The Naugatuck River: Connecticut's Big Salmon Opportunity By Anthony Lombardo

Sometime around 2015, I developed a pretty serious obsession with Atlantic salmon fly fishing. Like a lot of fishing addictions, this one started without me ever setting foot in the water.

At the time, the World Fishing Network was airing a show called King of the River, hosted by André Paradis. The series followed André as he traveled through the beautiful salmon rivers of Quebec’s Gaspé Peninsula and surrounding regions, fishing for wild Atlantic salmon with traditional flies and a single-hand eight-weight rod.

It was unlike most fishing shows I had ever watched. There wasn't a fish on every cast, or even necessarily every episode. Some days André would catch salmon, and some days he wouldn't. But that was part of what made it so appealing. The show captured everything that made Atlantic salmon fishing special: the beautiful rivers, the solitude, the anticipation, the history, and the simplicity of swinging a fly through a pool, hoping that somewhere beneath the surface a salmon might decide to take it.

There were two seasons that I watched religiously. I had every episode recorded on my DVR, and during those long New England winters, I watched them over and over. Before long, I knew I had to experience this type of fishing for myself.

There was just one problem.

At that point in my life, disappearing to the Gaspé Peninsula for what I imagined would need to be a couple of weeks, if not a month, wasn't exactly realistic. Between work, family, and everything else that comes with everyday life, an extended Canadian salmon adventure was going to have to wait.

So I started looking a little closer to home.

Finding the Salmon Without Going to Canada

I had already caught quite a few landlocked Atlantic salmon over the years. I'd caught them on the Magalloway River in Maine, the Swift River in Massachusetts, and even a few in the Deerfield. They're wonderful fish, and even at trout-like sizes, there's something different about them.

They tend to hold higher in the water column than trout, they're more willing to chase a moving fly, and they're often surprisingly aggressive toward a swung presentation. You can definitely see the family resemblance to their much larger, sea-run relatives.

But I wanted something bigger.

I wanted the kind of Atlantic salmon I had been watching André catch on television. I wanted to feel one of those heavy fish turn on a swinging fly, bury the rod, and use the current to its advantage. I wanted the whole experience, not just another trout-sized salmon.

That's when I discovered Ben Bilello.

Ben and I were both members of a Facebook group called Northeast on the Fly. I started noticing his posts because, unlike just about everyone else in the group, he seemed to be completely consumed with Atlantic salmon fishing.

Every day there were pictures of beautiful salmon flies coming out of his vise. Some were elaborate, full-dress Atlantic salmon patterns that looked more like works of art than fishing flies. Others were modern tube flies, which were something I was becoming increasingly interested in myself.

And then there were the fish.

Ben was regularly posting pictures of some very impressive Atlantic salmon he was catching close by in Connecticut, often on the same types of flies he was tying.

Ben Bilello With A Naugatuck River Salmon

As it turned out, Ben was also guiding walk-and-wade trips on the Naugatuck River. It was close to home, relatively inexpensive compared to a Canadian salmon trip, and, most importantly, offered the opportunity to catch a genuinely large Atlantic salmon on a traditional swung fly.

I decided to give him a call.

Connecticut's Unique Atlantic Salmon Fishery

For anyone unfamiliar with Connecticut's broodstock Atlantic salmon program, it's one of the more interesting fishing opportunities in the Northeast.

The Connecticut Department of Energy and Environmental Protection (DEEP) maintains a population of Atlantic salmon at its Kensington State Fish Hatchery. The program has its roots in the state's long-running efforts to restore Atlantic salmon to the Connecticut River watershed. Although the large-scale federal restoration effort eventually ended, Connecticut continues to preserve its unique Connecticut River salmon strain through a smaller legacy program.

As part of that effort, the state stocks Atlantic salmon into the Naugatuck and Shetucket Rivers each fall. Some are younger, hatchery-raised salmon produced specifically for recreational fishing, while others are mature broodstock that have completed their spawning duties at the hatchery. These larger fish can reach impressive sizes, with some weighing well into the double digits.

Historically, the Shetucket has often received a greater number of the smaller salmon, making it a terrific option for anglers looking for more opportunities to hook up. The Naugatuck, on the other hand, has earned a reputation as a place to encounter some of the larger broodstock fish, even if that means fewer chances. The distribution can vary from year to year, but the possibility of hooking a big Atlantic salmon was what drew me to the Naugatuck.

