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ON THE COVER
Guide
Reuben Hastings was in the initial class of what is now known as the Bristol Bay Fly Fishing & Guide Academy. He loves what he’s doing these days, whether taking clients on incredible fishing trips or harvesting big game like moose. (REUBEN HASTINGS)
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GUIDING LIGHT OF BRISTOL BAY 42
An Alaskan Native active in his tribal organization, graduate of the Bristol Bay Fly Fishing & Guide Academy and now working the same waters and lands he grew up on, Reuben Hastings (left) has embraced his roots and is now an established and respected guide himself. Pete Robbins has the details of this local-kid-makes-good story.
FEATURES
20 INTO THE THAW: A BEFORE AND AFTER STORY
In his new book, Jon Waterman shares tales of his younger days when he worked in some of Alaska’s wildest and most pristine places. His Into The Thaw: Witnessing Wonder Amid the Arctic Climate Crisis describes exploring the Noatak River 40 years ago and encountering wolves, bears and lands that have been hunted by humans for thousands of years. But given a warming planet, he also asks how long it will all last. Check out an excerpt from Waterman’s book.
33 WHEN COHO FISHING IS EGG-CELLENT
13 Editor’s Note
15 The Alaska Beat: News and notes from around the Last Frontier
19 Outdoor Calendar
40 A family’s “mutant” lingcod catch highlights Sitka fishing trip
Our From Field to Fire team, Tiffany Haugen and her husband Scott, love this time of year for its fishing and hunting opportunities. First up, Scott details creating tantalizing cured eggs that coho salmon can’t resist, just in time for the peak of many Alaska fisheries. And for you hunters, be the star of your next football tailgate or watch party with chef Tiffany’s delicious venison sliders!
50 HUNTING ALASKA’S FORGOTTEN ISLAND
One of the true Last Frontier outposts is the Aleutians’ Adak Island, a once thriving military community that is now sparsely populated and more of a ghost town than anything else. But what Adak lacks in human population it makes up for with outstanding ptarmigan and cow caribou hunting. Scott Haugen shares some of his Adak adventures.
(REUBEN HASTINGS)
EDITOR’S NOTE
DEARBORN, MICHIGAN–Given my late father’s love of classic cars – and especially Fords – I was always sad that he never got to check out the automotive giant’s headquarters here.
So when my sisters and I flew to Detroit for a Labor Day holiday weekend trip to watch a college football game in nearby Ann Arbor, we added the Henry Ford Museum of American Innovation to our itinerary.
And while – as you’d expect – the car collection at this massive complex was impressive, one of my favorite exhibits was the historic aircraft, including the Wright Brothers’ 1903 flier they famously got off the ground in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. There was also a tribute to Amelia Earhart, the famed aviator who disappeared while attempting her 1937 around-the-globe flight.
Seeing so many vintage aircraft made me appreciate how critical air travel is for Alaskans and for those visitors who dream of far-flung fishing and hunting destinations where roads are a nonstarter. Pete Robbins’ interview with Reuben Hastings (page 44), one of many Bristol Bay-based guides who help anglers reach some of the planet’s most unspoiled fishing spots, is a reflection of proud locals who help anglers from around the world experience these fly-in trips of a lifetime.
The pilots who make these flights happen are also some of the bravest in a state where bravery is almost a requirement. Bush plane flights can be dangerous and hazardous, and reading some of the placards at the Ford museum of those pioneers of the industry was eye-opening.
I was particularly fascinated by
the Fokker Tri-Motor plane – the museum’s first plane and purchased by Henry Ford’s son Edsel – that explorer Richard Byrd and pilot Floyd Bennett flew from Norway and were said to have reached the North Pole in 1926. Skeptics questioned the validity of that claim based on the plane’s fuel capacity, but that made the exhibit that much more fascinating to ponder what really happened. There’s no doubt the expedition was a dangerous one, and that’s what makes history so compelling.
I think my dad would have geeked out at seeing so many of the same pre-World War II car models he’d owned (and our family still maintains and drives on special occasions). But walking through the airplane collection I would have talked his ear off about Alaska’s connection to aviation. -Chris Cocoles
During a visit to the Henry Ford Museum of American Innovation, seeing historic aircraft like this Fokker Tri-Motor got the editor thinking about how important air travel is in Alaska. (CHRIS COCOLES)
Sockeye returning to Bristol Bay streams this year were younger and – more alarmingly – smaller. The average-sized fish was 4.53 pounds, the lightest on record. Smaller salmon dig shallower redds and produce fewer eggs. (KATRINA LIEBICH/U.S. FISH AND WILDLIFE SERVICE)
BRISTOL BAY PRODUCED
LOTS OF SOCKEYE, BUT SMALLER FISH
When it comes to the most financially critical of Bristol Bay’s harvested salmon, size really does matter for the sockeye that fishermen catch each year. And those fish are getting smaller.
In its 2024 Bristol Bay Salmon Survey, the Alaska Department of Fish and Game crunched the numbers and discovered what’s become a concerning trend throughout the state. As the numbers of fish have increased, competition among those salmon at sea has stunted their growth. So as more fish are being caught, they’re not tipping the scales like they once did.
Here’s what ADFG’s survey said about this year’s sockeye stats: “The 2024 harvest of 31.6 million sockeye salmon was 5 percent lower than the recent 20-year average of 33.2 million for all districts.”
And as for the size of those returning reds?
“In 2024 the sockeye salmon run was composed of a higher proportion of younger and smaller fish than forecasted,” ADFG reported. “Eighty percent of the 2024 Bristol Bay sockeye salmon run was comprised of fish with two years of ocean growth.”
Younger fish means smaller fish. “The high proportion of younger fish resulted in the smallest average sockeye salmon weight on record at 4.53 pounds,” the report stated.
The lack of bulk on the sockeye was problematic to the point that ADFG area biologist Tim Sands told the Alaska Beacon that some salmon were slipping through commercial boats’ nets.
Still, while below the 20-year average, it’s believed that the initial total payout for the fishing industry of about $128 million was almost $11 million more than in 2023. ADFG says the 20-year average is $193.4 million.
And you thought airlines only lost suitcases! Anglers transporting 2,000 pounds worth of halibut and other fish they caught in Alaska had their hauls spoil after their flight had to be diverted and their catches dis appeared. Fortunately, Alaska Airlines prom ised to get those pas sengers a new batch of fresh fish.
Gotta love a husky-inspired Alaska brew!
SOMETIMES, A PLAN DOESN’T COME TOGETHER
We woke at sunrise to assess where the goats had gone. Fortunately for us, they were feeding in our direction. We popped out of the tent, ate a quick bite and started our stalk. The goats were feeding along the ridge, so we made a play to cut them off. As we did, the clouds settled in again, this time providing cover for our plan.
The stalk was flawless. We snuck into their area and had goats all around us. By the end of the morning, we had 20 goats within 10 yards of us and the rest of the 30 animals within 50 yards.
Trevor had made a great shot on one goat, then I was up. It was an easy shot – a mere 5 yards. I watched as both of our goats died below us. Then the worst thing imaginable happened.
Both goats fell into the valley below and out of sight. From our vantage, it appeared we would be able to hike to where the goats had died. But this turned out to be far from the case.
Looking down the 1,200-foot mountain, the hardest terrain looked like a gradual slope. We hiked down to where we last saw the goats fall and were surprised by a 20-foot cliff wall. The valley was surrounded by cliffs and hanging walls.
We spent the next two days trying to get to the goats. It was impossible, so they would be considered technically unrecoverable. I have had many friends lose goats due to being “cliffed out.” It’s part of goat hunting. But I never imagined it would happen to me. I thought it was a poor excuse for hunters to not be able to retrieve known dead animals.
