Angling Publications - Index

Angling Publications - Fly Fish America - September 2007 Issue - Index

who are completely unfamiliar with fl y
casting techniques to fi sh effectively with
fl y rods and fl ies. "You can cast or you can
bucktail,? Shawn explains, "it's entirely up
to you.? And then he confi des, "Bucktailing
is by far the better choice.?
The fl y-fi shing program is a huge part
of the Weigh West operation. The resort
reserves a fl eet of 17-foot, center-console
Fish Pro fi berglass boats, outfi tted with
50 HP Yamaha outboards exclusively for
fl y fi shing. Each boat is equipped with a
GPS navigation system, VHF radio, waterproof
chart and rod holders. Moorage
and guides are also available.
We fi shed with Sage DS2, 10-foot, 8weight
rods. Lines were full sinking Type IV
striper lines or 300- to 400-grain integrated
heads. Lines were loaded on Scientifi c Anglers'
78L reels, and ended in 8-foot monofi
lament leaders testing at 15 pounds. On
the fi rst evening Shawn showed Jim and I
the major fi shing areas, threading between
shallow reefs and around boulders, pointing
out Coho hot spots and rockfi sh honey
holes. For the next several days we were on
our own. Groups of fl y fi shermen in their
own boats are assigned a fi sh master who,
in a separate boat, leads the small fl otilla
through the tricky channels to known Coho
areas. At the end of the fi shing day, the fi sh
master leads the return. In the meantime,
he scouts for active fi sh, supplies advice and
stands by to help. It's a great system.
My thumb-blistering introduction to
Clayoquot Coho came just hours after Jim
and I stashed our gear and climbed into a
boat with Shawn. On top of an 11-foot
deep uplift a half mile offshore below Cat
Face Mountain, one of the most popular
Coho areas, the water suddenly twinkled
with light bouncing off needlefi sh. A half
dozen green shapes materialized from the
depths and drifted into the wake. There was
a swirl to the left of my fl y, a pause and then a
slamming strike. The rod bucked and the tip
plowed into the water. It was a screamer!
The single-action reel was whirling, the
line disappearing in a blink, and a scalded
silver was well into the backing before I
could gain any semblance of control. Far out,
the fi sh swung wide, the line ripped sideways
across the silky surface, then there was a
throbbing shrug and it was over. Gone!
The next morning Jim and I and four
other boats followed a fi sh master named
Ian to Kutcous Island, a bald, forlorn chunk
of broken rock in the center of a kelp bed
surrounded by swarms of needlefi sh and a
terror of Coho. Some of our fl eet of small
boaters nosed their center consoles into
the wall of bull kelp and tied off by wrap-
ping a few yards of rope around the brown
whips. The boats drifted back to the clear
water at the edge of the kelp. Needlefi sh
darted past. Occasionally a Coho rocketed
past. We cast, we bucktailed, we cast, we
bucktailed, but mostly we waited for the
tide to change.
The bite, we had been told, is a tide
bite, two hours before to two hours after
high slack.
We hit a small fi sh, lost another, and
suddenly Jim was into his fi rst-ever fl y rod
Coho. It weighed 11 pounds, but before
it came to the net it ran a rampage. His
wand of a rod was a horeshoe, with its tip
in the water, and Jim's knuckles were an
angry red from repeated whacks by the
spinning reel handle. "Gawd, that was
great,? he grinned.
Guide Tony Wright nursed his Wellcraft
past a piece of kelp and barnacle rock that
just screamed KING, long enough for me
to lock line with a red-hot 37-pounder.
High Fives were passed around the boat.
Then we connected with several smaller
kings, and turned loose a bunch of ocean
Coho, including a 13-pounder that made
Jim smile for a long time. The largest Coho
posted at the lodge so far that year was only
three pounds heavier.
On a bright blue morning, washed in
the soft rinse of a rising sun, we nearly
collided with a pod of orcas that surfaced
within a few feet of the running boats. We
pulled away to a safe distance and watched
the black and white shapes undulate
through the silken water. We had them to
ourselves for a good 10 minutes before the
whale watchers descended. The last time we
saw the pod it was headed south, fl anked
by 11 sightseeing boats, dozens of peepers,
and several loudspeakers. Two seaplanes
circled overhead.
We fi shed for lings and rockfi sh with the
fl y rods. On a 29-foot high pinnacle in 50
feet of water I caught a 9-inch black rockfi
sh on a full-sinking line, tired it out, then
lowered it back to the depths. Two drifts
later and the thin rod doubled into a horseshoe
and I was willing 23 pounds of lingcod
toward the net Jim held. Shawn, fi shing
nearby in another boat, was ecstatic.
"Biggest fl y rod caught ling this year,? he
hollered. "Second biggest ever for the lodge.
Helluva fi sh!? Biggest ling I ever landed on
a fl y rod, I know that.
A black bear has been patrolling the
beach in the back of a bay. It's gone now.
So are the whales and fl eet of whale peepers.
Even the ling is gone now, and so are we.
We cross the Sound in a biting wind toward
a point where some noise on the radio
indicates fl y rodders are hitting big Coho
at the edge of the retention boundary. We
pound through the wind and spray and the
roaring noise of the ocean for several hours
until fi nally only our boat and one other are
on the line. They fi re up. We give up, too,
and follow them back to Tofi no.
There's always next year. And we'll be
back. There's too much great fl y rod adventure
in Clayoquot Sound to ignore.
Spring Chinook To Fall Coho
Fishing starts early in the spring and
runs deep into October, spanning a series
of seasonal fi shing peaks as multiple runs
of salmon arrive and depart. A few salmon
spawn in the spider web of small streams
and rivers that feed the Tofi no region's maze
of mountain-walled inlets, sounds and bays,
but the majority of Chinook and Coho are
simply passing by, headed for natal streams
and hatcheries down-island, on the lower
mainland, and in Washington.
Because of the amount of feed generated
in the shallows of Calmus Pass, Father
Charles Channel, the La Croix Island
Group, and other kelp-encrusted, reefrocked
channels, many migrant salmon
pods headed toward the mainland will hold
in the Tofi no region for some time feeding
heavily on needlefish, anchovy, herring,
sand shrimp, and shrimp. Black rockfi sh,
lingcod and fl ounder are available all season.
Here's a general calendar of Tofino
salmon fi shing, compiled from guide logs at
Weigh West Marine Adventure Resort.
April-May: First run of 15- to 30-pound
springs (Chinook). Halibut arrive at fi shing
grounds fi ve miles offshore. Decent
halibut fi shing continues through June.
Few small Coho.
July-August: Premium fi shing for Chinook
and hatchery Coho. In July Chinook
to 40 pounds and Coho to eight pounds
come onshore. Trolling, fl y fi shing and jigging
are effective early in the summer. In
late August and into September fl y fi shing
for Coho really starts to roll, and Chinook
action peaks.
September-October: Red hot! Hooknose
Coho 10 to 12 pounds arrive, and
fl y fi shing really takes off in the sheltered
coves and island clusters in Clayoquot
Sound. A few Chinook will still be taken
through mid September, so get yourself to
Weigh West while the action is hot.
Terry Sheely is Fly Fish America's Pacifi c
Regional Editor, and lives in Black Diamond,
Washington.