You can never be 100% prepared when exploring a stretch of water with a fly rod. In many ways, that has always been one of the reasons I have been drawn to the sport. There was the time when casting a fly over a small school of Coho near Miracle Beach, 20 feet in front of me, a large spring (Chinook) salmon surfaced in slow motion before sinking below the surface. I made a quick cast a few feet ahead of the fish. Stripping the line in quickly I felt it tighten, then slowly but deliberately roll off the spool of the reel picking up speed as the Chinook swam towards Lund. With no control over the fish, the line went slack, as the barbless fly had simply popped loose when the salmon shook its powerful head. Relief followed disappointment, as the thought of losing a fly line over a fish seemed to outweigh the remote possibility of landing the Chinook without harming it. I resumed casting for my intended quarry with a chuckle.