Back in the day, my parents transported me and my siblings from home in Eastern Oregon to the Pacific Coast twice a year; at spring break and in late summer after pea harvest. Every 10-hour trip down the winding “historic” Columbia River highway proved an endurance test for a family of seven crammed into a ’55 Mercury station wagon. Constant banter, jostling for position, peculiar body odors, and infrequent bathroom breaks took their toll.

A few other things about those welcome trips to the beach come to mind. First, was invariably reaching our destination in the dark. We sat patiently while Dad drove around town looking for a cheap motel with enough beds for all. What followed was his best attempt to convince Mom he found a good deal. My fondest memories, though, involve casting for redtail surfperch. We gutted and scaled our catch in the rolling surf, Mom fried their flat shapes crisp and brown, and we feasted on soft white meat until our bellies were full.

Several decades later I look out the window of an ocean-front rental at Yachats. My plan to spend the next three days fishing is in jeopardy. A dozen sea mussels, harvested at low tide the evening before, are “clammed up” in a sack on the back porch. Mussels are high in Vitamin A and elevate the flavor of a bowl of Cioppino, but mine are destined for bait. With gusts up to 60 mph and overnight freezing temperatures predicted, the bottle of Pelican Brewing Company’s “Tsunami” in my right hand and Johnny Winter’s gravelly voice on Pandora seem appropriate.

The loud crash and pound of giant waves on the rock shelf below is relentless, yet reassures. Some things remain constant in an ever-changing world. Fist-size balls of foam blow sideways from wave crests that would challenge surfers on the north shore of Oahu. Rain lashes at the window pane. Beach grass bends sideways. Gulls huddle on the rocky shelf below. A big screen view of the Pacific Ocean rarely gets old except on days when fishing is on your mind.

Receding tide exposes holes in tangles of bull kelp where greenling hide, but any attempt to pursue this tasty fish is fruitless when low tide occurs in the dark — like today. The possibility to drift corkies for steelhead is also thwarted when a review of hydrographs shows local rivers blown out from heavy rain. My only hope (after dropping $180 on a non-resident fishing license) is to hit an incoming tide for redtail surfperch once inclement weather settles down.

Noontime two days later finds me standing on a flat rock where the Yachats River meets the sea. Ocean spray and rain pelter, but I am secure in waterproof Helly Hansen bibs and jacket buttoned-up over three layers. Last night’s full moon led to an extreme high tide made even higher by steady offshore winds. Rocks usually stood on are under water, but after traveling 380 miles to fish I will not be denied.

Years of experience have shown schools of surfperch move into this bay during the incoming tide. However, today’s wave action and divergent currents affect their movement in ways I do not understand. Ocean hydraulic forces are too complex to read like an angler might do for a rushing trout stream.

My chosen spinning rod outfit consists of a 3-ounce lead weight tied to the terminal end of 15-pound test monofilament and two No. 4 hooks attached in a loop-to-loop arrangement 18 inches up the line. I pry open a resistant bait mussel, attach a generous portion of its bright orange tissue to each hook, and wing a long cast into the crashing surf. Slack line bows in the wind. The weight thumps and rolls along sandy bottom. Floating debris tries to snag my line. A surf scoter rides a wave, plunges under an approaching crest, and bobs up. In the turnaround behind me a dozen vehicles are parked, windshield wipers in motion, occupants gazing at the ocean. Do they envy me or think I am crazy? I wonder.

Fifteen minutes of flinging mussel bait into the rolling surf results in a staccato-like bite that strips me clean, but gives hope. Another hour of flinging leads to a successful hookset. I haul a dinner plate-size redtail surfperch up the rocks and put it on a stringer. Meanwhile, a pesky gull sneaks up and flies off with an opened mussel shell. My patience is eventually rewarded with second surfperch of equal size. The tide recedes, action slows, and I head back to our rental unit for a well-deserved hot shower. Pan-fried fish filets will be on the menu tonight.

On leaving day the wind stills and blue sky shows. Go figure! Four days is not enough time to partake in faraway coastal adventures when inclement spring weather and tidal forces are not favorable. Next time we’ll plan to stay a week. Perhaps in late summer; once pea harvest is over.