Where: The beach
When: Sunday
Conditions: Sunny, warm, light to medium wind
Flies used: Clousers
Species pursued: Sea-run cutthroat

Song of the day: "Freedom Isn't Free," aka "Freedom Costs A Buck o Five", Team America World Police Soundtrack

Since coho fishing seems to have died down for a bit, I decided to hunt around for some cutthroat.

By now, I figured most of them would be out along the beaches, possibly chasing down the remaining groups of out-migrating chum fry or simply roaming for easy meals in general.

Armed with a 5 and a 6 weight and a few clousers, Don and I headed for the beach.

It'd been a while since he'd been out and weather-wise, we couldn't have picked a better day: blue skies and light wind gave us the impression that summer might make an early appearance this year.

Fishing-wise, it didn't look so good.

A less-than-ideal tide and a lack of showing fish predicted a hard-working, low return day in the salt.

But there was no sense turning our backs on such a nice day so into the weak tide we went.

Roaming up and down the beach, I felt a quick tap.

Feigning injury, I let the fly sink, twitching a few seconds later.

I felt resistance again, but it felt more like seaweed than a fish.

Curious, I stripped in.

I think I would have preferred seaweed!

It was a start, at the least.

Something else had to be here. Tidal exchange aside, this beach's features possessed everything that should hold cutthroat.

I was determined to reveal their presence.

Walking down to one of the few decent rips forming, I threw my clouser downtide, letting it swing for a few seconds for starting my retrieve.

Like a few weeks ago, sometimes determination is enough. :)

Thankfully, the day had proven to be productive after all.

Continuing to work through the rip, I felt a tap similar to the sculpin from earlier in the day. Letting the fly hesitate again, this time hoping to shake the little bullhead off, I slowly resumed my retrieve.

Anticipating another tap, I felt a stronger resistance instead.

"Great," I thought, "a big bullhead instead of a small one."

Except this bullhead was pulling a little too much for, well, a bullhead.

It couldn't have been a cutthroat. If it was, it would've gone airborne at least once by now.

A flounder, perhaps?

No, it was shaking its head.

Blackmouth?

Not strong enough.

Definitely not a coho.

So what, then?

Something MOST unexpected!

The day was killing me.

Somehow, I had managed to successfully wade through a barrage of requests and fire drills, only to find myself brain dead by noon.

I had to get out of the office.

But how best to spend that time recuperating and preparing for the next wave?

Figuring no one would miss me for a little while (and if they did, tough luck, I thought), I dialed the first number that came to mind.

"Is George still there?"

"Yeah, come on down."

Heh heh, nothing like gawking at new gear to chase my fluorescent light-induced headache away.

A zippy drive later landed me in another, more palatable (by far) dimension.

Before my eyes lay Simms' Fall 2009 offerings.

Jackets, some new, some improved upon, bags and assorted soft goods lay strewn about the shop.

I surveyed the madness, my eyes unable to focus on any given thing.

The next twenty minutes were a blur but I believe they included chicken teriyaki, questions about Alaskan beach fishing and how many people had signed up for the next beach class.

Even after that, this is all I could remember:

The new Superlight Insulate Jacket--they ditched the quilted look.

New layering--I believe this is a Guide Top.

Great. The Windstopper Hoody now comes in Ninja Black (at least, that's what I call it). Guess I'll have to get one when they come out...*sigh*

What's this? A new bag lineup?

My personal highlight of the upcoming bags/cases. This reel vault isn't a one-trick pony--it comes with removable pocket flaps for your shooting heads and tips.

There were more items but the camera was running out of batteries and I was out of time.

Needless to say, I have quite the holiday shopping list started thanks to the Simms Fall Roadshow.

I can't believe I'm looking forward to November already... :)

Where: The beach
When: Sunday
Conditions: Sunny warm, medium to heavy wind
Flies used: Clousers
Species pursued: Resident coho, sea-run cutthroat

Song of the day: "Disturbia," Rihanna

"I've been meaning to check this place out for a while now."

I had gotten word that the latest productive beach had slowed down, so Mike and I opted to do some exploring, hoping to find a few fresh shores.

A handful of beaches were on the docket. We selected our starting point based on the wind's direction.

Seemingly promising from the aerial photos, our first location proved to be a bust, save for a few dinkers.

We couldn't complain--exploring has its risks and the biggest one is the reality of a skunking.

But we had the majority of the day and other places to scout.

Moving from spot to spot, we found ourselves walking down one particular stretch more in an effort to enjoy the sun than to locate a willing pod.

Ironically, it's usually during these moments that the fish decide to reveal themselves.

This instance was no exception.

My interest piqued, I surmised the reason why this fish had decided to take me up on my offer--a better-than-average rip lay in front of me, stretching downtide for at least two hundred yards.

He had bitten on the inside edge of the current, about 3 seconds after I had lost interest in my retrieve and was ready to pick up and throw another cast.

Figuring that my disinterest had slowed my retrieve enough to convince the fish to strike, I incorporated that into my following casts and proceeded working down the beach.

A few minutes later, a similar reward came to hand.

Not bad for such a lackadaisical approach.

It wasn't to last, however, as the wind simply made things too unbearable for even my fast 5 weight.

Rather than stoke my frustration, I opted to retire for the moment and leave the beach for stronger rods (and arms)to ply...

Minutes later, breeze pounding our eardrums, I half-shouted to Mike.

"We're done here. Let's get out of the wind."

"Man, I can't get skunked...it's been since July."

"Then maybe you're due--that's a pretty long stretch, you know."

"Agh! Don't say that, I can't hear that kind of talk."

But our timeline was running tight--we had an hour and half left, maybe less.

"One last beach, then."

He nodded and we took off to a calmer shore.

"C'mon, just one sign, one jump."

I'd been here before; holding out, hoping, waiting for that hail mary jumper before you had to reel it in.

Ten minutes.

Fifteen.

We sat on a log, gazing at the lazy current, discussing the difference between the flavors of Dominican and Nicaraguan cigars, an inch away from calling it a day.

And just like the previous spot, our apathy triggered the desired response.

"There you go, dude!" I exclaimed, pointing at a very obvious rise.

"No way, are you messing with me?"

"Nope, fish away, the clock's ticking."

A fishless angler running out of time is a study in both dogged perseverance and desperation. From what I've observed, luck and skill no longer play contributing factors to success.

It sounds stupid, but if anything, it's about willpower.

The will to deny doubt, improbability and, on occasion, the passage of time.

It's like what that guy said in Happy Gilmore: "Harness in the good energy, block out the bad." Heh.

For our last twenty minutes on the beach, that's what Mike was all about.

And rightfully so:

"Doin' the Bull Dance. Feelin' the flow." :)

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

Song of the day: "Hearbreaker," Pat Benatar

Well, my old computer is toast. After a few days of attempting to clean it up, I gave up and have switched over to a newer one.

Since it's already Friday, I won't bother with a story and simply present you with these...

Puget Sound Fly Co. hats--they're lucky.

Have fun this weekend!