It was cold enough to see my breath as I locked the door of my apartment, but not so cold that I’d need gloves in order to fish. As I hopped in the truck and flicked on the GPS, I thought for a moment about heading to the beach instead. It was mid- November, and any number of locations within a 5-hour drive could put me a cast away from blitzing bass and bluefish fattening up during the last leg of the fall run. But then again, the surfcasting season was already past its peak, so I thought better of it and settled in for the 5-hour drive northwest, toward another fall run.

I’d first heard about this “other” fall run at the Greater Philadelphia Sportsman Show, one early January day many years ago. I was there with my Aunt Maureen, and as we walked up and down the aisles, I stopped cold in front of one booth that had an open cooler in the front. Inside, stacked like cordwood, were several giant trout on ice. “Caught this week,” the guide proclaimed.

“What are they?” I asked. They looked like the trout I was familiar with from my creeks back home, but bigger, almost meaner, and wilder.
“Steelhead.”
“When can you catch them?”
“Right now.”
I took a brochure and studied it the entire way home. It boasted Salmon River in Pulaski as the best fishing in New York State, and pictures of smiling clients with giant salmon and gleaming steelhead stared back at me. I needed to get there.

The only problem was, being 11, I needed a ride there and someone to foot the bill for the gas, room and guide. Upstate New York in January was a tough sell, and my steelhead dreams would have to wait.

Some 12 years later, I finally made a plan to give Pulaski a go. I’d head up on my own— even in November, Upstate New York is a tough sell—gather what I could from the tackle shops, and hit the river. My budget for fuel and lodging and fishing license left no room for a guided trip, but stream trout back home never proved too difficult, why should these?

Leading up to my weekend trip, I studied a number of articles on Lake Ontario tributary steelheading, and to be honest, each one was more vexing than the next. Float-fishing with intricate split-shot patterns, center-pin reels and swinging flies on “switch rods” seemed way over the head of this admitted PowerBait dunker. I quickly realized I’d need a new rod and reel to target these fish. The general consensus was that a long rod was best, so I borrowed an 11-foot crappie-fishing noodle rod from a co-worker. I matched it with a small spinning reel spooled with braid.

Five hours from my front door, I pulled into the parking lot at Fat Nancy’s tackle shop. Taking no mercy on a first-timer, the morning shift loaded me down with floats, weights and flies. I’d return two hours later with half of the gear and a broken rod. My long-awaited Salmon River adventure was not going as planned.

A local guide hanging out at the counter must have sensed my despair when I asked if they rented rods.

“How ya makin’ out?” he asked.

“Not great. Broke a rod, can’t figure out the floats and keep tangling and snagging bottom. It’s my first time up here.”

“Hmm. Well you don’t need to be bothering with the floats to catch these fish. Just pinch on enough split shot to tick over the bottom without getting hung up. And try some of these.”

He pulled a film canister out of his pocket and picked from it a small bead that looked more at home in an arts and crafts store than a bait and tackle shop. “Looks just like an egg to them. They can’t help themselves when one of these rolls past.”

He showed me to the packages of beads and I bought a few shades of orange and pink, a few more split shots and some toothpicks to keep the beads in place. Then it was back to the river.

I opted to fish the upper river, just below the Altmar Bridge and the Lower Fly Zone. Since most of the fish are destined for this area, fish numbers swell in the upper portions of the river as newly arriving fish from Lake Ontario join the fish already staging in the river. Easy access and reliable fish presence also leads to big crowds along this stretch. This being my first time on the Salmon River, I’d hoped to fish in a crowd so I could observe how the successful anglers fished.

I didn’t walk far from the parking lot, squeezing into a spot in the pool directly below the bridge. I cast upstream and let the offering drift down past me. The tick-ticktick of the split shot over the rocks at first felt exactly like a hit, and I set the hook into rocks more than a few times. Then, about ten casts in, I felt a tap that was distinctly different. To try and describe in words what was different about the hit of a steelhead from the bottom would be impossible. All I can tell you is, you’ll know. I set the hook, and the rod hauled over, once again as if I had snagged the bottom. But this time, the bottom came to life and the long noodle rod pulsed as the fish at the other end shook its head in anger.

I’d always heard that steelhead are incredible fighters, but I didn’t know what to expect until that moment. An instant after feeling the hook, the fish was two feet in the air, flying up stream like a chrome ballistic missile. The fish seemed to bounce on the water’s surface, going airborne again as soon as it touched the water. I could do nothing but hold on and watch the show. As soon as he was on, he was gone, continuing his journey upstream with a little extra jewelry.

