This past Saturday, my son Michael and I decided to venture out into the Fraser Valley on an expedition to find some coho salmon. The weather forecast didn't sound favourable but we were both quite eager and willing to head out regardless, as we were certain that the recent week of rain would have finally drawn the coho into a few of our favourite rivers and streams where we have been targeting them since the turn of the century (is it too soon to use coin that phrase?).
We arrived at one of the parking spots near the river under the cover of darkness; grabbed our gear; and suited-up as we prepared for the long hike down to the river. We could barely make out the path as we weaved our way through the dense blackberries and underbrush that filled the small voids between the vine maples and cedars trees that lined the well beaten path that led to the river.
When we arrived at the river it was the sky was dark and stormy and provided just barely enough light for us to start assembling our fly rods but not quite enough for us to successfully thread our tippet through the eyes of our flies.
The wind and rain pelted down on us as we stood and waited for the daylight to start illuminating our surroundings. We could hear the sounds of salmon jumping and breaking the surface of the water all around us, but didn't feel that there was enough light to start fishing. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a shadow that was lurking in the darkness a little further down the bank. Always on the watch for bears (as one should be during salmon season) I steadied my bear spray, as I was a little concerned due to the fact that I wasn’t able to identify if it was a friend or foe. But as the sky grew brighter I was relieved to see that it was just another angler who was obviously just as obsessed and crazy as us to have ventured out in this nasty weather. A polite gesture by waving at him allowed him to also recognize us being “friendlies”…
After what seemed like an eternity, the sky finally grew light enough to allow us to start casting and properly working our flies. We worked a pool together and eventually spread out as we searched for any fish that might be willing to chase, and take, our flies.
The fly line of choice was a clear, intermediate sinking line, as the area of the river that we were targeting lacked any significant depth, and had a lot of snags and debris that were strewn along its bottom (preferred habitat for coho). The fly of choice was my "go to fly" for coho: the Olive Coho Bugger with a U.V. collar, of which I had tied a dozen the night before.
The retrieve consisted of little more than a series of fast, 12 - 18 inch strips that was followed by a brief pause to allow the fly to "hang" just under the water’s surface before it was recast (I take a lot of fish during this final portion of the retrieve). The shallow nature of the water required that we had to strip our flies at a rather fast pace, which seemed to be the rate of travel that generated the most positive results…
The fishing wasn’t quite as fast and furious as I was hoping, but over the next hour I caught several more jacks (small, mature, male coho salmon) that hit hard and fought “pound for pound” equally as well as the larger salmon in the river…
The rain never let up, not even for a moment, and eventually transformed from a finger-numbing, icy-cold rain into wet, heavy snow flakes that I could actually feel the weight of as they landed on my head and shoulders. To make matters worse… a bone-chilling north wind began to blow, which left our fingers aching with pain and feeling quite useless.
My mind eventually started wandering toward thoughts of me sitting on my favourite recliner by the fireplace and sipping hot chocolate - when suddenly Michael called out to indicate that he had hooked into a decent fish and needed a hand to land it. I stripped in my line, dropped my rod on the bank and ran over just as he brought it into sight and within netting distance.
It gave several more reel-screaming runs before it finally tired and Michael was able to gently slide it into the net. It was a rather large, chrome-bright coho that we estimated to be about 6 pounds or better…
After a quick photo opportunity and feeble attempt to warm-up our hands, we decided to pack it in for the day and start our way back home, as the rain and snow wasn’t showing any signs of letting up, and we had a full day of chores ahead of both of us. As we hiked back to the truck we took turns retelling our stories and reliving the successful moments – and not so successful ones - of our morning spent on the river. By the time we reached the truck we were already planning our next expedition and expressing how much we were looking forward to another opportunity to hook into a few more of these magnificent fish.
I suppose that spending the early, waking hours of the morning traveling and hanging-out on a river with a good friend ,and being able to be back home in time for a family breakfast is one of the main reasons why I (and my wife) love this fishery so much. Catching a fish or two along the way is simply a bonus!
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Topic: Coho on the Fly... (Read 4506 times)