Discuss this article on TalkFlyFishing.com A Day on the Tribs by Marty Stalnecker I pulled into the parking area on 12 mile around 9:30 a.m.; it had taken about an hour and a half to drive up Interstate 79, then a short sprint on 90. Cars were parked everywhere and even though I had a sliver of hope that just maybe it wasn’t packed, I looked upstream to see six or seven people crowded under the arch of Route 5's bridge. The water was crystal clear and the temperature was about 30 degrees and rising; a good sign that the fish would become more active toward the afternoon. I looked up and down the creek hopefully.  I hadn’t driven all the way to Erie to be stuck fishing over empty water.  I also wanted at least to take a shot at a few before moving to another location.  Grumbling under my breath I threw on my waders; may as well do something, I thought. The pool under the bridge was indeed crowded beyond belief. Fishermen expecting rain most of the day had apparently camped out under its protective arch and I don’t think even gale force winds had a chance at uprooting them. Unfortunately for them they had spooked most of the sensible fish and a few had gathered in the shallow pools down-stream. The fish seemed quite agitated as they darted back and forth like trapped mice. The constant passing of fishermen kept them on edge and after an hour or so of casting to them from a distance I decided that it was time to move on.  The fact that several fishermen almost stepped on them while I was there played a large part in the decision as well. I stopped by several of the other pools on 12 mile but failed to find a single fish.  At this point I considered heading home.  Another fishless Erie trip and a bunch of wasted time; I frowned as the thought crossed my mind. Instead, I decided to stop in a local truck stop for some lunch.  A bowl of beef vegetable soup and a cup of coffee hit the spot and the chance to sit down and think about what I was doing couldn't hurt. Not only that, it also changed my mind.  After sitting there for awhile the thoughts of heading home turned to thoughts of not heading home until I hooked a fish and then to hooking and landing one. I had come to fish - and, if I had to, I was going to fish 'til dark.  The words stuck in my head as I paid my bill and walked out of the restaurant. The closest stream from there was 20 mile. It was often crowded and was probably muddy from the rains. Can’t hurt to try, I murmured to myself as I turned west on Route 5 towards the stream. Things looked pretty bleak at the parking area. Not many cars and some fishermen were leaving without the typical stringer full of fish being drug behind.  Trying not to think about it I suited up. At that point I could have cared less if there was a fish in the entire lake.  I was going to wet my line and I was going to like it. Thinking the water would be a bit muddy I tied on a size 12 beadhead with a copper wire body, a collar of dark squirrel dubbing and two black biots in its tail for that little extra contrast under the water. I had picked it up in a recent steelhead fly swap and never found out what the name of the fly was. The upper fly was a pink estaz egg I'd heard was hot on the tribs, but had yet to pay off. With my flies all tied and the temperature hovering at about 43 degrees I headed off down the trail toward the mouth of the stream. Twenty mile was up and a bit cloudy but not muddy.  I think the few nearby fishermen heard my sigh of relief.  It had a light tan tint as it wound out toward the lake but you could see maybe two feet before your waders disappeared below the murk. From the mouth of the creek I positioned myself just inside the tree line to block the wind.  From there I took a spot on a small cropping of rocks and the remains of some cement structure.  The bitter wind would now and then break through the brush and pierce through my fleece coat, sending a shiver up my spine, but for the most part I was well protected. I had a nice little cast out to the line where faster and slower currents spiraled out into a pool located behind the shallow outcropping I stood on. Tossing my line up-stream I had maybe four or five casts in before I felt the first tug and my indicator dipped. Don’t tell me that's a snag, I sighed under my breath, as the dark head and kype of a male Steelhead broke the surface with a splash and took off toward the lake. He was on the line for one, two, maybe three seconds before he spat out the flies, sending them in an arc landing dangerously close to the trees behind me. Great, I lost another one”;  All I could do was shake my head.  I stood there for a few seconds trying to rethink what I had done wrong and then moved on. Checking my flies and line to make sure all was well I tossed the line upstream again, mending once to send the indicator above the flies. I let it drift. It traveled a few feet, stopped and bobbed. Thinking again that I had a snag, I lifted the line in hopes of sliding it over whatever held it to the bottom. The snag had a mind of its own and took off upstream, peeling line off my reel and refusing to slow.  