I’d never experienced a fish like that before, and I was determined to get another one on the line. I was hooked.

The Salmon River is about a 5-hour drive from Boston, New York City and Philadelphia. There are ample accommodations nearby, ranging from log cabins to budget motels, and there may be the highest concentration of tackle shops per square mile in the Northeast.

Steelhead are an anadromous form of the rainbow trout, and in their native range of the Pacific Northwest, they spawn in freshwater, but live and feed in saltwater. In Lake Ontario, the steelhead leave the tributaries where they are released as smolts, and feed and grow in the main lake for three years before returning to the river for the first time. Typical Salmon River steelhead are 3 to 6 pounds, but 8- to 15-pound fish are fairly common, if you can land them.

The steelhead begin re-entering the river in September, following the king and coho salmon that have returned to the river to spawn. The eggs of the salmon create a feast for the steelhead. The steelhead run seems to peak in November as salmon numbers and crowds dwindle. The steelhead will remain in the river throughout the winter until they spawn in the spring. Unlike the salmon, which die after spawning, the steelhead live on, and return to the lake in the late spring.

The Salmon River isn’t much wider than a four-lane highway, and many areas are narrower than that. The fishable part of the river is 13 miles long, with a private, payfor- play fishing area at the bottom and two fly-fishing-only sections at the top. Most fish entering the river are destined for the Altmar Hatchery, where returning salmon and steelhead are stripped of their eggs and milt. Some fish will pair up and spawn throughout the river, however, a fact that is clear by the salmon carcasses that litter the banks and river bottom. There’s also a very distinct aroma that hovers over the upper portion of the river in the fall – the acrid stench of decaying salmon – but by the time your first steelhead goes aerial, you hardly notice the smell.

The Salmon River has swift currents and a slick, rocky bottom. Wading boots with studded soles, such as Korkers, are a must. These rocks also seem to eat tackle. Be warned, you’ll be spending a bit of time re-rigging and retying throughout the day.

The river alternates between shallower, faster areas and slower, deeper pools. Steelhead won’t linger in the fast water, but they will set up in a hole and sit for a while before moving farther upriver. Some of the more popular pools on the Salmon River have nicknames (Wire Pool, Trestle Pool, Black Hole and so on).

The water level is controlled by a dam upriver, and anglers review these water levels before deciding where to fish or whether or not to make a trip. After periods of heavy rain, the river may be running so high that wade fishing is not an option, while periods of extremely low water may keep fish from entering the river and make the fish in the river extremely skittish and unwilling to bite.

During higher water, fish will spread out to more areas of the river, while in lower water, fish will concentrate in deeper holes and pools. This also concentrates the anglers, and steelhead can be very sensitive to angling pressure. A fish can only be bonked on the head by split shot so many times before refusing to bite altogether. I’ve fished the river during flows from 185 cfs to 1800 cfs, and the sweet spot, at least as a shore fisherman, seemed to be between 385 and 750 cfs.

The fish’s keen eyesight and heavy fishing pressure makes presentation important when targeting Salmon River steelhead. A lot comes down to presenting your bait, bead, lure or fly in such a way that it appears to be tumbling naturally downcurrent. The proper equipment helps immensely. Long spinning rods, 9 to 11 feet long, are needed to keep the line off the water to prevent it from dragging in the current and pulling the bait unnaturally.

Before you go reaching for your striper surf rod, bear in mind that these rods must be very soft and forgiving, both to cast the lightweight offerings and protect the light leaders. St. Croix, Loomis and Lamiglas all make lines of steelhead noodle rods that are well-suited for the job. If you don’t have your own steelhead rod and reel, a number of the local tackle shops rent suitable outfits, and one of these rentals served me very well on my first steelhead trip.

Fluorocarbon is a must for leader material, anywhere from 4- to 8-pound test, depending on the water level. The lower the water, the stealthier the presentation must be in order to get bites. With such light leaders, fish must be played gingerly, which the soft, flexible noodle rod helps with.

Small spinning reels with smooth drags match well with the steelhead rods, and a limp, 8-pound-test monofilament main line seems to work best. Monofilament is better than braid in this fishery because its stretch helps protect the soft leaders and it is more resistant to freezing than braided line, which can absorb water. Mornings and evenings can be cold on the Salmon River, and swishing the rod tip in the river to remove the ice is a regular practice.

The simplest rig, and the one I have had the most success with, is a 4-foot piece of fluorocarbon leader, a small barrel swivel and enough split shot to touch bottom.

