Better Out Than In

     Lifelist fishing is an interesting game in that the more you do it, the weirder things get. Well I've been doing it long enough that my options are to either embrace the weird with open arms, or move to a different region of the country entirely. It involves increasingly long drives for often increasingly small and esoteric species. And that is when things go as planned. It's a fun game to play but these are the hoops we jump through to do it. On a recent trip to Washington's Olympic Peninsula, I had a solid week of fishing planned and all of it was weird and none of it went as planned.

     In mid August this past year, my daughter had plans to go to summer camp for a week near Seattle. Not being one to miss an opportunity, I graciously offered to handle both the drop off and pick up for camp. Of course, a byproduct of that would mean I had plausible reason to stay over there and fish until camp was over. This was the closest I've come to a guilt free plan for a week of fishing in my life. I meticulously planned each day out, with potential target species at each location prelocated, numerated, and itinerated. There would be a lot of driving involved but it was going to be fantastic. I had solid leads on at least 3 new ones, and potential for quite a few more if my luck held. This plan was foolproof. 

     I'll spare you the subtle hints and get to the point. The foolproof plan proved itself foolprone before the ship even launched. On a different camping trip with friends just a few days before our departure, some of my daughters friends got sick. Like all the way sick. When I picked her up from that trip, they were laughing about how much some of them had barfed. We tried to remain positive though as she hadn't actually gotten sick. We packed and readied our gear. Then, the literal night before our 4 AM planned departure, there was an oh-so-ominous stomach gurgle heard metaphorically all through the house. At about midnight, the barfing began. We contemplated pushing through as the other girls had recovered fairly quickly, but there was just no way. Camp was officially called off just 4 hours before our planned departure time. 

     Now this left me with a disappointed kid, but also a with a decision to make. By the end of her first sick day the kid was pretty clearly over the worst of it and on the mend. I was down one day so far but not being one to waste the rest of a perfectly good week off of work, I decided to send it. 

     The first stop on my slightly adjusted itinerary was a pier in northern Puget Sound where I hoped to catch a Slender Sculpin on reliable reports from a fellow species hunter. Unfortunately the sculpin in question was a no-show. I should have seen this coming though, as I passed No Frikken Way during my journey there. Sometimes the universe's hints are subtle, sometimes they are not. 

The signs were there, I just refused to listen.

      So it was off to the next nearby spot where someone had posted a Great Sculpin while there was still some sunlight left. I arrived at a beautiful spot and sent out my best guess at what a Great Sculpin would be in the mood for. My only beef with this spot was the amount of seagulls sitting on the roof of the building. When the wind would shift towards me, it definitely burned the lungs and made the eyes water.

Really cool spot, but I can still smell this picture. This roof is not white.

It was fun to see the large schools of Pacific Sand Lance being chased around by the birds.

This one was kind enough to pose for a picture, and the first new species of the trip was on the board!

      With great (sculpin) anticipation I sorted through a few miscellaneous greenlings and flounder, then I got a good bite on half of a shiner perch. Up popped a giant mouth with even bigger pectoral fins! Once I got it up on the deck, it was definitely the target species, but after inspecting the creature, I almost felt bad, as this guy had clearly had a rough go of it. It was covered in parasites, blind in one eye, and its fins were all beat up.

Species 242!

And this was his good eye!

I have to think this fish has a few stories to tell.

Some of the many leaches and copepods living on this poor fellow.

     So, after an ignominious start, the trip was officially a success with two new ones added already. I went back to the first pier and had a really enjoyable evening catching dogfish and Pacific Staghorn Sculpin which are both fun to catch despite what most anglers will tell you. After fishing until about 11:00 PM I settled in for the evening. I remember rolling over and wondering what was up with my stomach, but didn't think too much of it and went back to sleep. 

     Early the next morning my plan was to head up in the mountains to a nearby stream that is home to an isolated population of genetically confirmed Dolly Varden, that is open to fishing. That is not an easily found combination of factors! As a biologist and a species hunter, I feel that some backstory is needed here (trigger warning: soapbox rant incoming). Washington state is home to populations of both Bull Trout (Salvelinus confluentus) and Dolly Varden (Salvelinus malma) which are two separate species, note the two different scientific names. I bring this up because if you ask any fisherman in Washington, 99% of them will tell you that Bull Trout and Dolly Varden are either just the same species and the names are interchangeable, or that dollies are just the anadromous version of a Bull Trout; similar to how Rainbow Trout and steelhead are the same species but one is anadromous and one is not. However; regardless of how popular a narrative this may be, it is still not correct. It is not quite out of left field either though as both species are visually virtually identical, and used to be classified as all Dolly Varden, until they were split into two separate species in 1970, so I will acknowledge that it is a complicated one. But long story short, both species have variable life histories and can come in a variety of forms ranging from large migratory individuals (including anadromous ones) down to tiny resident fish that live their entire lives in small isolated streams and never grow longer than 9 or 10 inches. But because they are so visually similar, I was always hesitant to make a definitive call on any char caught in any of Washington's coastal drainages where the two species overlap. These are the things that keep me up at night. 75 bonus points if you just read that whole thing.

