Where: The beach
When: Thanksgiving, Friday
Conditions: Partly cloudy, calm at first then windy
Flies used: Dave's Frank Fly, experimental patterns
Species pursued: Resident coho

Song of the day: "Float On," Modest Mouse

Seven-ish on a glorious Thanksgiving morning.

Given certain logistics this holiday, I had the perfect opportunity to enjoy a morning on the Sound before heading home for some turkey and stuffing.

As I looked over the railing, I spotted a handful of jumpers within range.

Rigging up the light spey, I chatted with the Tinders, a fly fishing couple I hadn't seen in quite a while.

They, too, came for a little rezzie action before the day's festivities.

And so did Robbi, Dave, Jay and Jamie--all friends that have been sharing the beaches with me for a number of years now.

Great morning...

great friends...

...and jumping fish; truly things every angler would be thankful for.

Well, that and biting fish. ;)

Jay hooking one of his many victims.

Big and small, fish were abundant.

Things went on like this for a few hours and while I thought would be a shame to leave such good fishing behind, an incoming headwind reeled me back in.

Besides, there was always Black Friday--or should I say Silver Friday? :)

Everyone else was thinking the same thing, including this guy! :)

Despite a mild wind, fishing was productive. Unfortunately, the forecast called for heavy wind later in the day. In this case, it meant later in the morning. :(

Things completely shut down.

I turned to Jamie.

"Oh well, it beats shopping on a day like this, doesn't it?"

He nodded and we walked up the hill, thankful of the few hours we did get to enjoy.

Where: The beach
When: Sunday
Conditions: Mostly sunny, calm, cold and later balmy
Flies used: Experimental patterns
Species pursued: Resident coho

Song of the day: "Space Oddity," David Bowie as briefly covered by Cat Power here

Beach fishing has been ramping up steadily the past few weeks and Sunday was no exception.

Figuring that the chum run was officially over, we decided to stop by Doc's on the way to a few other locations.

Apparently, we weren't the only ones thinking the Narrows was a good place to hit.

I instantly recognized some of the regulars' rigs--Jay and Dave were here and it looked like two different Mike's were, as well.

Bracing ourselves for the worst, the view from the beach didn't disappoint: no less than a dozen anglers, mostly fly fishers, formed picket fences to the left and to the right.

And for good reason--coho jumped everywhere, providing steady action for everyone.

Saying our hellos to the familiar faces, we tried our hand but it seemed we had hit the tail end of the flurry, managing to hook only a few fish.

It was fun while it lasted!

An hour later, the beach cleared, the direct result of an aggressive incoming tide and increasingly distant fish.

The beach was all ours!

Unfortunately, our light speys weren't enough to shift the balance--the fish were simply too far out.

"No matter," I thought.

I turned to our new friend, John, who we'd met a few weeks ago at the Power Lines.

"Do you have to be anywhere later today?"

"I was thinking about watching the Seahawks lose...either that or scope a different place out."

I chuckled. "Funny you mention scoping other places out."

It just so happened we had a different place in mind, one we've been meaning to explore, given the beaches' generosity of late.

What we found can only be compared to the best days I've had in the salt.

Panning the shore, I saw first one, then two, then half a dozen jumpers. Pods boiled, rocketed and otherwise demolished bait along the beach.

"Over here," I motioned to John.

And this is how it started.

From the moment we wet our lines, it didn't stop.

The waning daylight did nothing to deter us--I had some "special equipment" with me to help extend our session. :)

So we kept fishing.

Right into dusk.

And past it.

Well past it. :)

"Ever night fish, John?"

He hesitated to reply at first and then said, "I'm not sure my casting is quite there yet."

"No worries," I said, handing him a fly.

"Here, wear these," Don said, offering his clear lenses.

It wasn't so much a question as an expectation to try something new.

Fish continued to slash and jump all around us.

I hit the fly with a few camera flashes to charge it up and sent him on his way.

"Over to your right, two o'clock."

Under what little light was left, I saw his silhouette and the line's reaching toward the riseforms.

"Okay, take three steps toward us. Cast 20 feet parallel to the shore. Right there!"

A bump.

"Awww..."

"One more time--they're really close. We HAVE to end the day with you catching your first night coho."

The cast flew out, right in time to land in the middle of a boil.

