My first trip to New York’s Salmon River was in April of 2000. Back then, I had no idea what to expect. The water was high, and I was green to the steelhead game. Armed with a little black stonefly, I flipped it into the current and watched, almost absentmindedly, as my line drifted downstream. Suddenly, the reel screamed. Line peeled off as if it had a life of its own, cutting through the water and spraying mist in its wake. Just as quickly, it was over. The line went slack. Bewildered, I asked my guide, “What was that?”

“Steelhead,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Must’ve hit a rock in the river.”

Minutes later, another hookup had me running downriver, trying to keep pace with the fish. It, too, was gone before I could truly process what was happening. By day’s end, I had managed to land a modest five-pound steelhead. That single fish sealed my fate. It was the beginning of a lifelong obsession with chasing these powerful, elusive creatures across New York’s waters.

New Friends, Familiar Waters

Over the years, I’ve learned that no two trips to the Salmon River—or anywhere in New York’s steelhead country—are ever the same. Each day on the water offers new challenges, new surprises, and sometimes, new friends. On a recent trip, Stac and I fished for 13 days straight, covering rivers from Altmar to Buffalo. Along the way, we shared the water with a mix of old friends and new acquaintances—Scott, Tony, Cooper, Aaron, Bridget, Ethan, Mark, Carl, Tait, Tobi, Nick, Zac, Jackson, and Gil.

Despite the Salmon River’s reputation for crowds and occasional arguments, I’ve had the good fortune of meeting some great people there. Each season, I look forward to reconnecting with them and sharing the camaraderie that only anglers truly understand.

When we arrived this time, it was that in-between period: the tail end of king salmon season and not quite the peak of steelhead runs. Fishing started slow, with just three to five hookups a day, and I went three days without landing a single fish. I began to worry that the low water might keep the steelhead from moving upriver. But steelhead fishing is as much about patience as it is persistence, and by week’s end, the river came alive.

Our friend Tony arrived on Friday and wasted no time hooking fish, playfully questioning why we’d been calling the fishing slow. Almost overnight, steelhead surged upriver, and the action picked up dramatically.

Swinging, Drifting, and Breaking Off

Steelhead fishing in New York takes many forms. Some anglers prefer spinning rods, others use center pins, and many stick with fly rods. Among fly anglers, techniques vary—high-sticking, nymphing, swinging, or a blend of all three. Tony, a die-hard “swing guy,” is always ribbing us about our refusal to swing flies. I decided to give it a shot for half a day, and he wasn’t wrong—when a steelhead slams a swung fly, it’s an unmistakable, heart-stopping moment.

After a few days on the Salmon River, Stac and I packed up and headed west toward 18 Mile Creek. Though the river was low, we found fish holding in a few deep pools. At first light, I tied on a streamer, forgetting I only had a four-pound tippet. After a couple of half-hearted strikes, a massive steelhead hammered the fly. Before I could react, the line snapped. Lesson learned: come prepared.

Exploring New Water

Continuing eastward, we stumbled upon a new fly and tackle shop called The Hairy Trout. Equal parts barber shop and fly shop, it was a quirky but welcoming spot where we picked up a few flies before heading to the Niagara River.

Fishing the Niagara is a humbling experience. Its vast, powerful waters dwarf anything else in New York. Standing on the riverbank, I remembered a trip years ago when I landed my largest steelhead—a near 20-pound behemoth. This time, the fish were holding too far out for our fly rods, so we decided to move on to Oak Orchard.

At Oak Orchard, the usually crowded river was surprisingly quiet, and we spotted fish holding in clear pools. I hooked a massive brown trout almost immediately, but it leapt clear out of the water and broke me off. Switching to heavier tippet, I landed two Atlantic salmon and a hefty brown trout. Meanwhile, Stac hooked into what might have been the fish of the trip—a 30-inch brown. She fought it valiantly, bringing it to the net three times, only for it to break off on a final run.

The next morning, we returned to the same spot. Stac quickly landed her first Atlantic salmon of the trip, a beautiful male with a pronounced kype. Energized, we set off again in search of her elusive brown trout. By day’s end, she had it—a stunning 25-inch brown from a secluded pool, caught with a perfectly placed drift.

Ending on a High Note

Our trip culminated back at the Salmon River. For the first time in days, we woke up before sunrise, determined to claim a prime spot. I decided to swing flies while Stac nymphed below me. The action was nonstop—I hooked 13 steelhead, landing only two, while Stac had a few hookups of her own but couldn’t quite bring one to hand.

On our final day, Stac decided to sleep in, signaling it was time to call it a trip. I hit the river solo and got into fish right away. I jokingly texted Stac to bring tequila, beer, coffee, and food for a proper sendoff. To my surprise, she showed up with everything. In a fitting finale, Stac went four for four, landing fish after fish every time she took a celebratory shot. I ended the day four for 22—not a lot in the net, but enough action to leave me smiling.

A Trip to Remember

Over 13 days, we fished four rivers, caught king salmon, coho, brown trout, Atlantic salmon, and steelhead, and spent time with friends new and old. Every trip to New York is special, but this one will be tough to beat. From the heartbreak of lost fish to the thrill of hard-fought victories, the memories made on this adventure are why I keep coming back.

Steelhead fishing isn’t just about the fish—it’s about the journey, the people, and the stories that grow with each trip.