3 beaches

I wasn't skunked today. I was sculpined. Eight hours of fishing Puget Sound and all I got was a good sized sculpin, a prehistoric looking bottom feeder. Back home this is the equivalent of a small catfish.

Disappointing since I was fishing for coastal cutthroat and resident coho. Other than the sculpin, I saw no fish today despite studying the weather, tides and locations all week. Just when I think I am becoming a better fly fisherman, I am brought back to earth. The Washington Fly Fishing Forum had a post about a guy who caught several nice coastal cutthroat the day before on Hood Canal. Oh well.

I got up early to make high tide around sunrise at Purdy Spit, location of my first searun cutt. It's about an hour from the house. But unlike New Year's Day, there were no fish swirls and no fish jumping. It was eerily quiet. I returned later in the day at low tide to find 4 other fly fishers. No one was catching anything.

For most of the day I explored Joemma State BeachPark, Camp Colman and Penrose Point State Park. These are stunningly beautiful sites.  Found a sand dollar for my daughter at Penrose, a Sculpin at Joemma and some disappointing fishing all around. But, hey, my casting got pretty good by the end of the day.

3 Ponds

What do you do when the rivers are blown (lots of snow and rain) and the wind on the coast prevents you from fishing the beaches? Some guys tie flies.  Maybe someday I will, but not yet.

I'm reading a lot of great trout writing at the moment, and plan to write about the surprisingly good outdoor literature I am discovering in this subgenre of fly fishing. (How is John Gierach of Fly, Rod and Reel not every bit as celebrated as The New Yorker's Roger Angell, who writes about baseball?)

Nevertheless, this weekend I left the books on the shelf and set out to scout three local ponds I've been curious about. Stream flows don't matter to these bodies of water, and ponds are often protected somewhat from wind, or at least you can find a spot to cast with the wind at your back. Plus, I need to take some little kids fishing later this year once the temperatures warm up.

I got no fish, not even a bite, which is fine. I was scouting and got some good casting practice. The winds were tough at times, and the air temps were about 42-43 degrees. I stuck a thermometer into Beaver Lake and got a reading of about 38 degrees, which according to this AnglersOnline article is just about their survival temp. No wonder they weren't biting. One local I spoke with who was on a small fishing float said he got no bites out in the deeper water, where they are likely suspended to wait out the weather.

Here are the three ponds I visited today:

Phantom Lake -- I'm not sure it's really a lake. It is a good sized pond in Bellevue. With snow and slush still fairly deep, I was the only person in the parking lot and the only guy on the pond. Park just off 156th Ave. SE. I walked through the park, and out onto a nice pier on the northwest end of the pond. It juts out past the reeds and bushes that line the shore. Should be a good pond to try in the spring. I can imagine casting into the thrushy banks when temperatures warm up.

Pine Lake -- This spot has pretty limited public access.  A sliver of a park is on the eastside of the lake just off 228th Ave SE in Issaquah. I didn't fish there today because the park was closed but I was able to see the park's shoreline from a residential street on the south end of the park.

Beaver Lake -- This sweet little lake (see photo) blew me away. It is gorgeous. Tucked into a remote, wooded area of Sammamish, Beaver Lake is about 50-feet at its deepest and shaped like a trout jumping from the water. Evergreens and hardwoods line the shore but there is room to cast from the banks. Most fishermen seem to take jon boats launched from a small public launch on the southeast end of the lake. Beaver is stocked annually by the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife.

Winter Happens

Yesterday, just before noon, I stepped from the freezing cold into the warmth of Creekside Angling in Issaquah on my way up to the mountains.

"Nice day for fishing," I told the big guy behind the counter. I was the only customer. Seems most fishermen are watching sports in the comfort of their living rooms.

He shot a bored look out the window and agreed, kinda. I couldn't really tell.

I stopped by knowing that I'd buy a fly or two (I ended buying 5 plus the latest issue of Northwest fly fishing magazine).  But I mostly stopped hoping for a live fishing report. The fishing reports have been few and far between since the snows hit the lowlands of Seattle. A winter snow storm warning is in effect for the next several days.

I bought a few imitation eggs and some beaded glo thingies. That seemed to be the current wisdom.

Turning off I-90 at Fall City and Carnation, I fished some favoritge holes on the Raging River and the Snoqualmie but got no bites.  I never saw a fish or a rise. There were plenty of gear fishermen this afternoon, but they weren't catching anything either. We all left Fall City about the same time.

I decided to head downstream to the Snoqualmie below the Tolt and below Carnation. I never caught anything (on a pole anyway) but I did have one of those wonderful western fishing experiences that reminds us why we cherish the Cascades.

The snow was clean and white. The river dark and cold. I found a freestone beach and worked the slow moving water and the pools. I was just certain I'd catch a little trout or a steelhead. The air was cold and you could hear far off sounds like they were nearby. Four trumpeter swans blared their horns overhead. Later a red-tailed hawk shouted his greeting as he soared over the river and landed on a nearby tree.

