Chester Allen's Watery Planet

Looking for trouty shadows in the light on the North Fork Skokomish River

STAIRCASE, OLYMPIC NATIONAL PARK --  The river, after months of little or no rain, was showing its bones.

Current tongues flowed into deeper pools -- amid lots of exposed rock and fallen logs. I've fished this river two or three times a year for more than a decade, and I've never seen it so low, so exposed.

It was about 3 p.m., and the trout -- wild rainbows and a few bull trout -- weren't hard to find. They were kegged up in the deeper slots and pools -- and downright paranoid.

Two ospreys cruising over the river for easy pickings were partly to blame, but trout in thin water are always jumpy.

I figured that one or two fish were holding in a deeper slot that fed a deep pool. The spot was in shade, so I dropped a size 14 Elk Hair Caddis onto the bouncy water. Two fish spooked when the dry fly landed on the water.

I took the hint, reeled up my line and retreated to a riverside rock.

There was no way these fish were going to bite -- not until just before dark. Hours of waiting stretched out in my mind.

I got up, walked upstream to a bunch of huge boulders that squat in a deep hole and put on my polarized sunglasses and started looking for fish.

If I couldn't catch them -- at least right away -- I sure could watch them.

I've been an avid fish watcher since I hooked my first fish -- a hatchery rainbow from California's Kern River -- back in 1968.  I just can't help myself.

Koi in restaurant fish ponds, minnows in the concrete-encased Los Angeles river, piling perch hovering next to pier pilings -- any fish, anywhere puts me into a staring trance.  I think this is a trait that all hardcore anglers share.

It's easy to spot angling junkies -- they're always staring at the water -- even while driving. Sit by a roadside river, and you'll soon see cars and trucks weaving around. Drive by a bridge, and you'll see the rear ends of anglers peering at the water -- looking for fish. Waterfront restaurants are great places to see beady-eyed anglers staring for fish and dribbling partially chewed food.

All this is hard on spouses and romantic partners -- unless they're also anglers.

Anyway, I sat on a big North Fork Skokomish rock and stared into the clear water, which was shades of jade green and blue.  I was looking for shadows, as wild trout can blend in perfectly with the bottom. But they still cast shadows, and a shadow that looks like a torpedo -- especially one weaving back and forth in the current -- is usually a sneaky fish.

I also look for shadows that barely wiggle -- or vanish and reappear. Sometimes, I spend a lot of time looking at really big shadows and get pumped up over the big trout within casting range. Then I realize that the shadow is a rock or a tree limb.

I suppose our own wishful thinking can fool us from time to time.

Other times -- often enough to keep me going -- that big shadow belongs to a big fish.

On this afternoon, I sat and scanned the water. After a while -- I'm not sure how long -- shadows on the river bottom turned into trout.

The trout holding on the bottom of the big pool hovered just over the bottom. Other fish at the head of the pool swooped sideways in the current and  darted for specks of food. 

I counted 30 fish in a pool the size of a pickup truck.

I guess I don't spend enough time watching fish, as I didn't get tired of watching those trout ghost around in the clear, jade-green water. As the afternoon slid toward evening, the fish began to rise in quick, darting spurts.

It looked like caddis were hatching, but I didn't tie on a fly. I just wanted to see what would happen next.

At dusk, the fish that we so shy and paranoid all afternoon got silly and aggressive. Splashy rises were everywhere, and I still didn't cast.

It was too dark to see their shadows, but I could see their backs porpoising out of the water. A light breeze blowing upstream felt balmy on the back on my neck, bats and swallows swooped over the river and I could hear the gentle pop of trout mouths closing on the water's surface.

On this night, that was more than enough for me.

Stunning westslope cutthroat trout stars in latest photo contest entry -- what a fish!

Reader Paul Huffman has entered a great shot of a tremendous Westslope cutthroat trout hooked and released in a Washington river east of the Cascades.