I was able to see one of the two goats through a spotting scope and could not find a route to it. It was in middle of a 40-foot cliff wall, caught in an alder. Our spirits were pretty destroyed after that. –Brian Watkins
Mark Reynolds of Kelso, Washington, won the Homer Halibut Derby with a 163.6-pounder. (HOMER HALIBUT DERBY)
Sometimes you have to walk away from a hunt empty-handed. For a group of hunters chasing goats on the steep cliffs of Kodiak Island, it was impossible to get to the billies they’d shot. (BRIAN WATKINS)
NOTABLE NUMBER
163.6
Weight of the halibut caught by Kelso, Washington’s Mark Reynolds, who won the Homer Halibut Derby and a cash prize of $2,392.50
“
“Hunting is a way of life in Alaska, and creating designated hunts for people with a physical disability will provide disabled hunters a better opportunity for a successful harvest.”
” THEY SAID IT
–Alaska
Governor Mike Dunleavy, who signed AB 272, which per the Governor’s Office, “authorizes the Alaska Board of Game to establish big game hunts for people with physical disabilities, similar to youth-only hunts enacted by the Legislature in 2001.”
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OUTDOOR CALENDAR
Oct. 1 Goat season opens in Game Management Unit 1C (Southeast Mainland; area draining into Lynn Canal and Stephens Passage between Antler River and Eagle Glacier/River)
Oct. 1 Deer season opens in GMU 3 (Petersburg Management Area and, for residents only, remainder of Mitkof, Woewodski and Butterworth Islands)
Oct. 1 Elk season opens in GMU 3 (Etolin Island)
Oct. 1 Moose season opens in GMU 5 (Yakutat in area east of Dangerous River and Harlequin Lake)
Oct. 1 Deer season opens in GMU 6 (North Gulf Coast and Prince William Sound)
Oct. 1 Elk season opens in GMU 8 (Raspberry Island)
Oct. 1 Deer season opens in GMU 8 (Kodiak Island, areas not including the Kodiak Road System Management Unit)
Oct. 1 Black bear season opens in GMU 14C (McHugh Island)
Oct. 7 Goat season opens in GMU 6C (North Gulf Coast and Prince William Sound)
Oct. 8 Elk season opens in GMU 8 (Southwest Afognak, that portion of Afognak Island and adjacent islands)
Oct. 11 Second elk season opens in GMU 8 (Raspberry Island)
Oct. 15 Nonresident deer season for GMU 3 (Petersburg/ Wrangell in remainder of Mitkof, Woewodski and Butterworth Islands)
Oct. 15 Youth deer hunt opens in GMU 5
Oct. 15 Moose season opens GMU 5 (west of Dangerous River and Harlequin Lake, and southwest of Russell and Nunatak Fjords and the East Nunatak Glacier)
Oct. 15 Brown bear season opens in GMU 6D (Montague Island)
Oct. 23 Elk season opens in GMU 8 (Southwest Afognak and additional areas)
Oct. 23 Third elk season opens in GMU 8 (Raspberry Island)
Oct. 25 Fall brown bear season opens in GMU 8 (Kodiak/ Shelikof)
Nov. 1 Last day to purchase a raffle ticket for Safari Club Alaska Kodiak bear and deer hunt (rafflebox.us/raffle/sciac-4)
For more information and season dates for Alaska hunts, go to adfg. alaska.gov/index.cfm?adfg=hunting.main.
Kodiak and neighboring islands will have plenty of hunting opportunities in October, including the October 25 brown bear opener and elk seasons on Raspberry and Afognak Islands. (LISA HUPP/U.S. FISH AND WILDLIFE SERVICE)
SAVORING THE NOATAK
A kayaker heads down the Noatak River after a six-day trek over the Brooks Range. Looming on the mountain to the right is a “thermokarst landslide,” caused by thawing permafrost. Author Jon Waterman’s new book Into The Thaw compares the Alaska he knew working there 40 years ago with changes he sees the region undergoing due to a warming climate. (CHRIS KORBULIC)
LIFE ON NOATAK
IN NEW BOOK, AUTHOR REMINISCES ABOUT THE ALASKA HE ONCE
KNEW, ITS
ORIGINAL INHABITANTS, AND THE CHANGING CLIMATE
Jon Waterman has seen the raw beauty of Alaska and understands that for future generations it is under siege. Waterman once had a career as a mountaineering ranger at Denali National Park some 40 years ago. Some of the most thrilling times of his life were spent further north in Alaska, including exploring Gates of the Arctic National Park and the wild Noatak River that runs through it.
In 2021, he returned to those Alaska backcountry lands with his son, and Waterman’s conclusions about climate change’s effects on the terrain prompted him to write first a New York Times editorial piece and now a lengthy book on the Alaska he once knew and how it could be changing now and well into the future.
“I had never been anywhere like it,” Waterman writes in his soon-to-be-released Into The Thaw when describing an August 1983 Noatak adventure with ranger Dave Buchanan. “We were surrounded by snowy peaks that could have been a mile or perhaps 5 miles off and – when we pulled our paddles out of the river to listen – the aqua-blue Noatak River tittered against the hull of our tandem kayak with unseen and minuscule grains of silt washed down from glaciers hidden above.”
Waterman and Buchanan would follow wolves, share camp with a grizzly and catch the grayling they would eat on pristine Lake Matcharak, a sacred place that Waterman discovered had churned out fish long before his time. He can’t help but wonder for how long that legacy will continue.
The following is excerpted from Into the Thaw: Witnessing Wonder Amid the Arctic Climate Crisis, by Jon Waterman. Reprinted with permission by publisher Patagonia.
BY JON WATERMAN
In rivers or lakes (caribou’s) hooves become flippers (while their body’s guard hairs are hollow and buoyant in the water). By fall the callused parts of their hooves have been worn down by rocks and the soft pads have lost their hair as the hooves widen for more surface area across wet permafrost bogs. In winter, their hooves harden again on the outside and soften on the inside with a new growth of hair to insulate them from the cold. Then they use their concave hooves as shovels to dig through the snow for lichen.
The velvet skin that coats their antlers holds blood vessels that allow caribou to cool their body temperature in the heat of summer. Within weeks the bulls that clattered alongside us on the Noatak would shed their antlers. In spring, as daylight returned, their antlers would grow back at an inch a day.
All this animal activity amid such a primeval place put me into a new, instinctual level of awareness, along with the sensation that we had been transported into an earlier world. Like that of Lewis and Clark upon their Missouri, surrounded by a horizon of bison.
The tundra around us had reddened with frost. My toes felt numb inside neoprene socks. And I couldn’t help but notice – as Dave had repeatedly pointed out – that only two days out and the polypropylene T-shirt beneath my fleece jacket emitted the soured, plastic-bag smell unique to 1980s synthetic clothing.
Then Dave whispered, “Wolf,” and pointed to the left bank where a black wolf sat regally on its haunches, gone still as a statue, steadfast in its stare as if to critique our paddle strokes.
From my journal:
We paddle slowly for the shore and to our amazement, the wolf waits for us. So, we carefully look down at the ground and only steal peripheral glances his way as if eye contact will show too much dominance and violate the rules here in the high kingdom of animalia. As we step out of the boat the wolf backs off into the willows, yet slowly, not really fleeing so much as inviting us to follow. So, we follow through chest-high willows. Each time I raise my camera the camerashy wolf jumps behind another willow. Somehow, he is not afraid and carries
himself with dignity. He ducks behind the willows two more times and each time I lower my camera until he reappears atop an old glacial esker out in the open.
He sidles along in a diagonal lope with his rear feet hitting the tundra to the side of his front feet, instead of moving straight ahead. Now that he’s out in the open we can see – unlike the muscular blonde wolf of this morning – that this black wolf has a gimpy rear leg, as if he’d been kicked by a caribou. His ribs poke out through gray fur. Still, there’s spring to his steps.
We chase our conceit that this wolf will lead us somewhere important, and sure enough, on a nearby riverbank we hear mewing noises. Then the old gray-black wolf begins to lope south abandoning its diagonal sidle, as if its mission is now accomplished. So, we push through waist-high willows for thirty yards and suddenly find ourselves in a clearing with the sandy wolf of the morning – who jumps down from her family at the den and sprints for the river.
