The plane’s engines throttled up, pushing me back into my seat as the Earth fell away. Peering out the window, I could see Hayden and Coeur d’Alene lakes nestled in the forested hills of northern Idaho. I knew the lakes well because I had fished them many times for kokanee salmon, so the irony of this moment was not lost on me. Here I was on an airplane, flying across the country to catch a fish I could easily catch in my own backyard. You might label my affection for kokanee fishing as a passion or more aptly describe it as an addiction. Either way, my quest to catch an East Coast kokanee was underway.
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Kokanee are a land-locked form of sockeye salmon. Unlike their sea-run cousins, they complete their entire life cycle in fresh water. Kokanee generally occupy deep, cold lakes in the Pacific Northwest, where they spend four years filtering zooplankton out of the water before returning to their natal streams or shorelines to spawn and die. While native to the Pacific Northwest, these fish have been widely introduced across western North America and, for a time, they were found in several states east of the Mississippi. Fish and game departments love them for their relatively low cost to produce and, in many instances, they have established self-sustaining populations. Anglers love them for their fight, acrobatics, and their deliciously oily and vibrant red meat that is indistinguishable from sea-run salmon.
The kayaks rattled in the back of the rental truck as we wound our way through the densely forested hills. We stopped at a grocery store to pick up some white shoepeg corn, a favorite bait among kokanee anglers, before continuing to our destination. We finally arrived at West Hill Pond, an unassuming 260-acre natural body of water located in northwest Connecticut. It’s a popular destination for kayakers, canoers, and those with small sailboats due to its motor and wake restrictions. Unbeknownst to most of these users, the lake is also home to one of the last remaining kokanee salmon populations on the East Coast and is an important resource for sustaining this unique New England fishery.
Kokanee-introduction programs in the eastern United States stretch back into the 1940s. Kokanee could be caught in a number of states from New York to Wisconsin and as far south as North Carolina back then. Like trout, most of these kokanee fisheries were supported by hatchery programs where spawning-age fish were netted out of lakes and spawned to propagate the fishery. Eventually, most of the programs were canceled and the fisheries died out. Although a few small, self-sustaining populations persist, the only state that has maintained its kokanee salmon program is Connecticut. West Hill Pond has served as the source population for kokanee broodstock in Connecticut for well over 50 years. In the past, the fish were stocked in more than 20 lakes in the state, but today they are found in only two, West Hill Pond and East Twin Lake.
We readied our Old Town Sportsman pedal and motorized kayaks at the boat ramp. As we prepared our gear, a small powerboat was coming off the water. I knew instantly by the configuration of their rod holders, downriggers, and terminal tackle that they were kokanee anglers. As we struck up a conversation about the fish it reminded me of what I love most about kokanee fishing—the camaraderie.
Kokanee salmon anglers, on average, are the most profoundly friendly and forthcoming fishermen on the planet. More often than not, they reveal what they were using, their depth, and where to fish without even asking. It’s markedly different from other fisheries where that sort of intel is held close to the vest. This is partly due to the fact that the mature age-class of fish that kokanee anglers target will be dead by the fall. However, I also think the nature of kokanee fishing—its generous limits, slow troll speeds, and less aggressive tactics attract a more mellow and less competitive class of angler.
Despite the generation gap, we became instant friends that day with Mike and Joe. They both have been chasing kokanee in northwest Connecticut since the 1950s. Back then, as teenagers, they used wooden rowboats to fish for them at night by the light of oil lamps on East Twin Lake, some 30 years before I was born.
Like many fish, kokanee are best targeted in the early morning and evening hours, although they do feed throughout the day on cloudier days and into the night on a full moon. They are highly temperature sensitive, preferring water around 53 degrees, and will heat-stress in water temperatures above 60 degrees. For many small northern lakes in summer, this ideal water temperature generally falls right around the thermocline. This means easy pickings for the kokanee angler, as the fish will be concentrated in a readily identifiable depth zone.
That evening, we set out for a few hours of fishing and quickly picked up the thermocline at around 38 feet. Not long after, we began marking dense schools of kokanee at the same depth.