"Perfect."

And it was.

The coho chomped down on the fly and the game was on.

It went berzerk, jumping left, darting right--I can only imagine what John was thinking as he fought the little buzzsaw in the dark.

I think his smile says it all. Congrats, man!

Ah, night fishing. And with spey rods no less!

Where: The beach
When: Saturday
Conditions: Mostly sunny, calm
Flies used: Experimental patterns, clouser, wooly bugger
Species pursued: Sea-run cutthroat, resident coho

Song of the day: "Chop Suey," System of a Down

The price of chum eggs is especially high this year and netters are responding accordingly.

Rather than fight for what few chum are heading into the bay right now, I opted for plan B: a sea-run/resident coho hunt.

Scott, Brian, Mike and Jake were happy to oblige and soon we were caravaning to what was arguably the exact opposite of the Chico zoo:

A beach devoid of anyone else, hosting a fairly steady stream of hungry fish of all shapes, sizes and species.

Things were a bit rocky at first. Pinpointing a school was difficult--a single would jump 60 feet out, only to have a different one jump 20 feet to your left.

We roamed around, trying to interecept one, then another as the tide started to flood the flat. I hoped the current's building pace would concentrate the fish as it had done for me in the past. Until then, fishing would be a scattered affair, involving quick, accurate shots at different distances, most of which were either too far or too close for you to deal with effectively.

Rather than endure such frustration, I figured a break was called for, and given the recent heavy rains, today was an exceptional day to do so. The sun coaxed whatever warmth remained this fall out for one more appearance. Absence of wind naturally doubled my appreciation, making this one of the days we salt water folks dream about when the wind's hurling freezing rain barbs at your face while you try to dodge your fly between gusts.

Of course, me being the malcontent I am, I had to think of a way to make things even better.

"It'd be nice if a few pods showed up," I thought.

Well, sometimes I get what I ask for.

Before long, fish surrounded us.

Giving Mike the opportunity to score his first saltwater catch! Congratulations, Mike!

Rezzies and cutthroat alike boiled in the shallows uninhibited as they chased their prey down.

Hooking the fish was easy, but keeping them stuck was an entirely different matter.

Jake watched me hook a particularly nice rezzie, only to lose it after getting it within arm's reach.

My disappointment didn't last long. Something else prowled the flat; something bigger. It wasn't your typical feisty fish, though. Rather than jumping, this one would boil, careful not to reveal itself. But even the most cautious fish has trouble masking its presence in 18 inches of water.

Trailed by two smaller fish, I hoped that that my last cast would make it to the big one's maw before the others'.

Remember what I said about occassionally getting what I ask for?

Sometimes it happens twice in a day!

The chum run may have been cut short folks, but the sea-runs and rezzies are just getting started.

Where: The beach
When: Sunday
Conditions: Partly cloudy, slightly breezy
Flies used: Typical chum patterns, experimental patterns
Species pursued: Chum salmon, sea-run cutthroat

Song of the day: "Program Director," O.A.R.

"I'm hoping this rain will kick things off."

If anything, we had hope. It was up to the fish after that.

Recent reports weren't good. Words like 'slow,' 'quiet,' and 'dead' were being thrown around, making me wonder what the odds would be like during our initial crack at this season's chum run.

But you won't know if you don't go, right?

With that rationale in mind, we jumped on the 6AM ferry to meet up with BJ.

About an hour later we suited up, scanning the flat ahead, expecting to see jumping or some other sign of activity.

Not a thing.

"Did you bring your lighter gear?" I asked BJ.

He responded positively, having heard the same reports I had.

Plan B was on standby for the moment as we trudged through the muck and onto the flat.

About three quarters of the way there, we crossed paths with Joe, an extremely fishy angler that I've known for a few years.

I figured his presence to be a good omen--if he didn't hook up, no one would.

We fanned out, casting aimlessly until we could spot approaching pods.

As the tidal exchange started, activity intensified and we were suddenly taking multiple shots at decent-sized schools.

Now at this point, it'd be predictable to say we hooked plenty of chum but, sadly, that wasn't the case.

While chum fishing is usually a numbers game, no one out of the 30-40 people there was hooking fish, despite the hundreds of chum swimming within reach.

Even Joe, whom I've seen hook these guys when most folks weren't, was getting blanked.

