Where: The Sound, an "S" River
When: The past two weekends
Conditions: Sunny and calm on the Sound; Calm and overcast turning to blustery and sunny on the river
Flies used: Clousers in the salt, various spey flies on the river
Species pursued: Coho then changing up to steelhead

Song of the day: "Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)," Kenny Rogers & The First Edition

"Now why am I telling you all of this?"

I was trying to digest everything he'd been saying for the past few minutes and his question disrupted my train of thought.

All I could muster was in response was a less-than-intelligent, "Ummm..."

"Fish the change up."

I nodded, understanding the logic behind his methodology and filed the advice, along with the details comprising it, in the back of my head for later application.

Ironically, "the change up" is what brought me to his shop, not so much in search of guidance but more for a change of venue.

A spring and summer spent exclusively in the salt had entrenched me in a rut I needed desperately to climb out of.

It was time for a break, time to slow down.

It was time go steelheading.

Not the most productive way to spend the precious weekend hours if you look at it from a numbers perspective. Then again, I've come to find the reward in steelheading lies more in its meditative qualities than the tailing of said quarry.

Swinging a fly through a run is the ideal balance to the frenetic pace of beach fishing--no hauling, no strip-strip, no wide, intimidating expanse of water.

Just cast, swing, step, repeat. A rhythm that takes you from first light to noon in the blink of an eye. And despite the sudden passing of time, you feel no more exhausted than you would be from taking a 6 hour nap.

That's what ran through my head the previous weekend as I plied the rips, no tugs to my name save the usual suspects:

You guessed it!

No outing is complete without one of these, either.

A week later, I stood in the shop, a morning of swinging behind me. Luck had been generous--I had gone 0 for 2. Shameful, I know, but I had them on long enough to enjoy the fight, at least.

New lines in hand (heh, I know, I can't help myself!) and several pearls of wisdom later, I emerged from the shop, rejuvenated: I had peered over the edge of rut and found fresh air.

Would I be back for more?

You bet.

Where: The Sound
When: The past two weekends
Conditions: Everything but snow: Wind, rain, clouds, sun, dead calm.
Flies used: Clousers
Species pursued: Coho

Songs of the day: "Wanna Be Starting Something," Michael Jackson

The hunt for coho continues.

Unfortunately, the crazy weather over Labor Day weekend and a not-so-ideal schedule from this past weekend has frustrated my efforts at finding more silvers.

Skunkings were avoided with the barest of saves.

Underscore "barest" in this instance.

I was convinced that my last outing would yield solid results; the tide window was perfect and the weather favorable.

But after working a quarter mile of beach, with the only signs of life coming from herring and sandlance schools cruising lackadaisically in the currents, I had started to lose hope, much less interest.

As the sun peaked over the cliffs, I sped up the pace, figuring I had only half an hour left of prime time.

The tide cooperated and brought a rip within range and as I worked it's outside edge, I felt a tug.

"Could it be?"

Nope. But then again, I'm not complaining!

Moments later, the sun flooded the landscape, bathing the Sound in late summer brightness.

Given the lack of activity and my willingness to play the odds, I called it a day.

I looked at my watch, figuring it hadn't been more than a couple of hours.

8:47.

That could only mean one thing for this particular lazy Sunday morning:

Back to sleep! :)

Let's hope this weekend produces something better!