Fishing for Salmon & Steelhead in Pulaski, NY
by Phil Johnson
photos by
Phil Johnson & courtesy of
Whitaker’s Sports Shop
It is 6:30 in the morning and it is rush hour in downtown
Pulaski, N.Y. Cars line both sides of the street outside the Hometown Diner in this small upstate New York community north of Syracuse. Inside, fishermen pack the counter stools and booths. They are fueling up before heading to the water—the Salmon River.
This is mid-October and "the season" has been in high gear for six weeks. There isn’t much going on here in the summer. And there is no skiing nearby in winter. But what Pulaski has is the Salmon River. And what the Salmon River has is a major league salmon and steelhead trout run every fall.

Beginning about Labor Day, the Chinooks and Coho come into the river from Lake Ontario and make their way upstream to spawn and die. These fish can weigh up to 50 pounds, and the crowds follow. If you want a hotel room on a weekend in Pulaski in September, book a year ahead of time.
And then come the steelhead
A steelhead is a migrating version of a rainbow trout that can grow up to 30 pounds. Each fall they move from deep water into rivers, following the salmon and gorging on that spawn. There are legendary steelhead rivers in

the Pacific Northwest, and some in the upper Midwest, too. But in the eastern U.S., the Salmon River in Pulaski is where fishermen come to find what some believe is the finest fighting fish in the world.
Hap Acee made me a believer.
Can It Be True?
Hap has been fishing and guiding on the Salmon River for more than 30 years. He loves nothing more than to come here in mid-winter and walk through the snow for a chance at steelhead. The fish stay in the river until spring when they spawn and return to Lake Ontario.
Me? I’ve tried mail delivery fishing: in cold, in rain, in sleet, and in snow. I’ll take a mild autumn day anytime. The air temperature and the water temperature added together should exceed 100, in my view.
So this day it did, and Hap has me and my eight weight, nine foot fly rod at his Sycamore spot—a sycamore tree on the north bank in the Douglaston section of the river. It is just after dawn, and I am boot-high in the river, when my rod bends and a sliver streak jumps out of the water about 15 feet from where I am standing.

It heads downstream . . . then upstream . . . then downstream again. I reel when I can. But just as often it is taking line. I move into shallow water, shuffling and stumbling as I follow it downstream.
This is an even match.
Fifteen minutes later I have the fish at my feet. It weighs about seven pounds. I would have guessed at least 30 when I was fighting it.
"Small one," says Hap.
"No shutout today," I think.
Smiles all around.
Try, Try Again
Back to the Sycamore spot.
Since the steelhead feast on the eggs of spawning salmon, my fly is a salmon egg imitation (in day-glow pink for the fashion conscious). There is a splitshot weight on my leader.
Others around me—not too close but close enough so I can see what is going on—are also hooking up fish. My rod bends again. This time the fish seems to be just swimming in circles not putting up much of a fight. The first one must have been an exception, I think.
Then . . . Bang! It is up out of the water and on an express run downstream. I can’t follow it fast enough to keep up, so I just hang on and reel when it lets me. This is a much bigger fish. But I’ll never know how big because after 15 minutes, it breaks off.
Fish wins!
"I didn’t think much of this one for the first few seconds," I say to Hap.
"Then it kicked your ass!" says Hap with a smile and all the sympathy he could muster. Good guide—yes! But he is not Oprah.
Although the river runs for more than 10 miles from its mouth at Lake Ontario, we never left that one spot all day. There was no need. Fishing right through lunch until about 2:30 p.m., I had several more steelhead on—some for several minutes—but I never landed another.
One very powerful fish took me deep into my reel, backing before breaking off. Since that one didn’t jump, the guess was that it was a late arriving salmon. I did land a beautiful brown trout which, at 10 pounds, was at least twice as big as any brown trout I had ever caught.
Why We Fish Pulaksi - and How
Getting to Pulaski is easy. It is right off Route 81, which intersects the New York State Thruway near Syracuse. Once there, it is hard to imagine what the place would be like without fishing. It is a small village with not a lot of activity to distract the visitor. If you are in town the night before, and up for a good meal that you’ll work hard to finish, stop at Eddy’s on Rt. 13. Otherwise, bring a sandwich and turn in early.
There are several fishing shops along the road between Pulaski and the reservoir east of Altmar. There is fishing access all along Route 13, and along

other roads in the area.
On-water tactics are pretty straight forward. All fishing is subsurface, so you’ll need some weight to get to the bottom in the fast current. There are several forms of traditional tight line nymphing, and some folks fish with indicators. There are people with spey rods and others with center pin rigs. There are spin fisherman here, too.
One thing that is essential in the Salmon is Korkers, or a boot with a metal studs for wading in the river. The bottom is slippery and the water is fast moving. Traditional felt sole waders are not enough.
We rented Korkers at Whitaker’s Sports Shop on Route 13. That shop, which has been around for more than 30 years, can do complete outfitting and hook you up with a guide if you wish. Most of the guides wade. But there are drift boats on the river, as well.
Salmon fishing in this area has been very productive since the 1970s. There is a hatchery on Route 13 at Altmar. For a while the area had a rough reputation because snagging salmon was permitted, and there wasn’t much in the way of Rules of Order on the river. But snagging was banned in 1993, and civility seems to have made a comeback. The river still draws crowds, but angler behavior has improved, so say all who have fished there over the years.
The salmon run is usually over by early October. The s

teelhead will stay in the river all winter before spawning when the water warms in the spring and returning to the lake.
The river level is dam controlled, and the flow is measured and posted. It can run from a high of more than 1200 CFS to a low of 150 CFS.
Many experienced Salmon River fishermen prefer the water high and quick when the fish move easily upstream. For first timers or those who prefer their fishing "blue square" rather than "black diamond," a reading below 400 CFS is a lot more comfortable. The water flow rate is updated regularly and posted daily.
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