fishing

Unlike winter steelheads, pursued throughout the Great Lakes feeder tributaries, the summer "steelies" have more room to maneuver. And unlike the king salmon, which slams your lure and runs directly away from the boat, the steelhead rainbow trout has multiple tricks up its sleeve. Once feeling the barbs, it may swim toward an unsuspecting angler, creating a slack line and the impression the fish has been lost. And sometimes it is. At other times they will quickly swim toward the surface, catapulting out of the water, twisting and tailwalking as only a member of the rainbow trout family can. Their fight is quite unlike the bulldogging king salmon which typically hooks itself while making its noted long and powerful run. Where the king salmon is a bulldog, the steelhead is an aerialist, an acrobat that requires you be quick on the draw, lowering and raising the tip of your fishing rod while rapidly reeling in line.

The fish I'm holding in the photo I caught while fishing with Batavian Bob Scinta. I really enjoy Bob's fishing philosophy - leave Batavia at 9 a.m., stop for breakfast and then hit Lake Ontario's late afternoon feed. He put us on a lot of fish that day, all but one were king salmon in the 25 lb. class. The lone exception was the steelhead, and that's the one I remember best.

Strong, fast swimmers and noted for their leaping ability, there is something to be said for a fish which launches itself totally out of the water, the sunlight reflecting off its silvery flanks, allowing an angler a brief glimpse of what might have been before crashing back onto the surface and leaving behind a slack line.    

Late this afternoon, Chris Hamel and his friend James Bonning were on the Tonawanda at the falls fishing.

Early morning angler tries his luck on the Point Breeze jetty.

Point Breeze Lighthouse....still under construction

Doug Harloff enticing crappies from below overhangs.

Mother goose on a shoreline nest....

while her mate keeps a lookout.

A painted turtle suns itself....

and a Black Crowned Night Heron hides amid branches.

A mute swan dabbling for food.

While the swans are graceful in appearance......

this Canada goose learns how territorial they can be!

One of the "Twin Bridges", a name for the area in a bygone era.

Seagull enclave on the breakwall.

We are about to have our catch inspected.

Monitoring 30 inlets from the Niagara River to Henderson Harbor, this team checks out the number of fish caught, size, species, etc. It was a good morning on the creek, time to head for the Black North Inn for lunch!

That’s Tim Sawyer  rerigging his fishing gear. Minutes earlier, something inhaled the Spin ‘N Glo tied to the end of his line and raced downstream a ways before breaking water. When the  fish breached the surface, we saw that it was a big king salmon, tinted red with age, and boy, did it launch itself out of the water. It didn’t flop about, but rather had its body perfectly parallel to the river surface, high above the water and facing downstream. Kind of looked like a big muscle with fins - then it crashed back into the river and kept going. The fish had no doubt spawned in this same stream, spent the next 4-5 years at sea gorging itself on anchovies and the like. Its biological clock said it was time to return to the place of its origin and procreate. Chasing down Tim’s lure had put a temporary halt to those plans. The fish made one long run and the battle was at a standstill. The line was still taught, but there was no movement. The big fish had wrapped the line around submerged brush before continuing on its way.

It was a Thursday afternoon, only a few hours since we launched a two-man Zodiac, into a narrow stretch of the Little Susitna River. Originating in a place called Hatcher Pass in the Talkeetna Mountains, the Little Su flows southward for approximately eighty miles before emptying into Cook Inlet. The plan was to float a 47 mile stretch of the river between Parks Highway and the inlet.

We stowed the fishing gear and alternately paddled and drifted with the current several more miles downstream before finding a sandbar on a bend in the river, an ideal location to pitch the tent. We arose early the following morning, had a quick breakfast and were on our way. The scenery along the river was different, the bank lined with a wide variety of flora: evergreens and birch trees, wildflowers and plants I’ve not seen before or since. Occasionally we’d see an eagle gliding high, or sometimes precariously perched atop a Sitka spruce. Many times, while drifting quietly, rustling sounds could be heard in the thick brush of the river bank, but unable to see through the dense growth.

