Upstate New York, January 2025: Almost Frozen

The famous Salmon River.

In November, I started my first engagement as a consultant. This meant lots of time traveling to the client site in Toronto and unexpected exposure to fishing opportunities I normally wouldn’t be able to explore. I would drive to my grandparents’ house in Lockport, NY, and commute to Toronto every Monday, often spending several weeks in Western New York before heading home to Philadelphia. My grandparents were living in Florida for the winter, leaving me with plenty of free time on the weekends to explore. There was just one problem: it snowed every day. The rivers, I, and possibly even the fish were all frozen. It was rare to find a day where the high broke 30 degrees, and much of my fishing was cut short due to ice and snowstorms.

After working in Toronto for the week, I came back to Lockport excited for what the weekend had in store. I had booked a hotel room in Pulaski, NY, along the famous Salmon River. On Saturday, I drove three hours through Syracuse and Oswego, experiencing small snowstorms along the way. When I arrived, the riverbanks held a foot of snow, and the upper fly-fishing parking lots were completely snowed in and closed off. To my surprise, plenty of anglers were out on the river searching for steelhead. I eventually found a secluded spot to set up for the afternoon. I caught nothing that day. I tried nymphing and swinging streamers, but there were no signs of life.

Salmon bones

The next morning, I returned to the river to try again. A drift boat floated through the pool and managed to pull out a nice steelhead. It was the only fish I saw caught. I was among many skunked anglers fishing along the banks. Hoping to beat the snowstorms, I left early and headed back toward Buffalo. This was my first experience seeing the aftermath of the Chinook salmon spawn. The river was filled with salmon bones, a sign of a healthy spawning location and likely the reason for such a large draw of anglers.

Oak Orchard Steelhead

I was still determined to catch a fish, so I decided to stop at Oak Orchard Creek on my way home. Within the first couple of casts, I hooked a fish. It was a small steelhead or lake-run rainbow trout. When I got the fish in the net, I started to laugh. I had driven three hours, booked a hotel room, and frozen for hours just to catch a fish twenty minutes from my grandparents’ house. I was just happy to have caught something.

The following weekend, I set out to fish a new river. This time, I figured I would give Cattaraugus Creek a try. When I arrived, I had a long hike down into the gorge. It had snowed the day before, and the fresh powder made for an interesting hike. Unsurprisingly, the banks of the creek were completely frozen. This made for a sketchy fishing experience, using my wading boots to break the ice as I walked to the creek. Once again, the water was high, and fishing was nearly impossible. Despite the lack of fish, the spot was beautiful, and I found myself thinking about the potential fishing opportunities when the weather warmed. I was impressed by the remote nature of the Zoar Valley Unique Area. It was a vastly different experience from what I had seen the previous weekend in Oswego.

Zoar Valley Unique Area

This was my first true experience exploring Western New York fisheries. For January, I was blown away by the volume of anglers. I had heard tales of shoulder-to-shoulder fishing on the Salmon River but assumed the snowstorms might keep some fishermen at home on the couch. It was fascinating to see a healthy fishery that could endure such angling pressure. The leftover salmon bones indicated a successful spawn. I plan on returning in the fall to explore both the Salmon River and Cattaraugus Creek. I look forward to seeing these spawning grounds in action and the angling chaos they attract.