“Jeez, Jon!”
“My god,” I reply.
There are five pups lying in the sand
A subadult male grizzly in Denali National Park stares at the camera. Several hundred grizzlies roam the north side of the park, part of an overall Alaska population 100 times larger. In 1983, the author and his colleague Dave Buchanan got to witness such a majestic bruin while exploring the Noatak. (JON WATERMAN)
“To bear witness to the wonders of the Arctic, I had to learn to withstand the onslaught of mosquitoes, which could be avoided in the wind, far offshore, or in my tent,” the author says.
(JON WATERMAN)
next to the hole of their den. Most are asleep; one looks up at us from the leg bone of a caribou and tilts its head with curiosity at us, then slowly stands and walks away while its siblings remain asleep.
We crawl closer; their fur riffles in the wind.
“Don’t touch anything,” Dave whispers. “Don’t want to foul it with our scent.”
At this the other pups yawn and stretch; one licks its paws. From the river below comes a howl from their mother, rising sharply, until it breaks into its third and final note after twenty seconds as she strains for more volume:
Owwwwwww—wwwwwwwwwwwWOOOO.
At this, all five of the pups immediately stand up: 25-pound tawny, cinnamoncolored furballs who stumble atop uncertain legs down off the den hill toward their howling mother. Rather than
further violate their sanctity by chasing them, we take a photograph of the 8-foot den hole and leave, still not speaking above a whisper. Like being in church.
We beat our way back to the kayak past bearberry and crowberry and mountain cranberry, all brightly advertising their wares in an acerbic sweet fermentation. All the way we hear the seductive echo of the mother wolf’s three-noted croon telling her pups to “come away, come away, come away.”
How could the hair not rise up on the back of my neck?
We lift, then shove the big kayak into the river, and slide into our cockpits with paddles behind our backs braced across the thwarts to prevent snapping the wooden crossbars. I cup a hand to drink from the river.
At the next bend we see all the pups swim the river with their muzzles held high
“The Alaskan myth of a fish on every cast comes close to the truth in the Arctic. In five casts, I caught two grayling,” Waterman writes of his 1983 experience on Lake Matcharak. “Compared to the more pensive salmon, grayling hit and run like underwater bandits and bend your rod double.” (K. SOWL/U.S. FISH AND WILDLIFE SERVICE)
Waterman contemplates the vast spaces of the Arctic, amid a flooded river that washed out campsites and gravel bars throughout the Noatak headwaters, the Dënéndeh, Kuuvuan KaNianiq, Gwich’in Nàhn, and Iñupiat ancestral lands (JON WATERMAN)
Alistair
In the Noatak National Preserve, Chris Korbulic checks out spruce trees collapsing in the permafrost thaw. This “drunken forest” effect is now occurring throughout Alaska’s north. (JON WATERMAN)
and tails that work the current like rudders. We back-paddle to give them space and watch the pups climb out one by one. As the last skinny pup – maybe the runt of the litter – comes up out onto the silt bank a beat slower than his siblings, his legs are sucked down into the glacial till and he begins to whimper. He’s trapped.
While the blonde mother sits still in the reddening tussocks above, refusing to look at us, we drift closer. As the trapped pup begins to whine, Dave and I look at one another with the same question on our minds: Should we rescue it? Before we can paddle over to the bank, two other pups run down and bite into their brother’s neck fur, then with three tremendous pulls – like a
tug of war – they yank him out of the siltlike quicksand, growling and play-biting one another with their little needle teeth. The mother then leads all five off up onto the tundra bench. No one looks back at us and we watch only with sidelong glances to respect their privacy.
THAT EVENING WE MADE camp on an open sandbar. While we strolled a high bank downstream, we spotted a distant grizzly bear on the tundra. So with the stealth and deference for a creature above us on the food chain, we crawled on hands and knees up to an old glacial esker and laid down on top of the ridge 100 yards from the grizzly. The binoculars revealed the details.
The grizzly sat atop the remains of what resembled a large bull caribou. The bear periodically lowered its bloodied muzzle into the bowels of the dead caribou and tore out its intestines.
Although the two animals were in ankle-to-knee-high dwarf birch and miniature tundra plants, the kill site looked like a bulldozer had cleared it to bare soil around the kill. You could just imagine the 600-pound, muscle-bound bear as it lifted the big caribou off the ground and flung it around to break its neck before disembowelment began.
On the sidelines sat a fox and a dozen ravens. At one point the fox crept in closer and the bear stood up and made a quick head feint – with all the adroitness of a point guard’s head fake toward the net – and the fox darted away with tail between its legs as the birds rose in the air and settled back down again as if they had just ridden the crest of an ocean wave. We, too, got the message and crept away. Dave asked why we had gotten so close to a grizzly on a kill, particularly with the shotgun back in the kayak. Grizzlies are the black holes of the Arctic universe, dominant force fields that absorb everything – leaves, grass, blueberries, roots, ground squirrels or largehooved animals – that enter their orbits.
At the same time, however, the presence of grizzlies – that need several
“Forests are slowly on the move north along with animals new to the Arctic,” writes Waterman about notable changes over the decades. “The permafrost has begun to thaw, and lakes have disappeared as riverbanks and mountainsides droop like frozen spinach left out on the counter.” He adds, “It’s high time that we truly understand the Arctic, lest we forget what it once was.”
(CHRIS KORBULIC)
hundred square miles to survive – showed us that the establishment of this park landscape had unequivocally succeeded. Still, I had a lot to learn about grizzlies.
WE REACHED THE FLOATPLANE takeout at Lake Matcharak the next day, folded up our Folbot, hauled it a half mile to the lakeshore across a field of unstable tussocks, mercifully free of mosquitoes, and set up camp.
There were no jet contrails in the sky. And I couldn’t get over the pressure of light against my face. I remember how I stared at it aglow on my hands.
The evening light flowed like viscous liquid into the tent and set the sedges afire as if the wind carried a molten wave. It painted whitecaps on the lake, colored the snowbound peaks pink, and lit clouds into brigantines of fire.
“You going to catch dinner?” Dave
asked.
“I’ll try,” I replied.
The Alaskan myth of a fish on every cast comes close to the truth in the Arctic. In five casts, I caught two grayling. Compared to the more pensive salmon, grayling hit and run like underwater bandits and bend your rod double.
I cleaned the fish in the water with my Swiss Army knife and threw all but the filets out into the water where a bear wouldn’t smell them. Then we sat 50 yards from the tent, torched the stove, and sautéed the firm white flesh – scales down – until it curled and cupped in the frypan. As we picked a few small bones out of our mouths and threw them into the lake, we knew we weren’t the first to give thanks to grayling on this sandy shore.
AS EARLY AS 6,000 years ago – more than a millennia before the Egyptians began to
build the pyramids – the ancients fished and hunted alongside the pure-blue, cloud-reflective waters of Lake Matcharak. Known to modern archaeologists as the Northern Archaic culture, followed by the Arctic Small Tool tradition (ASTt), named for the arrows and spearpoints minutely and carefully chipped from obsidian and chert, these hardy Iñupiat predecessors depended upon the caribou. The Canadian archaeologist Robert McGhee called them Palaeo-Eskimos, with no definitive link to the Inuit or Iñupiat (Eskimos) who succeeded them several thousand years later. Although their tools, hunt techniques and houses mostly proved different from the more modernday inhabitants of the Arctic, McGhee believed that they invented the igloo.
“The Palaeo-Eskimos provide an example of lives lived richly and joyfully amid dangers and insecurities that are beyond the imagination of the present world,” wrote McGhee in his book Ancient People of the Arctic Park service workers dug out and sifted hundreds of thousands of animal bones and chipped-stone tools. Blades, burins and scrapers were buried in the sand and frozen in the permafrost alongside the lake. Archaeologists have not found another Alaskan ASTt site that comes close to the number of ancient animal bones found at Matcharak. Most of the bones were caribou, hunted and butchered in summer, then eaten and used for clothes, skin-tent shelters, and tools. There were also the remains of Dall sheep and ground squirrel bones. Since no large wood was available, they had fastened their microblade chert and obsidian points into caribou-bone handles or spears.