At one point during the afternoon we had stopped to fish – or snooze – when we saw an unusual sight. A member of the gull family called a Kittiwake plummeted into the river along the opposite bank. The Kittiwake is the only gull that occasionally dives and swims underwater to capture its food. It hit the water for what seemed like a split second, and came up flapping its wings. It was quickly airborne, clutching what looked like a large eel. In its haste to make off with its dinner, the Kittiwake flew into an overhanging branch, and dropped its prey back into the river.

In its lower reaches, the river widened, the sand and gravel bars, replaced by shallow, rocky stretches. It was in such a location where the raft sprang a leak. Fortunately, Tim had the foresight to bring along a patch kit. The repairs took only minutes and we were once again on our way. At 1 a.m. Saturday morning, 47 miles downstream from our take off point, we beached the raft. The next day we’d venture north to Montana Creek for another go at the King Salmon, bringing an end to my Alaska visit.   

The spring of 1997 had been quite damp in Batavia, gloomy even by Western New York standards. Still, I was surprised to get my first tan of the year inside the Arctic Circle. Not to be confused with the polar ice cap at its northern extreme, much of the Arctic Circle is full of lush growth, crystal-clear rivers, mountains and, during the month of June, 24 hours of sunlight. During our stay the sun was visible 24 hours. Each morning, between midnight and one a.m., the sun would skim the horizon before once again beginning its ascent. 

Not being used to catching shuteye in the daytime, the constant sunlight made sleeping difficult, even in the confines of a tent. There were times when I felt physically exhausted, but mentally the wheels were still turning. And the mosquitoes didn’t help. Lying inside the tent, you could hear their non-stop drone. They seemed to be just waiting for us to exit the tent. It seems the farther north you go, the bigger - and bolder - the mosquitoes.

Even the caribou find the mosquitoes annoying. The Alaskan Pipeline runs parallel with the Dalton Highway and Mike Bilbee, a game warden who patrols the Dalton Highway from Fairbanks to Prudhoe Bay, said he’s seen caribou literally get beneath the pipeline and use it to scratch their backs.   

We arrived at our destination by traveling north on the Dalton Highway, a 414 mile long, two-lane gravel road beginning outside of Fairbanks and stretching to the Prudhoe Bay on the Arctic Ocean. In between are three settlements: Coldfoot (pop. 13), Wiseman (pop.22) and Deadhorse (25 permanent residents). After reaching the 66^th parallel, the southern edge of the Arctic Circle, we stopped for pictures before pushing onward. We stopped outside of Coldfoot,  setting up camp on the south fork of the Koyokuk River.

The Koyokuk’s south fork is a rocky bottomed, swift-flowing river, noted for its arctic char. While we were a bit early for the char migration, we did manage to supplement our diet with Arctic Grayling. Considered one of the arctic’s most sought after game fish – lake trout & arctic char being the others – grayling are small in comparison. A grayling of one pound is average, anything 2-3 pounds is a good catch and four pounds is world class. Noted for their tall dorsal fin, the grayling of the Koyokuk River were accommodating and feisty on light spinning gear. We caught enough to sate our appetites. Stuffed with butter, wrapped in tin foil and cooked over an open fire, they proved quite tasty.

While the fishing was good, we had to stay on our toes at all times. Fresh bear prints were visible in the soft, bare earth along the river. At one point I tried to bathe in the river, but after wading ankle deep into the Koyokuk I changed my mind. I’ve bathed in the lakes and rivers of the far north, but nothing like this. The water was cold it numbed my ankles – I as afraid to submerge. I left the bar of soap on a rock, returned to camp, grabbed a washcloth, a five gallon pail and took a sponge bath.

It was on the return trip, about two in the morning, when Tim and I caught sight of wolf near the side of the road. Black as coal, the wolf looked our way, almost as if our approaching vehicle was of interest. Then just like that, it was gone.     

Next: Floating the Little Susitna River

The above photo depicts Oak Orchard Creek little more than a quarter-mile upstream of Lake Ontario. From the creek mouth to Waterport dam, this is a much wider stretch of stream with a more diverse fishery than found upstream. But on this day, with the exception of few bumps at the end of the line, neither the trout nor salmon were willing to cooperate.