Guide Scott Glazier of the Tinker Tavern Lodge explained to me that you only want to use enough shot to hit the bottom a couple times during the drift. That will keep snags to a minimum and maximize your time casting to fish. Establishing just how much split shot it takes to accomplish that can vary depending on the location and water level. Play around with the weight until you get it just right. Keep in mind that you cannot purchase lead weights of less than ½-ounce in New York State, and the alternative tin split shots are just not as good. For one, they are shiny, which many anglers believe spooks the wary steelhead, whereas the dull lead shot simply looks like a pebble rolling downstream. Also, tin is not as dense as lead, and therefore it takes more and larger tin split shots to find bottom. Tungsten, which is similar to lead in density, is more expensive, and with snagging bottom inevitable, I’d rather limit the cost of my “donations” to the river. I’ve taken to getting my split shot ahead of time, out of state, and bring a variety of sizes from number 1 size to the smaller number 5.

Steelhead will take a variety of baits, lures and flies, and their preference can change hourly. Most popular in the fall are salmon egg sacks or egg-imitation flies or beads. The salmon egg sacks are a small bundle of salmon eggs tied up in mesh. Anglers tie the eggs in a number of different colors of netting and alternate among colors until they find one the steelhead are interested in. Whatever the reason, blue seems to be the fishermen’s, and the fish’s, favorite, but other colors will sometimes work better.

You could probably fish egg sacks from sunrise to sunset and never need to fish anything else, but sometimes, trout beads work just as well, if not better. The beads are a close match to the salmon eggs and are available in a wide variety of colors.

Oranges, pinks and yellows seem to be the most popular. The beads are thread onto the line and pegged in place with a toothpick. To ensure the most secure hook-ups, peg the bead 1½ to 2 inches above the hook. Though this seems counter-intuitive, it offers a better hook-up potential than if the hard-plastic bead was placed right above the hook.

Hook size for the egg sacks and beads ranges from size 8 to size 6. Steelhead have hard mouths, and a sharp hook is needed to get a good hookset. Even then, expect to have quite a few steelhead shake the hook.

In terms of technique, the best advice I can offer is keep your offering in the water as much as possible. Though the water in the Salmon River is rarely clear enough to spot the fish in most sections, the steelhead runs are large enough that the larger pools always have some fish during the prime fall months. A steelhead might watch your offering go by 99 times and then snap at it on cast 100, so it’s up to you to make as many drifts in front of fish as possible.

Angle your cast slightly upstream, but not too far, as that will lead to more snags than fish. The idea is to have the split shot touch down when your rig reaches 12 o’clock, directly in front of you. Keep the line tight as the offering drifts and follow the line with your rod tip. Strike at any unusual bump or hesitation you feel during the drift. Sometimes, you’ll notice the line moving upstream, without even feeling a hit. In all instances, set the hook with authority.

Hooking a steelhead is one thing, landing it is another. Throughout the day on the Salmon River, you’ll frequently hear calls of “Fish on!” followed shortly by “Fish off.” It’s just part of the game. Steelhead nut Dave LaPorte told me that, like bullriding, it’s all about the first 8 seconds. If you can keep a fish on for 8 seconds, the hook isn’t coming out, and you’ll land the fish, provided you don’t break the line. I have yet to prove him wrong. On a November trip to the Salmon River last year, my fishing partner was kind enough to count the 8 seconds out loud, though I think he was secretly rooting for the fish.

Hooked steelhead are wildly unpredictable – some will bolt downstream and threaten to take all your line, others will run upstream and quickly change direction, forcing you to reel like a madman to take the slack out of the line. Some will spend more time out of the water than in it as they acrobatically jump in an effort to throw the hook. If there is any cover around, a hooked fish will head for it. Some steelhead will bounce around the pool like a pinball, zigging and zagging and crossing every line that was not cleared in time. Given the nature of these fish, it’s common practice to belt out a “Fish On!” when you hook up, so other anglers around you can get their gear out of the water and give you a chance to land your fish.

If it’s possible to safely do so, chasing a lake-bound fish will help you land it, and a buddy with a net will increase your hookup-to-landing ratio twofold. Over a long battle, the blunt teeth of the steelhead will eventually wear through the leader, but you can cut the fight time down by having your friend move downstream of you with the net. Once the fish has tired, steer it toward your buddy and let him scoop it up. On your own, the best bet is to back up on the bank and slide the fish onto shore, almost as if you were beaching a striper in the surf. Just be aware of the light leader, and if that fish wants to run, let him run!

Steelhead fishing on the Salmon River is tons of fun, and it can be as simple or as complicated as you want it to be. When the fall striper and bluefish run winds down around Thanksgiving, swap the clams and plugs for salmon eggs and beads and give the hardest-fighting fish in freshwater a try.