Lincoln Park Report or "Hours of Boredom Interrupted by
Periods of Sheer Excitement."
Four of us fished the incoming tide this morning from 6:30 to
1am1. There were only two gearfishers on the beach and one of them had
a wriggling fresh-caught silver behind him. Soon, two more flyfishers
and three more geartossers showed up to make a total of seven fishers
on the beach.
A quarter hour later, I hooked an absolute monster coho. This
baby hit like the proverbial freight train. It turned on the popper
just short of the beach, wallowed while I set the hook, then
tail-walked away in a wide sweeping semi-circle towards Vashon. It was
a big strong fish that got into the backing three times after I had
him to the beach. It also put on one of the best aerial shows I've had
in a long time. But this one was not meant to be. On the fourth long
run, it dove deep, twisted and came unbuttoned.
For the next two hours, my lost fish was
the topic of conversation on the beach. All in all, four of us turned
ten fish on poppers while the gearboys hooked and landed one. At 9:30,
I hooked one of about five pounds that charged the fly as if it was
his last meal.
It was.
Leland.
