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ALASKA

SPORTING JOURNAL Volume 5 • Issue 11

www.aksportingjournal.com PUBLISHER James R. Baker ASSOCIATE PUBLISHER Dick Openshaw EXECUTIVE EDITOR Andy Walgamott EDITOR Chris Cocoles ASSOCIATE EDITOR Tom Reale WRITERS Paul D. Atkins, Mike Busby, Christine Cunningham, Scott Haugen, Tiffany Haugen, Jeff Lund, Bixler McClure, Krystin McClure, Charlie McCrone, Kari McKahan, Steve Meyers, Dennis Musgraves, Hillarie Putnam, Tom Reale SALES MANAGER Brian Lull ACCOUNT EXECUTIVES Becca Ellingsworth, Mamie Grifﬁn, Steve Joseph, Garn Kennedy, Rod Rieder, Mike Smith, Paul Yarnold DESIGNERS Beth Harrison, Sonjia Kells, Sam Rockwell, Liz Weickum PRODUCTION MANAGER John Rusnak WEB DEVELOPMENT/INBOUND MARKETING jon Hines INTERN Griff Huggins PRODUCTION ASSISTANT Kelly Baker CIRCULATION MANAGER Heidi Belew DISTRIBUTION Tony Sorrentino, Gary Bickford OFFICE MANAGER / ACCOUNTS Audra Higgins ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT Katie Sauro INFORMATION SERVICES MANAGER Lois Sanborn ADVERTISING INQUIRIES ads@nwsportsmanmag.com ON THE COVER Bruce Hallingstad (left) and Scott Haugen successfully hunted “the bear of a lifetime” during a trip to Egekik Bay last year. April marks the start of popular spring bear hunting seasons throughout Alaska. (SCOTT HAUGEN) Hillarie Putnam is an actress and talent agency owner, so she already stays busy. But this proud Alaskan loves to hunt her in home state. She makes her debut this month for a new column, Alaskan Huntress. (HILLARIE PUTNAM)

MEDIA INDEX PUBLISHING GROUP WASHINGTON OFFICE 14240 Interurban Ave South • Suite 190 Tukwila, WA 98168 OREGON OFFICE 8116 SW Durham Rd • Tigard, OR 97224 (800) 332-1 736 • Fax (206) 382-9437 media@media-inc.com • www.media-inc.com 10 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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CONTENTS

VOLUME 5 • ISSUE 11

ALSO IN THIS ISSUE 27 30 33

The nuggets of Chicken, Alaska Port profile: Seward Riding along with Kenai NWR officer Rob Barto and his K9, Rex 69 Spring bruin hunting: Arctic grizzlies, Gulf of Alaska blackies 76 An Alaskan hunter’s first black bear 113 George Lake’s plentiful pike 125 Kasilof River silver salmon memories 133 When fishing photos fail

COLUMNS 41

NO PLACE LIKE NOME

Emily Riedel (pictured on the deck of her dredge, the Eroica) has been knocked down countless times while mining for gold off Nome’s Bering Sea coast. But the 26-year-old aspiring opera singer (her barge is named for a Beethoven symphony) won’t give up on her dream of striking it rich among the treasure hunters of the Discovery Channel hit series, Bering Sea Gold. Riedel and her father, Steve, have been mainstays on the show and found more frustration than gold during their time in Nome. So what keeps them there? (DISCOVERY CHANNEL)

No Sympathy, with Steve Meyer: Willing to pay the price to hunt 91 New column: Alaskan Huntress, with Hillarie Putnam: Growing up hunting the wild 142 Loose Ends, with Christine Cunningham: That’s her spot!

DEPARTMENTS 15 51 51

Editor’s Note Protecting Wild Alaska: Plan to protect walrus waters from oil drilling proves controversial Outdoor Calendar

FEATURES 45

SEEKING A STAMP OF APPROVAL Christine Cunningham discovered bird hunting in 2006 in Alaska and has been hooked on it ever since. She’s also noticed that while waterfowl beneﬁt immensely from the Migratory Bird Hunting and Conservation Stamp, no such funding mechanism exists for upland birds. So, she and a friend are on a quest to create one to help out the declining habitat of species like quail and grouse. Learn more about their campaign for an upland bird stamp.

THE GREAT WHITE BEAR From 1952 to 1972, Kotzebue, hard on the Chukchi Sea and just a couple hundred miles from the Russian mainland, was once known as the polar bear capital of the world for big game hunts of this arguably most iconic and ﬁerce predator of the north. Our correspondent and Kotz resident Paul Atkins dug into his hometown’s history of guided polar bear hunts that are now only legal for Alaskan Natives. As Paul writes, it was a thrilling time for the region.