Huffman said he caught the fish several years ago, and catch-and-release regulations prevented him from entering this huge trout as a new state record.

This trout is big -- and beautiful, which is sometimes an elusive combination. Most of my rare big trout are older, battle-scarred monsters -- not sleek and clean and gorgeous like this fish. This trout is just special.

Huffman doesn't mention the river, and who can blame him? I would tie the man many flies to see the run where this fish was hooked....

Anyway, this westslope cutt would get lots of attention in any Montana or Idaho river.

Catching a wild trout like this one is a fabulous reward in itself, but Huffman is in the running to win one of the three prizes in the Fish Shot Photo Contest. First prize is 12 flies that work on Oregon's Deschutes River. Second place is six flies, and third place takes home three flies.

The contest deadline is Labor Day. Each person is limited to one photo.

My e-mail is [email protected].

Popper-whacking Columbia River smallmouth bass make a silly choice seem a little less silly

The largest run of summer steelhead in decades is roaring into Columbia River tributaries -- including my favorite Deschutes River.

Millions of pink salmon -- the biggest run in decades -- are swarming along certain Puget Sound beaches.

And about 1 million coho salmon are rumbling along the Washington Coast on the way to the Columbia River.

So why was I happily hopscotching through thorny brush -- while wearing shorts -- and rockhopping along the shores of the John Day Pool on the Columbia River?

Why did I drive right past the Deschutes River to get to this sun-baked panorama of black basalt rock, bleached grass and glassy water?

Confession time: I really wanted to see smallmouth bass wallop chugging bass bugs. And these were not ordinary bass bugs -- they were Day-Glo Green with black stripes and electric-yellow feather tails. 

In short, I wanted to see smallmouth bass clobber poppers that didn't look like any life form on this planet. A proper bass popper -- to my mind -- looks like an alien creature from the "Men in Black" movies.

I'm halfway convinced that smallmouth and largemouth bass evolved on some other world and were brought to this planet by the same aliens who show up in pyramid rock carvings.  Bass have a preference for food that looks as though it comes from another planet.

My partner, Heather, shares this deep,  primal need to pester bass with floating, chugging poppers. Heather loves to cast big floating flies -- hoppers and beetles -- to big trout lurking in glassy water. When she can't do that, she likes to chug a popper for bass.

Yes, Heather likes to have a very clear view of the fly and the strike -- and who can blame her?

Heather, who grows cherries, apples and pears in her family's orchard business, also had to check the progress of Gala apples at a farm near the Columbia River, so there was some reason to our silliness.

On Saturday evening, we scratched our bare legs in the brush -- someday we will learn to wear jeans when we rock-hop the banks, but it is a crime to wear long pants on a balmy, still, 80-degree night. The ever-present Columbia River wind had died as evening approached, and it was looking really, really bassy.

The John Day Pool on the Columbia River -- about a two-hour drive east of Portland on Interstate 84 -- just might have the best smallmouth bass fishing on the planet right now. Smallmouth bass -- fat on a rich diet of crayfish, baby shad and baby salmon -- swarm along the rocky banks, offshore reefs and weedbeds. I have hooked more than 30 fish while casting along a 150-yard stretch of river.

Smallmouth bass love clear water, rocks and easy eats, and the Columbia provides all of their desires. This is the easiest fishery in the Northwest. All an angler needs is a still night or morning, a box of poppers that outshine a Las Vegas neon sign and a rocky stretch of Columbia River.

Eager smallmouth attacked our poppers while the August sun still lashed on the glassy river -- but the bright light had the bass striking short. 

Heather loves it when a bass whacks her popper, but the sudden explosion on calm water always startles her into some creative cussing. Heather is an educated, sophisticated, successful woman -- I wonder what she sees in me -- but the first few strikes of every evening bring out the salt in her.

"S@&%$!" Heather said as a big smallmouth boiled on her gaudy popper. "These $%&U^#V fish startle me!"

