way down through this huge hole, he turned slightly.  I settled in and tightened my drag a bit.  Repeatedly the trophy steelie tried to bore his way to the very bottom as I continued my upward pressure.  Although he was weakening considerably, he never turned fully on his side; instead, he would turn the opposite direction of my pressure and – again – head for the bottom.

An older gentleman who was fishing at his wife’s side kindly offered to net the fish for me.  I politely declined – telling him the fish was for release if for no other reason than the fact he was snagged.  We were standing on a limestone ledge in a foot of water, but one step would take us to a depth of 4 or 5 feet, and I didn’t want to see him “make” that first step either.

As the fight continued, I put more and more pressure on this great fish – hoping the fly would pull and the saved energy would facilitate his survival – to no avail.  Several times he was close enough to the edge that I was almost able to beach him in the 6-12 inches of water, but not so.  The older gentleman stood ready with his net on my downstream side.  It was questionable as to whether or not he’d fit the net opening, although it was deep enough to hold this 15-20# fish.  I really don’t like to let ‘others’ net fish for release anyway, but he remained persistent until the fish was nearly ready.  I firmly lifted the fish toward the net — more firmly, more firmly, just a little more … and the #6 Mustad finally pulled!  He fell directly to the bottom like a rock.  With great admiration I watched him breathing and resting in this crystal-clear water.  Minutes went by and he continued to slowly breath — otherwise remaining motionless!

Three smaller steelhead came into view. At first they seemed to be bothering him much as blackbirds and jays bother crows and hawks. Continued careful observation revealed their true purpose.  These three “ ladies”, were gently nudging, cajoling, encouraging this great fish to recover and rejoin the spawning run.  As their graceful “dance” continued, I wished for my video camera since in all my years of fishing I had never witnessed such a beautiful sight.  With a few strokes of his tail, he moved farther away from the ledge — remaining in full view.  His entourage of three continued their encouragement until he finally blended  with the sea of black, which marked this huge school of migrating steelhead.

Thinking my day was complete; I began my downward trek to the car. As I approached the end of Manchester hole, a fisherman was leaving his spot mumbling, “ They’re just not hitting minnows.”  Let’s see if they want my minnow imitation, I muttered.  The fish were thick numbering probably 4 to 6 vertically, and 20 ft. across.  My plan was for a slow, gentle retrieve — letting the striking fish set the hook.  As the unweighted fly had traversed 2/3rds of the stream width on my first cast, I spied another giant!  As the fly passed to a point near his huge head, he moved his mouth ever so slightly.  As I could no longer see the fly, I gently lifted the tip of my 9 ft. Orvis when “all hell broke loose.”  He took off upstream with three gray hounding jumps followed by a vertical one which cleared the surface by 3 to 4 ft.  Although I could see the fly at the corner of his mouth on the first or second jump, he threw it with the last one.  This fish was at least as large – if not larger than the other “monsters” just seen!   So much for “the day of the trophy steelhead.”

A short story by Doc Wally, inspired by events of 13 December 2002.

At the end (or beginning, depending on ones perspective) of the wall; that is, where the turbulent flow of the creek ends, I began fishing.  My initial offing was an Estes egg fly, chartreuse with a tiny red tail, and a # 18 pheasant tail as the dropper.  Over the next half hour, my float captured the ever so slight drift of this rain-starved creek time after time without even a bump.  After changing the dropper fly the third or fourth time, I moved upstream.

There were no fish in the next hole, nor the two smaller ones just above.  As I cautiously reached the “stop-sign hole”, I could see a dozen or so fish resting in the slower water.  At this moment, I was alone at perhaps the second busiest hole on lower Walnut Creek.

Although I felt my first cast was perfect, none of the resident fish agreed, and my flies were ignored.  Positioning myself to cast to a larger male caused other fish to veer away slightly, confirming one of the disadvantages of fishing clear water.  As the chartreuse fly drifted within the feeding range of the large male, he looked and moved ever so slightly toward  it…but passed.