Despite the hostile, cold environment and the lack of comfort or security in a hard world where the rivers and sea completely froze over, these caribou people designed caribou-bone tools with etched lines and artistic grace. Their carefully and slowly carved tools spoke of aesthetic sensibilities and a belief in a higher life beyond the brutal day-to-day realities of survival.
In little more than a couple of centuries, like-minded, artistically inclined hunter nomads from Western Alaska migrated and eventually colonized all the Arctic. Given the iron-cold winters and short summers, it’s hard to imagine
the ingenuity and toughness it took for these people to prosper amid hard-tocatch animals and the frozen aridity of the North. They lived short lives.
They journeyed with their shaman leaders from Alaska more than 2,000 miles east to Greenland in animal-skin boats. One of the earliest pieces of ASTt masks ever found – a 3,500-year-old, miniature mask portrait of these colonizers – was found in Eastern Canada. The tattooed face, McGhee said, “emanates tranquility and grace.”
Less than 1,000 years later, pre-Dorset people subsumed the old culture. They hunted marine mammals, developed the dogsled and seal oil soapstone lamps, and continued to carve several-inch-long stone masks that depicted serene, halfanimal, half-human faces.
Andrew Tremayne – one of the archaeologists who uncovered the remains at Matcharak and returned to the site for several summers – once held the tiny projectile points in his hand in wonderment. Since the earliest evidence of bow and arrow use belongs to the ASTt (and the tool likely came from Asia across
the Bering Land Bridge), the projectile points could’ve been from arrows, or even spear darts from atlatls (spear throwers). He had seen stone tools from many time periods, but at Matcharak the ancients had taken the time and trouble to intricately flake even the smallest blades with a unique combination of artistic expression and tool function. Fascinated, Tremayne replicated the tools and found that even a tiny spall-flake proved incredibly durable and could cut or score animal bones.
“The level of craftsmanship on even their tiniest stone tools implies a great appreciation for the aesthetic value of the objects they produced,” Tremayne said. “If their spiritual beliefs and stories are anything like the tools they made, this part of their culture would have been very intricate and beautiful. I often think they must have been the toughest people to have ever lived on Earth.”
As would be true with the Iñupiat who followed in their footsteps. Tremayne believes that the ASTt speared their grayling and may have created threepronged tridents or weighted nets used by latter-day fishermen. Since the ancient
inland peoples’ tools were so tiny, the Iñupiat who now fish on the coast will ask Brooks Range travelers if they’ve seen any sign of the “little people.”
DAVE BUCHANAN AND I went to sleep that night with grayling in our stomachs, beneath stars that winked and blinked light with all the phosphorescent sparkle of bioluminescent organisms in a blackened ocean. We looked forward to the next day’s floatplane.
We would be whisked back to the ranger station in Bettles, Alaska, into warm rooms with cold beer and a meal that we would heat in a microwave. Our casual patrol was a far cry from the hazard-filled journey that the ancients took in their caribou robes as they paddled and walked several hundred miles back to the sea thousands of years ago. ASJ
Editor’s note: Into the Thaw: Witnessing Wonder Amid the Arctic Climate Crisis, is set to publish on October 22 and will be available for purchase at patagonia.com/ shop/books. For more on the author, check out his website at jonathanwaterman.com.
WHEN COHO FISHING IS EGG-CELLENT PROPER
CURING PROCESS LEADS TO SLAMMING FALL
SILVERS
BY SCOTT HAUGEN
As I write these words in midAugust, I’m heading on my second coho trip of the month. The first journey found me on Prince of Wales, where buddies and I caught coho in the salt; fish were also showing up in rivers. All month, the reports I got from friends around Bristol Bay were much brighter
than they’d been the past few seasons.
I’m packing my bags to head to Cold Bay. I’ve fished here many times over the past decade. The coho here grow big and fight hard. I’ll target them by stripping flies, casting lures and fishing cured eggs.
I know what some of you are thinking:
“Catching coho on eggs isn’t that hard.” Others might say, “I’d give anything to catch a limit of coho.”
PEAK OF THE RUN
While the season is winding down in some parts of the state, it’s just ramping up in others. Alaska is vast, and coho
Author Scott Haugen has been fishing Alaska for over 30 years and curing salmon eggs to fish with for over 50. He likes cutting the skeins into bait-sized chunks when curing them in order to optimize their scent and color. (SCOTT HAUGEN)
Perfect for football weekends, these sliders created by Tiffany Haugen go beyond your local
bar’s menu items. Big game meat like moose makes for a
MAKE SENSATIONAL SLIDERS WITH BIG GAME MEAT
BY TIFFANY HAUGEN
While some of us are heading out on big game hunts this month, others already have a freezer full of meat.
Whether it’s moose, caribou, elk,
deer or mountain goat, this recipe works with all of them. I first tried it when Scott brought home a big bull moose. It was delicious, and it’s been a big hit with every big game animal I’ve cooked it with – even black bear and waterfowl.
If you find yourself too busy to shape mini-burgers for sliders, try this baking sheet meatloaf-hack that not only results in extra flavorful, super easy burgers, but it keeps you off the grill on those cold, rainy fall days in Alaska. While these little bites may not have grill marks, the caramelized onions and peppers hide that fact and make this dish extra delicious.
1 pound ground moose or other wild game
One egg
1/2 an onion, minced
3 to 4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup breadcrumbs
1/4 cup tomato paste
1/4 cup pickles (sweet or dill), minced
2 tablespoons yellow mustard
1 to 2 tablespoons sweet chili sauce
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
Olive oil for the pan
In a large bowl, mix all ingredients until fully combined. Drizzle a baking sheet with olive oil. Spread meatloaf mixture out evenly on a baking sheet to about 1 inch thick. Bake in a preheated 350-degree oven for 10 to 17 minutes until meat reaches desired doneness; judge like a hamburger from rare to well done, keeping in mind the edges will cook faster than the middle.
Remove from the oven and cut into slider-size pieces. Serve on a bun with onions and bell peppers that have been caramelized in butter.
Editor’s note: To order signed copies of Tiffany Haugen's popular book, Cooking Big Game, visit scotthaugen.com for this and other titles.
sports
great meal or snack. (TIFFANY HAUGEN)
FIELD
returns vary. Regulations, run timings, commercial fishing pressure at the mouth, predators, even fellow sport anglers can also impact the stocks. But in rivers where it’s legal, fishing bait for silver salmon offers a definite advantage.
Salmon have a sense of smell measured in parts per billion. With a nose that strong, anglers want to capitalize on the salmon’s sense of smell. Coho also have acute vision in a window above and in front of them; think of a cone shape.
It’s no secret coho love bright pink, red and orange hues. This is where good dyes in your egg cures come in. As for prepackaged cures, I love Pro-Cure’s Wizard Cure in double neon red and their flame orange fluorescent for coho. Both of these cures use dyes that hold up incredibly well. The balance of other ingredients in these cures make them winners in my book wherever I’ve fished them in Alaska, even in tannic streams.
SCHOOL OF SILVERS
In fall 2019, my wife Tiffany and I lived
The author’s son Kazden Haugen graduated high school in Hyder, Alaska, where he also experienced some incredible coho fishing on a remote river. This morning’s limit fell to cured eggs fished beneath a float. (SCOTT HAUGEN)
with limited visibility or streams that don’t have a lot of fish in them. Laying a scent trail with your bait is very important for capturing the attention of salmon downstream and attracting them to your offering.
Baitfish scents like herring, sardine and shrimp are good to add, but my favorite is anise oil. I don’t know what it is about this licorice smell, but it catches salmon of all subspecies. I’ve also used anise oil when trapping wolves in the Arctic, plus numerous other furbearers. It just works, and you don’t need a lot of it. Pro-Cure sells a pure-grade anise oil. Don’t get the grocery store’s diluted version; it’s not the same.
