I need to go fishing!!!

It's killing me.

I've been deprived for the past two weekends.

Practicing single speys on the Puyallup was the closest I got.

There is hope, though:

I'll be one of the fly tiers at this year's FFF Conclave at the Ellensburg Fairgrounds (in E-burg, of course) and with any luck I'll be able to squeeze in a little time on the Yak between this event and a commitment I made (foolishly, perhaps?) to do some wine tasting in the Yakima Valley.

Anyway...I'll be there from 8:30 to 11:30 on Saturday, May 3rd and will be covering easy to tie, effective
patterns. Come by and tie one with me!

Of course, fly tying isn't the only feature offered at this event. In addition to numerous fly tiers, casting and fishing courses will be offered and you can even enter a casting competition and vie for some pretty cool prizes.

For more info about the event, visit:

http://www.washingtoncouncilfff.org/2008WMain.htm#

Hope to see you there--make sure to stop by and share your fishing stories!

Where: It doesn't matter, we didn't catch anything ;)
When: Sunday
Conditions: Warm, alternating sun and overcast
Flies used: MOAL, prawn spey, marabou spey
Species pursued: Springers and steelhead

Song of the day: "Shipping Up To Boston," Dropkick Murphys

"I think this is what we should do for my birthday."

Bryan and Don agreed.

We had found this year's destination and it involves my growing love for spey.

Don't get me wrong, I love fishing the salt. But if I had done things differently, I'd probably be a spey nut instead of a beach bum.

It's just as well, though, given gas prices these days.

It started innocently enough. The three of us left Bryan's house at a quarter to seven with the intent to ply moving water for steel or spring chinook.

Yeah...not so much.

Though the flow seemed perfect for swinging, my guess is we were too late to slide into any of the decent runs and with the sun the way it was...well, let's just say it quickly turned into a good day for casting practice.

That, and a little exploration.

Taking advantage of the balmy conditions and the longer days, we jumped in the truck in search of other opportunities.

It's always easy to leave fish that you don't think are there to find fish you hope are somewhere else. :)

And that's how the three of us ended up having this conversation.

Looking into the run in front of us made it a no brainer, along with a few other key factors.

We're definitely coming back...soon!

Thirty-one is only eight short weeks away.

Of course, I don't have to wait until then... ;)

Where: Hood Canal, Puget Sound, Cowlitz River (whew!)
When: Saturday in the salt, Sunday on the Cowlitz
Conditions: Overcast, slightly windy
Flies used: Chum baby, clouser, zonker; MOAL, spey prawn
Species pursued: Sea-run cutthroat; Steelhead

Song of the day: "Shot In The Dark," Ozzy Osbourne

"I heard it hasn't been very good this year."

"It hasn't, but there are a few spots turning out fish. You up for a bit of driving?"

They both nodded eagerly.

This class was small, only two as opposed to the regular six.

A welcome change and one I felt would benefit this pair.

After class, we agreed to meet at the Narrows. If things looked dead, we'd move to other venues.

With the next morning came clarity in how we'd approach our day.

An on-shoulder wind pushed steadily during our ten minutes of observation. I had hoped to see some sign of life, but to no avail.

"Time to exercise our options. Let's find some cutthroat."

Ray and Mike jumped in the van, following Don and I to the first stop in what would become a tour of saltwater beaches in both the Canal and the Sound.

The beginning of our salty circuit foreshadowed a good day.

During the stroll to the beach, I told my companions that our previous excursion produced fish within five minutes of getting wet.

A rather exaggerated statement, I'm sure they thought.

And they were right to think that. This fish was caught about twenty minutes after getting in! ;)

"This is what I wanted to catch in the first place!"

During class, Mike had admitted to approaching fly fishing "backwards."

"I'm starting with the salt. I've caught a pink but haven't gotten any cutthroat and I've been out about a dozen times."

Well, Mike, here's to doing things backwards. :)

Not content with just one hookup, he went right back to it, plying the nearby rips, searching for proof that it wasn't just luck.

I think that bent rod proves enough, don't you?

"Now to catch one on a fly that I've tied myself."

I couldn't help but admire his attitude. Clearly, this guy had set goals for the day.

The ebb had different ideas, however. It slacked out, killing the good vibes and forcing us (oh no!) to a take a quick pizza break and discuss the next leg of our route.

Beach number two put us back in the Sound.

"Look straight down as you work the shore. If you see schools of little guys, you know what to do."

Not long after, Mike and Ray saw what I was talking about.

Chum babies.

"Time to reach that second goal," I thought.

So did he. :)

Let's see...first cutthroat in the salt. Now first cuttie on a fly he tied. And the other first I forgot to mention, his first fish on a new rod!

Talk about getting your groove on...

Now I bet you're thinking, "But there were two guys, right? What about the other one?"

I had been watching Ray the entire time while Mike burnt up the day with good juju.

His calm, laid back demeanor never faltered, his determination never cracked and he fished every rip as thoroughly as a steelheader works a run.

You could say he carried on as if the bite was eventual and he was biding his time until it came.

Consequently, his disposition offset any concerns I had when we arrived at our last stop.

"If they're here, they'll be close, less than forty feet. Of all the cutthroat beaches I fish, this one has given up the biggest."

Ray worked line out, following all the "rules" we discussed in class: forty five degrees down current, broken retrieves, etc.

At twenty feet away, he followed the last rule--the strip set.

The fish fought hard, but the deal was done. A hook planted firmly in the corner of its jaw and the seasoned hand of a guy who grew up fishing for Deschutes River redsides combined to assure Ray's success.

It really was eventual. ;)

The chunky fish displayed a deep olive back, a whiter belly than normal and more prominent slash marks.

A beautiful post-spawner gorging on chum fry, I suspected.

An excellent way to end an excellent day.

Inspired, I decided to apply their determination and thoroughness to my own development.

By eight the next morning, I was knee-deep in the Cowlitz, practicing with an especially finicky rod, watching Clark toss quick, sharp loops downstream.

I internalized a sigh as I observed the effortless motions and equally potent results.

"We all have to start somewhere," I reminded myself.

Just ask these guys.