Heather, like the rest of her family, thrives on shock, adrenaline and the exhilaration of sudden change -- such as when a bass blows up a glassy river.  It is as much fun to watch Heather cast and cuss and catch bass as it is to catch them myself.

Then the sun dipped toward the horizon, and the shy bass became eager -- and silly.

We rock-hopped up and down the basalt bank, gouged our legs on sticker brush and chugged our gurgling poppers across still water -- until a smallmouth bass blew up the surface. We missed or bungled all the big bass, but we caught lots of smaller fish.

We laughed like kids -- and we didn't see another angler for miles.

Who needs the ^Y*&%&$$ steelhead and salmon right now anyway?

Puget Sound Pink Salmon-O-Rama -- with the help of some Washingtonflyfishing.com friends

Every now and then, we fly anglers fall into a sweet state of grace -- where the fish climb all over our flies and we spend more time playing fish than casting.

On Wednesday morning, I was lucky enough to find Pink-O-Rama at Dash Point Park. 

I arrived at the park at about 7 a.m., and I didn't expect such a great time. I expected a crowded parking lot -- and perhaps more cars and anglers than fish. I know it's been good -- at times -- during the past two weeks, but the big Pink Run of 2009 hasn't really hit high gear on the beaches.

At least for me.

That all changed on Wednesday. The parking lot was only half full, and anglers were well spread out over the beach -- as the tide was out. I couldn't tell whether it was slack tide or not, but the current was very, very slow. I usually drive over to Dash Point State Park when it is crowded chaos at Dash Point Park, but the vibe was very, very mellow.

As I rigged up my rod, I noticed the nervous water that a school of pink salmon makes as the fish swim into an area.  That push of fish reminded me of some good advice from anglers on the www.washingtonflyfishing.com saltwater fishing message board.

Roger Stephens recently shared his thoughts about keeping the fly near the surface when you see a school of pink salmon near the surface. I didn't want to go to a floating line, but I strung my clear intermediate line and tied on a very lightly weighted, hot-pink, sparkle chenille Wooly Bugger. 

That Wooly Bugger -- which had a very long tail and no hackle -- looked a lot like the flies Steve Saville ties for Dash Point pink salmon. I have a couple of Steve's flies -- thanks to a fly swap about a month ago in Gig Harbor -- and he showed me others when I bumped into him at Dash Point about two weeks ago.

My pink Wooly Bugger was slender, elegant and long -- and I loved how it undulated through the water. Thanks to Steve, I felt like I had a taking fly.

So did the pinks.

A pink slammed the fly on my third cast -- and ripped off line like a coho salmon. A big male pink was soon finning around at my feet, and I slid the barbless hook out and let it go.

Two casts later, another pink walloped the fly.

Then it got really slow -- at least where I was standing. I could hear anglers whooping it up about 300 yards down the beach -- toward Dash Point State Park. I figured a big school of pinks had moved in with the incoming tide.

I also figured that the fish would eventually reach my spot. Nearby boaters raced off to the ruckus, but I kept my spot, kept casting -- and kept cleaning seaweed off my flyline.

About 20 minutes later, a huge school of pinks pushed into casting range, and the catching got downright silly. I got bit on nearly every cast -- even as nearby Buzz Bombers eked out only a few fish. I could only suspect that the fish were indeed looking up. A lead Buzz Bomb is pretty hard to fish near the surface -- but a Woolly Bugger weighted with the tiniest bead-chain eyes I could find is easy to keep near the top.

The incoming tide even washed away the floating weeds. The water 20 feet off the beach was gin-clear, and I could see pinks hit my fly in a blur of sliver sides and white water.

The fish were rolling and boiling all over the place.  Another fly angler -- his name was Darrell -- showed up and asked what I was using. I gave him a couple flies, and he checked into Pink-O-Rama.