Scents can be added during the curing process or afterwards. I’ve also had great success with Nate’s Baits, as well as TNT egg cures when it comes to fishing salmon throughout Alaska.
in Hyder, Alaska, where we taught school for a year before it closed due to low enrollment. (We were the only two teachers in the school, teaching all grades in all subjects, and we’d still be there if there were enough kids.) In October the coho started running up a small stream near the school. One day we literally took the whole school fishing. Students cured eggs from fish I’d previously caught, and most caught coho by fishing those cured eggs under a float. One used a lure, another a jig. The rest were caught on eggs. For many it was the first coho they’d caught.
Then we took the eggs from the fish the students caught and cured them. Some students started getting into making their own cures. At school, we also smoked and cooked the fish several ways, which the kids loved.
THE CURE FOR COHO
When curing your own eggs, adding scent can make a big difference, especially when fishing glacial streams
Once the egg curing process is complete, you determine the texture of the final product. I like cutting up skeins of eggs into bait-sized clusters and then curing them, versus curing whole skeins, as this maximizes the amount of cure that penetrates the membranes. It’s also less messy to handle once fishing and saves time having to cut bait while you’re on the river.
SOFT OPENING
If fishing coho in softer water – where they hold in boils, back eddies and sloughs – soft baits are ideal. Coho don’t typically chew on or mouth a bait like a king salmon will, so bait texture is not as critical. But a soft and wet cured egg milks out well, dispersing a lot of scent and color. As the color and scent travel downstream, it attracts coho. A softly cured egg is attained by removing it from the cure and placing it into a baggie or jar, then refrigerating it.
When fishing fast-moving water or drift fishing where your bait bounces along the bottom, a firmly cured egg is ideal. A drier bait will withstand the punishment that hitting rocks and being tossed around in fast-flowing water delivers. To get a firm bait, once they’re done curing, remove the eggs from the brine and put them on a sheet
Some of the author’s go-to coho egg cures are these from Pro-Cure. Note the bright colors each cure produces. (SCOTT HAUGEN)
of wood or a plastic rack, even paper towels if curing a small batch of eggs. Don’t place the eggs on a metal rack or newspaper to air dry, as the chemicals released by them can repel salmon. Cure and air dry the eggs in a cool, dry place, like the corner of a garage.
It’s important to never set them in sunlight, as they’ll turn dark and become useless. Let them air dry to the point they’re no longer sticky to the touch, yet still malleable in your fingers.
CHECK YOUR LOCAL REGULATIONS
Prior to fishing eggs, make sure the streams you’ll be fishing allow bait to be used. Not all coho rivers in Alaska allow fishing with natural bait. I’ve found no better bait to consistently catch riverrunning coho than eggs. And the better the cure, the more fish you’ll catch. ASJ
Editor’s note: For signed copies of Scott Haugen's popular book, Egg Cures: Proven Recipes & Techniques, visit scotthaugen .com. Follow Scott’s adventures on Instagram.
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THREE GENERATIONS, A MUTANT LINGCOD AND ALASKA MEMORIES TO CHERISH
PHOTOS BY AARON ALBERTSON
Three generations of the Al bertson family – Allen, his son Aaron and the young est member of the crew, Anders – had a memorable fishing trip out of Sitka’s Alaska Kingfisher Lodge (alaskakingfisherlodge.com). They were fishing with “Grandpa Al’s” high school buddy Joe Mounts, and the trip’s highlight was the rather unique “mutant” lingcod the Albertsons
leased on July 23 in Sitka Sound near Biorka Island.
“We caught a crazy-looking lingcod that had a color mutation,” says Aaron, who’s from Tacoma, Washington (his dad Allen lives around Twin Valley, Minnesota). “No one had ever seen one like this. We hope many other anglers get to enjoy the surprise of seeing this one-of-a-kind lingcod on their line!”
The skin of most lings is a mottled brown and some have a blue tone, but an orange one might be as rare as Bigfoot.
The Albertsons also landed salmon, yelloweye and sablefish among other fish during this potluck adventure. It was an experience they’ll never forget. -ASJ
GUIDING LIGHT OF BRISTOL BAY
A LOCAL’S EVOLUTION TO A RISING STAR OUTFITTER
BY PETE ROBBINS
For Reuben Hastings, the path to guiding was unexpected, but ultimately he believes it’s brought him closer to the land, as well as to his Alaskan heritage, and it has made him a more fulfilled human being.
“It just kind of happened,” he said. “I’d planned to go to school, but with the summertime off I needed to make some money. It all just kind of clicked. Why go to school when this is what made me happy? It didn’t feel like work.”
His journey was bolstered and catalyzed by good timing. Hastings was a member of the initial class of what is now known as the Bristol Bay Fly Fishing & Guide Academy, an effort to help young adults in the region learn to take their existing skills in the outdoors and enhance them while also adding soft skills necessary to take clients on local adventures.
The Academy also serves to make them good stewards of the precious resources. After all, who is better equipped to care about Bristol Bay’s bounty than those who depend on it and may have done so for generations already?
always been the dominant seasonal employer up here, but it opened my eyes to the idea that there were other options for young folk like myself.”
PROGRAM FOUNDERS
LUKI AKELKOK and Tim Troll, and lead instructor Nanci Morris Lyon immediately saw potential in Hastings, so much so that not only did they invite him back to be an adjunct instructor the next season, but Lyon – owner of Bear Trail Lodge –made a strong effort to get Hastings on her payroll.
“She told me she was going to snag me,” he recalled with a laugh. “I told her it was up to my dad. He said ‘OK’; and now it’s been 13 years.”
A Bristol Bay native, one of the first alums of the region’s guiding academy and now a rising outfitter, Reuben Hastings is proud to help clients harvest the fish and wildlife of his home region. (REUBEN HASTINGS)
“I was part of the pilot class,” said Hastings, who is from New Stuyahok, located along the Nushagak River. “It was a three-and-a-half-day crash course to get our feet wet. Commercial fishing had
Lyon was cagey, though. As someone who’d adopted the Bristol Bay region as her home, she knew the value of its treasures, but also that much of the magic came from the people. Only later did Hastings understand why she’d put so much effort into an outdoor employment school that might not consistently or directly benefit her own business: She was playing the long game.
She’s been a tireless advocate against the Pebble Mine project and brought politicians and other
Q&A WITH REUBEN HASTINGS
Author Pete Robbins asked a series of speed-round questions with Bristol Bay guide Reuben Hastings to get his take on a variety of topics.
Pete Robbins What’s your favorite fish?
Reuben Hastings That would probably be a two-parter: Trophy trout in the fall on a swung fly and also kings on a swung fly. They’re both even.
PR What about your favorite fish to eat?
RH It’s always been kings.
PR What is your favorite hunt?
RH It’s spring brown bear because it’s a super-mental hunt. There’s some luck involved, but you’re sitting for days looking through a pair of binoculars. Everything has to work out right, so it is definitely a test of your mental stability.
PR What’s your favorite animal to eat and how do you like it prepared?
RH Moose. I grew up with moose and caribou. We used to have one of the largest caribou herds in the state, so I grew up eating a lot of that and moose was kind of a treat. Now it’s kind of reversed, but I’m still partial to moose and Dad’s pot roast is still my favorite way to eat it.
PR Other than Bristol Bay, where else would you like to fish in Alaska?
RH I’d go way up north to catch sheefish. It’s something completely different. They’ve been coined the “tarpon of the north” and they get upwards of 40 to 45 inches up there. They’re big fish and really aggressive and I’d like to catch them by stripping flies. I guess that’s a float trip, too, which would suit me.
I really like being out in the elements. The only other place I’ve really fished was for pike up on the Innoko last year when I was guiding for moose. Big pike on that river.