Having moved upstream in search of warm water species, Mike Draper works a rubber worm in hopes of enticing a bass or pike.

The creek bank along a stretch of stream known as "Fiddler's Elbow."

Drake mallards and a lone hen soaking up the sun.

Doug Harloff plying the waters of Marsh Creek, a feeder stream spilling into the Oak Orchard at Twin Bridges.

On the return trip empty boat slips signify the close of the boating season.

Not too many years ago, on a sunny Father’s Day, I stowed an ultra-light fishing rod and my hip boots inside the hatch of the family vehicle.  I put two small spinners in a plastic container and headed for a stretch of the Little Tonawanda not far from our home. It was a low-key plan, intended to pass the time wading the Little T, and perhaps entice the bait fish population.

The action began right away, as strikes came one after another, with creek chubs and horned dace  wasting no time inhaling the tiny Rooster Tail as soon as I began a retrieve. Though the fish were small, the surroundings and the solitude were enjoyable.  The sole competition came in the form of a kingfisher and a slow moving snapping turtle, the latter easy to spot in the shallow water.

I came across a shaded area where a tree provided a respite from the mid-day sun. Here a few rusted strands of barbed wire spanned the narrow stream, remnants of yesteryear, lending more authenticity to the rural setting. Being careful not to puncture my hip boots on the barbs, I ducked between strands and continued on.  A short distance downstream was a riffle which emptied into a small pocket of quiet water.  

I cast the Rooster Tail directly into the riffle, allowing the current to take it into the small pool. I hadn’t turned the reel handle two or three times when something belted the tiny spinner. Whatever it was, it certainly hit much harder than the baitfish I had been catching.  The fish was on for a moment before the line went slack. I assumed it was a smallmouth, and made repeated casts with no results.  

I left the little pool, wading a few yards downstream when I felt another hard strike.  The fish provided a good tussle, and moments later I was pleasantly surprised when I beached a brown trout. The fish was vivid in color - dark brown along the back, a smattering of black spots across a golden brown flank. The fish was no doubt a holdover from the previous year’s stocking far upstream in Linden.  After inspecting and releasing the fish I began working my way back upstream, stopping at the little pool with the riffle. There I was rewarded with another brown, identical to the first and maybe the same fish I had hooked earlier.  It too was released. 

Before working my way upstream toward the car, I couldn’t help but savor the moment. Even the aroma from a nearby pasture added to the enjoyment of a Father’s Day in rural America. 

For the second straight year the Tonawanda Creek Carp Derby resulted in another good turnout. Ideal weather conditions attracted solo anglers as well as those who saw it as an opportunity for a family outing with upwards of forty entrants lining the creek bank for Saturday’s Carp Derby. 

Carp may not be much to look at, nor are they classified as a game fish.  However, once hooked they can put up quite a good tussle.  Several participants in Saturday’s derby can attest to that.  Shortly after the first lines hit the water, the Blecha brothers, Mike and Jeremy were the first to connect, accounting for three carp in a short time span. Their trio of fish ranged in weight from 7 to 10.5 pounds, with the latter specimen temporarily sliding into first place.  

Minutes later the Pietrzykowski brothers, Jake and Jeremy, got into the act.  Jeremy quickly set the hook after a carp inhaled his offering of corn kernels.  Minutes passed before he was able to lead the hefty bottom feeder into the shallows where Jake was waiting with the net. The fish pulled the scales to the 13lbs. 10 oz. mark.

Despite murky water conditions, there were numerous fish caught, all of them returned to the water after a brief weigh-in. The creekside camaraderie made the afternoon pass quickly and at the end of the day Jeremy Pietrzykowski  took home “Biggest Fish” honors, with the award for the smallest going to Randy Demers. 

There was quite a mix of folks lining the creek bank on this day, making for a festive atmosphere and a chance to renew old acquaintances and sample “chef” John Lawrence’s snacks hot off the grill - venison backstraps and pheasant tenders rolled in bacon.

