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?