PR What’s a bucket list fishing or hunting trip you’d like to take outside of Alaska?
RH The bucket list is definitely Africa and going on safari there. A Cape buffalo is what interests me, maybe some plains game for table fare, but the ultimate goal would be a Cape buffalo.
PR Other than fishing and hunting and spending time with your kids, what do you do with your limited spare time?
RH I love to play music. I play bass in our band. We make music and include dancing; it’s like two-stepping country from the 1950s, ’60s and ’70s. ASJ
Some of Hastings’ favorite hunting memories include eating moose prepared by his dad. “Dad’s pot roast is still my favorite way to eat it,” he says. (REUBEN HASTINGS)
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“When you have someone from the area, they can provide knowledge of certain things that you only get when you grow up in the region,” Hastings said. “There are stories, and history, and things like natural medicines. Especially on a slow fishing day, it helps me to make a great day out of it. That knowledge has been passed down.”
But the guide’s career benefits have not followed a one-way street. Hastings said that they have made him a better person, a better husband, a better father and a better citizen.
“After being around people from all over the world, I’m more open to different
interpretations,” he explained. “We get people from all walks of life. Some of them are guys who’ve traveled the world, while others are people who’ve saved their whole lives to come on this one trip. The ones I like the best are those who are open to new experiences. I can teach them to avoid bad habits and also pick their brains about all sorts of different topics. It’s a never-ending learning experience. I get to learn their life experiences and I get to share ours.”
AS A RESULT OF the skills he’s developed with clients, Hastings was elevated to a leadership position within the local native corporation, Stuyahok Limited. He served as the president and then was ready for some time off, but he was renominated for the position.
“I’ve been on the local political scene for nine years,” he said. “Guiding definitely helped, especially with public speaking. I am confident that I can go to meetings in Anchorage where I don’t know anybody and strike up a conversation. Before I was quiet and reserved, but at the lodge you have to adapt or you don’t succeed.”
Guiding taught him the political skill of managing others’ expectations. It has also made him realize how special his home waters and wildlife are in the grand scheme.
Hastings is proud to be connected to the Bristol Bay watershed’s vibrant salmon runs. (REUBEN HASTINGS)
Guiding offers Hastings a chance to meet “people from all walks of life. Some of them are guys who’ve traveled the world, while others are people who’ve saved their whole lives to come on this one trip. The ones I like the best are those who are open to new experiences.” (REUBEN HASTINGS)
“We have incredible diversity,” says Hastings of the region. “It’s still one of the last places in the world where wild kings come in, and we have the biggest sockeye run in the U.S. … Our rivers fill lots of freezers.” (REUBEN HASTINGS)
ON THE WATER WITH A BRISTOL BAY SAVANT
I’ve fished with Reuben Hastings numerous times since 2019 – on the Naknek for kings, silvers and sockeye, and on various fly-out locations for rainbows, grayling and Dollies. While I fish extensively, none of those are species that I chase regularly – at least not outside of Alaska.
What I remember most about the days with Hastings are not the world-class angling opportunities and
“We have incredible diversity,” he said. “It’s still one of the last places in the world where wild kings come in, and we have the biggest sockeye run in the U.S. The only other place that can compare is in Russia. Our rivers fill lots of freezers. And of course, in addition to all five species of salmon, we have trophy trout. And the beautiful thing is that it’s available to everybody. You can get pampered at a high-end lodge like Bear Trail, or work with a smaller outfit, taking
successes – although I’m well aware that I need to be grateful for all of them – but rather what some people would consider “throwaway moments.”
To me, they’re the essence of what makes our days on the water great. My wife Hanna and I call him the “Cliff Clavin of Alaska” for his endless knowledge of trivia. He can also distinguish and imitate the sounds of various float planes through various grunts and lip noises.
float trips where you stay in tents.”
With that in mind, and with Nanci’s blessing, he’s about to take the next step in his journey – starting his own outfitting operation.
“I’ve been blessed to work with Nanci, and on the hunting side I’ve had the guidance of an amazing outfitter. I’m slowly getting there, but it’s something that I have to do for myself.”
It’s not just for him – he has four children of varying ages, all of whom
I’ve rarely laughed so hard as I have with him, and when he texts me a short clip of a comedian we both like, I light up before I even press “play.”
To me, Reuben Hastings is Bristol Bay in human form. I’ve had other great guides up there who are not native to the region. They’ve been exceptional anglers, teachers, storytellers and companions, but no one else speaks salmon to me quite like he does. PR
have their own dreams in varying stages. Hastings says he’ll “help in any way that I can,” just as Lyons and others pushed him to fulfill his possibilities. ASJ
Editor’s note: Go to bristolbayriveracademy .org for more information on the Bristol Bay Fishing & Guide Academy. Pete Robbins is an outdoor writer based in Vienna, Virginia. He and his wife Hanna share their outdoor adventures and offer tips for anglers at their website, halfpastfirstcast.com.
HUNTING ALASKA’S FORGOTTEN ISLAND
DESPITE GHOST TOWN VIBE, ADAK YIELDS PREMIER BIRD, BIG GAME ACTION
BY SCOTT HAUGEN
Cresting a rolling hill with a brace of ptarmigan clutched between my fingers, the sudden beauty before me took my breath away. I’d been so focused on each step up the hill that I failed to realize the magnificent surroundings.
A calm bay with a rugged, rocky shoreline and a piece of history unveiled itself. I could only imagine what the bay must have looked like full of battleships, or how deafening the sound of war planes must have been as it echoed off the nearby mountains.
Once a booming military establishment with tens of thousands of people, including troops, Adak Island now looks like a ghost town. Walking the vacant streets, it’s not difficult to imagine what life here must have been like. Swing sets, still in good condition, lay dormant. The signs were gone on a centrally located restaurant, but it was clear it was once a McDonald’s.
Bowling pins could be seen here and there, signifying a popular pastime of residents. Standing where Franklin D. Roosevelt gave a speech to troops gave me goosebumps. In an old church, some hymnals were still perched in the backs of the pews.
The school was still operating but with very few children, for today only about 150 people call Adak home. But for hunters, the island is paradise, as is the case with much of remote Alaska.
PTARMIGAN GALORE
Over nearly a decade of living on the North Slope – where my wife Tiffany and I worked as school teachers in two remote villages –I enjoyed exceptional hunting. What the Arctic lacked in some species was made up for in others, and that’s what I quickly learned about Adak Island.
The first flock of ptarmigan I saw take wing from well over a mile away brought a smile to my face. When the birds landed, it was easy to see them – their white plumage stood out in stark contrast against the short, green vegetation. In fact, the lowgrowing plants afforded clear views for miles, making the hunting enjoyable throughout the island.
Joining me on the hunt were two buddies, Cory and Phil, both longtime Alaska residents. Both men are avid hunters and seasoned outdoorsmen, and we were all happy to be sharing time together – the first for all of us – on Adak.
Hiking in the hills south of town, finding ptarmigan was easy. It seemed every hilltop carried prime vegetation with thick berries. It was November and the weather was very mild, which is typical this far out on the Aleutians Chain. Adak is actually Alaska’s southernmost city, as well as the westernmost municipality in the United States.
The walking was easy, save for some dips and ridges to negotiate, and the ptarmigan thick. As we glassed the rolling tundra, we wouldn’t make a move until we spotted three or four
Alaska’s once-thriving and now sparsely populated Adak Island in the Aleutians chain remains a fascinating and productive hunting destination. For wingshooters, the white wings of a flock of ptarmigan are easy to pick up against the contrasting vegetation. (SCOTT HAUGEN)
flocks, all lined out. We’d move on one flock, pushing it toward the others when we shot. By the end of our hike, we’d have multiple birds to show for it. This repeated itself with virtually every stalk.
Thanks to their diet, the ptarmigan were very great-eating birds. Throughout the course of the week, Phil, Cory and I would hunt these birds a few more times. We enjoyed every moment.
