Launched at zero dark thirty to fish the Saltchuck for Chinook, we were chasing that primal rush only a screaming reel can deliver. The air was crisp, the kind of Pacific Northwest morning with the fog clinging to the water like the old barfly you shouldn’t have brought home, clinging to you with her grip tightening with every step, refusing to let go with the promise of chrome kings lurking beneath the glassy surface with the water looking calm like a lake. My buddy and I had the boat rigged and ready: rods loaded with 20-pound test, flashers winking in the predawn gloom, and a cooler itching for action. Puget Sound’s a beast, we had struck out Wedendsday but my buddy got one yesterday and we heard they killed them on the afternoon high. The bite's on with Chinook season in full swing, we were ready to tangle with some heavy hitters.

The game plan was simple—troll the deep edges off the Point where the currents churn baitfish into a smorgasbord for hungry salmon. We dropped lines at first light, running a spoon on one rod then then a hootchie behind a green flasher on the other, the depthfinder painting a promising picture of bait schools and scattered marks. The hum of the kicker motor was our morning hymn, and the coffee thermos was our lifeline as we scanned the water for signs of life.



Twenty minutes in, rod one goes off like a firecracker. Ziiiiing! The tip buried, and I grabbed it, feeling the raw power of a fish that didn’t know the meaning of quit. “Wild or hatchery?” My buddy hollered, netting ready. The Chinook—a solid 15-pounder—cartwheeled twice, chrome sides flashing like a disco ball. After a five-minute brawl, we brought it boatside. Adipose fin—wild. With a quick twist of the hook, we sent that beauty back to the deep, its tail kicking up a farewell spray. Not an hour later, rod two buckled, and my buddy was on. This fish was a bulldog, hugging the bottom and peeling line like it had somewhere to be. Ten minutes of tug-of-war later, we netted a 10-pound hatchery fish, its clipped adipose fin signaling keeper status. Into the cooler it went, destined for the grill. The morning was heating up, and so were we.

Midday brought a lull, the sun burning off the fog and turning the Sound into a mirror. We bumped our depth, chasing the fish as they sulked deeper. Patience paid off when rod one screamed again. This time, it was a wild 14-pounder, all muscle and attitude, throwing headshakes that tested my knots. We admired its chrome flanks and released it to fight another day. As the morning waned, we hooked our final fish—a 10-pound hatchery Chinook that hit like a freight train and fought like it knew the cooler was waiting. After a spirited battle, we iced it down, high-fiving over a day well spent. Two wilds released, two hatchery fish kept, and a boatload of stories to tell.



Saltchuck delivered, as it always does for those willing to put in the hours. The key? Fish early, match your gear to the conditions, and respect the wild ones. Back at the dock, we cleaned our keepers under the watchful eyes of the gulls and the seals, already planning the next dawn patrol. Chinook season’s short, boys—get out there and get after it.