Where: The River
When: The past two weekends
Conditions: Cold, calm
Flies used: Various spey flies
Species pursued: Steelhead

Song of the day: "Everybody's Fool," Evanescence

I wish I had something good to write about, but for me, steelheading is a less than productive pursuit, at least in terms of steelhead. :)

If anything, I would say "low" is a good word to use in describing how the past few weekends have been

Low numbers of steelhead.

Low, clear water.

Low temperatures.

Ironically, motivation and determination are the only things that aren't on the low side. :)

So Don and I have been plying the usual runs, trying to sneak our flies past the hordes of zombie pinks choking the river.

Here are a few pics summing up how that's been going:

The swimming dead.

End of the road.

Our first official taste of fall.

Almost time...

Good layering and a quick smoke will do wonders when temps get down to freezing.

And when that fails, the Colonel's got your back!

With any luck, the past few days' rain will raise most of those aforementioned lows. :)

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: Cowlitz River
When: Saturday
Conditions: Sunny, hot
Flies used: General Practitioner-style flies
Species pursued: Steelhead

Song of the day: "The Metal," Tenacious D

5:30AM, Saturday morning.

Expected high of the day, 98 degrees.

For the moment, things were cool. Steve Buckner, our guide for the day, pointed out our respective runs and described his approach to fishing them.

Wisps of vapor rose from the river's surface like curtains pulling back, revealing the slices of fishy water I had daydreamed about for the past week.

"Go through this with a fine-toothed comb--there's no need to rush here."

Steve's words eased my racing mind. Rushing is all I seemed to be doing this season--rushing to get there, covering the run quickly so I could dash to the next piece of water.

"I almost never see anyone fishing here."

For the first half hour, I held my breath, expecting to see the parade of boats I'd grown accustomed to.

Nada.

We had the river to ourselves.

And down the run we went.

Each of us picked our sections apart as best we could and were lucky enough to find some willing cutties, but no steelhead.

In lieu of our quarry, we received instruction in identifying a variety of holding water and, as Steve put it, letting our flies "hunt" through every run.

We were living out the proverbial "teach a man to fish" scenario. :)

From that point on, every swing became a study in presentation: casting angle, current speed, proactive line management--these elements as well as more subtle ones became points of intense focus. Too much focus, probably, since it was suddenly lunch time.

Nothing like a great homemade burger to clear your thoughts! :)

After our mid-day break we headed into the home stretch.

Steve continued to relate more information to us, explaining more about water speed and presenting the fly to the fish.

Once again, I slipped into student mode, applying things as I stepped down each run.

Ironically, I was so engrossed by how the fly fished through the current that the thought of actually hooking a steelhead ceased to be a concern.

And of course, that's when it happened.

Right at the bottom of the swing, not more than 5 feet off the bank, a fish pulled the slack loop from my hand.

This was no cutthroat--he move out into the current and rod it 10 yards downstream before the 7 weight turned him back upstream.

Foot by foot I pulled him closer until he lay within a rod length.

Then he did something I didn't (but should have) expect: he burst upstream of me.

By the time I could figure it out, the long-shanked hook worked its way free.

And so did the fish.

I didn't scream.

I didn't run after it.

I wasn't even upset.

Instead, I thought, "That was cool," and turned to Don, who had walked down to observe, and shrugged.

After the initial rush, processing crept into my brain...having been in learning phase all day, it was all too easy to analyze what just happened.

"Should I have swept the rod downstream?"

"Was the 8lb Maxima strong enough to handle me horsing the fish if I did?"

"Did I baby the fish too much?"

Thankfully, Steve walked down and we discussed things.

In short the answers are, "Yes," "Yes" and "Maybe." :)

We had just gone from a good day to a great as we headed into the last run before heading back upstream.

I figured I'd fish through it quickly, again concentrating on the fundamentals we'd been studying throughout the day and doubting the chance that I'd hook another steelhead.

"You're just getting into the cream of it," Steve said, made its way downstream.

