Outdoors | Hit and miss angling for Columbia River sockeye at the Hanford Reach

This has been a season when I hooked my first sockeye salmon in less time than it took to put a second rod out and one when I watched both rods for six hours without the planets aligning in my favor.

It seems that one day I am the greatest angler in the world and the next day I operate without a clue. My catch record is hit and miss.

Over 300,000 sockeye salmon passed over McNary Dam from June 15 to June 30. It’s been a banner year. Compare that number to creel census data from the Washington Department of Fish and Game which showed an estimated 4,258 sockeye harvested in the Hanford Reach during that time period. Apparently, only a tiny percentage of the population show interest in striking a lure.

A complicating factor each year is river discharge. Power peaking operations of Priest Rapids Dam are unpredictable over the course of the sockeye run. Some days, flows are high.

Other days, they are low. Increasing or decreasing discharge influences water depth, velocity, and sockeye behavior. Consequently, a prime location along the shoreline that serves as a runway or staging area for sockeye one day may not produce a takedown the next.

Sockeye migration is triggered by increasing water temperature. Higher temperatures lead to an increase in their respiration rate and energy expenditure.

Much of the stress on the sockeye metabolic system can be avoided by them swimming upstream to cooler headwaters as quickly as they can. As a result, the bite often slows once Hanford Reach water temperatures climb above 60 F.

Because sockeye travel in schools, rod action can be non-stop followed by an indeterminate lull. Should we swap out our gear and put on fresh bait when action slows? Or should we spend those quiet moments checking goodness of knots and sharpness of hooks? My preference is to eat cherries, spit the seeds off the back of the boat, and imagine where sockeye swim.

I can vouch that two-hook rigs work better than one. Maintaining tight line is important as is keeping my rod tip in the water when a sockeye is led to the boat. That said, these tactics do not always prevent a frantic sockeye from making a wild jump and saying “adios amigo” once it spots someone with net in hand.

Missing from most well-worn angler theory is luck. As an example, one early season sockeye struck when I reeled in a spinner to check for weeds. Later that same morning, I elected to move my dodger and Smile Blade to the other side of the boat. After all, a change in strategy provides hope. On the third lift of my rod, my second sockeye of the morning struck hard and held on.

“There is nothing more exciting than when a mint-bright sockeye smacks your spinner hard enough to jerk your rod halfway out of the rod holder and goes airborne behind the boat,” I told a friend who joined me on the river for a try at the elusive sockeye.

We relaxed with a handful of Doritos and a cool beverage while our rods bowed and tipped in gentle current. Overhead, a jet stream split a sky empty of cloud cover.

A cool breeze ruffled the tips of reed canary grass. Juvenile fall Chinook salmon—no more than two inches long—nipped where current swept over a submerged boulder.

The lyrical song of a Bullock’s oriole filtered through the dense canopy of streamside mulberry trees. Unfortunately, no action from a mint-bright sockeye. In the words of my good friend Andy, aka Leroy, “You’ve got to manage your expectations.”

I chase Hanford Reach sockeye a dozen times each year. Every day on the water seems to turn out different. Despite my advanced degree in Fisheries science, I struggle to offer definitive explanation for when birdsong—not a limit of sockeye salmon—turns out to be the highlight of my day.

During this brief period of addiction my golf game suffers, the family dog gets lonesome, and my wife complains, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.