Halcyon day at the narrows yesterday. Started slow, but
encouragingly, with scattered fish working the rip 60' out, just south of
Doc's. My previously effective euphasid patterns were completely
ignored, so I switched to a small candlefish pattern and almost
immediately hooked and landed a nice little 13" cutt. Working along the
beach I managed to get several other good tugs before heading back up
the car to shed some clothing: Even if the fishing didn't pan out, this
was going to be a beautiful day, with clear skies, calm and sunny. Ran
into John Abbott (aka Spey) in the parking lot, preparing to fish his
remarkeable collection of tube flies, which had been productive for him
in the past.
Back to the beach, I managed to get a couple of short runs out the coho
still working the rip, before discovering I was fishing a pointless fly! Into
the flybox to discover that all but one of my remaining candlefish flies
had epoxied hook eyes (try working epoxy out with a hook point!). Tie
on my last candlefish, only to have it fly-off on the forward cast, seconds
later! (It did, however, reach well out into the main pod of feeding fish - I
wonder if it was taken?) OK, so maybe not such a glorious day after
all.
Tie on an amphipod, fire up a cigar, and decide to plow down toward Pt.
Fosdick to do a little exploring. I had noticed the boat that had been
working the rip at Doc's earlier, had headed down that way, and not
come back, and also that there was another boat, conspicuously
holding 40' off the beach about a 1/2 mile down.
Once past the gentle point south of Doc's, the main ebb-tide current
flow moved well off the beach, creating a long broad, relatively placid
back-eddy near the beach. As I approached, I could see the boat I had
noticed earlier - a large v-hulled inflatable - methodically working large
pods of porpoising fish cruising up and down the back-eddy, just a short
way off the beach. Two things caught my eye: I had not seen coho
pods as large as these in many years and I had never seen so many
pods working in one area. It actually took a while to sort out. One
large pod would approach another, and then they would both disappear,
only to reappear 40' away, running at 90 degree angles to each other.
One thing was clear: This place was loaded with fish, many of which
were very large! The sight of these pods approaching was incredible.
Perhaps 50-60 fish, swimming in close formation, shallow head-tail
rises, cruising in long straight lines, sometimes less than 20' off the
beach.
I stepped into the water (a nice sandy beach) and cast 40' out across
the first approaching pod. I had not led them enough to let the current
do its work. Another pod approached from down current, and my 45
degree down and across cast swung right through the head of the pod.
About 3 short strips and I was solidly hooked to a 17" coho. By the
time I landed and released this fish the pod was nearly 100' down the
beach. But no matter, another pod was approaching from up current.
Another cast down and across, just ahead of the pod, and I didn't even
get a strip in; just a solid tug about 10' into the swing. Another 17"
coho. The action continued at about this pace over the next half hour,
gradually slowing as the pods broke up and scattered from the
disturbance caused by the hooked fish. But only the complexion
changed; not the intensity. Now instead of a few very large schools of
fish, there were more, but smaller schools of fish. Nearly every school
yielded a tug or two and most a fish - or two. Indeed, the challenge
became how to land and release a fish before the pod moved out of
range. I found that by pinching the barb completely flat, I could still pull
the fish out of the pod before it was scattered and frequently release the
fish by slack lining it when it was close in. Better for the fish, and better
for me.
With brief pauses, the action continued through the ebb, low slack and
well into the flood (where the back-eddy reversed, once again running
opposite of the main current). At one point, while standing calf deep in
the water, looking for approaching pods, a fish boiled directly under my
extended rod, less than 5' from me. I flipped my fly, which had been
trailing 10' behind me in the current, directly ahead of the fish, raising
the rod tip as it approached. He took it solidly and turned back toward
the shore before I pulled the hook into the corner of his mouth. I saw
the entire sequence... it was just like Rocky Ford. Brought him to hand
to see what kind of fish would behave this way and released him -
another nice coho.
A light breeze came up out of the north about 4:00, riffling the previously
placid water. The fish, which were now just barely breaking the surface
(or not even breaking the surface at all) became more difficult to spot. I
decided this would be a good time to do some more exploring. I walked
back up the beach a short distance, to where there were some fairly
broad still areas out of the ruffling breeze. While standing and watching,
I noticed some of the areas which had previously appeared to be little
"cats-paws" of wind-riffled water were actually very tight pods of closely
working fish; almost like little balls of herring. One cast, slightly above
and beyond, confirmed they were, indeed, coho.
At this point, I was getting tired, my right arm was getting very sore, and
all of my favorite euphasid flies were in shreds (the fine larva lace that I
use for the abdomens seems to get torn easily - Leland, what do you do
to avoid this?). But the pods kept enticing me, so I stepped back into
the water a decided to see how a bare hook, with barbell eyes, a little
angel hair dubbing at the thorax (also getting ragged) and a 1-1/2" curly-
cue "trailing shuck" of clear midge larva lace would work. Well, it
worked just fine. Several more fish from small pods and nymphing
soloists cruising in the back-eddy.
I finally just had to put on the blinders and hump my way back to the
car, rather than risk injuring my rotator cuff and being late for dinner.
A truly grand and glorious day on the salt. Well over 20 fish to hand (or
intentionally slack lined realeased). Easily could have been over 30; I
lost all interest in counting after the first dozen or so. Also easily the
best day of resident spring coho fishing I've had in over 5 years.
Let's hope its a harbinger of things to come!
-Wes
Wes Neuenschwander
Seattle, WA
[EMAIL PROTECTED]