I can't remember what we were discussing but in the middle of my sentence, my line jerked.

"No way," I thought, setting the rod.

"Yup, that's a steelhead--you saw your line move, right."

I nodded.

This fish was bigger, about 7 to 8 pounds by the guide's estimation, and this time, I leaned on the Maxima, attempting to swing it into the shallows.

After a short but spirited fight and with both Steve's watching...

...I lost the fish, again! Like the previous fight, this fish shook his head and worked the hook free.

This time, a bit of frustration came through as well as a few more questions--all of which Steve handled diplomatically without so much as even hinting to the fact that, quite frankly, I suck at fighting steelies. :)

In essence, I could have fought it even harder and that I should get over my fear of 8 pound tippet.

"Don't beat yourself up, though. Just take a breather--when was the last time you hooked two steelhead, after all?"

He had a very good point.

Minutes later, we dashed upstream, racing the setting sun.

Only to fall prey to the temptation of that very first run.

Steve slowed the boat down and looked at the three of us for a consensus.

Three nods came back and we hopped out.

"It's all yours, man."

And against the backdrop of a day reminiscent of one I had on the Deschutes, we fought back the sunset.

Where: Cowlitz River
When:Saturday
Conditions: Cool, overcast
Flies used: Not important. ;)
Species pursued: Steelhead

Song of the day: "Say It Ain't So," Weezer

After feeling pretty wiped out and taking last weekend off, I was ready to hit the water.

Rather than beat a seemingly dead horse and, more importantly, avoid the inevitably disastrous Seafair traffic, we pointed the Scion south.

When last we were there, the river was much higher, visibly faster and cold.

Scratch that last part. The river was still cold. :)

"This water's freezing."

The thermometer read 50 degrees.

Riiight. ;)

As first light arrived, so did the fish.

A splash here, a jump there. Some of them were within range of my meager casting ability.

They were definitely here.

"Must be the rain."

Or not--what do I know? I'm a beginner at this steelheading thing, after all...

Combined with the overcast, our confidence levels rose and two-stepped down the run, our worries of frozen legs shirked in favor of touching metal.

We had to hurry; along with building daylight came the typical boat traffic.

As a few of them zipped up and downstream, a driftboat floated by.

"Hey, how ya doin?"

"Good."

"Started fishing yet?"

"No. Any bite--is that a hookup?"

It was.

The slack loop left my hand and in the middle of his question, I raised the rod tip.

The fish erupted from the surface, angry at the Gamakatsu stuck in its face.

It bolted upstream. I reeled in an effort to keep up.

Back downstream.

"Damn," I thought. "This guy's big."

He bulldogged me to the left, then the right. I shifted the rod to keep his head pointed upstream.

A few minutes later, he swung into the shallows. I tried to ease him closer, but he panicked. I gave in, letting him run a bit.

There he goes!

On his next visit to the shore, I caught my first real glimpse.

Easy now...

He was THICK.

Flipping him on his side, he seemed subdued.

I put the rod down, grabbed my sink tip and moved down to the leader.

Much thicker than last year's fish, this brute was of hatchery origin, with a fat wrist.

A wrist I was about to wrangle.

Leader in my left hand, I reached down...

And the fish freaked out.

With no give on the line, he snapped the 15 pound 0X.

In desperation, I grabbed for his tail anyway, hoping he wouldn't realize he was free.

A stupid thought.

My attempt only helped to upright him.

And off he went.

Naturally, I gave chase.

"Nooo!!! Come back! @$#%&*!!!"

For a second, I just stood there.

"No way, no way."

Dejected, I walked to the bank in silence and sat down.

My hands shook--the joy, the loss and, of course, the chilly water had begun to take their toll.

Replaying the events in my head, I decided to rest my thoughts on the positive and move on.

I stood up and turned to Don.

"You're up dude, I'll start above you."

No sense dwelling on it. ;)

Where: Banks Lake
When:Saturday
Conditions: Sunny and HOT
Flies used: An experiment carp fly
Species pursued: Carp

Song of the day: "Lake of Fire," Nirvana

"Jeez, this is a popular place today."