Here's a shot of Darrell reefing on a nice pink:

The fishing was so hot that I expected a strike on every cast.  Fish rolled and porpoised within a few feet of my waders, and it all reminded me of the fabulous fishing during the Big Pink Run of 2007. 

This was even better, but it wouldn't have been nearly as good if I hadn't glommed onto the tips from Roger and Steve.  I had to go to work, and I left that big school of snappy fish while they were still hot pink.

But it was a morning to remember. I kept a fish to grill for lunch -- and dinner.

I'll be back on the beach in a day or so for more pinks, but I will never have a better two hours of Pink-O-Rama than I savored on this day. The Big Pink Run of 2009 is finally here.

A little fly from the Henry's Fork fools between-hatches redsides on Oregon's Deschutes River

MAUPIN, ORE. -- When the summer gets rainy, the trout-addled head to the nearest river.

And, if you're lucky, the nearest stream is Oregon's Deschutes River, where big, wild rainbow trout tip and sip along the banks whenever the light gets low.

Unless, of course, no bugs are hatching at the moment.

That's what happened to me Thursday evening at a favorite Deschutes River run near Maupin, which is the Trout Metropolis of Oregon.  It was cloudy and fairly cool at 5 p.m. -- an ultra-rare deal on an August day along this desert canyon river.

I eased along the bank expecting to see fish rising to emerging caddis, pale evening dun mayflies or even buzzing masses of craneflies. I didn't see a thing.

I kept casting my X-Caddis -- I figured the fish had to be hungry and looking up -- but I was wrong. Tiny, tiny fish took whacks at my size 16 fly, but that was it. I sat on the bank and wondered what was going on. 

I'm usually tempted to sit near good water and wait for some hatch or another to start. After all, every fly shop hatch chart names about 12 hatches for a given river on any given day, so it seems as though some bug or another should arrive every few minutes.

But the bugs don't read the hatch charts or fishing reports, which is too bad. Still, it's tempting to laze around on the bank, tie on a new tippet, eat some peanut butter crackers and wait for action. I do this a lot. It's good to rest the river and not jangle up the good dry-fly water before the hatch.

But I've also had some bad experiences -- such as sitting on the bank and waiting for a hatch that never arrives. The bugs and fish have their own schedules, I suppose.

So, I poked around in my fly boxes and found this fly:

It's called a Partridge Caddis Emerger, and spring creek mastermind Mike Lawson designed it years and years ago. Lawson haunts the Henry's Fork River in Idaho, and his methods and flies are designed to fool ultra-spooky, ultra-picky spring creek fish. I love Lawson's patterns.

You can find the recipe for the fly in Lawson's "Spring Creeks" book.

  I fish this fly before caddis hatches -- usually as a dropper off an X-Caddis. I also fish it when caddis adults dive back into the river to lay eggs.

But why not fish it blind -- on a swing through trouty, riffly water? 

Why not?

I tied on the fly, and this happened:

Very cool! 

This wasn't the biggest fish in the river, but this pretty trout showed me a new use for a favorite fly -- and the value of swinging a buggy fly through a hatchless run. After all, the fish gotta eat -- especially on a cloudy, muggy afternoon.

A few minutes later, I hooked -- and lost -- a much bigger fish. Then I bungled another big fish.

Then caddis started hatching, and the fish really started whacking the fly.  Most anglers on the Deschutes are chasing steelhead near the mouth of the river right now, so it felt like I had the whole river to myself.

The trout were aggressive -- a sign of less fishing pressure -- and I fished until the last bit of light glowed in the evening sky. 

Notes on Oregon Coast surfing, soggy tents, fishing and sitting around the campfire

The proof is in the photo: Heather shows off her marshmallow toasting skills.

We just got back from a Northern Oregon coast surfing and camping road trip, where I watched -- and felt -- the long summer drought end.

And, boy, did it ever end. 

We just about floated out of Nehalem Bay State Park Wednesday morning -- but I'm getting ahead of myself here.

