After a spring trip that blew away our expectations, and some hype from Johnny, Ted and I traveled to Sault Ste Marie with VERY high hopes of slamming Steel. However, that didn't come to fruition and it's hard to know exactly why. The most likely candidate would be the severe downturn in weather than pushed through (high winds, big temperature drop, snow and rain) but there are a couple of other scenarios. Possibly the fishing isn't quite as good as the hype had us believing, or that it's just not an effective time to target these fish with flyfishing tactics, or a combination of these things (my personal choice). Nevertheless, it was a worthwhile trip with plenty of highlights.
It was a long drive up to the Soo and we got through customs well after nightfall, headed to the "trading post" to get our licences, then crashed in our hotel room. After a good breakfast we met Johnny at the carpark by the canal and headed in to "the rapids". Immediately he had us switch to chuck-n-duck rigs and we waded out to his favorite fall hole. It looked very fishy and we were soon bottom bouncing spawn through the hole. Ted and I have rarely chuck-n-ducked and never fished spawn so it was already a new experience for us.
It had probably been fifteen or twenty minutes until I had my first take. The fish hit as the drift swung, briefly peeled line effortlessly from my reel and then turned, charged towards me and liberated itself. We saw a couple of small atlantic salmon free jumping and my heart was pounding with excitement. A few minutes later and again it was fish on. This time there wasn't much doubting it and a good steelhead was battling hard in the deep, heavy water. The fish had me well into my backing and took at least twenty minutes or more to land. It was a very impressive steelhead going at least eight pounds, and Johnny suggested more, and measuring twenty-nine inches. Things were looking up.
Then you could almost feel a change in the weather. It got colder, the wind began to come up out of the east and it just felt different. We'd only been fishing an hour or so and that turned out to be the best fishing of the trip. The drizzle got a little stronger and my fingers went a little more numb but it was still bareable. We continued drifting for at least an hour without any success so Johnny moved us to fishing in behind the countless king salmon spawning out from the berm wall. Again, no success. We went and tried some great holding water - no success. Finally, Johnny took us back to show us his coho spot and that again required chuck-n-duck and spawn, we fished it briefly and then headed back out to the first hole as Johnny headed back to his truck with the advise to just be persistent and eventually the fish would turn on.
We fished hard all day, mainly indicator fishing behind the salmon and out in the holding water. All day we fished and the rain got harder, the wind blew worse and the temperature got colder. We figured surely the fish would turn on at some point. We'd been the first out on the water in the morning and were the last to leave that evening and neither of us had hooked a steelhead in since the early morning fish. I had spent a big part of the afternoon trying to convince some kings to eat a fly (as I was assured St Mary's kings take flies better than any other river king) with very limited success. In fact, I only landed one fish fair and lost one I suspect was fair. All in all it was a tough day. We headed off for a chinese buffet, (which wasn't that good) and headed back to the hotel to rest our weary bones and let our fingers warm up.
We didn't spring out of bed in the morning but we were on the water pretty early. There were already guys out and Johnny had some clients out fishing spawn along the berm wall. They were getting a few cohos and playing around with the kings. Ted headed out to his spring hole and after fishing behind the kings for a bit I headed out to the deeper holding water. I watched as a pod of steelhead moved in close to my spot before dissappearing. I had one move towards a woolly bugger I stripped in front of his face but it was non-commital and it never looked as though he would take it. I drifted and swung for ages and finally I got the jolting smash I was looking for. In about three seconds I was through my flyline and the knot between my flyline and backing caught for a second or two at the top guide of the rod. After a tense moment I felt it give and saw a dark shaddow zip down through the current and I felt relief. That moment changed when I looked up a realized that shadow had been the tip section of the rod - a rod I had borrowed from my buddy Bryan!
By this point the fish was screaming through my backing and well on it's way back to Lake Huron, across the huge pool I was fishing and into some very heavy water with huge boulders. I was in trouble. In a desperate attempt I scrambled back along some shallower water to make some line up and stop the fish from taking all the line from my reel. I was just starting to make good line back and feel the fish tire when I felt that sinking feeling that the line was wrapped on a rock. There was absolutely no way I could get anywhere near that rock and hoping the fish would swim back through that insane current was crazy. I just tried to keep pressure and work that fish. After several minutes the fish did swim back up and through, only to wrap on another huge rock. I put the wood to it, and it turned and hightailed it back down through the heavy rocks and again I was wrapped. After a long, futile wait I tried to hand over hand the fish out and felt the snap as the knot between the backing and the flyline snapped. I lost the fish, the rod tip and my flyline. Oh, while all this was going on a large flybox full of woolly buggers and egg-sucking leeches fell from my pocket and was washed into the heavy current. It was a soul emptying experience and I quickly turned and stormed across the rapids, through the bush track back to the car, called Bryan to let him know I lost his rod tip, called my wife to vent some frustration, before grabbing a spare outfit and heading back out to try and do it all over again. As I walked down the track I ran into Johnny and we laughed that this is the kind of "fun" that fuels our obsession with steelheading. Any fish that can serve that kind of punishment to a top of the line 8 weight flyrod with a very expensive reel (and I don't think the fish was that big!) is the kind of fish I'm happy to get pationate about!
