One Stubborn Guide

“What, is he stupid?  Didn’t he read the reports?”

My wife’s cousin, Jeremy, was not very sympathetic when he learned I was steelhead fishing in Elk Creek, a tributary of Lake Erie near Girard, Pennsylvania.

I knew the risks.  The reports coming back from www.fisherie.com were not good.  24-hours earlier, the creek had been declared a “blowout.”  Ideally, I’d have to wait several days for conditions to improve.

But I didn’t have several days.

With perhaps my only trip to PA during this season’s steelhead run, the remaining logistics of the additional 2-hour trip would really have to fall into place.  Add to this a one night visit from friends Tim and Julie who drove the 5 hours from Eastern PA, our fishing window of opportunity had become more like a “slight gap”… A “fissure,” perhaps.  Whatever, we had to give it a try.

I don’t “know” steelhead.  We’re just acquaintances.  So not really qualified to guide.  But I’ve been taught a few tricks, and know where to go.  The water gauge information showed that the flow was dropping quickly; conditions in the creek were improving each hour.  There were a couple of holes in the creek that might work and the “blowout” reports should keep some of the anglers home.  But the wind was from the south so the lake would be flat.  And I’m a sucker for a south wind up here.

So at about 5:45 a.m., a couple of days after Christmas, I was standing in the mouth of Lake Erie and had the entire to lake to myself. I’m always amazed at how much the mouth of Elk Creek shifts and changes.  Where I stood last year, I wouldn’t even be able to hit the water with a cast. There is now a long shallow gravel bar on the East side of the mouth of Elk Creek.  It took slogging 150 feet out in my neoprene waders just to get mid thigh.

I’m addicted to casting glowing Lil’ Cleos and had a new toy.  For Christmas presents I had given away a couple of the new “Rapala Charge N Glows”.  Bought one for myself too, you know, for research purposes.  About the size of a case for sunglasses, you drop the lure inside, close the lid and push a button for a few seconds to get a solid charge all over.  While standing in a dark, very cold lake, every 10 casts or so I would fire up the world’s smallest tanning bed.  No bikini line.  No farmers tan.

The ad stated that lures would hold a charge longer.  I’m not so sure that a blast from a strong flashlight cupped in my hand wouldn’t have lasted about the same.  But I look forward to trying this on lures that glow on all sides.

With a visibility of only about 8”, I fanned the casts with my 11-foot noodle rod, thinking I might find fish on the edges of the turbidity which contained occasional leaves and ice chunks, but at least no shrubbery.  I tested different speeds, action, and depth.  And when I’d lose a Cleo to a rock, try a different color.  But no hits.

When the sun came up, I moved to the stream to join Tim, who was struggling as well.  Where there were 50 anglers last year, I counted 7, trying a variety of methods. Egg patterns, hair jigs under bobbers, minnows, and spoons.  Instead of fish rolling enough to keep you warm for another few casts, we saw a fish about every 30 minutes. In 4 hours of fishing we only saw one small fish landed.  “Tight lines” for the wrong reasons.

We left the mouth and checked a couple of upper holes, but the water was still the same stained murky gray and by then that deep not-catching-fish cold, had entered my bones. It was tough to give up but my perceived fissure had re-fused.  We were not refused at Wendy’s.