CARIBOU MEAT HUNT
What initially brought us to Adak Island was the hunt for caribou. We anticipated big bulls and lots of animals. We experienced few animals and no bulls.
We’d missed the heyday of Adak caribou hunting, but we knew that going in. What we didn’t figure was that there would be so few animals, at least where we hunted.
We rented an Argo from a local, as well as a vacant home to stay in. As part of their agreement with the government, Alaska Airlines has regular weekly flights to the desolate island, so getting there is easy.
We soon discovered that ATV access to the public ground we could hunt was also diminishing due to excessive habitat damage. This meant we had to walk, and walk we did. We’d see a cow or two here and there, but no big herds, and nothing we really wanted to go after. We didn’t see a single bull. After a few days, we ran into some hunters from Southeast Alaska. They were packing out cows. When we asked them where all the bulls were, they came back with, “Bulls? Who wants bulls
when you have these great-eating cows,” a statement that came out rather matter of factly. “We come here every year just for the meat, and don’t think we’d shoot a bull even if we could,” smiled one man. “It’s the best-eating game in Alaska,” confirmed another.
It got us thinking and it made sense. First, here you have a group of residents from Alaska’s Panhandle who could get their fill of Sitka deer, yet they chose to come to Adak for their meat. Next, the island has no predators and the weather is mild by Alaska standards, both of which result in growing healthy caribou.
The fact we weren’t seeing many caribou just meant they were somewhere else. The more of Adak you hike, the more relief you discover in the deceptive land.
What appears flat from a distance could be very undulating, plus deep enough to hold thousands of caribou. Taking to the high ground and glassing was the norm. The goal was to spot a herd of caribou, then figure out a path to close the distance. This was easier said than done.
While we spotted a lot of singles and doubles, they were still caribou, meaning they covered ground deceptively fast. Just when you think you have them pegged, the caribou seem to vanish in the folding landscape. It’s like they knew we were there, but that was impossible, for the wind held consistent and they never did see us. Caribou are funny that way wherever I’ve hunted them throughout this state.
Finally, we caught a break. A herd of two dozen were spotted atop a mountain.
The site of a former naval base, some 6,000 people once called Adak home, and tens of thousands of US troops were stationed here in World War II. Today it sits like a modern-day ghost town awaiting for the next chapter in its rich history. (SCOTT HAUGEN)
Author Scott Haugen was impressed with the ptarmigan hunting on Adak Island and would one day like to return with his dogs. (SCOTT HAUGEN)
Doping the wind, we knew there was no way to get to them, so we had to wait for the caribou to make a move. They didn’t budge all day. The next morning they were still in the same place. Given the wind, there was no way we could get within shooting range of them.
Later that afternoon we passed by the herd again, still holding tight on the exposed precipice that gave them safety. Then, the herd arose and began walking before our eyes. We hurried as fast as we could, covering ground, hoping we were moving in the right direction. You don’t catch up to caribou on the move; you hope to intercept them.
We lost sight of the herd for a few minutes, and when we reached our designated checkpoint, they were
Cory Kittle is all smiles over this great-eating cow caribou he took on Adak Island. (SCOTT HAUGEN)
nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, they popped out of the gully below less than 200 yards from where we sat.
With some quick shooting, soon we had three cows down, but there were no bulls in the herd. We each took a caribou to bone out, and shortly afterwards we were hauling out the meat on our backs. We’d all killed cows before and we all commented on how these were the biggest, fattest ones we’d ever seen.
That night we had fresh tenderloins for dinner. We had them for breakfast and dinner the next day too. Phil and I had eaten a lot of caribou over the years, as this was the primary meat of our semi-subsistence lifestyle. We both agreed these cows from Adak were the most delicious caribou we’d ever had. Caribou had made up most of our diet
during the years my wife and I lived on the North Slope, and the Adak cow was the best she’s ever eaten too.
NO BULLS,NO PROBLEM
It was ironic; we were three men who’ve hunted all over Alaska and taken some magnificent trophy-class animals, and here we all were targeting cows. The experience captured what big game hunting in Alaska is mostly about: the meat. Travel to many villages throughout the state and you’ll see big moose racks, caribou racks and sheep horns tossed into piles outside homes rather than adorning the walls inside. Why? Because subsistence hunters hunt to put food on the table, not a trophy head on the wall.
Seemingly gone are the days of walking from the village of Adak and
killing monster bull caribou on the edge of town. While they might wander by later in winter, if looking to go on this hunt, be prepared to spend long days afield, walking, glassing and packing. It’s likely going to be a meat hunt, too, and that’s not a bad thing; it’s reality.
Would I return to hunt Adak Island? You bet. The ptarmigan hunting alone is worth it, but next time I’m bringing my dogs because the terrain would suit them well, as long as no snow falls.
As for the caribou, I’d return there just for the quality of meat. It’s that good. ASJ
Editor’s note: For signed copies of Scott Haugen’s best-selling book, Hunting The Alaska High Arctic, visit scotthaugen.com. Follow Scott’s adventures on Instagram and Facebook.
Haugen used to live a semi-subsistence lifestyle in the Arctic, where caribou made up the majority of meat in his diet. And he ranks Adak’s caribou as the best table fare he’s ever had. “For subsistence hunters throughout Alaska,” he writes, “they hunt to put food on the table, not a trophy head on the wall.” (SCOTT HAUGEN)
BEERS FROM THE BACKCOUNTRY
GIRDWOOD BREWING CO. SERVES PINTS, PRIDE IN THE HEART OF THE CHUGACH MOUNTAINS
BY TIFFANY HERRINGTON
Located in the stunning landscapes of Girdwood, Alaska, Girdwood Brewing Co. stands as a shining example of the harmony between craft beer and the great outdoors.
Founded in 2017, this communitycentered brewery has quickly become a beloved gathering place for locals and travelers alike. The story behind Girdwood Brewing is one of friendship, vision and a deep connection to the
Located in a community set amid the rugged
visitors an outdoors-inspired beer list.
natural beauty of Alaska.
BIRTH OF A BREWING COMPANY
Girdwood Brewing Co. (907-7832739; girdwoodbrewing.com) was the brainchild of a group of friends – Rory and Brett Marenco, Amy Shimek and Karl McLaughlin – along with cofounders Josh Hegna and his wife Shauna, and Rory’s wife Emily. Beer ambassador Josh Hegna recalls the town’s lack of a year-
round gathering place prior to 2017.
“Girdwood has always been an outdoor paradise with great dining and a cool music scene, but it was missing something,” Josh explains. “We thought a community-minded brewery with an outdoor vibe that was open daily with consistent hours would be an excellent addition to Girdwood.”
The founders envisioned a brewery that would serve as a hub for locals
Chugach Mountains of Southcentral Alaska, Girdwood Brewing Co. offers
(GIRDWOOD BREWING CO.)
and tourists, offering a welcoming environment where people could enjoy high-quality craft beer while sharing stories of their Alaskan adventures. The goal was not just to create a brewery, but to establish a community landmark that reflected the spirit of Girdwood.
INSPIRED BY NATURE
The brewery’s surroundings play a crucial role in shaping its brewing philosophy.
Girdwood Brewing’s slogan, “Local Brews. Epic Views,” encapsulates this perfectly.
“The mountains and surrounding wilderness inspire us to brew beers that are super drinkable for us and our friends after biking, hiking, fishing, skiing, snowmachining or just hanging out on a beach,” says Josh Hegna.
Brewers Rory and Brett adopt a seasonal approach, crafting lighter, “more crushable” beers in the summer intended to be refreshing after an
Brewery cofounders Josh Hegna and his wife Shauna are avid anglers, and the Last Frontier’s most iconic fish inspired the seasonal Salmon Slayer, which “celebrates this incredible resource that allows us to fill our freezers every summer,” says Josh. (GIRDWOOD BREWING CO.)
outdoor adventure, and heartier brews in the winter, perfect for sipping around a campfire on colder, shorter days.
