Big Poppa Pump.

The "disease" is gearing up in all its splendid glory. It senses what awaits after a long and filling Thanksgiving meal. The anticipation has been building for weeks, Great Lakes Steelhead Round 2. This time, we will be rolling to Erie looking for some sweet, sweet chrome. The anticipation has been killing me, and seeing the new Drake Video Award films did not help me concentrate on my schoolwork. Im kinda like RA Beattie in Stream of Consciousness, except instead of listening to a client, I'm sitting through a lecture on political theory. My mind is wondering about dead drifts under thingamobobbers, beef jerky, and how drunk I was the night before. The situation is repeated right now, I have a 9 am tomorrow and a paper due but I'm tying flies and writing a blog. John Stuart Mill and Sparknotes can wait until uhhh say 8:15. Anyway, hopefully the conditions will be prime this weekend, and by prime I'm talking lake effect snow.

Praise the Steel.

Speaking of prime, Big Poppa Pump himself will be making his first appearance this fall on any fly fishing trip. His massive amount of experience (six times fly fishing?) will come in handy attempting to cast, hook, and land fish amongst other anglers. Bring your hard hats everyone, this could get ugly. All kidding aside, I am looking forward to showing Pops the ropes of steelheading. Anytime, he gets to come out and fish with my brother and I is a treat. He rarely catches anything, but when he does it makes for an exciting moment. The first time he ever went fly fishing with us, he hooked into a 20 inch rainbow and proclaimed, (to our astonishment) "WHOA, I GOT THE BIG ONE"!!! Needless to say, he did not land the fish, but anytime it is brought up leads to major laughs. Another example, the second time my father went fly fishing, was a week long trip to Colorado. In four days of fishing, my father caught one trout. He has got some mad skills with a fly rod. He has since made some progression and I am looking forward to having him land some steel this weekend.

That is One Sexy Dude.

WOAH, I GOT THE BIG ONE!

(actual battle, somehow captured)

His only Fish in Four Days.

Notice, the patented Big Poppa Pump Landing Technique.

I look at these experiences with my father as my way of repaying him for everything he has taught me in life. Taking my brother and sister fishing when we were young and painfully putting up with us by untying birdnests of 20lb test that we somehow conjured at the ends of our lines took some serious patience. Fast forward to this weekend, in all likelihood I will be the one untying birds nests at the end of his line. It is ironic how things have flip flopped over time. For my dad, watching me grow up and become who I am today is probably one of the highlights of his life. While sharing my passion with him, in all likelihood, will be one of the highlights of my life.

Deckers, Colorado

Central Catholic Hoodie circa 1991

Worth More Than Gold.

It began with a simple trailer, viewed from The Drakes film awards section, and then spiraled out of control into multiple daily viewings. The trailer had it all; an important issue, gorgeous cinematography, characters, and most importantly one of the best quotes of the year. Almost a year later, I found myself entering a quickly filling auditorium. My heartbeat began to rise and my anticipation was reaching a boiling point. I could not wait any longer to see this film.

Taking my seat, I scanned the audience and what I found fulfilled my expectations. You had your typical adventurous folk both rich and poor. You had your old filthy rich dressed in their best, and some young guns looking like they worked on wall street. Then you had the trout bums whose fly rods are worth more than the cars they drive. I fell into the latter category, and then I was bumped by my brother who whispered in my ear, "these guys are going to be your clients one day".

At first, I was a little standoffish like your typical fly fisherman but then I began to realize the commonalities we all shared. We were all there to see art displayed in its most visual form. Films made by fellow adventurers intent on making a difference in the world we have all come to cherish. These films ranged from climbing, saving the last of the earth's elephants, to protecting some of the last wild places on earth. Arts and causes that we all should be aware of. It did not matter that I never went rock climbing on the coast of California or kayaking down an untraveled river in the heart of Borneo. It also didn't matter that many of the people around me had never had the pleasure of catching and releasing a native trout in a pristine environment. We all have our differences, but we could all unite in supporting these filmmakers who lay their heart and soul on the line to spread the word.

