It was Kim who brought up the idea of moving. For her, it was a long time desire to move back to her native New England after being in Ohio for 20 years. Her daughter went to the University of Maine and graduated in engineering. She currently resides in Portland, Maine and her extended family still lives in Massachusetts. Her son is entering his sophomore year at Ohio State and he's given his blessing and understood why Mom wanted to move. For both of us, it's been a wide range of feelings from excitement to full of anxiety.
As for me, I was intrigued as I loved our annual vacations in New Hampshire during the summer and fall. During those times, I really enjoyed hiking and photographing the White Mountains. With the exceptions of the mountains, New England reminded me of back home in Northern Ontario with lush forests and bounty of lakes and rivers. Plus there was the ocean as it was always a dream of mine to live by it. As much as I liked living in Ohio, it doesn't even come close to New England.But, I couldn't bare the thought of leaving without saying goodbye to the Alley. Luckily, we got some rain out east. It wasn't a lot, but just enough to get some flow and bring in some early arrivals. A friend of mine fished it Sunday and told me there were some fish, but you had to work for them. The window would be brief as the waters would clear quickly and the temperatures would soar back into the 80s later in the week. Monday would be the only day that I could get out. The night before I tied some sacs and I bemoaned that fact that I accumulated at least a season's worth of eggs in the freezer. Nearly every year, I go through fits of anxiety because nobody knows when the tackle shop will get eggs. But, I knew they wouldn't go to waste as I had a couple of friends that will be in need this year.
I get up not as early I usually do, because it's a Monday and it's so early in the season. I have a hearty breakfast and mug full of hot coffee for the road. I head east to Conneaut and on the way I glance at the Chagrin, Grand, and Ashtabula. Both the Grand and Ashtabula will always have a special place in my heart as they're both my favorite rivers. I sigh and there's a knot in my stomach. I knew I wouldn't get a chance to fish them before I leave, because there wasn't any rain in the forecast for the entire week and the outlook for the following week wasn't great either. I arrived at Conneaut Creek and there's a couple of cars parked along the road. I park by the tracks right along Main Street and when I step out there's a crisp bite in the air. I look at the creek and it's slightly off color and has a decent flow. Downstream there's 2 guys fishing below the first riffle. But it still feel like summer as the trees are still green making autumn seem so far off. Early September can be hit or miss when it comes to steelhead and Conneaut is usually the first place I fish early in the season, because it's stocked by Pennsylvania and they stock a fall run strain.
I walk over the bridge and the 2 same guys are still there. I see that same piece of concrete slab that hasn't moved in decades and wade out to stand on it. I cast out and move the float along the seam and I watched it get sucked under. The fight was brief as the fish tossed the hook. I fish it for about 30 minutes and don't get a hit. The other guys farther downstream haven't hooked into anything either. Sadly, I remember that killer spot above the arches downstream as it use to be chock full of fish early in the fall. But, now it's underwater and just a distant memory. I suspect the fish are probably holding in faster water so I decided to head about a mile upstream.
On my way to the route 7 bridge, I pass through the main drag of Conneaut. The town has seen better days and nothing has changed in 25 years. I drive over the bridge and see no cars parked in the lot. I cross over and start fishing under the bridge. This is one of my go to spots as it usually holds fish. But there's no takers and I looked at the time and it was 10:30 so that meant another hour. I walked down to the trestle and I figured any fish would be hanging out in the faster water. Just like the other places, I quickly hooked into another bright silver fish. This time I wanted a picture as a farewell momento. It was the typical Lake Erie steelhead about 5 pounds and 26". I snapped a quick picture and gently placed it in the water. She slowly swam off and with a bolt disappears. That fish turned out to be the last one caught as the other spots below the trestle didn't produce anything. By now it's starting to get hot and I knew it was time to offically end the farewell tour.
I didn't complain and I felt fortunate that I was able to at least catch something as I would have been more than happy to land one. Like my friend told me, I had to work for them. As I walked back, there was a sense of sadness. That's how usually most people feel when they're leaving a close friend. There's that chance that they might not see each other for a long time. I undressed and packed the gear into the car. I walked to the river's edge and I looked at it for the last time. In my head, I wondered if I will ever return as Maine is very far away. I sit in the car and write in my fishing journal
September 9th, 2025
Temperature - 70F
Weather Conditions - Partly Cloudy
Fished Conneaut Creek and managed to hook into several fish at the lower end of the creek. Had to work for them and covered a lot of water. We need still need more rain and cooler weather. Sadly, the weather for this week is going to be hot and there's no rain in forecast. In 9 days the house closes and we're headed to Maine. I hope I'll be able to make it back out in the future.
On the drive back, I called my friend to fill in the details of the trip. He told me that he would miss my useful reports and he was happy that I was able to get out. He said it will be odd not seeing or hearing from me this season. After I hang up, I thought of all of the trips I made over the past 25 years. I remember driving through blinding snow squalls, fishing in the bitter cold, getting up at five in the morning, racking up probably thousands of miles, the epic day on Elk Creek in 2012, my first time fishing the Catt, tangling with some huge fish, fishing during the Covid pandemic, both me and Bubba fishing on Christmas morning over the years, and fishing hard from September well into May. While, I did fish solo most of the time, I will definitely miss fishing with the guys, sadly some have passed away recently like Dave and Walt. I'll miss the playful banter and ball busting with Bubba, Dick, Al, Brion, and Ken when we fished the Grand and Rocky during the spring run. They would have never thought that I would leave, because I loved fishing for steelhead so much. But unlike the other guys, I have no kids, grand kids and extended family tying me down in Ohio. When Kim brought up the idea of moving, she was worried that I might balk, because I've been here for so long. I told her that it was the perfect time to move, because of my work situation and I stood firm on my decision and never once wavered.
When I arrived home I placed my rod and gear in the garage corner. I looked at trusty old rod and reel and we have over 20 years of stories to tell. Unlike my old fly rods, I couldn't bare the thought of every getting rid it. Later in the week, one of my friends came by to pick up some eggs. He was still in disbelief that I was moving and told me I was more than welcome to stay at his place, if I decided to come back for a week. I would love to come back next spring, but we'll have to rent before we find a house. Unfortunately, housing in Maine is very expensive and I have no idea how much is that going to effect us income wise. It will be at least a couple years before we get settled in as I'm starting a new job. I'll still follow the guys on social media to see their latest adventures so it's not like I'll lose touch with them.
For the reminder of the time it will be purging and packing. It will finally hit me when we see our possessions packed onto a moving truck and couple days later, we hit the road east towards to Maine.
I will miss Steelhead Alley.