FAMILIAR FACES IN THE CROWD: CARP DERBY PICS

 Joe Lawrence

 The Blecha Family

 Jimmy DeFreze, Jimmy, Sam, Bill & Mike Ficarella

 Dr. Joe Canzoneri with sons Nick & Mike

Mike DeFreze & Ben Buchholz

St. Joe's PE & Health Instructor Vin Romanotto

 Brian Jackson 

We went to the sandwash on monday.Jimmy caught a pretty nice fish.Is it a blue gill?

These obviously happy anglers are displaying a pair of crevalle jacks.That's my cousin Richard Silver in the stars & stripes windbreaker. Standing alongside is friend and fishing buddy, Ira Kanerick.

I remember hearing Richard once proclaim the waters off Montauk Point on the eastern end of Long Island, and area around Key West, as two of the greatest fishing grounds in the world. That was more than thirty years ago. But long before making that statement he plied the waters of Mill Pond and Black Creek in Byron, and the Tonawanda Creek where it flowed past Parker Grinnel's pasture on Dorman Rd.

Here the captain uses a cast net to collect bait fish.

Richard was born and raised in Brooklyn and it was always a treat to see him whenever he visited the home of our grandparents in fifties. He was a teenager then and I was but a little shaver and sometimes allowed to tag along with him to the above mentioned fishing holes. Later, after first serving with the U.S. Navy, then forming his own business, American Pipe & Tank Lining Co. Inc., Richard still found time to make the drive to Montauk Point where he fished for striped bass with Ira and charter skipper John DeMeo. I fished with this trio on a windy Monday morning in October of '77. We were after stripers but the waves were so bad we retreated into a tidal estuary. I wound up taking home several pounds of flounder from that trip.

Having been brought close to the boat, a shark decides to make bid for freedom.

After the hook has been set, a tarpon puts on an aerial display.

Still full of fight, the tarpon is worked carefully towards the boat.

Richard and Ira recently made a two day trip to Islamorada, in the Florida Keys and they were kind enough to pass along these photos. A variety of species, including but not limited to tarpon, shark, grouper and crevalle jacks, were more than accommodating. Along with the pictures was a note stating "The action was nonstop. If it swam, we caught it." Knowing these two long time friends, that's nothing out of the ordinary.

In the early sixties, Silver Lake provided some of the best fishing in New York.  In hindsight it would seem that Y Camp - $30 a week at the time - was an inexpensive fish camp, if fishing was your thing,

In the summer of 1964, in a week spanning late June and the beginning of July, five campers lived a young fishermen’s dream. Each day at dawn, occasionally mid-day and again prior to the sun going down, they experienced a bass angler’s delight - or beginners luck. It also signaled a time when those five young men graduated from worms to artificial lures.   

The first day of camp Mike Hintorn, Dave “Bongo” Barton and the Doody brothers, Dan and Joe and I were on the dock two hours before reveille.  With everyone else in camp still sound asleep we had the waterfront to ourselves. 

Soon we would discover the excitement of surface fishing for largemouth bass. But before any of us reached for a topwater lure we began with an old standby – juicy nightcrawlers.

For the better part of an hour we flipped worms, but the only takers were bluegills, sunfish, stunted perch and one or two small bass. The problem seemed to be the aquatic growth. Dense beds of milfoil and foxtail prevented our baits from sinking down to the cool, dark recesses where the big fish lay in wait. Growing weary of the pan fish, we began to pay attention to periodic surface activity in the form of splashes and swirls. 

Hastily we bit through monofilament fishing line, removing hooks and worms. Mike Hinton, Dave Barton and Joe Doody reached into their tackle box searching for surface plugs. Dan Doody pulled out a Jitter Bug. I opted for a Hula Popper, a lure that, up to that moment, had gone unused. It was still in the box with instructions. I didn’t take time to read them. As things turned out, the fish didn't seem to mind.  For the next hour we experienced a barrage of surface strikes.

