They say pictures are worth a thousand words. If that's the case, then I have some work to do! The picture below is of me, David Idzi, with the first Steelhead I caught while fishing the Trestle Pool on the Salmon River in February of 1980. My father had been fishing the Salmon River, not particularly successfully, since about 1976. He had grown up in rural central New York on a dairy farm, developing a keen interest in everything outdoors. He was especially excited about trout fishing the small local streams and hunting Whitetail deer, and had become very proficient at both. To that end, developing an interest in Lake Ontario and its tributaries seemed only logical.
I remember Dad, exhausted, wet and often grumpy when he came home from those early excursions to the Salmon River. When asked what he had caught on any given day he would merely growl or curse and seek the comfort of a long, hot shower. Those responses only made me more curious, because it was so rare to see him fail at anything outdoors related, and I often peppered him with questions about where he had been and what he had been fishing for. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, (which was likely closer to maybe a year), Dad brought home what was the biggest fish I had ever seen. It was a Steelhead that was likely in the 8-10 pound range. I marveled at is chrome sides, wide tail and remarkable size! To that point in life, the biggest fish I had seen or caught were domestic and stocked Brown Trout measuring maybe 12-14 inches from the local Oriskany Creek. After ogling the massive (to 8 year old me) trout, my first question was, "When can I go?" Dad, not known for his caution in most of life's ambitions, told me I wasn't quite old enough, but that he would be happy to take me in the next couple of years. Imagine my disappointment!
After about another of year of marginal success, Dad asked me if I wanted to go fishing with him one weekend in February 1980. At that time I had not yet turned nine years of age. My expectation was to be pulling on a snowmobile suit, toboggan hat, gloves and the warmest boots I could find and join him ice fishing. Much to my surprise, he had deemed me mature enough to join him on a trip to the mighty and mysterious Salmon River. I remember all of the instructions, how to dress in layers that were functional, how to identify water where a Steelhead might be waiting for a tasty morsel, how to avoid falling in the river, and most importantly, how to cast and identify what might be the subtle strike of a very large fish. The 75 minute ride seemed like it was at least twice that long, but early that Winter morning I found myself looking at the signs for the Trestle Pool, wondering if this would be the day that I caught my first giant fish!
A few minutes of rigging up our fishing rods, pulling on hip boots, (as Dad had deemed me too young for waders), and getting clothing just right we made the short walk down to the river. That day we would be bottom bouncing pastel colored sponges that mimicked salmon spawn in hopes of enticing the bite of a winter Steelhead. Quartering casts upstream, following the weighted line as it moved slowly along the bottom of the pool ticking along the bottom eagerly awaiting the slowing or stopping of the bait, the ever subtle and difficultly perceived bite of the big fish. After about an hour, I felt the bait stop, lifted the rod, and much to my surprise felt the now familiar head shake of a nice chrome Steelhead. Dad had wandered a little further downstream once he was confident I wasn't going to drown, and when I yelled to him that I had a fish on all I head was a somewhat sarcastic, "Sure you do...", followed by his return to fishing. It was at that moment the fish broke the water for the first time, in an acrobatic leap that made my heart race and caught Dad's attention out of the corner of his eye. I'll never forget that fish, the 10-15 minute fight, followed by a hearty hand shake on the bank in congratulations for landing my first Steelhead. "Beginner's luck...", Dad grumbled.
I returned to fishing, but didn't have another strike for the balance of the day, yet it couldn't have mattered less. I was now and accomplished fisherman (in my own mind), and from that day forward I was hooked on fishing the Salmon River and the massive (to me) fish that it offered. I've grown to love Lake Ontario and its surrounding tributaries, and through this blog, our website, and social media I plan on sharing experiences, techniques and best practices to help you have experiences similar to mine. Stay tuned, the adventures of the Dirty Oar are just beginning, but we'll have so much more to offer in the coming days, months and years!
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