The airshow made it all perfect despite the lack of catching. I've not done this before, but I carried two rods today. One was rigged with nymphs and the other with streamers and stone fly beads.  I set down the 5-weight rigged with a small nymph and worked some slow-movinng water. Just then, a good sized fish (it looked like a carp) floated by injured but still alive. I reached into the water and pulled it out. The fish had two claw marks on its side -- I assumed a hungry raccoon or a perhaps that red tailed hawk had laid into him.

It's winter and we're all eager for a fish.

Year of the trout

The strike and then the subsequent heavy weight on the rod was unlike anything I've felt in the Snoqualmie River. In my brief experience, this is considered a small fish river.

Monday evening, as bright grey turned to dark grey, I had a big fish on just beneath the bridge in Fall City.

Streamflows have continued to decline during this dry, New Year's weekend. Starting around 2 pm I had walked up and then downstream until I found a patch of water where small rainbows and/or steelhead were rising and biting. I had a few small ones hooked, but the 6-weight rod was too much. I chose the heavier rod because the wind had picked up.

Around 3:30, with temperatures hovering just below 50, I cast at a 45-degree angle and then walked downstream at the pace of the river letting the nyph drift. In the shadow of the bridge, I felt the hard strike and lifted the rod high. I slowly stripped in line and enjoyed a pretty good fight. I could see the fish (probably a hatchery steelhead) approaching when it turned to show me it's considerable silver side -- I'd say 12-13 inches -- then suddenly the line went slack. I've heard numerous flyfishermen say they wanted to jump in after the fish at that point, and so did I.

I take away from today that I finally started to become a flyfisherman. I'm becoming a little more discerning and the fish are getting a little bigger. I am thinking more about the flies I use. I read the water more carefully. I lay the line down on the water more gingerly. I cast again and again, each time thinking about what the fish is seeing beneath the water. I lose track of time.

Yesterday, New Year's Day, I had a pass from the family to go fishing longer than usual. After studying streamflows, tide charts and calling multiple fly shops, I decided to fish for searun cutthroat trout along Purdy Spit near Gig Harbor. I have tried for these beautiful fish many times in the past, but failed to land one.

High tide was 10:16 am and the first sunrise of 2012 was around 8 am. I figured I'd drive the hour from Bellevue to Gig Harbour and be on the water just after sunrise. By 9 am, as I fished on the soutside of Purdy Spit bridge, a local asked if it was my first time on the water. Yes, I acknowledged, and he pointed across the narrow spit to the other side. "Traditionally that's where I see the fishermen. In fact, I see a few fish rising over there now."

I walked hurriedly back to the car (a good mile) and dropped back into the water behind a service station. I could see the occasional fish swirl and jump.

As worked the shoreline and got close to tree near the opening to a creek, I saw a good sized searun rising. At one point he jumped completely out of the water and I could admire the athleticism of these fish. The athlete was taunting me.

I threw everything in my box. Nothing. Finally, I pulled out a pinkish colored, mid-sized clouser. On the second cast, bam, a hard strike followed by the best struggle I've had with a flyrod.

My first coastal cutthroat trout! 13-14 inches and absolutely gorgeous. These fish are precious and strictly catch and release. I quickly returned the fish to water, holding it beneath the belly until it swam away.

The day prior, on the last day of 2011, I was in the Puget Sound at Golden Gardens about 7:30 am in the false dawn. I fished the pebbly point just north of the marina as the tide rose. I walked north to the boulders along the railrod tracks.

I was stalking native Coho and sea-run cutthroats, or even a blackmouth salmon, but nothing struck.

I have a water thermometer but the air temperature was so cold I couldn't grip it in the satchel. What good is a water thermometer if you can't even pull it out of your bag to gage the water temperature?

I was cold, but the water was beautiful. The nearby sea lions were raising hell and the Olympic mountains emerged like something from a Tolkien novel in the distant West. I'm sure I looked like a hobbit (or a Nimrod) out there flailing about!

At the beginning of 2012, I have been a flyfisherman for just 18 months. But over the past 5 months I've managed to fish roughly 25 days -- a little better than a day per week.

My fish-caught to days-fished ratio is pretty poor (unless we throw in the 15-20 pinks I caught on Oct. 1 in the Sky). Since I'm mostly a trout fisherman, I'd have to call this an intensive learning period.

I've caught my share of small, young trout in the parr phase, but have yet to land a big beautiful trout. Today was a step in the right direction.

Oddly, one of my best trout hooked (but not landed) was a reasonably large rainbow I watched sipping the surface one morning at sunrise with my son on the North Fork of the Snoqualmie near North Bend. He or she was beneath a tree and my Nimrod flyfishing skills were put to the test. This was one of my first solo trips so I was pretty excited. I chose the time, the water, the fly and the location. Upon reflection I made pretty good left-handed, upstream cast and the rising trout took my drifting dry fly. I hadn't the skills to simply raise my rod and play the fish. Insted, I jerked it right out of its mouth like I did as kid fishing for bass with a lure.

As I said, my skills are getting better, and I feel poised for a prosperous new year.