These aren't wild salmon returning from the Atlantic Ocean after years at sea, and I certainly don't want to pretend that they are. But they are real Atlantic salmon, with the same instincts, aggression, and willingness to chase a swinging fly. For somebody looking to experience traditional salmon fishing without traveling hundreds of miles into Canada, it's a pretty remarkable opportunity.

CT DEEP Stocking Salmon On The Naugatuck

A Cold November Morning

Ben and I met up on a cold November morning. We weren't in any particular rush, getting started around 9:30 or 10 o'clock.  The river was in good shape. Not particularly high, not terribly low, just a nice, comfortable flow for wading and swinging flies. Anyone who has fished the Naugatuck knows how important that is. Too much rain can make the river difficult or even dangerous to wade, while extended dry conditions can make the fishing equally challenging.

Our first stop was a pool that was about knee-deep where we entered. Ben already had a plan for how he wanted to fish it, and it didn't take long to realize that he knew this river like the back of his hand.

At that point, I was still relatively new to the finer details of swinging flies for Atlantic salmon. I'd swung streamers for trout and striped bass, but properly working through a salmon pool was something I was still learning.

Ben explained that one of the biggest mistakes anglers make when entering a pool is immediately casting as far as they possibly can.  His approach was much more methodical.  Start with a short cast. Let the fly swing. Then make another cast a little farther out. Keep extending the distance until you've covered all the water between your rod tip and the farthest point you can comfortably reach. Only then should you take a step downstream and repeat the process.

It's a simple lesson, but an important one. Ben explained that he'd caught countless salmon surprisingly close to shore, fish that most anglers would have cast right over in their eagerness to reach the opposite bank.

We started fishing with a Willie Gunn tube fly, a traditional salmon pattern with a long history on the rivers of Scotland and other Atlantic salmon destinations. It's a beautiful combination of black, orange, and yellow that looks fantastic swimming through the current.

We hadn't been fishing very long when I felt my first pull.  It was unmistakable. Something had come up and grabbed the fly, but I wasn't able to connect.  Naturally, my instinct was to keep casting.  Ben had a better idea.  He suggested we let the pool rest for a while.

We spent the next half hour talking about the river, salmon fishing, and the different ways fish respond to a swinging fly. Eventually, we climbed back to the top of the pool and started working through it again.

This time, the fish came back.

The rod bent, the fish was hooked, and a few minutes later I had my first Naugatuck River Atlantic salmon in hand.  It wasn't the giant I had been dreaming about, but it was a beautiful fish, probably 18 to 20 inches long. And quite frankly, I couldn't have been happier.  Within our first hour on the river, I had caught an Atlantic salmon on a traditional salmon fly using exactly the technique I had been watching on television for the past couple of winters.

I was hooked.

 

Working Our Way Down the Naugatuck

After another half hour or so, Ben suggested we move on. We'd disturbed that first pool enough, and he figured the fish would need some time to settle back down.

So we climbed into the car and headed south.

One of the interesting things about the Naugatuck River is how closely it follows Connecticut's Route 8 corridor. Unlike the pristine wilderness rivers of the Gaspé Peninsula, the Naugatuck winds its way through an old industrial valley, passing factories, warehouses, bridges, neighborhoods, and the remnants of Connecticut's manufacturing history.

It's not exactly the setting that comes to mind when most people imagine Atlantic salmon fishing.

Some of the pools require walking behind industrial buildings or following small paths down from the road. Others are accessible from parks or roadside pull-offs. You might be standing in a parking lot one minute and knee-deep in a salmon pool just a few minutes later.

But here's the interesting part.  Once you get down to the river, much of that surrounding world seems to disappear.  The sound of the current takes over. Trees and brush hide portions of the road. The cold November air moves through the valley, and suddenly you're standing in a beautiful stretch of moving water, focused entirely on getting your fly to swing through the next likely holding lie.

You might not be in Quebec, but when you're standing in the middle of a river with a salmon fly swinging across a promising pool, it really doesn't matter all that much.  And perhaps the most surprising thing about our entire day was that we never encountered another angler.

Not one.

Considering the size of the river, the amount of trout and salmon stocked into it, and its proximity to some heavily populated areas, I found that pretty remarkable.

We worked our way south, eventually reaching Beacon Falls, stopping to fish pool after pool along the way.  Ben seemed to know every bend, every access point, and every piece of water worth fishing. He showed me places where salmon tended to hold, how the current flowed through different pools, and where to position myself to get the best possible swing.

