Where: The beach
When: Saturday
Conditions: Calm, chilly
Flies used: Clousers
Species pursued: Resident coho

Song of the day: "Simple Man," Lynyrd Skynyrd

This was going to be a challenge.

First, the tidal exchange was less than optimal and second, recent reports from the beach related less than favorable conditions.

In an attempt to manage expectations properly, I told everyone the night before that our outing would be spent tracking the coho down.

Undeterred by my pessimism, they assembled faithfully the next morning.

No turning back now.

I gazed at the water, scanning for any sign of current. All I could discern was a weak right to left drift. I'm no big fan of wind but I was disappointed with its lack of presence--we didn't have any chop to help the miserable current out.

"It's completely dead," I thought.

Maybe the skunk would finally snap my lucky streak.

Eager to apply the information from the night before, the class spread out.

Dave and Billy worked the outer edge of the cove while Jeff and Devin plied the inner part.

I positioned myself in the middle and started my routine, resuming my scan of the surroundings.

Twenty minutes passed. My mind weighed the prospect of a change in venue.

At the same time, I wondered if our determination alone would draw fish to us.

I didn't ponder for long as seconds later, a coho slashed the water in front of Jeff.

"There! Hook that guy!"

Shifting his cast to the right, he tossed his fly near the boil.

Nothing.

Another cast.

The same.

Another slash appeared a few yards from the first, and realizing that the fish were moving up tide, Devin trudged down the beach to join Jeff.

After repositioning, he threw a cast up current of the third boil.

Before he could start the retrieve, I saw the line pull tight.

And Devin was into our first fish of the day.

Unaffected by their companion's misfortune, the coho continued to boil closeby. Happy to oblige their indifference, I targeted the nearest rise ring and was pleasantly rewarded by chunky coho.

Thinking my pessimism was misplaced, we continued working the shore, but after an hour and a half of dead water, my misgivings crept back into my thoughts.

"Time to move," I announced.

My earlier statement of having to track the fish down had come to fruition.

Unfortunately, that first flurry of action proved to be the only one the class would see; after scouting two normally productive spots with no success, I had no choice but to let everyone go their own way.

Unable to let the rest of the day go without at least one more hookup, Don and I decided to check out a few "less public" beaches. :)

That decision revealed that fishing is still alive and well.

We had found roving pods of both blackmouth and resident coho, as well as some smaller cutthroat.

From late afternoon to dusk, we hooked fish close to the shore and farther out, each of them happy to accept our baitfish patterns.

And then the most curious thing happened: right as the sun dipped below the horizon, all activity came to a halt.

We fished for another 10 minutes in the dark, fishing different depths and ranges, but to no avail.

We were done.

I guess that means we'll just have to get there earlier next time.