"This is ridiculous," my fly-fishing partner complained as she balanced on a worm-eaten piece of driftwood to pu11 on her chest waders. "How are we supposed to find fish here."

It was a valid comment. The flat, grey scene of open tide-water made our fly rods look particularly puny. Heavy waves rolled onto the curving beach, each breaker dumping another load of seaweed. Beyond the point, whitecaps marched in an unbroken procession across the bay, and we could just make out the San Juan Islands in the mist off to the south.

"Don’t worry," I said, "the fish are here, and we’ll find them. It’s because most people would never expect to find cutthroat trout in a place like this that they’ve been able to survive."

As we waded out beyond the 1imit of sea foam and seaweed, however, you had to admit that it did seem like a ridiculous place to be fly fishing. A larger-than-average swe11 almost lifted me off my feet, and a barnacle-covered driftwood log sailed by on the incoming tide.

That my partner was startled to discover sea-run trout off a popular close-to-home swimming beach wasn’t surprising. Ocean-going cutthroat have earned their nickname "mystery fish" for good reason, and many anglers are unsure if the fish even exist in their area.

As a general guideline, any part of the coastline between southeast Alaska and northern California, where rivers and creeks provide spawning and rearing habitat, will support sea-run cutthroat. The richer the area the better, with eel-grass flats and oyster beds tending to concentrate the fish, but they can be found off any beach. The trick is in finding them. Here today – gone tomorrow, is an expression the sea-run cutthroater comes to know well.

My partner and I were fishing Crescent Beach, a point of land just north of the Canadian/US border an hour’s drive south of Vancouver. It was a popular local summer spot, and most people would never suspect it was also home to a good population of sea- going cutthroat trout.

The reason we were almost certain to find fish off this beach wasn’t because sea-run cutthroat have a particular affinity to popular swimming beaches. Rather, within a few miles of where we fished, numerous rivers drained into a series of shallow saltwater bays and estuaries, three from the Canadian side, more on the U.S. side.

That was the reason the fish were here. Any time between the end of May and the beginning of September on an incoming evening tide, there would be cutthroat feeding along the beaches. A little understanding of the life-pattern of anadromous cutthroat trout explains why.

Everyone is familiar with the life cycle of the chinook salmon, and the ocean-going cutthroat leads a similar life, with certain exceptions. Let’s 1ook at the similarities first. Both species spawn in freshwater, entering their home rivers in the fa11 or early winter. Both seek out gravel beds, oxygenated by clear flowing water where they lay their eggs.

The eggs hatch in the spring, and both fish spend time in freshwater before heading for the sea – chinook up to one year before smolting, cutthroat from one to three years. Those are the basic similarities.

What makes the sea-run cutthroat different from the salmon is that when it enters saltwater, it stays close to its home river, seldom venturing more than five miles away. When searching for likely sea-run cutthroat fishing 1ocations in your area, this should be your first consideration. Look for a gently shelving beach within a few miles of a freshwater spawning stream, and in summer months, chances are good sea-run cutts will be present.

Another major difference between cutthroat and salmon is that cutthroat do not die after returning to their home streams, whether they spawn or not. This is what allows the fish to overwinter in freshwater, rather than in the ocean.

It’s interesting to note that survival rates of cutthroat following re-entry to freshwater are quite good – 39 per cent survival between first and second spawning migrations, 17 per cent between second and third, and 12 per cent survival between the third and fourth migration, was documented in one study. Examining this information, we can see how the cutthroat’s migration pattern explains its presence off the beaches each summer.

The cutthroat returns to freshwater each year, often accompanying the fall salmon runs which provide a plentiful food supply in the form of drifting eggs. Cutthroat overwinter in freshwater, and those that spawn do so in late winter.

Downstream migration of kelts (cutthroat that have spawned) peaks in early April, while smolt migration (cutthroat going to sea for the first time) peaks in May. The kelt’s early return to saltwater allows them to feed on pink and chum salmon fry descending the rivers and congregating in the estuaries.

By the end of May, salmon fry have mostly departed for the high seas, and the cutthroat begin to patrol the coastline. They frequent waters less than 10 feet deep (three metres), staying close to shore, feeding on sculpins, herring, stickleback, sand lances, smelt, as well as shrimp, sand worms and marine larvae.

It’s not surprising a cutthroat’s life is closely intertwined with that of the salmon (and steelhead’s) considering the millions and millions of these fish that return to freshwater each year. But to think the cutthroat enjoys only benefits from the relationship with their larger cousins is not altogether correct. When it comes to competition between these species in the freshwater stream environment, the cutthroat takes a subordinate role. Both salmon (particularly coho) and steelhead juveniles dominate young cutthroat in stream rearing areas.

This has led to an evolutionary apportionment of spawning habitat, with the cutthroat adapting to places the salmon can’t or won’t go – very small, low gradient creeks and streams, many of them becoming almost dry in the summer, and many of them subject to man’s intervention, particularly logging, agriculture, housing and industry.

These are the factors modern fisheries managers all over the Pacific Northwest must consider. Habitat protection is critical, but increasingly difficult in areas of heavy human use such as the Lower Mainland and the corridor between Seattle and Vancouver. While on the one hand stream improvement, fencing to keep out cattle, and storm drain marking programs attempt to protect and enhance stocks, encroachment of habitat is accelerating on all sides, and just one small chemical spill or creek diversion can wipe out years of enhancement work.

In many areas, hatchery enhancement of sea-run cutthroat is used to boost existing populations, but angling regulations are seen as the most potentially effective tool to protect and enhance cutthroat stocks.

In B.C., there is presently a wild trout non-retention regulation in Region II designed to protect the fish. As well, bait bans and treble hook bans are in effect in many areas. (Always check regulations for updates).

For the fly fishermen seeking these elusive ocean-going phantoms, the cutthroat’s preference for feeding on small fish off the beaches dictates the choice of fly pattern. Silver-bodied minnow imitations work well, and each local area has its own favourite pattern.

Here in southwestern B.C., the Murray’s Rolled Muddler is one our most popular cutthroat flies. It was designed by Tom Murray, well known Vancouver outdoors writer and fly fisherman.

For his fly, the heavy turkey ‘wing’ normally used in tying muddler minnows is replaced by folded or ‘rolled’ mallard flank, and the muddler head is clipped close so that the whole fly is very sparse. The folded-wing technique is fairly widespread among

fly tiers, but the combination of mallard flank over a silver body with a tightly clipped deer-hair head is Tom’s.

Floating lines, or sink-tip lines, are preferred over full sinkers. If a fish is suddenly spotted, it’s essential to be able to lift your whole line out of the water and aim and cast quickly, without having to retrieve the entire line before picking it up.

Evenings between June and September with higher than average incoming tides and a full moon are eagerly circled on the calendars of avid ocean-beach cutthroaters up and down the coast. With that magic combination, it’s possible to fish far into the night, and the few evenings in June, July and August that fit this combination are set aside for no other purpose than fishing for sea-run cutts.

Even indignant accusations of selfishness from family and friends won’t budge the determined cutthroater from this predetermined schedule. As long as there is enough room for a backcast, and enough light to see by (even if it is moonlight), the summer beaches of southern B.C. wi11 pull this special breed of fly fisherman to them as surely as they pu11 the cruising fish.

If it seems the life of the sea-going cutthroat is particularly difficult, there’s sti11 plenty of cause for optimism. As one British Columbia biologist has written, "Cutthroat trout seem to have a keener instinct for getting on with the job of survival, and an ability to make the most of what nature offers them, compared to salmon and steelhead."