PERSONAL CONNECTION TO THE OUTDOORS
For Josh Hegna, Alaska’s wilderness is more than an inspiration; it’s a way of life.
“At the age of 50, I am a true 21st century ski bum with a boating and fishing addiction,” he shares. “Living in Girdwood affords me the opportunity to ski every day. My love is powder, and I target those days especially.”
Josh’s passion for outdoor adventure extends beyond skiing; in the summer and fall, his family uses rafts to fish, hit up whitewater, do multi-day camping trips and hunt. He recounts an unforgettable rafting trip with his wife in Talkeetna, where they flew in, harvested a caribou the next morning, navigated through Class IV rapids and ended the journey in Talkeetna with pizza and beers.
“It was the coolest rafting experience ever,” he recalls.
Hegna also shares that his wife is from a small village on Kodiak Island, where
EXPERIENCE GIRDWOOD’S RUGGED BEAUTY
For those planning a visit to Girdwood, Girdwood Brewing Co. owner Josh Hegna offers suggestions for a range of outdoor activities.
“From mild to the wild, there is something for everyone in Girdwood,” he says. “You can go for a mellow bike ride on the Bird to Gird trail, hike to beautiful waterfalls, enjoy a guided tour or go Nordic skiing. The bold may want to surf the bore tide, packraft a rowdy creek, ski some of the steepest slopes in North America or go downhill mountain biking at (Mount) Alyeska.”
Girdwood Brewing Co. enhances the experience of exploring the community by providing a welcoming space to relax and enjoy a craft beer after a day of adventure. The brewery’s beer garden, with its stunning views of the surrounding mountains, is the perfect spot to unwind and take in the natural beauty of Alaska.
Go to girdwood.com for more information. TH
they frequently float an unnamed river in the fall for steelhead, an experience akin to “being in Jurassic Park,” as they share the river with Kodiak bears, which fortunately are more focused on filling up on salmon.
Josh’s personal connection to the outdoors is mirrored in the brewery’s culture. Many of the staff are avid outdoor enthusiasts, including hardcore skiers, snowboarders, snowmachiners, mountain bikers, hikers and boaters. Their passion for adventure is reflected in the beers they craft and the events they host.
“Our kids are involved with the ski clubs at Alyeska, and we have team members that volunteer and coach,” Josh explains. The brewery also encourages biking, has custom bike racks made for their staff, and supports the mountain biking community. “Our creative, Tim, designs a Girdwood Brewing Company bike jersey every year,” he adds.
ENGAGING WITH OUTDOOR ENTHUSIASTS
Girdwood Brewing’s connection to the outdoors is reflected in every aspect of the brewery, from its beer names to its social media presence.
The taproom’s ski-themed décor,
featuring historical skis and retired Alyeska chairlifts, adds to the charm. Girdwood Brewing also actively supports local outdoor activities, donating to ski clubs and sponsoring bike events.
The brewery’s engagement with the outdoor community is evident in its robust social media presence, with which it shares stunning photos of the Alaskan wilderness, updates on new beer releases and stories from outdoor adventures.
ALASKA-INSPIRED BREWS
“Our beer names like Avy Savvy, Surly Captain, Down the Chute, Chrome Pony, Crow Creek Gold, Shred Sauce, Salmon Slayer and Ullr Fuelr all have a meaning in their niche,” Josh Hegna says.
The Alaskan wilderness often directly influences the beers brewed at Girdwood. A notable example is Avy Savvy, a double IPA released during Avalanche Awareness month.
“Since we opened in 2017, we have supported the Chugach National Forest Avalanche Information Center,” Josh says. “As users of the backcountry, we truly value this resource and feel that it
has saved lives. To show our support, we donate $1 of every beer sold and $2 of every four-pack to CNFAIC.”
Another seasonal favorite is Salmon Slayer, an easy-drinking saison released in the summer months.
“Salmon Slayer pairs great with salmon and celebrates this incredible resource that allows us to fill our freezers every summer,” Josh notes.
REMOTE LOCATION, BIG CHALLENGES
Operating a brewery in Girdwood –located in a valley between the Chugach Mountains of Southcentral Alaska – comes with a unique set of challenges, from finding a suitable location to dealing with extreme weather.
“Our biggest struggle was finding a spot to open Girdwood Brewing Company,” Josh says. “There were no existing buildings that would accommodate us, commercial land in Girdwood is scarce and there are a number of regulations that make it difficult to build in our town.”
Fortunately, a local fisherman offered to build the brewery on his land if they handled all the permitting. “After over 20 meetings with local Girdwood and
Girdwood’s cozy taproom pays homage to the region’s skiing passion at nearby Mount Alyeska. (GIRDWOOD BREWING CO.)
Anchorage officials, we were allowed to build a brewery,” recalls Josh, who also has to combat the weather in Girdwood, which from relentless rain to huge snow years can also be a challenge.
“Safely opening the brewery each day is our priority and can require a plow, loader, snowblower and shoveler just to get the doors open,” he adds.
COMMUNITY BUILDING
For the Hegnas, the most rewarding aspect of running Girdwood Brewing is the sense of community it fosters. “I love the fact that we have created a community gathering place for travelers and locals alike,” Josh says.
The brewery’s ability to remain open during a massive snowstorm, thanks to the resourcefulness of its staff and the support of the community, exemplifies this spirit.
“Even through a major earthquake and the pandemic, we have stayed
Hegnas taking advantage of the Alaska bounty that has inspired their brewery venture. It was helped along by a local fisherman who agreed to have the facility built on his land as long as they handled the permitting process.
Even in the snowy shadows of the Chugach Mountains, any day is a good day to sit outside and enjoy a beer in Girdwood.
open every day, sans Christmas and Thanksgiving. This year that was put in jeopardy with a massive snowstorm where nobody was able to drive,” Josh Hegna says. “The community used snowmachines and skis to navigate. Our hearty staff got creative with transportation, and we were able to open the brewery doors. It was a super cool community gathering that day.”
The brewery’s role as a community hub is further strengthened by its support for local food trucks and artisans. By providing a platform for these small businesses, Girdwood Brewing helps to nurture the local economy and foster a sense of community. This commitment to community extends to the brewery’s events, which often feature live music, local art and outdoor activities, creating a vibrant and inclusive atmosphere.
WHAT’S NEXT?
Girdwood Brewing is constantly evolving, with plans to enhance its beer garden and offer more live music events. Visitors can expect new releases like Yuki!, a light refreshing rice lager, and
(GIRDWOOD BREWING CO.)
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(GIRDWOOD BREWING CO.)
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exciting events such as Oktoberfest with a Festbier release, a dachshund parade, live music and a stein-holding contest.
The brewery’s future plans reflect its commitment to growth and innovation. By continually introducing new beers and events, Girdwood Brewing Co. aims to keep its offerings fresh and exciting for both locals and visitors alike.
As Girdwood Brewing Co. continues to grow and evolve, it remains true to its roots. The brewery’s dedication to quality, community and the natural environment ensures it will remain a cherished part of the Girdwood community for years to come.
In the words of Josh Hegna, “There are no strangers at GBC when having a beer and telling stories.”
This sense of community and connection is at the heart of the brewery, making it a place where memories are made, friendships are forged and the spirit of Alaska is celebrated in every pint.
Whether you’re a seasoned outdoor enthusiast or a casual visitor, a trip to Girdwood Brewing Co. is an invitation to experience the best of what Alaska has to offer – great beer, beautiful landscapes and a welcoming atmosphere. ASJ
Editor’s notes: Girdwood Brewing Co. is located at 2700 Alyeska Highway in Girdwood, Alaska. Follow them at facebook .com/girdwoodbrewingco and Instagram (@ girdwood_brewing_co). Tiffany Herrington is a Seattle area-based writer.
Creating a sense of community in Girdwood has become one of Josh Hegna’s visions for the brewery. “There are no strangers at GBC when having a beer and telling stories,” he says. (GIRDWOOD BREWING COMPANY)
