Flies and beads: Pathways to a steelie heart.

By Spider Rybaak

Rick Miick (L) and Stan Oullette with a 10-pound steelie taken on a orange bead in the corner Hole.

Global warming seems to have been put on hold again. At press time, March 22, more than half a foot  of snow clings to the banks of the Salmon River, and the weather forecast calls for more snow showers over the next few days.

But what’s bad for weather forecasters is great for Salmon River anglers. Currently, Brookfield Renewable Power is releasing about 900 cfs from the lower reservoir. Despite being more than twice the level it was just a week ago, the river is running at a pace steelies find easy and safe to negotiate; a flow anglers with average skills can ply productively.

Rob, one of the owners of Fat Nancy’s Tackle Shop on NY 13, just across from the Pulaski exit of I-81 (877-801-3474), says the water is still very cold but there’s a lot of fish in the river nonetheless.

All the usual suspects are producing: Egg sacs, 3-inch Berkley floating trout worms, beads, Streamers and Spey flies.

Trout worms and eggs sacs can be chuck- ‘n-ducked, but work best when float-fished. Spinning tackle will do, but centerpinning equipment is best.

If you’re still in the dark about centerpinning, it involves a single-action reel whose spool rides on a centerpin so it to spins effortlessly, allowing your float to keep in perfect time with the current. The rod can run anywhere from 10 to 15 feet. Its length allows you to keep the line off the water--and avoid drag--for great distances, a plus if you’re into “hero casts.”

“Beads are the most productive baits in the pinhead’s arsenal,” raves Capt Rick Miick (www.TrophyDreamcatcher.com , 315-387-5920). The man taught me how to centerpin, and has produced a popular DVD on the subject.  “When you float fish beads, 30-hit days are common,” adds Miick.

Spey casting flies is a little less productive but so much fun, if you try it once, chances are you’ll be hooked for life.

Migell Wedderburn, a native of Pennellville, says: “I don’t do regular fishing anymore. It has to be Spey and nothing else. I have learned Spey fishing is beautiful and you can fish a rocky bottom easily and not get hung up.”

He’s even developed his own nymph he calls the Death Ray.

 “Spey casting instructor and fly-fishing guide Pat Miura (315-777-3570; pmiura@aol.com), an angler respected by his peers and clients alike, says” the drug is the tug.”

And he’s right. Even a 6-inch Fallfish feels like a trophy trout when it strikes a fly swung across the current on Spey casting gear.

But you don’t need a double-handed rod to Spey cast. A regular 8-wt. reel loaded with floating fly line and a sinking leader, and a 9-foot fly rod will do in a pinch.  Simply roll cast a brown or olive wooly bugger across the current and let it swing downstream.  When  the bow in the line starts straightening out… hold on.

Migell Wedderburn's Death Ray

Migell Wedderburn, a nice steelie, and the Death Ray hanging from the roof of its mouth.

Last Call for Winter steelies

By Spider Rybaak

Sue and Tiny with the day's nicest steelie.

A famous journalist wasn’t getting the attention he felt he deserved from his Salmon River guide so he asks:  “Is the weather always this poor around here?”

“Nope,” responds the guide, “it changes sometimes.”

The noble writer turns red.

Since they hadn’t had a hit in about 30 minutes, the humble guide figures that’s the cause of his client’s antsiness and tries remedying the situation by announcing: “We’re movin’ after this cast.”

“Where to next?” asks the wordsmith.

“Glass hole.”

The writer completely loses it. “A guide’s never called me that before.  Take me back to shore this very instant,” he demands with such authoritative anger the river stops running for a split second.

So the guide takes him to the take out, passing several anglers battling steelies along the way.

Moral of the story: Listen to your guide or, don’t let the weather stop ya.

Last Sunday and Tuesday brought both points home.

February 24th found me Spey casting wooly buggers in the pool below the bridge in Pineville. Snow came and went at 10 minute intervals. An hour after starting I’m fishless and ready to leave. Seeing a guy entering the river on the other side holds me back. After all, I need affirmation that my decision to quit is a good one.

But he catches chrome.  And it didn’t take him more than 10 minutes. The most irritating thing about it is he’s Spey casting, too. But he’s using a marabou streamer and he’s hitting a seam I can’t reach from my side.

As tempted as I am to cross the bridge and fish next to him, I like my space too much and decide to go elsewhere, namely the stretch of river between the Short Bridge Pool and Long Bridge Pool in Pulaski.

Fish were there (I know because I watched a pin-head catch one floatfishing an egg sac) but they ignored my streamers.

Tuesday finds me in a drift boat with Captain Ryan “Tiny” Gilbert (One More Fish Guide Service; 315-529-6427) and Sue Bookhout, an Outdoor Communicator and Online Visibility Expert with Sue B Media (315-378-7738), a company she owns.

Launching in Pineville, our first stop is a no-name pool a couple hundred yards downstream of the first bend.

