Lately it seems fish are everywhere. They’ve pushed their way into the Puget Sound and made their way up the mouth of the Duwamish River, leaping gracefully from the waters in abundant numbers. Fishing boats line up at boat ramps at Alki, Edmonds, and Mukilteo, fishermen hopefully eying the bounty of pink and silver salmon. And now the fish have started to make their way up most of the northwest rivers: the Skagit, Snohomish, and Stillaguamish are chock full of salmon heading upriver to spawn.
A while back I eyed the huge salmon jumping from the slow-moving Duwamish River, briefly considering trying my luck. The river is narrow and lazy: it would be like catching fish in a bath-tub, I thought. But I decided against fishing there—the Duwamish runs through a polluted industrial area, and fishing is complicated by Native fishery nets which block access in many places.
So a couple of weeks ago my trusty fishing buddy Lynny and I opted for trying the Stillaguamish River up by Arlington. I’d had luck there a few years back, and thought we could at least catch a few pinks.
We weren’t disappointed. The scenery was beautiful—a shallow, fast-running river in a wooded area near some farmland, with deer browsing along the opposite shore. The place was fairly crowded with fisherman wading in the water, but we could spread out, and the pink salmon coming upriver were abundant. While it took many hours to hook a salmon, Lynny managed to finally land a male humpy (she’s pictured above releasing the fish). Many people around us were also hooking them—though many of those catches were snags, and had to be released. The hardest part of fishing spawning salmon is getting them to bite—they’re more in the mood for love, so legally hooking them in the mouth is difficult.
I went home with a nice female (though true confession—I didn’t catch it). Some folks say pinks aren’t good for eating, but it sure made some good salmon and chips.
Last weekend, we decided to try the Snohomish River near downtown Snohomish. We got there at 7 a.m. and it was chilly and socked in with fog—fall had definitely come. Despite the fact that it was Monday and not the best weather, fishermen lined the shore, and a few boats drifted downriver. The salmon—fat pinks and silvers—were putting on a spectacular show, leaping out of the water and splashing back down, almost daring us: catch me if you can. Many breeched within feet of the shoreline. Unfortunately, none landed on the banks in front of us, though we kept hoping.
After 3 hours, though, nobody had managed to catch a thing. Lynny and I didn’t even get one bite, no matter what type of lures we tried. When the sun finally peaked through the fog, I gave up and took a walk into town.
I made my way to the local fishing store, and despite the fact that the store’s sign read “open,” no one at first appeared to be there. Just as I was about to turn away, though, a couple of sheepish guys—the owners—showed up. They’d been down at the river trying to catch some fish, too. Even they couldn’t catch anything, so I didn’t feel so bad. They were completely stumped as to what to use to catch them.
My friend Lynny eventually joined us to fish-talk with the boys in the fishing store, then Lynny and I met a friend for lunch. My friend lived in town near the boat launch on the river, and was constantly battling fisherman who blocked her driveway with their vehicles and boat trailers (though she didn’t hold fishing against us). This time of the year, fishermen are in a fishing frenzy, and not too considerate. One time, my friend said, her poodle grabbed hold of the calf of a trespassing fisherman. “Stop!” she shouted, “let me get my dog!” The fisherman paid her and her dog no mind, rushing off to the river, the dog hanging off his pant leg. “Can’t stop now, lady—THE FISH ARE BITING!” We laughed.
That’s the way it is with fishing fever.
