The first of the autumn storms is forecast to arrive in the Northwest this week. These storms typically bring in wind and rain in the lowlands, and snow in the mountains; and in most years, they mark the start of the downward drift of temperatures (historically we’ll have seen our last 70 F day until next Spring).
For fly fishing, or any recreational fishing for that matter, the winds and waves (on windward shores) make for challenging wading and difficult casting, and and are best enjoyed indoors over a cup of coffee or hot tea.
So I’ve been looking at the forecasts for weather, tides, and tidal currents for the last few days. I wanted to get out before the storm, and its multiple pulses of bad weather, arrived.
Today (Monday) was the best in terms of the weather – even with light rain forecast in the afternoon. Getting out in the morning meant the tidal height was basically at less than one foot, with the tidal current at slack or near slack.
But waiting for more of a change in tide and a higher current – the latter is considered essential to bring on fish looking for a meal (though there are exceptions) – meant waiting for long into the afternoon.
And walking the beach at low tides is a good way to see the structure (the shape of the subsurface, including the slope, consistency (sand or mud), and distribution of cobblestone and larger rocks that form the habitat and protection for the small organisms that fish feed on).
Given the less than ideal conditions, I decided to go to Narrows Park, which had been closed over the last couple of weeks for road maintenance and paving – to PenMet Parks, the striping was very well done. Even if the fishing isn’t great in the Narrows, the marine animals, sea birds, and marine traffic are always welcome.
Puget Sound looked almost lake-like (except for a few wind zephyrs) when I got to the beach. That combination of slack tide and no wind is rare – and the quiet created the impression the Sound was waiting for the storm that was inbound.
Walking along the edge of the water on the beach, I noticed a number of Spotted Sea Stars (Evasterias troschelii) in a foot or two of water. They are seldom seen in the higher intertidal zone where there is more risk of being uncovered, and it was a treat to be able to see them. As it was, the area of the beach still underwater provided them with plenty of barnacles, chitons, and other organisms on which they feed.
Even though the stars were there feeding or waiting to feed – their world seemed unaffected by my presence (and I make it a point not to step to close to stress them). It was a reminder that there are worlds beyond our own – and nature continues on without us (and if we do impact their world it’s often not for the better).
I made my way down the beach to the last remaining area of bull kelp on the near side of the Narrows Bridge – the kelp that will soon be gone as the autumn storms typically pull the seaweed roots from the rocks where it anchors.
I thought I might find a searun cutthroat sheltering in the kelp and waiting for the tidal current.
Unfortunately, if there even any there, none were interested.
On one of my last casts – which went a bit further into the kelp – I snagged a bulbous float and a green stringy mass of the kelp, and I started to retrieve the line by hand before using the reel to wind up the line around my feet (pro tip – when snagged on rocks, kelp or a tree branch, keep the rod pointed at the snag; failing to do so means the rod will be making a trip to the rod shop for repair of a broken tip).
As the green mass got closer to me, I noticed there was movement in the bulb – generally not typical of an aquatic plant. Then I noticed there was a hitchhiker aboard.
By the time most of the line was in, I saw that my fly was hooked to a kelp crab (Pugettia producta). This was the first kelp crab I had ever seen – I typically see red rock crabs when wading.
I pulled it up once for a photo – then put it back in the water to get my forceps; there was no way I was going to put my fingers near its chelipeds (pincers).
As I started to lift the crab back out of the water I saw it had managed to free itself – it scurried away underwater, likely as surprised as I had been with the encounter with something never seen before.
I saw that one of its limbs, apparently where the fly had snagged it, was damaged. But crabs have a regeneration process where a damaged or missing limb can be replaced – and if the crab survives its environment and predation it should have a new limb.
It was a second reminder of the day there are worlds we never see – worlds that are unaware of our concerns or existence.
But worlds that can be disrupted or destroyed by our actions and our lack of humility about them.
The catch of the day:
