I snuck out of camp knowing the low tide was going to be a good one at -5. I knew that if I had the slightest chance of catching bottom fish on flies this was it. After a death march through the Greased rocks I found a little cove that matched the Ling Cod habitat that I had seen in the underwater aquarium many times. I really didn’t have a hatch to match so I tied on something I thought the toothy fish might find yummy. The onshore wind made my skagit head look like a limp noodle as I tried to punch it in the air—no dice—Pacific Ocean wind shames any river wind that I have ever dealt with. With a ton of flailing, and four letter thoughts I finally got the head to pull some shooting line. Timing the cast took German precision that, this two left footed caster, couldn’t quite nail, so I had to settle with the clup like presentation the surf forced on me. I tried to console my lack luster performance by telling myself that the clump of line was needed to get the fly down. After an hour of “swinging” the fly through the current, hooking kelp and nothing else, I decided to hang it up. Not a single fish, but at least I was able to experiment—and isn’t that what Fly Fishing is all about?
|Nice little bay.|
|I thoroughly washed all the salt out of the gear once I was done.|