Some runs were broad and relatively gentle. Others were faster, requiring a heavier tube fly or a different leader to get the presentation down into the strike zone.  There were a few encouraging moments along the way. A tug here, another pull there, and at least one fish that simply wouldn't stay connected.  Every time I felt that little electric jolt through the line, my confidence returned.  And every time the fly finished its swing without anything happening, I'd take another step downstream and do it all over again.

That's the beauty of this type of fishing.  You're not constantly changing flies, adjusting an indicator, or worrying about whether your nymph is ticking bottom at exactly the right depth. You're reading the water, making a cast, controlling the swing, and trusting that eventually a fish will decide to cooperate.

Cast. Swing. Step.

Cast. Swing. Step.

There's something incredibly relaxing about that rhythm.

By the time we finished fishing the last pool in Beacon Falls, it was around two o'clock in the afternoon. We'd covered a tremendous amount of water, I'd learned more about the river than I ever could have learned on my own, and we'd managed a handful of exciting pulls.

But Ben had one more idea.  He wanted to go back to the very first pool we'd fished that morning.

More Than Just a Fishing Guide

Before I get to how that last pool turned out, I should mention a little more about Ben.

Since that first trip, Ben and I have developed a terrific friendship. He's one of the nicest guys I've met in the fly-fishing industry, and his knowledge of Atlantic salmon fishing and fly tying is exceptional.

A Traditional Jock Scott Tied By Ben

He's an accomplished fly tier who can tie everything from elaborate classic full-dress patterns to some of the most effective modern tube flies you'll ever see. He's also the author of Flies for Connecticut Atlantic Salmon: How to Tie and Fish Them, a fantastic book available through Apple Books that covers 75 wet, dry, and tube fly patterns, along with detailed tying instructions and fishing techniques.

We've had Ben come to the Bear's Den for one of our Wednesday night fly-tying sessions, where he taught an entire evening dedicated to tube flies. He brought along his book, shared his knowledge, and had everyone completely engaged. He's just a natural teacher.

And if all that weren't enough, Ben is also an absolutely phenomenal drummer.

Not just somebody who plays a little music on the side. Ben is a legitimate professional jazz drummer who studied at the Hartt School of Music, where he received an Award of Excellence in Jazz Studies. Over the years, he's performed and recorded with some very notable musicians, including Branford Marsalis, Eddie Henderson, and Mulgrew Miller, and has spent much of his career performing and teaching throughout New England and beyond.

I got to witness his talent firsthand one afternoon when he stopped by the shop to buy some fly-tying materials.  Scott has a drum set upstairs at the Bear's Den, and Scott, who loves Led Zeppelin, had always wanted to learn how to play John Bonham's famous drum beat from Fool in the Rain.

Ben casually offered to show him.

We headed upstairs, and Ben started breaking down the half-time shuffle, a groove heavily influenced by the legendary Bernard Purdie and his famous Purdie shuffle.

At first, Ben played it slowly, explaining the basic rhythm. Then he began adding little ghost notes on the snare drum, one after another, gradually building the beat into something more complex.  Over the next 10 or 15 minutes, he just kept adding more and more subtle details.

By the time he finished, you could have closed your eyes and sworn John Bonham himself was sitting upstairs playing Fool in the Rain.

It was incredible.

And that's just the kind of guy Ben is. Whether he's teaching someone how to swing a salmon fly, tie a complicated tube fly, or play one of rock music's most iconic drum beats, he's incredibly generous with his knowledge.

Which brings me back to that last pool.

One Last Swing

It was probably around 2:30 when we returned to the pool where we'd started our day.  Several hours had passed since we'd caught the first salmon, and Ben figured whatever fish were holding there had probably settled down again.  We stepped back into the river, started at the top, and began systematically working our way through the run.  The same approach as before.

Short casts first. Gradually lengthen the line. Cover every piece of water. Take a step. Repeat.

We were still fishing the Willie Gunn, which by this point had become my favorite fly of the day.

As I approached the lower end of the water we could effectively swing, I made another cast and let the fly come around through the current.

And then it happened.

A tremendous pull.

Not the subtle little bump we'd experienced a few times earlier in the afternoon. This was a solid, aggressive take that immediately told me I was connected to something substantial.

I lifted the rod, the fish was hooked, and the fight was on.

It was immediately obvious that this was a much better salmon than the one I'd caught that morning.  The fish used the current to its advantage, pulling hard and putting a serious bend in the rod. It wasn't a ten-pound monster, but it was a powerful fish, well over 20 inches, and easily the largest Atlantic salmon I'd caught up to that point in my life.

After a good battle, we managed to bring the fish to hand.

I couldn't have asked for a better ending to the day.

