Where: The beach
When: Sunday
Conditions: Mostly sunny, warm, light wind
Flies used: Clousers
Species pursued: Resident coho, sea-run cutthroat

Song of the day: "Go Your Own Way," Fleetwood Mac

They say the sun can put the fish down, sending them to deeper, safer water.

When you think this through, it makes sense.

But if you're like me, and you're faced with weighing the option of a wasted, sedentary Sunday or one that presents even the smallest chance of a tug, you go anyway.

Besides, who wouldn't want to get out in the sun after such a bleak winter?

Not surprisingly, things started slowly--a beach I have been keeping tabs on over the past few months apparently has yet to turn hot. Rather than expend the effort in attempting to will a fish from the salt, I opted to move from beach to beach until either my interest (or cigars) ran out or, god forbid, I actually found some takers.

Things did seem promising at one spot; I stalked a recklessly feeding cutthroat close to shore and convinced him that my fly was better than what he was tearing into. Unfortunately, the magic quickly faded as a horde of rock-throwing kids descended upon me.

Again, rather than expending the effort, I jumped back in the car and headed somewhere else.

Somewhere quiet.

A little less than an hour, I plodded down the shore, watching for the typical signs of life.

Making my way around the point, I was greeted with an unexpected group of kayakers turned sunbathers.

"It's cutthroat season, dude! Good luck out there!" one of them said, flashing me a thumbs up.

I gave him my best thumbs up in return and thanked him for the well wishes.

Staring into the sun, I let my eyes adjust, scanning, hoping for an opportunity to target a fish.

At this point in the day, it was either find a fish or light a cigar and join the sunbathers.

Before I could reach for my lighter, a silver flash breached the surface, 25 yards down tide.

I popped my fly off the stripping guide, tore off a bunch of line, all the while moving toward where the fish landed.

A few false casts for direction and line speed and off it went, landing near the outer edge of the slim rip.

I didn't get the chance to start a retrieve.

So much for my tan!

-------------------------------

Well, I was going to finish this story last night, but got sidetracked by a virus alert sooooo...I'll have to leave you all with this image, one I was fortunate enough to send to myself before this mishap:

One of the highlights of the day.

With any luck, this virus mess will be all cleared up and I'll be back early next week.

In the meantime, enjoy the fishing this weekend!

Where: The beach
When: Friday, Saturday and Sunday
Conditions: Friday and Saturday, partly cloudy, fairly calm; Sunday rainy, light wind, cold.
Flies used: Clousers, chum baby, experimental patterns
Species pursued: Resident coho, sea-run cutthroat

Song of the day: "Green Grass and High Tides," The Outlaws

I hope everyone's Easter went well.

This past weekend offered a three-day opportunity to find fish and as soon as the alarm went off at 5AM Friday morning, I wasted no time.

Armed with my ECHO switch rod, I made a mad dash to the beach.

Arriving shortly after the exchange started, I immediately spotted the happy porpoising of feeding fish.

What could I do, except oblige them with a few casts? :)

A handful of fish to hand in a matter of minutes, I followed the jumpers down the beach but soon lost sight of them.

Making my way back to where I started, I met up with Mike. He apparently decided to picked where I left off, hooking fish after fish until, as if by the push of a button, everything shut down.

"Guess we'll just have to start over tomorrow, huh? Can you make it or do you want to e-mail me later?"

"I'll just plan on being here in the morning," he said, smiling.

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Day two could have been a carbon copy of the previous morning, only about an hour later.

With little to do but wait for the exchange to flip the switch, we opted to savor the currently somber, windless morning.

I proffered a quick smoke. The tobacco's aroma filled the air, pausing time in a way that you could feel the seconds counting down to the current's reversal. The usual sense of anticipation was absent, however, replaced with an appreciation for the time afforded us to enjoy the moments before the flurry.

The cigars burnt to their nubs and as if on cue, the first wave arrived.

We tossed our impostors into the seam, just up current of nearby boils.

Tap.

Tap, tap.

Pull.

Another good start.

Mike had one on, too.

"I want to start every morning like this!"

If this was going to be anything like the day before, though, then that meant we were on the clock.

So we got to work. :)

Wave after wave, at least one of us had a fish on.

And then, as expected, it all stopped.

But not before scoring a few more. :)

That night, I asked myself if the fishing would hold up. Out of curiosity, I checked the weather forecast.

Medium winds and an 80% chance of showers.

Sometimes, such days are ideal; sometimes, not so much.

There was only one way to find out which it'd be, of course.

-----------------------------------------------

I decided to start at the same spot the next morning.

The forecast had made good on its promise and within minutes, I was encased in Gore-Tex.

Making my way down to the beach, I recognized a pair of familiar faces.

In the morning drizzle, I quietly flipped my fly into the tide and waited for my swing to start. Drawing tight on the line, I started my retrieve.

Chomp.

A minute later, I had a spunky resident in my hand.

"Would this be the only one?" I thought.

Maybe so--I worked down the beach, only to find unwilling participants along the way.

It would seem that my day would be of the "not so much" category.

I glanced at my watch, realizing it had only been about an hour.

With five hours left in the exchange, I conferred with Mike about a venue change.