The film I came to see, Red Gold, is Felt Soul Media's latest masterpiece detailing the proposed Pebble Mine in the headwaters of Bristol Bay, the last great wild salmon fishery on earth. The film is now traveling the country winning award after award and spreading awareness of the issue at hand. The filmmakers went our of their way to present all sides of the issue, the benefits and risks of both the mine and stopping the mine. With the issue so vividly displayed, where do we stand? We stand together united for a common purpose in an interconnected web of life with our environment and fellow species. This connection is our lifeline and is worth more than the gold beneath one of the last truly wild places on earth.

Where Are the Keys?

Having such high expectations for our first trip north to the Lake Ontario tributaries, we invariably set ourselves up for a huge let down. By no means did we have a horrible trip, we just didn't catch as many fish as we intended to. Over four days of fishing, the number of fish hooked outnumbered those landed nearly 5 to 1. The fish were strong, acrobatic, and incredibly efficient at throwing hooks. So, the first few days presented us with a learning curve before fish could come to hand. When the fish did come to hand, our self esteem was restored, and much needed fuel was added to ensure continued enthusiasm.

Adam's Weapon of Choice

Loop Opti Dry Fly

Sexy.

Adam & A Nice Brown

Smile.

About to Land a Small Steelhead

Amidst the Fall Foliage

Day one saw us head north to the Salmon River where conditions proved to be unfavorable. Arriving around 7:30, we pulled into the upper fly zone parking lot to the tune of 30 degrees, ice, and six inches of snow on the ground. This being our first stop of the trip, we were pumped to say the least. So pumped, that rigging up proved to be quite the fiasco. When we did finally reach the stream, we were awestruck at the intensity of the flow. Twice the average, the river was roaring at 1,449 cfs. There would be no crossing of the river nor attaining better positioning to reach the best lies. We were stuck with one side, and about a 5-10 ft range of water along the bank to work with. After a few hours of fishing, all we had to show for our efforts were 4 brown trout 8-14 inches. After this, we headed to the lower fly zone where our luck yielded a zero percent change. Leaving the Salmon River, we had a positive outlook because we had caught some fish, while other fisherman around us had not. We decided to spend the last few hours of daylight exploring the little and south sandy creeks nearby. We ended up fishing little sandy for around an hour where I landed two small native rainbows and saw zero steelhead or brown trout.

My First Fish @ Oak

Coho Salmon

My, What Big Teeth You Have

Landed Two, Lost Many

Days two-four saw us head southwest to Orleans county and the Oak Orchard River, Marsh Creek, and Sandy Creek. We combat fished the Oak Orchard River for three days along the first half mile below the reservoir. Here we battled with fellow anglers, overhanging branches, a killer muddy slippery single track trail on a vertical cliff, and feisty browns eager to teach us a lesson. Adam hooked and landed three nice browns between 4-6 pounds while I had no luck on my particular lie. Joining Adam, I hooked into a massive steelhead that promptly broke me off after five minutes and a 100 yard joyride downstream. Later, Adam too lost a similar epic struggle. Several smaller steelhead were caught between 16-20 inches and my first salmon, a nice female coho. I also lost several monster browns whose head thrashes easily threw my hooks in the fast water. I managed only one brown at the Oak, a below average female, that would be a trophy at any other water. Adam and I later landed our first nice steelhead of the trip.

Pig Steelhead on the 5wt Helios Opti Combo

Get Optimized.

Bruiser Male Steelhead Put a Nice Bend in the 6wt.

Chrome.

Overall, the trip was an absolute blast. Anytime you escape the rigors of daily life and are free to fulfill your passion, is a day worthwhile. Traveling across New York fishing for huge fish while living out of your car only heightens this sense of freedom. The weather, conditions, and crazy people you come across provide endless opportunities for laughter and fun stories in the future. Looking back on these experiences will always bring a smile and a thought of the life a trout bum leads. Although we didn't land many fish, the ones that got away have made us eager to return and seek revenge on those that lurk beneath. This revenge won't have to wait long because in three weeks, we will be doing it all again. This time however, I am sure it will be even colder and crazier than ever before.

A Nice Female Brown

She's A Beauty

STEEL.

Home = Riley and Sophie

Prepare for Glory.

