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!