We arrived on the coast Monday morning, ate lunch at Seasons Cafe -- always great sandwiches -- in Cannon Beach and then lugged our surfboards down the old-growth forest trail at Oswald West State Park.

Oswald West is Oregon Surf City on a summer weekend, but it's uncrowded and beautiful on a summer weekday. The surf was sloppy when we arrived -- the wind had come up and mushed things out -- but it steadily improved through the afternoon.

Miga and Malcolm, Heather's two teenagers, surfed, I surfed and Heather loafed on the beach and enjoyed 70-degree weather. Heather will happily surf in any spot where wetsuits aren't required -- which limits her surfing to Hawaii and Mexico.

I will happily surf in any spot with clean surf -- and will climb into a wetsuit in a hot second.

I, once again, found big pods of surf perch out in the lineup -- and right in the little rip I used to zip out past the swells. I need to buy a sit-on-top kayak or rig an older surfboard up for fly fishing. It would be so easy to wallop the surf perch with a little pink or orange fly on a sinking line.

I'd just have to bob up and down on the incoming swells -- and keep a sharp eye out for bigger waves -- and make short casts into the little slots. Some of the surf perch I'm seeing would go three pounds, and that is a fattie.

And I could use some of the flies I tied for this year's big Puget Sound Pink Salmon Run. I haven't pestered the pinks since last Friday -- I've been gallivanting around Oregon since then, but I'll make up for lost time when I return to Puget Sound next week.

We finally all got tired -- except for Berkeley the lab, who still wanted to play in the surf. We drove down the coast a few miles to Nehalem Bay State Park, which is a find. Nehalem Bay has tons of great evergreen-shaded campsites, clean bathrooms with free hot showers and easy access to gorgeous beach and Nehalem Bay.

A campsite with electrical power and water is just $20 a night. We were tent camping, but it is still nice to have power and water on site. We checked out one of the yurts -- a sturdy tent built on a wood frame -- and they are completely cool. Yurts have electric heat, beds, lamps, an outdoor deck for cooking and loafing around -- and they're just $27 a night.  

In short, Nehalem Bay is a screaming deal -- especially if you're into fishing, crabbing, surfing and other aquatic pursuits. It's also smack in the middle of the lush Oregon Coast. Huge cedar and Douglas fir trees grow almost to the beach sand in many spots, and you could spend two weeks exploring all the beaches, waves and sights from Cannon Beach south to Nehalem Bay.

It started to mist a little on Monday night, but that didn't stop the traditional campfire and marshmallow toasting ritual. It's amazing that kids who can barely survive without Internet access, text messaging, cell phones and Personal Digital Assistants can toss all the technology aside when it comes to goofing around outdoors.

And toasting marshmallows -- and making gooey S'mores -- is goofing around in a grand way.

Miga, who is 13, is a member of the Nuke 'Em School of marshmallow toasting. Miga's marshmallows burst into flame -- and then get mashed onto a graham cracker and chunk of Hershey's chocolate.

Malcolm is a Toaster/Nuker -- his marshmallows get golden before they flash into a torch.

Heather is a patient toaster, and her marshmallows are golden-brown masterpieces.

I'm the kind of person who tries to toast but really nukes.

Anyway, all this delightful, time-wasting leads to conversations like this:

Me: "Who invented the idea of toasting marshmallows over an open fire?"

Heather: "Who invented marshmallows -- and why?"

There was a profound silence after this, as all of us -- except, perhaps for Berkeley -- pondered these big philosophical questions. No one knew the answers, but we knew we liked toasting marshmallows.

So, we talked of other simple things, which is nice.  I believe that our electronic, high-tech society is pretty cool, but it also takes the personal touch out of talking.

It is so easy to cloak ourselves with a silly nickname and then log onto an Interest message board or chat room to scream and yell at other people with silly nicknames. I suspect our society spends way too much time screeching at each other as it is, and doing it behind electronic fences just makes polite people impolite.