Only one more day until Adam and I embark on our first journey north to the Lake Ontario tributaries and massive lake run steelhead and brown trout. We have planned this trip for over a month and the anticipation has occupied our minds for much longer than it should have. The ability to focus on any task albeit school or listening to someone talk has been pushed aside and replaced by images of monstrous brown trout at the ends of our fly lines. I cannot believe that these images are about to be reality. I cannot wait.

Standing on the Edge

Erie, PA

Adam & Matt

Having only fished for steelhead one other time, we are going to be put to the test. Unfamiliar waters, frigid weather, and the strongest fish we have ever fought are what we are up against. Not to mention the thousands of other anglers we will have to contend with. We are going to try and abandon the crowds and the combat fishing to search for less crowded water smaller streams teeming with fish. Of course, this is all wishful thinking, but we will have four long days on the water to find our little slice of heaven. Speaking of heaven, sleeping in the bed of a pickup truck, outside in a Walmart parking lot, in sub-freezing temperatures is a lot what heaven is going to feel like.

Lake Erie Hen on the 5wt.

Adam & Steelhead

My 5wt orvis clearwater is not going to be able to handle these fish like it did on the Lake Erie tributaries last year. I upgraded and am hoping to slay some beasts on my Loop AEG 966-4 and Multi Reel. Adam is gonna go hardcore and fish his brandnew HELIOS tipflex 5wt and Loop Opti Dryfly reel. Of course he has his 8wt Zero G to always fall back on. We also have been building an arsenal of flies. Egg patterns, streamers, and large nymphs are gonna be on the menu up in New York in all manner of colors. One of these flies is going to own and we both know it.

Nymphs

Streamers

Eggs

Black Estaz Stone

METALHEAD Special

Veiled Otters Soft Egg

100% Grade A Ownage

One more day... and to quote Dumb and Dumber... "we're there man"

Green Drakes.

The first "major" hatch I ever witnessed occured at Penns Creek, PA during the annual May-June Green Drake Fest. I fished the area exactly a year before but my buddy and I were off the water before the spinner fall. We had fished since 6 a.m. and caught plenty of fish, and it was interesting to see the looks of fellow fisherman who had just arrived as we made our way back to our van. We feasted on peanut butter and jelly, our first meal of the day, while other fisherman fished for rising brown trout yards away. I don't know what we were thinking but our time would come.

A Male Resting Before the Big Show

Our time came exactly a year later. We arrived at Penns in the afternoon and promptly got on the river near a one of its larger tributaries. We walked and fished our way downstream until finally we reached a spot that looked worthy. Some older fisherman were already hunkered down, so we settled for the tail end of one of the larger pools. We were still miles upstream from the main stem of the hatch and thousands of other visiting anglers. However, the action would still be intense as evidenced by the amount of Drakes buzzing like hummingbirds all along the streamside. While we waited for the action to begin, photography time was in session.

Lookout.

A Close Up Encounter.

Graphite Weave.

This female's tails were four inches long.

Around 7:30 p.m. the Drakes began emerging from their hideouts and hovered, gliding up and down near the tree tops. They looked like mini-helicopters coming in to land, only to decide that something wasn't right, and pull up at the last minute. As the time passed, their descents became lower and lower and males and females converged dancing the tango above our heads. Around this time, the trout emerged from their lairs in the deep water and began rising all around us to Sulphers. Some rose mere feet away, seemingly oblivious to our existence. We simply picked a riser and hoped that our imitation would suffice. Surprisingly, it took us awhile before the action picked up. As dusk settled in, we started to have some luck. We missed several nice fish due to our increased excitement and nerves. The trout were feasting as the first Green Drakes began to hit the water.

A Superfine Female.

Isonychia.

With the action increasing I zeroed in on a feeding fish along the bank. Their was a ball of roots protruding into the water at the base of the bank. This fish was inches from the shore. I had no idea if it was a trout, chub, or rock bass but I decided to give her a try. After several near takes, the fish rose and gently took my fly. Setting the hook, the fish arched into the current and peeled off yards of line. This was a trout, and a nice one at that. After several deep runs, the trout came to hand. The hen was a thick sixteen inches, the largest trout I ever caught out of Penns and my first during the epic Green Drake hatch. Several more trout would come to hand before darkness settled in, none matching the elegance or strength of the first.

Cork Lust.

Sunshine.

