Where: The beach
When: Sunday
Conditions: Foggy, calm
Flies used: Dave's Frank Fly, experimental patterns
Species pursued: Resident coho

Song of the day: "That's When I Reach for My Revolver," Mission of Burma

The fog horn ushered in the unusually warm Sunday morning.

In the muted light and under a dense fog, I scrambled to jump into my waders and string up.

Dave, Mike and Chris had gotten a headstart before the gate opened.

"See you down there!"

"Ah, well, serves me right for getting here after them," I reasoned.

Finally rigged up, Don and I made our way to the water, my cleats ticking on the concrete path.

Negotiating the deadfalls along the shore, we made it to where the jumpers were...as well as everyone else. :)

Just in time to snap this pic of Chris!

"This is my second one!"

"Nice," I replied, noticing that Dave had also hooked up downtide.

From there, things blur together--fishing three tidal exchanges will do that to you.

Here's a visual recap:

How things started.

A nice blackmouth for Don.

A closer look at the same fish.

Some of this year's rezzies are chunky!

Even more fly testing.

Trying to squeeze a few more in before it gets dark.

Last call!

From dusk on is when my memory kicks back in.

That's when I really started to struggle. It wasn't like last week--these fish were not in the mood for my offering.

After considerable effort and with great difficulty, I managed to land a few fish.

And so did Don...

But the night really belonged to Mike who completely SCHOOLED us.

This is just one of the many he produced Sunday night. Nice work, Mike!

By the end of the night, Mike had lost count. His smile, like John's last week, said it all: pure satisfaction.

"This is nothing like last year!" he exclaimed.

"Not even close," I said. Not by a long shot.