There are several ways to catch kokanee, but trolling for them at a speed between 1.2 to 1.5 mph is one of the most popular techniques. Kokanee trolling gear consists of an attractor: either a lake troll—a series of spinning blades—or a dodger, which is essentially an oversized spoon, to create flash and action mimicking a school of feeding kokanee.
The attractor draws the fish in, and is followed by a small, brightly colored lure, typically pink or orange in color, that has one or more hooks tipped with a piece of corn. Kokanee lures are typically small spoons or spinners, though my favorites are tiny plastic skirts called hoochies.
After marking a few schools of kokanee on my Humminbird Helix, I dropped a pink and chartreuse “Big-I” dodger and pink micro-hoochie (from Paulina Peak Tackle) back around 80 feet on the line counter with a 3-ounce snap weight to get it down to depth. The other rod was set to 35 feet on the downrigger using a similar setup.
It didn’t take long for the rod tip to start dancing. I quickly popped the rod from the holder, released the snap weight, and netted my first East Coast kokanee shortly after. Unsurprisingly, the fish was rather small, less than 12 inches, but I was thrilled nonetheless. Kokanee salmon can grow to substantial sizes and there are several lakes I fish where it’s not unusual to catch fish in the 4- to 6-pound range. However, the vast majority of kokanee fisheries tend to support fish in the 10- to 15-inch range, though the size range varies depending on competition and food resources.
For me, this kokanee was more thrilling than most. Starting early in 2022, I’d set off to pursue these fish across America. This project took my kayak and me across eight states, to some of the best kokanee salmon fisheries, including where I’d caught my first kokanee some 20 years earlier as an undergraduate in western Colorado. An amazing community of anglers and outdoor brands supported this epic journey. Connecticut was the final stop on my journey. Similar to everywhere I had fished leading up to my visit there, the same “formula” worked.
I have been a devout kayak kokanee angler for the better part of a decade. During this time, I’ve developed a formula that consists of three parts: location, depth, and speed. It’s a simple approach that works and deemphasizes the attractor and lure choices. To prove this point, I once used the tab from a beer can as a lure with bare red hooks to catch a kokanee—and it worked! If you get the formula right, you will catch these fish on just about any lure that’s the right size. Dialing in the specifics of lure choice, color, bait, scent, etc., is what separates those who consistently limit out from those who don’t.
I quickly boated three more kokanee that evening, and my wife picked up one as well. I was thrilled with the results of our quick takedown trip; plus, it gave me an idea where to start the following morning.
Back at the dock, we filleted our catch and found the meat to be vibrant red and oil-rich, as expected. Like sea-run salmon, kokanee sequester large amounts of carotenoids in their flesh, giving it a vibrant red color. We marinated the fillets in a combination of soy sauce and sake, wrapped them in cedar, and grilled them to aromatic perfection.
The next morning, I found a larger grade of fish staged along a ledge on the north end of the lake. These were in their fourth and final year of life. In another month’s time, their bright silver-and-blue bodies would turn red, their heads would elongate and turn green, and the bucks would develop rows of white- and black-tipped teeth. As water temperatures dip, these fish will move into the shallows to spawn or be netted by Connecticut’s Department of Energy and Environmental Protection to serve as the broodstock for the next generation of New England kokanee; however, the majority will simply starve and die in the fall. The nutrients trapped in their bodies will be released back into the lake to serve as fuel for the next generation.
I made quick work of a limit of these larger fish, with most caught on a gold-and-pink dodger followed by a bright red hoochie. While the surrounding landscape and bird song were far different from any kokanee experience I’d had before, it was also strangely familiar—like most days on the water kokanee fishing, it was profoundly peaceful and enjoyable. On the return to the ramp, we passed Mike and Joe back out for another day of fishing. Even after a half-century of chasing kokanee salmon, they seemed as excited as ever to get their gear in the water.
I hope all of us are fortunate enough to find a pursuit, whether it’s chasing kokanee or something else, that fills our lives with such joy and excitement.
Fishing for Salmon River Steelhead