With darkness setting in, a sound approached in the distance. It resembled a howling wind and the tapping of rain on a window pane. Having never witnessed it before, I was shocked to discover its origin. Shining my headlamp over the stream, the main swarm of Drakes made its way upstream releasing their eggs as they went. The sheer numbers infront of us cannot truly be described with words. Every fly fisherman needs to experience it in order to fully appreciate it. However, the moment could not last. The Drakes soon perished, falling to their watery grave and the mercy of hungry trout. Others, clung on to my clothing and face possibly attracted to the light at the end of the tunnel. It made for some interesting pictures as we listened to the trout gorge themselves on the dead spinners on the water. It was calming to stand in the darkness and listen to the sound of water running between your legs. The walk back to the truck ended my first Green Drake experience on Penns and marked the beginning of a new era and respect for the wonders found on this truly magnificent stream.

The Spot.

Every fly fisherman has a favorite spot that encompasses everything they have come to love about the sport of fly fishing. My favorite haunt happens to be the type of stream that I cherish most. The small stream that is chalk full of beautiful trout eager to take your fly. The stream is wonderfully clear and is an entomologists dream for its diverse aquatic life. Inch long caddis pupa and large stoneflies inhabit its riffles and runs.

Taking it all in.

Hoping for the best.

It fishes as well during highwater in the winter as it does in the summer when the water is unreasonably low. In the fall, it is a site to behold as the leaves change and larger trout from a nearby tailwater migrate up it to spawn. These trout, when on the move, are a true challenge in the tight quarters of this stream. Did I mention it was small? Some areas are no more than five feet wide and in the summer the vegetation creates a tunnel, limiting the fishable areas and your ability to sneak up on fish.

A Winter Brown

Winter Wonderland

There are a variety of pools, riffles, and pocket water that hold trout. Around each bend, the stream offers a different opportunity to try your chances against brown, brook, rainbow, and even native tiger trout. These are the types of characteristics that every fly fisherman comes to admire about a stream. Fortunately I have found my dream spot and I only hope that it remains pristine so that future generations can enjoy its bounty.

A Summer Brown

Summer Tunnels

The Beginning.

When I was younger, I sucked at fishing. I was the kid who would go to the local stream on opening day with my father and brother and not catch a thing. I would be sandwiched in between other sons, using the exact same bait and watch as they would pull their limit out. I would sit there and not even receive a bite. I usually took it in stride and sat back and enjoyed the time with my family. I particularly enjoyed having my dad or grandfather untangle the atrocities that my brother and I somehow created at the end of our lines. Little did I know that one day this situation would be reversed.

Hooking into a Pohopoco

Brown

I discovered fly fishing at the tender age of 12 when most teenagers have other things in mind. My friend Adam and I always explored the local woods catching various species pretending that we had our own tv show. One particular day ended up changing our lives. While exploring a local small stream that was barely four feet wide Adam busted out his fathers brand new fly fishing outfit to see if we could catch some fish. Settled in at one of the few fishable holes, we experimented with a 9ft 6wt early generation cabelas outfit that probably weighed over a pound. It was ideally suited for the tight quarters we were in and the overhanging branches we had to cast under. I believe we tied a prince nymph to the end of probably 20 pound straight mono and preceded to make the best out of the situation. Adam preceded to share his knowledge of the sport since he was a proud owner of an eagle claw outfit and had caught some fishes before. After Adam caught several "chubs" it was my turn. My first few casts can only be descibed as "chuck and duck". Luckily it was only a prince nymph and not a conehead wooly bugger or else I would have caught something other than a fish. My first fish on a fly rod was sadly not a trout, nor the annoying stream chub, it was a sucker.

A Morning on the Little Lehigh

This sucker, in all its glorious six inches went on to revolutionize my life and fish catching abilities. For my 13th birthday I received a Orvis Clearwater Outfit and as they say the rest is history. Now at the age of 22, fly fishing has become my passion. It is my anti-drug and I am horribly addicted. It is as my friend once said, "a disease". This disease has taken me places that I never would have gone before. It has led to many friendships and brought me closer to my brother and father. It has also led to many a night where schoolwork has been put aside to tie flies or read the new Drake. It will continue to have an exponential role in my life and I hope to share my experiences and more importantly the fish with all fellow fish bums.

A Penns Creek Brown