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!