This was shaping up to be a strange day.

Even more strange was that, of all things, Joe was SLAYING flounder instead of chum.

Rather than continue to frustrate ourselves, we decided to go with Plan B.

A short drive away placed at a beach that was known for its reliable cutthroat population; so reliable that I was confident that one of us would hook a fish right away.

But then again, that would be too easy and given the unpredictability of the day so far, I had my reservations.

Those reservations ended up being well-placed as we didn't hook anything (probably because of the seal that was hanging around--something I'd never seen at this particular beach) in the usually productive spots.

Nothing was going to work out the way it was supposed to, I figured, so why not do something out of the ordinary? Like walking over to a traditionally unproductive spot on the beach? Wouldn't it be cliche if that strategy worked?

Well, what's wrong with a cliche if it gets the right results? ;)

After hooking this feisty sea-run, it seemed as if things started to re-align themselves. Fish started jumping and their splashes led us back to where you'd normally expect to catch them.

But just in case things weren't going to right themselves, we decided to add our own bit of weirdness to help the process along.

Not sure it worked, though. In hindsight, I think we added more "creepy" than "weird" to the day.

Either way, things did go back to normal and soon we were hooking a fair number of fish.

That is, until the storm came.

But I guess that's normal for this time of the year, too, isn't it?

'Tis the season for beach fishing, folks, and that means saltwater classes are back!

We had a great turnout for the October class and are now booking for this month's session.

The classroom portion will be held at Puget Sound Fly Co. on 11/14 followed by a day of fishing, giving you the opportunity to employ the tactics we cover the night before.

This particular class deals not only with general beach fishing but will also include a discussion of chum salmon fishing in the salt.

Interested? Call Puget Sound Fly Co. at 253-839-4119 to sign up. Class starts at 6PM.

Where: The beach
When: Saturday and Sunday
Conditions: Sunny, warm on Saturday; rainy, windy and cold on Sunday
Flies used: An experimental pattern and an old standby
Species pursued: Sea run cutthroat, resident coho

Song of the day: "Back In Black," AC/DC

"I'll plan on seeing you at 7:30."

His message didn't show any signs of trepidation, despite some of the obstacles that the beach presented on this particular day: an early morning high tide, a weak outgoing exchange and a heavily sloping beach.

Translation: not much current and little to no backcast room.

Given those as fair warning, BJ persisted--a quality I think any of us can admire in an angler and one that I was glad to observe before we hit the water.

Technical challenges aside, the next morning offered otherwise ideal conditions.

Minutes into fishing, we spotted a happy shoal of rezzies boiling close to shore. Scanning right and left, we also noticed two more good signs: no one else around and no wind.

As if that wasn't good enough, the clear sky and morning sun provided an uncharacteristically balmy day on the Sound.

The game was on.

"Try to cast more along the shore than straight out from it," I advised.

Slipping quietly into the water, I cast my experimental offering into the water, which was met with an immediate strike.

A little cuttie came to hand, apparently happy to keep the rezzies company as they cruised the shore.

Content that the new pattern worked, I shifted my attention to BJ, who was busy taking shots at the same pod.

I could tell that his focus matched his persistence.

One of these fish was going to eat his fly and he wasn't going to stop until it happened.

Well, you know what they say about persistence...

If you don't, here's your answer. ;)

Willing fish on a warm, clear day--what more could you ask for on a day trip to the Sound?

Well...

How about more fish?

For a longer time than it seemed, BJ and I worked up and down the beach, intercepting fish here and there.

After a while, the consistency in hookups diminished and we suddenly found ourselves taking fewer shots at less fish which, by the way, had become increasingly finicky.

Now the real game was on--could we still catch these picky pocket rockets?

Given my companion's determination and a few other tricks, we were more than happy to respond to that question, as well.

I don't think this guy liked our answer, though. ;)

Not long after, the tide carried in a mass of leaf litter and assorted debris, forcing us off the water. I'm sure, though, if that hadn't happened, BJ's enthusiasm would have had us fishing into the night.

Inspired by his never-quit attitude and the frequent sighting of a particularly large cutthroat that day, Don and I returned the next morning.

For some reason, we couldn't bring ourselves to stay out very long--the fact that neither of us is as energetic as BJ probably had something to do with it. :)