Flies versus gear for fall king salmon

After four days of intense searching, anchoring, casting, and rowing, a narrow window opened for us. All our efforts came to fruition in a couple of magic hours. My Dad had been casting spinners with growing precision, picking up one solid hook-up each day, along with a handful of nice cutthroat. His best fish, a nice chinook, broke off inexplicably. The others just threw his hooks. I couldn’t get a grab on fly or gear, but I consoled myself with the knowledge that I had, at least, found the fish. Big fish. A few of the surface crashes were so large and violent they sent chills up my neck. Occasionally I would look up just as one cleared the water. Awesome! I’ll never stop marveling at their massive chain-mail sides. I love the obesity, the bulging shoulders and bellies. And those black-lipped jaws! Anyway, we found them, but it wasn’t working out like we had imagined. There were tons of silvers around, too, jumping wildly. Some areas were packed with them. But in typical coho fashion, they were infuriatingly tight-lipped. Even the trollers in the bay complained.

Between us we had eleven rods: two spey rods, three single-handers, two bobber rods, two trolling rods and two spinning outfits. Ridiculous, I know. And every rod got some attention over those four days. Watching big fish jump all around the boat can really motivate a person to try EVERYTHING. But after a couple of days, as we hit our strides, I focused on my favorite single-hander and Dad on his favorite spinning rod. He was kicking my butt handily.

On the afternoon of our fourth day we drove to a little off-the-beaten-path estuary on a hunch. My go-to spots had all been thoroughly flogged, so it seemed like a good time to try something different. We pulled up to the little ramp, a thin cut in a high dike, and got out to look around. There were silvers crashing right in front of us, concentrated in a tight little depression as the lowering tide drained the shallows. We launched and rowed into position, anchoring up so we could swing a fly over the pool.

I had some trouble getting the right anchor position due to strong afternoon winds, but after a couple of failed attempts, we lined up perfectly and started sweeping flies over the heads of our new quarry. The wind was at our backs, making for comfortable casting. The fish provided ample entertainment. At times we saw up to ten or twelve fish in the air at once. It was a coho party.

Then, as I watched more closely, I saw kings among them. Fresh ones. A few minutes into it, I felt the grab I’d been waiting for. A dull stop, a weak head shake and semi-slack line. I stripped hard and fast, yanking in at least 15 feet of line before the rod doubled over. I set the hook hard, then set it again. That really pissed him off. Next thing I knew I was watching my running line disappear. Dad pulled anchor and rowed me to a small tidal beach. In a few minutes a gorgeous wild coho was posing for pictures. We released the fish and hurried back to our position, knowing we only had another hour before the tide switched directions. That would turn us into the wind, making casting nearly impossible.

Back in position, it was Dad’s turn. He felt the grab and expertly stripped line until he was tight to the fish. Another great battle, this time ending with the welcome sight of a mid-sized chinook, maybe fourteen pounds. We clocked it and celebrated first blood. All the work, the preparation, the gear, the money–it all seemed worth it at that moment. We relished the reward, reliving the battles we had both just experienced, laughing and clinking beer bottles.

We went on to hook and lose three more fish, two nice silvers and a heavy king. The silvers we broke off after blistering runs and acrobatic leaps. No need to land another endangered fish after seeing one up close. The second king spit the hook near the surface, giving us a glimpse before bolting out of sight. Then the tide changed. We turned to face the wind and fought it for a few minutes. But our window had closed, and we knew it. We wrapped it up and headed for dinner.

That night we passed the digital camera back and forth, shaking our heads in amazement. Considering all the gear we had brought to bear on these fish over the last several days, it was incredible that our little flies won the day. And it all happened so fast…

-RR