Later, after reveille had sounded, a camp counselor spotted us on the dock and came down to investigate. I remember his exclamation when he lifted our heavy stringer of bass. As he held them up for inspection, the soft light of early morning enhances their colors - deep red gill rakers standing out in contrast against dark green backs. The fish are all big, much larger than any of us had ever seen, much less caught. The counselor eased the stringer back into the water and for several moments we stared at the fish, watching their pectoral fins move ever so slightly, their gills open and close slowly. With campers beginning to cluster around the flag pole for morning calisthenics every fish was released.   

That morning signaled the end of worm dunking. And that was only the beginning of what turned out to be a memorable stay at Y camp. Each morning at dawn the five of us were on the on the dock anticipating surface strikes. And our efforts weren't limited to the early morning hours. After the evening meal until just prior to sunset, we were back on the waterfront. And the results were quite similar.

Later in the week we began probing the waters in front of the arts & crafts building. From there we moved further along the shoreline. Adjacent the camp infirmary was another dock, this one quite smaller, a bit dilapidated and largely unused – until Mike Hinton decided to give it a whirl. On that morning Mike was casting a Zara Spook. A floater-diver, the “spook” floats on top when still, then dives just below the surface on retrieve. That morning, Mike used the “spook” to fill a stringer with largemouth that would be the envy of today’s tournament anglers.

  In close proximity to the small dock was a black willow. Growing at the waters edge, it was an older tree with two trunks, one of which extended out over the lake. One afternoon I saw Dan Doody perched in the tree with his fishing pole in hand. Situated on the large branch reaching out over the water, he was using a jitterbug like you would use a jig, bouncing it up and down onto the lake surface. Below him were two sizeable bass. They were lying motionless on the bottom in waist deep water, probably on their spawning beds. Dan never did entice those fish to strike, but the fact that he shinnied up that tree with fishing pole in hand then clambered out over the water indicates just what a spell those bass had on us.     

Evening was time for singing around the campfire. Later, after returning to our cabin for the night, we would sit on our bunks talking and looking up at all the names on the rafters and the ceiling. They were telltale signs of the campers from bygone days. All had left their mark the same way - printed in toothpaste. We had done likewise, breaking out tubes of Gleem or Colgate. Soon afterward it would be time for lights out followed by vespers. When all the giggling stopped and the whispers had died down, there was only the sound of the lake at night. Bullfrogs called from the swamp a few hundred yards distant, their throaty chorus easily carried across the water. There was the occasional sound of an outboard, maybe a walleye fisherman heading to his trolling grounds. Without a doubt each of us probably fell asleep with fish on our minds, eager for daybreak and big bass hiding among the weeds. 

Nobody thought to take a picture that week. But that's okay. I doubt there ever was a need for a photo. I’m sure each of them has a mental picture permanently filed away somewhere where it can never be lost.

Early on I learned the northern pike is not only willing to strike, they often do so with gusto, ambushing their prey in a quick and vicious manner. This, combined with their toothy, menacing appearance easily captures a young angler’s imagination.

In the first Pike Dreams segment I briefly mentioned my uncle, Jim Nigro, who first introduced me to fishing before he moved away. I was in high school when another uncle, Jim Soccio, visited from his home in Coral Gables, Fla. He invited me for a days fishing on Seneca Lake. I was told I need bring only a lunch. My grandmother made me a bag full of sandwiches – pepper & egg, steak & peppers – lots of them.   

Our quarry would be lake trout and we would be fishing with Bob Cass, then the Chief of the Geneva, NY Police Dept. and a part time guide on Seneca Lake. We boarded Cass’ boat before dawn and motored down the lake to a small bay where Cass dropped anchor. He rigged five poles with sawbellies, large minnow-like baits favored by lake trout anglers.  

I was about to discover my uncle was not a fan of northern pike.

The sun was barely above the horizon, the lake was flat calm and my uncle and Bob Cass were making small talk when the drag on the bow reel started screaming. Cass scurried along the gunwale and the cabin, grabbed the rod out of the holder and set the hook- or tried to. A moment later the line snapped, sounding like a .22 being fired.        

“Wow. What was that,” I shouted.

“Probably a big pike,” replied Bob Cass.