We got up Tuesday and found great surf -- glassy, waist-high peelers -- at Oswald West and tasty saltwater taffy in downtown Cannon Beach. We bought a delicious raspberry/blackberry pie at the Cannon Beach Farmer's Market. 

 Then it started to rain.

It rained through the late afternoon.

It rained through dinner -- and a short session with marshmallows over a fire that fought the rain.

It poured all night -- and we watched raccoons wander through our soggy campsite. In the morning, we found two small leaks in our tent -- and it was still pouring.

"It's time to blow this popsicle stand," Heather said.

We broke camp in an hour, found my lost car keys -- yet another blunder added to my long lifetime list of blunders -- and drove down to Tillamook to see how milk becomes famous cheese and ice cream.

Now, we're in Hood River a day or so early, but I think this is perfect weather for an evening caddis hatch on Oregon's Deschutes River.  My head, full of surf, surfboards and surf perch a day or so ago, is now boiling with rising redsides rainbow trout.

My head my indeed boil a little, as it's hot in that canyon right now. But the evening will be cool and comfortable, and big trout should rise to caddisflies floundering around on the river currents.

Road trip!

Short, sweet pink salmon bonanza near Dash Point early Friday morning

I couldn't sleep Friday morning -- it was the eve of a week of vacation, and I had plan after plan rolling around in my head.

So, I got up, threw on some clothes, threw some new pink salmon flies into my box and threw the Subaru onto Interstate 5.  I got to Dash Point State Park a short while later, and I waded out onto that big sandbar.

The tide was coming in -- and, oh my gosh, so was a big school of pink salmon. The pinks made a beautiful, nervous-water push, and my fingers shook a little as I tied on one of my new pink salmon flies.

OK, the fly is just a beadhead -- a tiny beadhead -- pink Woolly Bugger tied with sparkle chenille and a longish marabou tail. The fly looks like an oversized crappie jig -- it's just that simple.

Anyway, the school was right about 30 feet away when I made my first cast, and a nice pink ate the fly and flipped into the air.

All was sweet in the world.

I managed to hook three more pinks -- lost two of them -- before the school headed down to the madness that was Dash Point Park. I couldn't see many details at my distance, but it was clear that the pier was rapidly filling up with anglers.

I could hear the pink Buzz Bombs knifing into the water -- at least in my mind.

That first big school of fish convinced me that the Big Pink Salmon Run of 2009 will actually happen. I suspect that all this is a Better Late Than Never kind of deal.

The incoming tide started pushing me back to the beach, but another school -- or was it the same one circling around? -- breezed by, and I hooked two more fish. Bright pinks are hot, hot fish.

The fish really liked a slow strip -- pull, pull, pull, pause... pull, pull, pull. The line would just tighten up, and I set the hook with a hard strip of my line hand.   

One of the sweetest parts of fishing pinks is that you see the school push in, and you expect that tightening-up strike on every cast.

I had to leave -- I only fished for about 90 minutes -- and I drove south knowing I wouldn't pester pinks for about 10 days, as I'm wandering around Oregon on my vacation. I'm kind of sad to miss so many days of what is finally shaping into an epic run, but the pinks will still be rolling toward Tacoma when I get back.

And I'm looking forward to exploring parts of the Oregon coast -- with fly rod and surfboard -- wading around the Deschutes River and hanging out with my family. My daughter, Courtney, wants to hook a few dawn smallmouth bass on the Columbia River. My partner, Heather, is of the same mind.

How lucky can a guy get?

I'm sorry about the lack of photos. My camera was left in the car Friday morning as I rushed for the water. I guess I could blame that blunder on a lack of sleep, but I think it was a little bit of Pink Salmon Fever.

Another Deschutes River redsides trout swims into the Fish Shot photo contest

Reader Dave Harrison sent in this beautiful shot of a gorgeous Deschutes River redside trout.

To my eyes, it's easy to recognize a Deschutes River redsides rainbow trout.

