PA Steelhead Guide - local knowledge, expert guidance, the fish of a lifetime

          The morning was partly cloudy and unseasonably warm for mid-December in Northwestern Pennsylvania.  A light wind out of the northeast predicted an approaching low-pressure system that would affect the mood of my quarry--- the trophy steelhead!  When I left my camper on the shore of Elk Creek, I was alone at that first hole --- just before dawn’s first light.  The fly was a personal creation---a wooly bugger/maribou mixture in white.  A bit of silver flash, a pair of black eyes and a touch of red at the throat completed the dressing of the #6 streamer.  
            
          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.