I looked at my uncle.   “We gonna fish for pike now, Uncle Jim?” I was no doubt bug-eyed, the adrenaline pumping.   

“What are we going to do with pike? They’re no good,” he said with disdain.

“Too many bones” chimed in Cass.

Later Bob Cass showed us an article in an Outdoor Life magazine. The story was about a pair of young men from New York City who had ventured to Seneca Lake for a day’s fishing. The photos depicted two smiling anglers holding numerous northern pike, every one of them much larger than any I had caught up to that time. Their guide had been none other than Bob Cass. I couldn’t help but wonder if he bothered to mention all those pike bones.

It was about that time I reached into the bag of sandwiches. The bag would be empty before we returned to the dock.

We caught two lake trout that day, the first came in the morning while still-fishing sawbellies. Afterward the day basically turned into a long boat ride. The second lake trout was the bigger of the two, weighing 6 lbs. and was caught while trolling Seth Green rigs, the forerunner of today’s downrigger.

I came away from that outing unimpressed with lake trout. No small wonder, as I couldn’t forget the sound of the drag singing out early that morning as a big northern ran with the bait. It was but another moment which fueled my pike dreams in a big way.

And dream I did, one of which I remember quite well.  I was in a boat, stream fishing in a place much like Whiskey Run, a noted stretch of Tonawanda Creek. Obviously the fish on the end of my line was a large northern pike. One moment I was able to see it below the surface, its white belly clearly visible as it twisted and turned in the depths. The next moment I was holding it aloft in the boat. It was absolutely huge! It was longer than I was tall with a girth to match its length. It was the pike I had long sought, the trophy for the wall. But as dreamscapes are so often surreal, there was one minor glitch - the pike had a gaudy silver zipper running the entire length of its belly.  

Strange dreams aside, the pursuit for big pike continued, years later leading to some memorable adventures in the Canadian far north. And it was in those sub-artic waters where my perception of the lake trout took a drastic, yet positive change. I’m looking forward to sharing those experiences with readers soon.

Friday night's rising air termerature and  warm  winds created a two inch layer of slush on the mantle of ice at Silver Lake in Wyoming County. Considering its early February, the conditions may have played a role in the number of ice-fishermen who turnout Saturday morning. Nonetheless, there were a few hardy individuals refused to be denied a day on the ice.

 Shortly after daybreak Saturday hard-water anglers were set up on the south end of the lake adjacent Macks Bait and Tackle. Maybe a dozen or more ice fishermen – and women – were scattered across the frozen expanse amid pop-up ice huts.   

As we were walking out onto the ice, we met a pair of ice-fishermen who had decided to call it a day. Tony and Tom Loor, of Niagara Falls, have been fishing Silver Lake for decades, both through the ice and in the open-water season. On this day the brothers were rewarded with a catch of 30 panfish, mostly bluegills and sunfish taken on mousie grubs. The Loors also fish the lake in warm weather as well. “We’ll be back in the spring,” said Tom, noting the warming trend. “Come spring we’ll be working this area by boat.” As they do in open water season, the Loors concentrated their ice-fishing along the east shoreline.     

 Despite the thawing conditions there was still a thick mantle of ice and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Some were jigging for panfish – bluegills, sunfish and perch. Others were intently watching tip-ups, hoping for northern pike, or maybe a walleye. Some, like Ron Skelly, employed both methods.

 A Perry resident Skelly, kept his children Abigail 10 and Ryan, 8, busy jigging mousies and wax worms while he rigged tip-ups with shiners. Their strategy paid off as evidenced by a bucket of hand-sized bluegills and a few plump sunfish. The shiner-baited tip-ups resulted in pair of decent northern pike, as evidenced by the photo.

When I asked if he had seen anyone take any really big northerns, the elder Skelly replied, “No, but when I took a peek through my Aqua-view I saw a fish under the ice about this big,” he said, stretching out his arms. He said the big pike never eyed his bait, but kept swimming.   

 For updates on ice conditions contact Mack’s Boat Livery at 585-237-5983 or email at fmalone@macksboatlivery.com