No report for this week--I headed out for a morning on the Sound Saturday, but just couldn't bring myself to fight the wind.

Besides, I've been distracted by preparing for an upcoming trip I'll be taking next weekend--Alaska beaches, here I come!

Instead, I wanted to share the details of some screaming deals, a rod giveaway and, of course, free food and drink, courtesy of Puget Sound Fly Co.

This coming Saturday, June 13th, in observation of their sixth successful year, they're thanking the fly fishing community for their support by hosting this soiree and offering an incredible one-day sale on various items.

Some examples of the great buys privy to folks showing up between 10AM and 4PM include:

-ALL SIMMS FELT BOOTS: 30% off
-Ross Evolution reels: 30% off
-Ross Momentum reels: 50% off
-Sage VT2 rods 25% off
-Airflo Skagit N.W. lines 40%+ off
-Select Fishpond Items 40% off
-Patagonia 40% off
+ plenty more from: Sage, Redington, Outcast and G-Loomis
(In stock items only. Special orders do not qualify for discounts, but trust us there’s a lot of great gear and clothing on sale.)

So come out, grab some grub, talk fishing with like-minded folks and toss your name in the rod raffle hat--I guarantee you'll have a good time!

Where: The beach
When: Saturday
Conditions: Sunny, warm, windy
Flies used: Clousers
Species pursued: Sea-run cutthroat

Song of the day: "Who Can It Be Now?," Men At Work

The cost of a three-day weekend is double the work.

That's what I faced last week and despite my best efforts, I just couldn't muster the energy to write about my fruitless, yet relaxing, trip to a few Seattle-area beaches.

I'll do my best to catch you up:

I found a great place to stash my gear while I spent a little time in the sun...

...and snacked on these tasty little morsels.

And since fishing was slow...

Long story short, all I caught were some rays.

On the other hand, this past weekend was a different story.

While I don't mind taking a break from getting my routine fix every once in a while, it's not something I can do more than once, maybe twice a year.

Defying the weather forecast, I tossed my gear in the car on Saturday morning, determined to find a beach that wasn't blowing like crazy.

It took me a few beaches, but I finally found one.

As well as a few cutthroat.

Not bad for a sunny, windy day...

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!

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.

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

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...

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

Song of the day: "Real Estate," Cypress Hill

The screen read, "10 AM Wind WSW 9mph."

Current conditions were calm to 3 mph winds.

It was clear that today would be a race against time.

Within that window I would have to find a significant amount of fish on a beach big enough for a class.

Drawing from journal entries and reports, I selected a likely spot.

Grabbing my new switch rod off the rack, I loaded up and drove--probably faster than I should have--to ride out the remainder of the outgoing tide.

An hour later, I pulled up to the water, mulling over what fly to use.

Trusting my gut, I tied my old standby on and scrambled down to the shore, hurriedly scanning for activity.

I recognized a pair of figures in the distance but rather than walk all the way down and throw in, I continued panning the water, trying to discern which rip would be productive.

Finding the right blend of slow and fast water for my tastes, I unhooked my fly from its hanging place and worked out my line.

As if to tell me I'd made the right choice, a familiar shape burst through the seam.

"Looks like I'm breaking you in today," I said to my new acquisition.

Sweeping around and back, I loaded the Scandi head into the rod and fired away.

Catching the far edge of the current, the clouser began a slow swing before meeting the center of the rip.

I started my retrieve and paused after a few seconds.

Nothing.

A few more strips.

Nada.

Strange--I thought I was in their range.

I worked the line back to the head, getting ready to start a new cast.

Bam.

As surprised as I was, the silver attempted to flee, upset by the sting of the plated hook in its jaw.

But to no avail.

Easing it to hand, I immediately noticed its size compared to last week's fish.

A little longer and a little thicker, this guy had obviously been chowing down over the winter.

Curious if this fish was alone, I studied the rip, watching for signs of additional targets.

It didn't take long to get an answer.

Another jumper erupted near where the first had, and I reacted accordingly.

This time, the strike came immediately.

As I landed this one, another fish revealed its presence.

Popping the fly out of the corner of its mouth, I rushed to release this fish and moved to the next--I wasn't sure how long the either the conditions or the fishing would last.

Cast, strip, strip, set.

Another.

Soon, another.

Followed by another.

Carelessly, they continued to hold in the same rip, almost happy to be picked off.

I wrung as many fish out of that rip as I could before they switched off.

When they did, I pushed back my cuff to see how long I'd been standing there.

Fifteen minutes.

That left about 45 minutes before the wind rolled in--one of those rare times the clock slows down in an angler's favor.

Opting for a break, I checked in with my friends.

The day before had been good and this morning had produced bites on a chum baby.

All good news.

Followed by a bit of bad news.

Starting its bid to ruin the rest of my day a little early, a light breeze pushed against my face.

I looked at my watch--a little over half an hour remaining.

Jumping back, I worked a nearby rip, hoping to see a few more signs of life, desperate to hook something else before I'd have to call it.

As the tide started to slow down, I threw into a current reversal and let the fly sit a moment.

At first I thought I let it sit too long--it felt more like the barnacle-encrusted rocks so common to this beach--so I lowered the rod tip and pulled.

The rock pulled back and I found myself connected to the biggest fish that morning.

Just in time, too. Soon after, the tide petered out and, as predicted, the wind arrived.

"Not a bad morning, though," I thought.

With most of the day left, I bade my friends goodbye and headed for other possibilities, preferably those sheltered from the wind.

Unfortunately, like that first coho's struggle, my efforts were futile.

At least the view was nice!

Resident coho fishing is still consistent and we are on the verge of the chum fry "hatch," meaning sea-run cutthroat will be joining the saltwater mix soon.

If you're new to the beach game and the idea of catching either of these species appeals to you, Puget Sound Fly Co. is holding another Beach Class/Clinic on Friday, March 27th, taught by yours truly.

We'll split instruction into two parts: a couple of hours of class time going over the basics--equipment, finding fish, technique, conditions, etc., followed by a day on the water.

Class will start at 6PM at the shop with fishing scheduled for the next morning at a local beach.

Interested? Call the shop at 253-839-4119 to sign up.