I gave the 8 wt. a good yank; this fish wasn't getting off and I was making sure of it. I pulled hard to its left hoping to turn it toward me and as luck would have it the fish leapt from the stream, revealing a huge, bright chrome hen, fresh from the lake. She turned toward me and raced past on her way downstream. Using my hand as a drag I pulled to the right to bring her back up. Again she raced past me upstream.  Let her run, let her run, not too much drag, drop the rod. Drop it! The thoughts raced through my head as she fought. Several more times and I finally had her close enough to almost touch. This sent her out for another run. Up and down-stream a few more times and again she came almost within reach, only to find another burst of energy. The hook refused to dislodge and eventually she came to hand. Apparently not one to give up, she lashed one last time as I attempted to unhook her in the water. Catching on the weather beaten cement barrier, she snapped the tipped and ran off with the fly. A beautiful fish and a heart pounding fight. I couldn’t have asked for more.  I smiled to myself and as most fishermen do, looked up and downstream, you know, just to see if anyone noticed - not that it mattered, or at least that's what I often say to myself.  I now had to tend to my broken tippet.  Searching through my fly boxes I discovered they were just about devoid of beadheads. I was certain that's what caused the strike and I wanted another. I found a size 12 brown 'bugger with a gold bead head, something I had tied up for smaller trout on a local stream. After tying this fly on I moved back upstream into my spot and began casting again. Tossing the line upstream and floating it down over and over, time seemed to stand still; the fight of the first fish of the day had warmed me up and my toes were warm once again. I wanted another steelhead and I wanted it now. A half hour would pass before the indicator would drop again. I felt the light tug at the bottom end of the drift and lifting the rod enough to set the hook but not rip my line from the water, I felt the tell-tale shake of a steelhead. I reset the hook once more to be certain it wouldn’t break free and let the fish run upstream while moving toward shore. I had left my net in the car and after the trouble I had unhooking the last fish I wanted to beach this one before trying it again. After the first two runs up and down-stream the fish gave me a glimpse of my fly securely lodged in its lower jaw as it shook it's head to free itself.  There isn't much that compares to the feeling you get when a steelie jumps from the water and you see your fly clinging tightly to it's lip.  This fish had fallen for the beadhead bugger I had hastily tied up a few nights before. As the shoreline approached the fish refused to come in close. It took five or six runs for it to finally give in and let me take a quick snap. Tucking the camera away quickly since I like to release fish as soon as possible, I removed my hook from it's jaw and noticed that it had another in there as well. Not only another hook but the hook that I had broken off a half hour before! Amazed, I removed it as well and helped the fish back into the stream. I spent the rest of the afternoon scouting the stream and looking in the holes on 20 mile. The creek still was a bit cloudy but there were nowhere near the people on it that were fishing on 12 mile. It seemed I had chosen the right stream to fish for the day and only had a few other fishermen to share it with. Something that does not happen too often for me in Erie.  I peered down on 20 mile as I crossed the bridge heading for home. The tan colored water gave the impression that it would be too muddy to fish but I knew better.  I wondered how many other fishermen that day had passed up this stream without taking a closer look, only to have moved to a crowded hole full of spooked fish.  I know I'll have second thoughts about passing up water with a little bit of color next time I visit Erie. Flies used on this trip: Buggers: Brown and Olive with and without beads. Hook ~ Size 12, 2x long. Thread ~ Brown/Olive. Tail ~ Marabou; Brown/Olive. Body ~ Chenille; Brown/Olive. Ribbing ~ Gold Wire. Hackle ~ Undersized Brown/Olive or Black. Bead ~ Optional. Estaz Eggs ~ Peach and Pink. Hook ~ Size 12, 2x strong. Thread ~ Red. Body ~ Peach or Pink Estaz. With this pattern you can tie in some white or cream dubbing at the head, stretching it back over the body. Wiggle Stones in Blue and Chartreuse. Hook ~ Size 12, 2x strong. Thread ~ Black. Rib ~ 6# Mono. Body ~ Black Dubbing. Tail ~ Black Goose Biots. Legs ~ Black Goose Biots. Thorax ~ Blue or Chartreuse Dubbing (Seal.) Info Tail is tied on a section of wire or to another hook.  Once completed, the hook is cut at the bend and then attached to the front portion with a small bit of 10 lb. Mono. Copper John Variant Hook ~ Size 10. Thread ~ Olive. Body ~ Medium Copper Wire. Tail ~ Black Goose Biots. Collar ~ Dark Squirrel Dubbing. Bead ~ Copper. Planning a trip to Erie? Erie Pennsylvania, renowned for its Steelhead fishery, is one of the most contested, emotionally fired and often politically debated fishing areas East of the Mississippi.  