Just as we were gearing up, some guy in a Tacoma drove by, rubbernecked us, and then pulled a sharp U turn. Another truck was about to do the same.

"Go ahead, I'm always too slow."

"No worries--hand me your line."

I strung up Jan's rod and we scrambled down the path to the flat.

But to no avail. Within twenty minutes of getting in, we were surrounded.

A club outing, perhaps?

It didn't matter, there were fish to be had.

This guy was milling around happily in the mid-morning sun, rooting around for the usual when I plopped a chunk bunny fly in front of his snout.

There were fish all around us, some cruising, some eating and Jan and I took our fair share of shots at them.

But honestly, things were slow.

For whatever reason, *cough* too many people! *cough*, the fish seemed unwilling.

There was about an hour or so, though, when things actually heated up.

For instance. :)

Persistence pays off!

The highlight of the day, strangely enough, was this little catfish--my first ever. Weird.

As we worked the flat, we realized that everyone around us, boats included (oh yeah, they brought boats into that shallow water) wasn't doing the same.

So we moved to the far side of the flat.

That's when I confirmed my suspicion. With a bit more clarity to the water, it became apparent that this place was hammered the today before.

By lots of people--there were dozens of bootprints everywhere.

Which explains why it was so dead. ;)

All that pressure would be enough to put hundreds of carp on edge. And send us on our merry way home.

Where: Two rivers, one lake, and one creek
When:Friday, Saturday, Sunday
Conditions: Sunny and HOT
Flies used: What didn't I use? :)
Species pursued: Steelhead, suckers, trout and carp

Song of the day: "Maps," Yeah Yeah Yeahs

WARNING! SUPER LONG BLOG ENTRY AHEAD!

Sleep 8, Fishing 28

From 2AM on Friday morning to about 10:30AM on Sunday morning, the ratio of sleep to fishing penciled out at 2 to 7.

And the time in between? Spent in prepping for each of those days.

The cost may seem steep, but the rewards justified it.

Let's rewind to the beginning, shall we?

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

The alarm's beeping stirred me from the brief two-hour nap.

It was two in the morning, and it was go time.

I slipped my contacts in, checked my equipment and darted out the door.

Today we would initiate our friend in the ways of the fly.

Minutes later, Don and Steve jumped in the Scion.

As we neared the river, I reassessed my zealousness in setting an early alarm--first light wasn't less than an hour and a half away.

Enter the 24-hour drive through at McDonald's.

"Are you serving dinner or breakfast?"

"Dinner."

Jackpot.

We grabbed our orders at the second window and made for the water.

Despite my early morning hunger pangs, I waited until we were riverside.

Once there, I proceeded to wolf down my "breakfast."

Nothing like a Big Mac to start off the day!

Belly full, I went about stringing up.

I decided to try out a few tube patterns I tied.

The one positive thing I can say about waking up so early is that I can take my time when I get to the water. No bunched waders, misaligned ferrules or sloppy knots.

This time, it was fresh air, unencumbered thoughts and the beginning of a beautiful day to enjoy. :)

As I mentioned before, the day's intent was to introduce a friend to fly fishing.

Granted, it was a huge gamble to start someone off with spey (not to mention steelhead), but I don't think it deterred this particular initiate.

"This is great. It's been so long since I've seen the sun rise."

Well, buddy, there it is. Enjoy. :)

Rods ready, I turned to Don.

"You want to take him through things?"

"Yeah."

With the sun gradually lighting the valley, I quickly worked down the first part of the run.

Momentarily sated, I turned upstream and witnessed the birth of a new fly angler.

Don had Steve working on a double spey. Steve went through each stage, attempting to translate what he heard into what he was doing. I watched him repeat the motions over and over again, making minor adjustments here and there.

In my experience, proper execution cannot be attained without diligence. When someone exhibits this ethic in fly fishing, I am encouraged to believe that their efforts will be rewarded with not only good technique but good fish karma.