When I got back out to the hole Ted was getting into a half dozen or so very fresh pink salmon, that had probably just come up from the big lake. They were biting for about a half hour or so and then just stopped. We fished another hour or so before heading off to grab some lunch and re-group.
When we got back to the river Johnny and his clients were carrying out a good number of cohos and said they'd hooked into a large steelhead. we fished behind the salmon for a half hour or so, then broke down and went out to the first spot we'd fished and rigged up to bottom-bounce spawn. Drift after drift after fruitless drift went by. The air temperature was dropping and my nose was dripping like a broken tap, my fingers were numb, and tying knots was a painfully slow process. Finally though, something happened. I felt my bait stop and I raised my rod to feel a weight. Instantly the weight took off upstream and it was on. This was a blistering run and I felt lots of big headshakes. The fish would run towards me and then shoot off in the opposite direction. It was a fight like no other steelhead I've ever caught. This fish was blisteringly strong and effortlessly peeled line off my heavy drag. I knew I didn't want it back in the shallow, broken water but I just couldn't stop it.
When it finally rolled it was a very big fish and Ted got a better look than me. It was very silver and he felt sure it was a huge steelhead. I saw a tail that just looked different than a steelhead and I knew the fight was very different. As I worked the fish into the shallows it flailed away on the surface a fair bit and I got a decent look at it and the tail and dorsal fin positions looked different to a steelhead and the spots seemed bigger but I just couldn't tell from the views I was getting. I had the fish all but beaten and as I went to make the final pull to bring it to hand the knot attaching the hook pulled and I was left beaten. Almost without doubt it was a steelhead. It was too bright and too big to have been an atlantic salmon. Besides the atlantics were spawning and not eating and their colouration had lost the silver hues and now resembled a bland brown trout. It had to have been a steelhead right? What would be the chances of a huge, mint fresh atlantic eating some spawn in mid November? It must have been a steelhead and a very good one at that, but I just can't help wondering.
For whatever reason I feel that catching an Atlantic salmon is the everest of flyfishing and is something I really want to do. Perhaps that is the reason I "saw" things that make me wonder if I wasn't fighting an atlantic but would I really want to catch my first atlantic bottom-bouncing spawn? Wouldn't that somehow cheapen the whole experience? Thinking back now I would say yes, but I can assure you that when I had that thing on the line, shaking it's head and rushing about, and when I caught those few glimpses that had me thinking about the possibility of actually catching an atlantic I whole-heartedly wanted that fish.
When it broke off I was shaking like I haven't done after loosing a fish for a very long time, in fact as long as I can remember. Part of it may have been the cold but I was shaking like a leaf, my heart was pounding in my chest so hard it was hurting and my distain for the knot-holding power of flourocarbon line was overpowering. My bubble was burst and the wind left my sails. We fished for another hour or so and it was getting dark and very cold. Finally we gave up and headed back to the car. For Ted it had been a long couple of days, and I only managed one steelhead, but the two fish I lost on that Saturday were truly HOT! The fall steelhead I've caught in the Brule River are special and fight fantastically, but relatively they are small and the water isn't as deep, big and heavy to showcase their strength, speed and power. I will definately say fall Steelhead deserve every bit of hype they recieve.
And as for Atlantic Salmon, let's just say I've already made plans to be back up in Sault Ste Marie in prime time next year, with Johnny at my side. Hopefully 2009 will be the year I summit my everest but for the upcoming winter I'm going to need to save my money to replace the equipment floating down the St Mary's rapids, into Lake Huron and possibly slipping over Niagra falls as you read this.
Ted and I drove about five hours into the night with the temperature dropping well below freezing and rain turning to snow before stopping somewhere in Wisconsin for the night. The hotel was nice (a little expensive) but seeing as we hadn't seen an open motel for probably thirty miles we took it. The shower I took was fantastic and I slept like the dead that night. We slept in a little and woke to an inch or so of snow on the ground. After a hearty breakfast we polished off the last five or six hours home. Fishwise it was a tough trip but we learned alot and what we learned will definately help us in our decision making regarding steelheading in the future.
What fun! The lighted Maze
The giant volcano
A howling wolf
Just an archway to drive under
A wagon
The kids all ready to go in the new minivan
Ted Rigging up for chuck-n-duck with spawn.......yep, spawn
A very nice fall Steelhead
Plenty of kings on beds but getting them to take a fly was almost impossible
Back to the hotel room to warm up
The only way we could touch steel this day
Despite hundred of kings still swimming it was clear most of the run was done....and feeling like I did after loosing a rodtip, line and stocked flybox
Snow outside our hotel window Sunday morning 