People travel from many other countries to fish these congested streams, all for a shot at a fresh chrome Steelhead.  Until you have hooked into one you may not understand the “fanaticism” associated with Steelie fishing on a small stream packed with fish, but there is no doubt once you have landed one of these beautiful creatures you'll be returning year after year. Gear Typical gear for Steelhead fly-fishing falls in the range of a six to eight weight fly rod with weight-forward floating line.  Most of the tributaries in the Erie area are shallow with few very deep runs, thus a fast-sinking line would likely hang up frequently on the gravel or stone bottom.  A leader from six to twelve feet in length, depending upon the depth of the water, and your configuration will be satisfactory.  I typically use a leader the length of the rod I'm using, or about nine feet, with a tandem hook setup.  A tippet of four to eight weight will work well depending on how clear the water is.  Often in Erie the water is crystal clear, so a finer tippet is required.  Keep in mind that in crowded conditions a four-weight tippet may not necessarily make the nearby fishermen your friends. Fly and weight selection go hand in hand.  Weight should be just enough to touch the bottom; usually, two medium-sized round split shot work well for larger pools with slower moving water.  Typically on my tandem rigs I run an egg followed by a nymph or nymph/streamer pattern like a Woolly Bugger.  Running a 'bugger as the dropper on your tippet gives you the advantage of swinging your flies across the current instead of just picking the line up and tossing it back upstream.   Once the line has reached the bottom of its drift just let the current do the work and swing the flies toward you.  Once the flies have drifted downstream of your position, lift the line slowly about a foot and drop it.  Often a fish will be coaxed into striking as the fly drops back towards it.  Weather Many people don't have the luxury of waiting until the conditions are right.  For me, I plan weeks ahead and schedule a few days off.  I would love for the temperature to be in the mid-forties with a water temperature of about forty-two degrees, but it is rare that the time I have put aside for my fishing trip and the weather ever seem to be perfect.  I do watch the weather as the date of my trip arrives but I wouldn't let it keep me from going.  I have fished Erie in weather ranging from seventy degree days to blizzards and I have yet to have a really bad day on the tribs. The key to enjoying your day lies in your preparation for the trip.  Be ready for colder weather than forecast and dress in layers.  The wind off the lake can, at times, pierce though even some of the thickest fleece. The effects of weather on fishing can also place a damper on your day.  As the temperature drops the fish become sluggish and can at times turn off completely, leaving many fishermen frustrated.  Steelhead are more active when water temperatures are in the forties, but one of the main drawbacks of this is that the steelhead fisherman is also more active at these times, leading to lots of congestion on the streams.  I find that some of the best times to fish can be in December and January when few fisherman will brave the weather, giving you more choices on where to wet your line. Etiquette Erie presents an interesting problem.  With large numbers of fishermen and large numbers of fish squeezed into small areas, some of the norms of fishing are no longer observed.  It is not uncommon to literally be fishing shoulder-to-shoulder on the tributaries, especially Elk and Walnut.  Though this is not something you would normally see anywhere else, it is something you should expect when planning a trip to the area.  Several other sensitive issues come to light as well, such as litter and the unrequested or unsolicited use of someone's private property to access the fishery.  Much of the land these Erie tributaries flow through is owned by people who deserve respect from those of us who would choose to be guests upon their property.  As a guest, it is our individual responsibility to leave no trace of our passing.  This includes leaving no litter or trash of any kind, no tippets or leaders, and no tracks though the landowner's lawn.  I'll go so far as to say one should pick up any trash one comes across.  Fishing the tribs is not a right - it is a privilege, and as seen in Erie, one that is all too often taken advantage of. It is only through our actions that we, as fishermen, will be able to preserve this fishery and continue to enjoy it into the future. Good luck and I'll catch you on the stream! ~ Marty Stalnecker Hatches Magazine Subscription Price: $6.95 for each issue The Premiere issue is ready for shipping & the Fall 2008 issue will be available September 1st.