It may not happen that day, but it will happen.

Which brings us to the next day...

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

"It's gotta be 80 already. And it's only 9."

Under a sun-filled, bleach-blue sky, the arid landscape's hot fist clenched around us.

We welcomed it.

Under normal circumstances, the heat would be unbearable--oppressive, even.

But today, the forecasted triple digit temps would be offset by the comfortable waters of a carp-filled desert reservoir.

Jan, Steve and Don had made the long trip over to observe the spectacle of the giant, leaping goldfish.

"Don't freak out if they run into your legs."

Heh. I was only half joking. :)

"Let's cut across."

I was eager to get to my favorite spot. Maybe too eager.

Don took a different direction and hooked one almost immediately.

A good sign.

Not long after, I had one, too.

We spread out, each man claiming his own piece of water. There was plenty to go 'round.

Jan carried on like a kid at Sea World, with "Whoas!" and other such exclamations. Not only did he see big fish, but he ran into them, too. Literally.

"He followed it!"

As the day heated up, so did the fishing. We were surrounded by overgrown goldfish.

The game was on.

There's a school!

Success!

Don was quickly into another one. Since he was within casting distance, I decided to work the same school.

Double!

From my point of view. :)

Say cheese!

For a short time, it was carp madness.

Not too shabby!

But all things must end and all of sudden, the fish turned off.

I turned to the group.

"What do you guys want to do? No sense wasting the rest of the day waiting for them to turn back on."

They agreed.

"I have an idea..."

And it was ditch trout.

Nothing like that to top off a day in the desert.

Don drew first blood--again... :)

Followed by this chunky specimen.

And remember what I said about fish karma? Here's Steve's first fly-caught trout--on his second day fly fishing. Congrats, Steve!

Aaaannd one more for good measure!

We would've stayed, but there's only so much heat you can take without having to cool off in the water and seeing as how Rocky Ford's a no-wading zone, it was back in the car and off over the mountains.

Hours later, the trunk shut and I put the car in "D."

"See you all in a few."

I meant that literally. This had become and endurance test. :)

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

This time, I beat the alarm. Three AM didn't seem so bad anymore.

Isn't that sick?

As I rolled out of bed, I thought I heard my bones creak. How much time passed from when I put my head on the pillow?

It didn't matter how much or little sleep I had, the sad fact was that tomorrow was Monday.

And that meant returning to the mind-numbing trudgery of Corporate America.

No, more sleep would mean squandering precious hours which I could be wringing the life out of.

So an hour later, I picked up two more fishing zombies and we headed back to the beginning of our circuit.

And continued to share more knowledge.

As well as find some knowledge on our own.

And mess with some newly-tied patterns.

We even found time to fish.

In the end, endurance will only take you so far and about halfway through the day, we gave in to the scenery, excellent weather and the satisfaction that we spent more time fishing than wasting it. It was time to just sit back and soak it all in.

One of us even managed to get more sleep! :)

Where: Back on the river
When: Saturday
Conditions: Mostly sunny, light breeze
Flies used: Marabous
Species pursued: Steelhead

Song of the day: "Surrender," Cheap Trick

"It gets to you like that."

The guy on the other end knew exactly how I felt.

Steelheading has started to consume me.

And it's not just the steelhead.

It's everything about steelheading.

I've come to accept that it's a very low-numbers game--and I've even convinced myself that I like it that way!

Crazy?

How about daydreaming of walking-pace runs and thinking of traffic as river right or river left? What about buying three new two-handers in as many months? One for super low, clear water, the other for general floating line work and the third for all-around use?

Um, yeah...I have it pretty bad.

It's gotten to the point that I'm willing to bribe my buddies with these just so they'll go with me! :)

See what I mean? Look closely...

Heck, I even tied one fly every day for the past week (okay, some days I tied two) to help me cope. ;)

Seriously, if you haven't noticed it in recent posts, I've been throwing the two-hander a LOT.