Since I remained alone, I casted further upstream presenting my flies to others, resting my chosen target.  After several fruitless casts above, I drifted my fly perfectly within his comfort range.  His hooked jaws opened and the brightly colored fly disappeared.  Feeling the hook immediately, he exploded in the relatively shallow waters of this smallish hole.  His fight, however, was short lived in the 70-degree water permitting an easy beaching, revival, and release.  Although he was about 30 “ in length, he weighed only 9 #.  While reviving him, I noticed a large lamprey mark along his right side.  This made twice he’s tempted fate, twice to my knowledge, that is.  He was able to rid himself of that lamprey before his skin was broken, and I just released him.  What a lucky fish!

Chartreuse continued to be the popular color, as I caught and released three more before I left that hole.  While I was landing the last fish, I noticed the larger one still hanging around.  Wondering if he’d hit again, I tied a single chartreuse egg fly with a blood dot on a # 14 hook and let it drift at his nose.  To my surprise, the fly disappeared and I was into my second fight of the day with this fine fish.

After his release, and no longer alone at this hole, I moved upstream.  Concomitant with my relocation, the sun’s rays began to hit the gin-clear water reducing fish cooperation to a bare minimum.  Fate graced me with one more decent hook-up at the hole just below Manchester Bridge—an already ripening 7 # female.  By now, it was nearly 10 AM, so I began working my way back to my car.  Pausing at the “stop sign hole”, I could still spot my “lucky fish” of earlier this AM, surrounded by females as he lay at the end of the hole.

Later that day, I returned to lower Walnut Creek to fish ‘til dark.  Most fish I saw remained very inactive.  A few fishermen were present, but none with fish or hook-ups.  With my tippet again decorated in chartreuse, I wondered if I’d be able to find and entice that 9 # male from earlier in the day.  As fishing pressure remained light, only a 7 year-old girl and her father fished the “stop sign hole.”    I began fishing across from them and downstream.  After a few casts each at several changing positions, I noticed an extremely long stringer tied to a rock about 10 feet from the water’s edge.  At the other end lay a large steelhead, upside down and quite dead.   Complimenting the little girl and her father on their catch, I mentioned the fish looked like one I caught that morning.  As they didn’t mind, I pulled the stringer to check the right side of the fish.  Sure enough, the tell-tail lamprey mark confirmed that luck had indeed run out on this steelhead.

My fish of destiny was no more!

A short story by Doc Wally.

Although I have lost my youthful enthusiasm for many of my endeavors during recent years, steelhead fishing remains a significant exception.  Because of my intense love of the sport, and even though I had guided eight straight full days, the day in late November began like any other.  Although part of me wanted to stay in the sack, I arouse well before first light, dressed, and walked out my camper door to try the big hole behind Folly’s End’s Fly Shop.

After a few dead drifts proved fruitless, I changed patterns.  Further down stream I watched as a few fish promptly ignored at least a dozen presentations of another half dozen new patterns.  While I continued working my way down, a fish porposed in the next large hole in view.  As I cautiously reached the hole, a brown picket pin was carefully drifted into the headwaters.  The calmer waters of the hole suddenly erupted with the head and shoulders of a giant fish.  Feeling the violent pull at my rod tip, I reacted, pointing the rod toward the fish as I had done so many times before.

He gray-hounded away, but suddenly circled, heading upstream much faster then I could regain slack.  As he passed, an early ray of sunshine over my shoulder illuminated his dime-sized left eye seemingly reflecting bewilderment at the current happenings.  His line-screaming run continued as a passing fisherman took one look and yelled, “That’s the biggest fish I’ve ever seen in Elk Creek!”  Already down to my backing, I hastened after the trophy “steely” to see him surface in the next hole upstream…so far away, I mused.  At the head of that hole a second fisherman echoed, “That’s the biggest fish I’ve ever seen!”

Unfortunately, that proved to be the last sighting of the biggest fish of this day, since he got free moments after that last jump.  Whether or not he was the “Biggest Fish in the Lake,” remains to be seen, since the giant fish had gone his way leaving only the thrill of it all…until the next time.