Tiny and Sue are floatfishing with beads; I’m Spey casting a wooly bugger.  Tiny suggests I floatfish, too, but I know better and keep whipping my fly.

Before long, they’re getting all kinds of action—and I can’t buy a hit. The sun’s high in an azure sky, so I whip out my cameras and, thinking I’ll show them, make like a photographer. I get some pretty good shots of an insect hatch and ice formations…but no fish.

If, as the book of fishy wisdom says, the proof is in the catch, I re-learned a valuable lesson: I don’t know it all. But the rebel in me argues: having fun Spey casting and making memories with great photos is every bit as valuable?

With an attitude like that you can’t lose, eh?

Currently, loads of overwintering steelhead are spread throughout the stream. The water’s running less than 200 cfs, a very fish-friendly rate. While the majority is enjoying success floatfishing  with beads and egg sacs, guys throwing inline spinners and streamers are catching rainbows, too.

Steelie in the snow.

Fishing from ship and shore.

Last ice.

Spots in the snow: winter hatch.

Spey Casting Magician

Every body of water has its living fishing legends. One of the Salmon River’s most famous is Pat Miura.

With good reason: Pat’s specialty is fly-fishing. And while this world famous coldwater fishery is loaded with guides who are experts at beating the wind with long rods, and bringing home trophies for their clients, most switch techniques—center-pinning beads, for instance, or back trolling plugs--in an attempt to optimize their client’s chances at catching vast quantities of game.

Pat changes techniques, too, when it’s called for, but he stays true to fly-fishing, switching from glow bugs to nymphs, for instance, traditional streamers to Spey flies. And he’s mastered them all.

What’s more, he doesn’t make glowing promises of numerous hook ups to fill his schedule. Indeed, he doesn’t make any fishy promises at all. His only guarantee is to take you on a quality fly-fishing adventure; and he’s so good at providing dream trips that his name is a legend on the river; the retired US Army master sergeant stays as busy as he wants.

I’ve known Pat for several years and enjoy watching him whenever I get the chance. His style is flawless, and he’s always catching fish. I had to find out how he does it and asked if I could tag along when he gets a break in his schedule.

Next thing you know we’re on the Salmon River and he’s trying to teach me to Spey cast. Developed in the Spey River region of Scotland, this highly stylized technique uses rods anywhere from 12-something to over 13 feet long and heavy lines to cast large flies great distances, using three simple moves. In fact, a good caster can easily whip a fly 50 feet with trees, bushes, cliffs, fjords, you name it, right behind ‘em.

It took about an hour to show me the ropes. I learned how to establish an anchor (at the end of the drift, hold the rod in both hands and cross your arms, forcing the line high into the air upstream while keeping the fly in the water downstream, a rod’s distance from you), the importance of the D loop (swinging the rod in front of you, then behind you, it forms a D loop off to your side), and the forward motion (keeping the rod tip high, you whip it forward, launching the fly to its target). Done properly, the fly slices through the air upstream, back into the loop next to you, and forward, never coming close to what’s behind you.

It takes a little practice to get everything flowing in a rhythmic motion. In fact, I’ve been out twice, about three hours each time, and still haven’t mastered it. But I can cast greater distances under the tightest conditions than I ever imagined possible. What’s more, I can do it with the line staying straight, (mostly, anyway) instead of tangling mid-air into a rooster nest and dropping like a coiled, stone serpent.

After theory, Pat showed me how it works. Waving his Spey rod fluidly and rhythmically, he went through the motions like a conductor leading a symphony. The line responded flawlessly, flowing silently through air and water, landing in front of him, about 40 feet away, with hardly a ripple.

Watching him perform his magic, I ended up forgetting my lessons. Things got ugly quick. I snagged bottom a few times; wrapped the line around the rod tip twice, hooked some submerged branches downstream, ended up under a huge boulder…

Just then something tells me to look up. I watch Pat effortlessly make another perfect cast. Holding the rod in his right hand, parallel to the water, he pinched the line between his index finger and thumb. Suddenly, the line stretches, ripping through the water, a steelhead on the surface at the other end.

Pat doesn’t set the hook; his fingers hold the line tight, allowing the fish to hook itself. Afterwards he releases the tension, raises the rod and the fight is on.

A few minutes later, he lands a nice eight-pound steelie.

“Spider,” he says, eyes beaming, “the drug is in the tug,” and laughs confidently like a master after demonstrating his stuff, and knowing he performed well.

I was so excited I forgot my manners and ran right to where he hooked it.

Ten minutes later, still no hits, I get snagged and lose the fly.

He offers to tie on another for me but it was getting late, and I was getting cold, and I already had my story.

Besides, I knew I was hooked to Spey casting and would get back out there soon to craft more memories.

Pat can be contacted at 315-788-9571, 315-777-3570, or pmiura@aol.com.

Pat working his Spey casting magic on a snowy riverscape.

Miura holding a stylized wooly bugger pattern he uses very successfully in snowtime.

Getting to the river in Pineville can be very challenging this time of year; but often well worth it.