That doesn't mean I won't be doing other things, though, so for those of you who enjoy variety, I'll maintain the balance here on this blog. You'll still see saltwater posts, carp, trout, etc.

But I've come to enjoy fishing for speying for steelhead so much that I've started a separate blog about summer steelheading in particular--I'm not so much into the winter game. :)

To read my inaugural post and see what the blog will be like (I think), click here.

In the meantime, look for a report next week from this weekend's carp class (I'm keeping my fingers crossed).

Where: On the river
When: Saturday
Conditions: Mostly sunny, slightly breezy
Flies used: Various marabous
Species pursued: Steelhead

Song of the day: "The Way It Is," Bruce Hornsby

Summer steelheading is upon us.

Days are starting earlier and ending later, making both after work jaunts as well as entire days, complete with mid-day naps, all too tempting.

If there's anything I could get lost in at this stage in my fly fishing life, summer steelheading is it.

And that's what we did.

A few pictures to whet the appetite of those enamored by the summer swing...

Messin' with a Skagit Compact

This seam looked REALLY fishy!

Bill was thinking the same thing we were!

Just enjoying the day...

Diggin' the new DECHO spey...

Might as well try it...

Sorry, no fish pics this time around, just a love tap earlier in the day to show for our efforts.

Not that going fishless could ruin a day like this...

Where: Rocky Ford
When: Saturday
Conditions: Sunny, windy
Flies used: White bunny leech, glo bug, Rickard's stillwater nymph
Species pursued: Ditch (rainbow) trout

Song of the day: "My Name Is Jonas," Weezer

"I spent a lot of time out here. Some weekends I'd head out on Saturday morning and come back that evening. Then I'd do it again the next day. I just wanted to get away."

Of course, back then, gas was cheap, my time was free and my experience limited.

The perfect formula for feeding an addiction.

Sure, I'd fished Rocky Ford over the past years, but not with the same frequency as that year. Back then, 'the ditch' served as a focal point for subsiding the worries, anger and lack of forward direction that seemed to swell my mid twenties.

Standing on the foot bridge, I stared at a pig of a trout. As he finned to the left and intercepted a drifting morsel, my eyes refocused on my reflection.

The face on the surface looked back with the reassurance that things had changed for the better.

A good part of that started with this creek.

That must have been the reason why we ended up here--with everything else being either spotty or outright disastrous I can only guess that my Rocky Ford reflex took over. :)

"Go get 'em man."

Don and I staked out our spots and started lining up drifts.

Boy, was I rusty. I must've had a dozen refusals before I had my first take. And when I finally had a bite, I ripped the fly away from the fish!

In the meantime, Don drew first blood. :)

It didn't take long after that to get things going.

And going...

And going.

They love the white rabbit!

Who says men can't multitask? ;)

Whoops! He isn't ready yet!

Now that's a pretty ditch trout.

More multitasking...

"Let's hit the lower stretch."

It was like being 26 again. For the next several hours, I had no troubles, no distractions, willing fish and plenty of sunshine.

This was one of those finicky guys from directly downstream of the bridge. Nice job, Don!

Good 'n plenty!

Another generous pocket.

"We haven't had a day like this in a long time."

"Too long."

Another ditchy for Don.

And me, too!

"Wow, it's 5:30 already."

Seven straight hours of fishing and for all I cared, it could have been seven more. But a certain level of moderation is something five more years of age has taught me to appreciate, so we called it a day.

"So what do you want to smoke? We should celebrate."

I knew which answer he was looking for and it was a good one.

"The Antano, dude!"

So we smoked, drank, recounted fishing stories and plotted future adventures.

Not a worry in the world and nowhere close to anything that matters, except good fishing.

Maybe turning 31 isn't so dreadful, after all. Looking back on things, it's better than turning 26--for me, at least.

Either way, it's not like the trout care. ;)

Where: NOT the Cedar River
When: Sunday
Conditions: Cool, overcast
Flies used: Marabou Spey, some no-name summer flies
Species pursued: Steelhead

Song of the day: "Are You Happy Now?," Michelle Branch

"The Cedar is definitely a no-go."