Maybe it's because I've fished Oregon's  Deschutes River since 1985 -- and it's my favorite river on the planet. Maybe it's because the fish are usually thick behind the head, have oversized dorsal fins and tails and those spots look so big and inky black against the olive backs and silvery-magenta sides.

An average Deschutes redsides can show you your backing -- if they get into the fast water they know so well. And a big redsides can steal your fly line.

It happened to me a few summers ago.

I found a really nice trout rising to emerging caddis next to a big rock on the Warm Springs to Trout Creek drift.  The summer sun was torching the water, but this fish had a little shade -- and a perfect current tongue that fed emerging caddis right into his mouth. 

That fish was just tipping and sipping -- it looked like it had been feeding this way for hours.  I was surprised that so many caddis were emerging at 3 p.m. on an August afternoon, but this river has mysterious ways.

I tied on an Iris Caddis emerger -- the creation of master tier Craig Mathews, who owns the Blue Ribbon Fly Shop in West Yellowstone, Montana. The anglers at Blue Ribbon Flies are always studying bugs and fish -- and then coming up with outstanding flies. That little shop is full of trout wizards, and I'm always happy to see what new bugs come out of their red-hot vises.

The fish -- it was about 18 inches and thick -- ate the Iris on the first drift. That alone makes me believe that the trout had been locked into the caddis for a while before I arrived. 

Head shakes rattled up my line, and the trout then wheeled into the faster current and roared downstream. Backing was zipping out, and the fish then stopped on the edge of a big rock garden. I coaxed the fish back upstream -- I couldn't wade very far downstream because of a deep slot.

I had the fly line back on the reel -- and was starting to think about a photo -- when the fish rolled on the surface and ripped down into the rock garden. That trout wrapped my line around a bunch of rocks in very fast water -- and then snapped my 5X tippet.

The current pinned my $90 fly line against the rocks, and I spent the next 20 minutes trying to coax the line out of the maze. I could feel my backing chafe against the basalt rocks. The backing eventually wore through and broke, and my fly line was gone.

I went back 6 weeks later -- the water was much lower -- and pulled what was left of my line out of the rocks. 

I love that river and I love those fish -- even the fish that stole my fly line.

Anyway, reader Dave Harrison sent in a beautiful shot of a beefy Deschutes River redside in perfect shape. Harrison's shot is the latest entry in the Fish Shot photo contest, which ends on Labor Day. The winner gets a dozen of the best Deschutes River flies, second place gets six, and third place gets three great flies.

Looking at this photo makes me want to creep along a shaded Deschutes River bank on a hot afternoon. I think that's one of my plans for the next week.

I hope all of you are fishing -- and finding fish big enough to wreck your tackle.

Dash Point pink salmon taunt anglers -- except for a local fly caster with a secret fly

Photographs can be tricky. It looks like angler Steve Saville is enjoying a quiet evening at Puget Sound's Dash Point, but check out the photo below....

I'm thinking about all the evening hours I've spent during the past 40-odd years watching fish rise, boil or swirl at my feet.

I'm thinking about all this because I spent about 90 minutes casting a fly at scattered pods of pink salmon at Dash Point Wednesday night, and all I got was a strong take and one head shake. I did strip in many green, slimy weeds.

The fish were scattered and sparse -- the Big Puget Sound Pink Run of 2009 is just getting rolling -- but the fish moved in shallow just at twilight. Nice pinks jumped and swirled almost at my feet.  I'm sorry to say that I didn't hook any of those fish -- probably from lack of skill.

I think I have to pester those pinks a little more on Thursday -- and perhaps on Friday morning. I suspect I'll be on the pinks for a couple of weeks, as I'm eager to reenact the hot fishing I enjoyed back in 2007.

My friend Steve Saville, who haunts the www.washingtonflyfishing.com saltwater board, was on the beach when I arrived. Steve didn't recognize me at first, but it was great to shoot the breeze. I wandered off to gear up -- by some miracle I had found a spot in the parking lot -- and I watched Steve hook up to a nice pink.