Our decision was to relocate to a nearby alternative, one which had been productive for him and reportedly productive to some others, as well.

In the building rain and wind, we pushed our flies to where we thought the fish were.

My mind wandered, thinking about the mild weather I had been enjoying up to this morning.

A cold, wet gust blasted my face. I turned my head to avoid the rest of it and felt resistance.

Thinking it to be grass, I irritatedly bounced my rod tip up and down as if to free the fly from its snag.

Only this "snag" pulled back!

I slid the little blackmouth back into the Sound, still somewhat surprised by its presence.

Shock aside, it begged the question, "What else is lurking around these shores?"

A few coho, apparently. :)

Like the other beach, this one exhibited its own switch.

A circulating reversal had appeared in the cove, working left to right and migrating down shore, only to change direction and move back the other way, all in about 10-minute cycles.

Rips became obvious, and just like that, numerous fish appeared.

Casts produced a mix of coho and blackmouth in a range of sizes.

Our hunt for Easter fish had proven productive and the "not" in "not so much" quickly faded away.

By mid-day, we had our fill of fish and rain.

I parted ways with my friends, waving as I drove by, and cranked the heat up in an effort to warm my bones.

Glad to be out of the wet and cold, my mind wandered off again, recounting the past three days and wishing all weekends were like this.

Where: The beach
When: Saturday and Sunday
Conditions: Sunny, warm, light wind
Flies used: Clousers, chum baby
Species pursued: Resident coho, sea-run cutthroat

Song of the day: "Stan," Eminem

A beautiful weekend. The sun was out, the wind was down and, after a bit of driving, the fish cooperated.

I spent Saturday with Jeremy, a guy that had just gotten back into fly fishing after taking a few years off.

Though the light to non-existent breeze and the sun on our faces might have projected a day of generosity, the fishing told quite a different story as we moved from beach to beach.

Eventually, as in weeks past, we found them and for a moment, all was right with the world.

At least to us--this fish may disagree!

Another day on the water passed and as I pulled into my driveway, my cell beeped.

The text relayed a successful report.

Naturally, I had to verify the findings. ;)

Where: The beach
When: Saturday and Sunday
Conditions: Wet and slightly windy on Saturday; windier but sunny on Sunday
Flies used: Clousers, chum baby
Species pursued: Resident coho, sea-run cutthroat

Song of the day: "Lazy Eye," Silversun Pickups

I'm still in search of a significant chum fry population as well as the reckless pods of fish they attract.

For a number of reasons but primarily because I only have two days a week to poke around for them, I've been largely unsuccessful.

Fortunately, things haven't gotten so bad that they've resulted in a skunking.

On the contrary...

The good news is that there are small groups of chum babies running around and that fish are keying in on them and, of course, flies that imitate them.

Just ask her!

Shackled to this two-day limitation as I am, I can't be too squeamish about conditions and so I met Jamie at Doc's on Saturday in the pouring rain.

"Just throw your stuff in the back."

We were going to put our time in today.

From spot to spot, we wet our lines until finally hitting a productive location.

Knowing a chum stream flowed nearby, fly selection was easy.

Casting down current, almost parallel with the beach, I felt a grab and set.

The resident rushed me, building slack. I tried to recover but could only hold on for a few more seconds.

"Oh well, at least I know they're here."

Not long after, I had another hookup and called down to Jamie. Before he could look over, I saw his rod tip lift and suddenly, we had a double.

For a little over an hour, we rode the tide out, picking out fish here and there.

Mike even caught a few on my new switch rod! Thanks for adding more good juju to my stuff, Mike!

--------------------------------------------------------

As if to reward my efforts for braving the inclement weather from the day before, the following morning produced light wind and sunny skies.

Had the March Lion transformed into a lamb overnight, or was this one of those cruel ruses the fish gods enjoy tormenting me with?

The latter, I supposed.

A good guess, I thought, as I stood two hours later in a stiff wind, unusually frigid air biting into my face.

"Ready to relocate?" I asked Mike.

He nodded and we agreed to meet up at another spot.

But the cold Lion continued to roar.

Pulling up to the water, I saw the chop and could almost feel the breeze pressing on the windshield.

Great.

Reluctantly, I stepped out of the car to scope things out a little more thoroughly.

"I've been waiting a long time to run into you."

As I turned, I was greeted by the angler I had parked next to.

"I've been reading your articles and have really enjoyed them."

Brian introduced himself and we chatted about this particular spot's output of late and the windy challenge that lay before us.

Nonetheless, he made his way down to the shore, ignoring the incoming breeze.

His determination renewed my own.

Minutes later, Mike and I waged the same battle, quickly working down the beach, hoping to find something.

No such luck.

Rather than give in, we made the decision to follow Brian's lead and not let the wind put us down.

And that was the right decision!

--------------------------------------------

The following morning I stared into the spritey vacuum of my monitor, poring over numbers on one of the many spreadsheets I encounter all too often throughout my day. Forcing myself to break away, I decided to check my e-mail.

In lieu of the spreadsheet, a nice cutthroat stretched out on my desktop and right above it, a few lines of text.

One in particular stood out:

"Fishing was excellent."

If only I had one more day...