We'd started that morning in the same pool, caught my first Naugatuck salmon on a Willie Gunn, spent the better part of the afternoon exploring the river, and then returned to catch an even bigger fish on the exact same pattern.

It was everything I had hoped the experience would be.

And that Willie Gunn?

It's remained one of my favorite Atlantic salmon flies ever since.  I've caught plenty of salmon on it over the years, including fish on the Magalloway in Maine and Atlantic salmon on the Swift River in Massachusetts, where salmon occasionally find their way downstream from the Quabbin Reservoir system during high-water events.  It's one of those patterns that has earned a permanent place in my fly box.

A Willie Gunn Tube Fly Tied By Ben

The Beauty of Keeping It Simple

One of the things I love most about swinging flies for Atlantic salmon is how uncomplicated the fishing can be.  You don't need a dozen different rods, an elaborate assortment of indicators, or boxes filled with hundreds of tiny nymphs.  A seven- or eight-weight fly rod, a suitable line, a few leaders, and a handful of traditional salmon patterns are enough to get started.

On our trip, we fished primarily with floating lines and relatively long leaders. When we needed a little extra depth, we used weighted copper tube flies or adjusted our presentation with sinking polyleaders. There were a couple of faster sections where a sink tip helped get the fly into the proper part of the water column.

But for the most part, it was wonderfully straightforward.  Find a good pool. Tie on a fly you have confidence in. Work through the water methodically.

And keep swinging.

I spend a lot of time fishing for other species. I love striped bass fishing in Narragansett Bay. I love trout fishing, whether it's technical nymphing on a local river or throwing dry flies over rising fish. I love heading north to Maine to chase wild brook trout and landlocked salmon.

But there's something about traditional Atlantic salmon fishing that has always appealed to me more than just about anything else.  When wild Atlantic salmon return from the ocean to their natal rivers to spawn, they generally stop actively feeding. Yet for reasons that still fascinate anglers, they'll sometimes rise to or chase a fly that looks nothing like something they'd normally eat.

Maybe it's aggression. Maybe it's instinct. Maybe it's curiosity or some combination of all three.  Whatever the reason, they'll take a swinging fly.  And the anticipation of that happening is what makes the fishing so special.

You're standing in a river, making essentially the same cast over and over, swinging a fly that might have been used by salmon anglers a century ago, hoping that somewhere beneath the surface there's a fish willing to cooperate.

There's a romance to it that I don't think any other style of fly fishing can quite duplicate.

A Beautiful Naugatuck River Salmon

Your Own Atlantic Salmon Adventure Is Closer Than You Think

As I write this, Connecticut DEEP has already begun its fall Atlantic salmon stockings, with fish released into both the Naugatuck and Shetucket Rivers.

If you've ever wanted to experience Atlantic salmon fishing, this is a great time to give it a try.

For anglers primarily interested in numbers and getting more opportunities to hook a salmon, the Shetucket is certainly worth considering. But if you're looking for a chance at one of those larger broodstock fish, the Naugatuck deserves a spot on your list.  The river also receives substantial trout stockings and offers excellent fishing opportunities beyond its salmon program.

My biggest recommendation, especially if you've never fished the Naugatuck before, is to spend a day with Ben Bilello.

You can certainly explore the river on your own, but having somebody who knows every pool, every access point, and exactly how to fish them is invaluable. It would have been very easy for me to show up that first November morning, fish a few unproductive pools, and go home convinced there weren't any salmon in the river.  Instead, Ben showed me an entirely new fishery, taught me a tremendous amount about swinging flies, and helped me catch the two biggest Atlantic salmon I'd ever caught up to that point.  More importantly, I came away with a new friend and a style of fishing that has become one of my absolute favorites.

You can find Ben through his website benbilello.com, and if you have the opportunity to book a day with him, I can't recommend it enough.  Check out his book as well. You can find it here:

Be sure to check the Connecticut DEEP stocking reports and current fishing regulations before heading out. River conditions are everything with this type of fishing, so pay attention to flows, plan accordingly, and don't be afraid to wait for the right conditions.

Someday, I still hope to make that extended trip to the Gaspé Peninsula, stand in those beautiful Canadian salmon rivers, and swing a classic Atlantic salmon fly for a wild fish returning from the ocean.  But until that day comes, I'm awfully glad Connecticut offers the opportunity to enjoy a little piece of that experience right here in New England.  All you really need is a fly rod, a good salmon fly, a stretch of moving water, and enough patience to keep making that next cast.

Cast. Swing. Step.

You never know when that next pull might come.