     Anyway that brings me to this particular stream, which is only home to dollies, not Bull Trout, and this was confirmed by genetics, and it's an isolated population above a waterfall. That's as definitive of a shot as I know of, outside of going to one of the Alaskan rivers where there are only dollies. I've known about this spot for a few years, but it is a journey and a half from my house, for a 7 inch fish. So this was the trip. I was nearby, with a whole day to dedicate to it. Something about a foolproof plan or whatever. 

     It is at this point in the story that I will draw your attention to my midnight stomach twinge mentioned a few paragraphs ago. I woke up and started the journey to the dolly spot, but things had progressed alarmingly by this point from a twinge to a full blown twang; enough so that I invited my bait bucket to ride shotgun with me just in case of any surprise gastrointestinal pyrotechnics along the way. I will spare you the gory details, but I'll just say that my anticipated 1.5 hour drive that morning took about 3 hours and the bucket served its purpose well. I had officially contracted the mystery camping bug! 

     I parked at the stream, and contemplated my options. It was bad. I just sat in my car for a couple hours waiting for it to pass. It didn't. BUT there was no way I was going to not at least try to catch the tiny fish I had driven 10+ hours for. So I set out down the trail to try and find the closest likely looking pool. The 150 yards through the woods seemed more like 5 miles but I stumbled through it. It seemed like a fly fishing scenario so I drifted small nymphs with my three weight through a decent little pool with some boulders that looked pretty fishy, and promptly caught... nothing. I tried a few different flies to try and figure it out, barfed in the bushes a little, and tried a few other flies. They were having none of it. 

     I journeyed back to the car through the wilderness to get my spinning rod. I tied on my smallest Panther Martin spinner, barfed some, then slowly shuffled back to the stream. This time though, it actually worked! I quickly caught two tiny Rainbow Trout, then the third tiny fish that popped up was clearly a different color!

Yes it's tiny, but in this stream, they likely don't get a whole lot bigger than this, and it's definitely big enough to count!

     I snapped some quick pictures, let the fish swim back home, then after a celebratory barf in the bushes, I called it a day. The box was checked and that was good enough. I was ecstatic to finally add this one to the list (my 19th salmonid species if you're counting along at home), but even more ecstatic that I could head back to the hotel for the rest of the day. 

     I don't remember much from that afternoon after getting back to the hotel, but when I woke up the next morning I was feeling mostly ok, and at least the barfing had stopped, so I decided to attempt the next destination on the itinerary. I had a lead on a Calico Surfperch spot way over in the very corner of Washington State. I headed to Neah Bay to give it a try. Pro-tip: if you're going to try for surfperch in Neah Bay, buy your Gulp sandworms before you go because I looked everywhere within 30 miles and they don't have them. I had plenty of shrimp though and luckily they worked great too. Additional pro-tip: if you fish Hobuck Beach and you're visited by Cookie the beach dog, consider yourself blessed because she is a delight. 

Cookie, my companion for a few hours. If you can't tell, she is wondering why I kept releasing these tasty snacks back into the water to swim away.

This collar made me smile, and relieved that she wasn't a stray, just a pup out there living her best life making friends on the beach.

Side note: the above fish gave birth as I was holding her. I was just as surprised as she was. If you've ever wondered what a 30 second old baby Redtail Surfperch looks like, now you know. To Cookie's dismay, this tiny snack also swam away unchomped.

 

    Cookie and I had a great time sorting through as many Redtail Surfperch as a guy and his impromptu companion could hope for, until one that was distinctively different popped up. I had my Calico!

Species 4 for the trip!

     After catching my fill of surfperch including the target species, I contemplated my options. I was functional, but still not completely recovered from the camping bug the day before. I had gotten my three most likely species plus a bonus Sand Lance, so I was happy with the species count. My remaining species prospects were all long shots, and I had clearly not brought my lucky underwear on this trip. This was not the trip to push my luck with the fish gods. Cookie maintained that we should stick it out longer because you never know when something weird could pop up when fishing in the ocean. I acknowledged her good point, but still decided to deem the trip a success, lick my wounds,  and begin the long journey home.

Though it was pretty tough to say goodby to that cute face.