Our favorite urban stream's flows, like the majority of the other rivers', were out of control.

Bummer...

This couldn't have come at a worse time for me, either.

I've gone fishless for the past month and the itch for a tug had really gotten to me.

I ran through the list of options in my head.

I didn't want to go over the pass.

Stocked trout didn't hold any appeal.

Chucking clousers in the salt, hoping to find a cuttie or maybe a coho didn't sound fun, either.

And by ironic process of elimination, steelheading became the fishing plan d'jour.

While most rivers were high, we knew of one that wasn't.

And by six in the morning, we were on it.

I tied on a marabou spey and chucked it into the run, slipping into the cast, swing, step formula.

Halfway down, I felt a tug and let the slack line slip from my fingers.

A miss. A rock, maybe?

It couldn't have been.

So I went through again.

Another tap.

I let the line slip again, lifted the rod slightly and...

...shook the skunk off...kind of. :(

Not exactly what I was looking for, but bringing something to hand helped me cope with my fishing doldrums.

And it even led to a few real trout later in the run!

They weren't huge and they weren't steelhead, but after a month of strikeouts, I'll take it.

"Since we're not going to the Bahamas, I was thinking that we could go to the Spey Clave."

"Sounds like a plan."

And with that, the idea of a $1,000 plane ticket quickly faded away.

So instead of the Bahamas, Clark and I are headed to Oregon to fish for springers and check out the Spey Clave on the Sandy River.

I haven't taken a vacation from the corporatocracy yet this year and it's TIME.

And with temps ranging from the mid 80s to low 90s, we couldn't have picked a better time!

Plus, I get to put my new rod and reel through its paces!

If you're going to be at the Clave and we haven't met yet, don't hesitate to say hi and introduce yourself.

Hope to see you there!

Where: Yakima River
When: Sunday
Conditions: Warm, alternating sun and overcast
Flies used: Big, meaty flies
Species pursued: Rainbow Trout

Song of the day: "Sheep Go To Heaven," Cake

"You're at 20," Vern said, pointing me toward my station.

After setting up, I took stock of this year's event.

Judging by my initial impression, the transformation of the NW Tying Expo into the Washington FFF Conclave seemed to be a success.

As I'd never done this sort of thing before, I figured the best thing to do was conform (which I HATE doing) and do what everyone else was doing.

That is to say, start tying flies.

When in Rome...

Before long, folks started to file in.

At first, a few looky-loo's.

And then a familiar face, then two, then a steady stream of fishing reports from all over the place, from Mexico to yesterday's float on the Yak.

Time sped by and a quarter to nine become a quarter past eleven.

Despite all that time, I didn't get much tying done. ;)

Jamie stopped by the table.

"I'm going next!"

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

"This is the first time I've been on this side of the mountains this year."

"Me too."

Jamie was on deck, getting ready to cast. It had been two years since he'd competed in this event.

Given that, I abandoned my tying post in favor of supporting a longtime buddy.

After a short practice round, he gets the signal to go.

The familiar stress of competition lasts for an agonizing five minutes, after which Jamie's scores come back.

And they're good.

To celebrate his performance, we lit up a couple of cigars and relax on the lawn.

It had been far too long since I'd enjoyed a spring afternoon on the dry side.

"Well, we've got to go--wineries and all that."

A few handshakes and a promise to share a few bottles and we're on our way.

As we snake down the highway, I catch glimpses of the Yak.

"I'm glad I brought my rod," I think. "Let's hope my plan works so I can fish."

The plan in question, is, of course, to hit as many wineries as possible today to leave time to fish tomorrow. ;)

For better or worse, my plan worked.

I did get to fish--but only after buying four cases of wine! :(

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

To everyone who stopped by to chat: good catching up with all of you and good meeting the new faces! Steve, send me an e-mail so we can fish sometime, salt or not. My e-mail address is ohimo@hotmail.com