Steve lost that pink right at his feet, but we should all land a few pinks this year -- biologists say Puget Sound will get 5 million of the fish this year. Steve hooked all of his fish on his secret pink salmon fly. I promised not to share the fly with the world at large, so I won't.

It is, however, pink. It's hard to go wrong with a pink fly for pink salmon. Steve is a great guy, and he lives near Dash Point, so he knows the drill really well. Steve gave me a few pointers -- and reminded me that big pink salmon runs off Dash Point are a fairly recent deal.

Pink salmon heading to the Puyallup River swim within easy casting range of Dash Point. An estimated 700,000 pinks are heading to the Puyallup this summer, so it's easy to see why Dash Point is a busy spot.

Dash Point isn't quite the madhouse it will be when this run really gets cooking, but there are some testy folks in the parking lot, and you have to dodge pink Buzz Bombs if you walk onto the pier.

Here's what the shoreline looked like Wednesday evening:

You can see Steve Saville in the far distance. He was the only fly caster on the scene until I showed up.

I think Puget Sound salmon are a double-edged sword for anglers. It's great to have a big run of fish, but salmon also attract hordes of anglers, and some of them are not pleasant people.  Some people -- crazed with greed, big egos and who knows what else -- act like morons whenever salmon arrive. Luckily, most anglers remain sane and friendly.

I talked to a nice man who owns a house on the beach, and he is happy to see anglers having a good time. But the private property owners along the beach don't want hordes of anglers passing over the park boundary and tromping around on their land. 

I understand this, as I'd hate to see a bunch of strangers loping around my front yard for most of August.

We anglers can enjoy the fishing at Dash Point -- especially when massive schools of snappy pink salmon finally arrive -- but we should respect the local folks.

I just hope for at least one evening where the pinks are silly for my fly.

A slow night with the pink salmon -- and a fish photo contest entry without fish

I went out to Dash Point -- a pink salmon magnet every other year -- last night, and I saw very few fish and hooked even fewer.

Actually, the only fish I hooked on my pink comet flies were sculpin. I did see a couple of small schools breeze by, but the evening was more about casting and thinking about pink salmon than catching pink salmon.

The tide was high and starting to fall when I arrived, and there was quite a bit of salad -- seaweed -- in a few spots.

I think it's still early days in the Big Pink Run of 2009 -- about 5 million pinks are expected to return to Puget Sound this year -- and we'll see the big, aggressive schools of saltwater pinks any day now.

I hope so, anyway. I hooked and released a couple of pinks up near Hoodsport in Hood Canal late last week, but I try to stay away from that busy spot most of the time. 

I keep telling myself to be patient, but it's difficult, as I remember the wonderful fishing of 2007, when about 3 million pinks rumbled into Puget Sound. Pinks return to Puget Sound every other year.

I guess I'll keep going out to the beaches and hope to be there when a big, snappy school rolls in. It's going to happen soon. I hope so, anyway.

Dehlan sent in a photo of a Callibaetis mayfly spinner for the current photo contest, which is supposed to be of solo fish. I'm trying to decide whether it belongs in the judging -- there isn't a fish in sight -- but I'm posting it anyway, as it is a cool shot.

Callibaetis spinners fall to the surface of lakes -- and some slower streams -- by the millions on summer mornings and evenings to lay eggs and die,  and I'm addicted to those times. Trout porpoise on the flies, which flop around on the surface film or lay motionless.

What do you all think? Should we bend the rules for Dehlan, or save the shot for a bug photo contest, which could start after Labor Day?

Remember, this FISH photo contest runs through Labor Day, and anyone can send ONE photo of a fish to [email protected]. First prize is one dozen prime Deschutes River trout flies. Second place wins 6 Deschutes flies and third place takes three hot flies to the Northwest's best trout stream.