HUNTING A GRIZZLED VETERAN Our Field to Fire team of Scott and Tiffany Haugen has a lot of experience hunting and preparing Alaskan grizzlies. This issue, Scott recalls his 2014 hunt out of Egegik Bay, on the Alaska Peninsula, of an incredibly large bear that had been spotted for half a decade, but never killed. Will he connect? Meanwhile, Tiffany has a Tex-Mex recipe that’ll have your guests not believing it’s bear.

HEAD FOR BASE CAMP Where else but in Alaska would a city of over 300,000 residents have a 74,000-acre wildlife area right next door, one that offers lucky hunters a chance to chase moose and anglers to catch ﬁsh, all inside the state’s largest metropolitan area? Welcome to Anchorage’s Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson, where Tom Reale says one can enter into a whole different world of outdoor opportunities, all without leaving the big city.

Alaska Sporting Journal is published monthly. Call Media Inc. Publishing Group for a current rate card. Discounts for frequency advertising. All submitted materials become the property of Media Inc. Publishing Group and will not be returned. Annual subscriptions are $29.95 (12 issues) or $39.95 (24 issues). Send check or money order to Media Inc. Publishing Group, 14240 Interurban Ave South, Suite 190, Tukwila, WA 98168 or call (206) 382-9220 with VISA or M/C. Back issues may be ordered at Media Inc. Publishing Group, subject to availability, at the cost of $5 plus shipping. Copyright © 2015 Media Inc. Publishing Group. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be copied by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording by any information storage or retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher. Printed in U.S.A.

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EDITOR’S NOTE

Talk about a ﬁsh-eye view! Writer Jeff Lund leans in to set up his camera for a quick snap before releasing his catch. (JEFF LUND)

hen correspondent Jeff Lund pitched an idea about misadventures with his camera while trying to take sensational snapshots of trophy fish, he had me at “misadventures.” I’m a sucker for others willing to admit they’ve screwed up, since I do it so often – and how. Also, I’m a serial camera user, whether I’m on a long vacation or just on a day trip out fishing or to the ball game. I was in Corvallis, Ore., recently, walking my dog downtown when we stumbled onto a bronze statue of a canine that kind of looked like my Rhodesian ridgeback mix. Naturally, I spent five minutes trying to convince my lovable but stubborn 13-year-old buddy to sit next to and mimic the pose of the faux dog (all I managed to get was a snout-to-snout confrontation). Normally, I don’t sweat the results. Hell, I saw the scene for myself. But growing up with Polaroid-obsessed sisters who always tried to get the quintessential image prepared me for one of my closest friend’s OCD fascination with pictures. We’ve fished together and traveled to Europe together twice, so I know what to expect when this guy hands me his camera and has to set up everything perfectly to ensure the perfect click. We were once in the backcountry, hiking through snow to cast spinners in some creek. When we finally hooked a feisty little trout, I was instructed how to hold it for the pic – of course, I

was showing too much of my fingers grasped around the bottom of the fish. My drill instructor of a photographer was going Full Metal Jacket on me in a quest to make this the mother of all pictures. I thought the shot looked great, plus my hands were freezing – I just wanted to take mercy on the fish and my appendages. Alaska is the poster child for photo ops of not just what you catch or shoot, but where you are, so I’m grateful to have writers like Jeff Lund and others who have provided me with some gorgeous shots of the Last Frontier. Just take it from Jeff’s and my epic fails: not every Kodak moment is destined for your photo album. –Chris Cocoles

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Diving into the murky waters off Nome is part of the risk the Riedels have taken to strike it rich. (DISCOVERY CHANNEL)

THERE REALLY IS NO PLACE LIKE NOME

BERING SEA GOLD’S RIEDELS ON TREASURE HUNTING ON THE EDGE OF NOWHERE BY CHRIS COCOLES

aybe in an alternate universe or a splintering of the space-time continuum, their lives would have taken a completely different turn. Emily Riedel would be singing in packed Vienna opera houses filled with adoring Austrian fans. Her dad Steve, shaken by a divorce and a debilitating shoulder injury, would still be trying to find purpose in his life. But here they are, a father and daughter still chasing two different dreams in Nome, Alaska, enduring everything that comes with the chaos of offshore gold dredging. The Discovery Channel has been there to document their highs and lows on Bering Sea Gold, now in its fifth season of following various characters on the hunt for riches on the seafloor. The Riedels have found more heartbreak, disappointment and loss than carrying out the bags full of buried trea-

Emily Riedel (left) and her dad Steve came to Nome together after a longtime friend convinced them to give gold mining a try. They haven’t left and their highs and lows are chronicled on the Discovery Channel’s Bering Sea Gold. (DISCOVERY CHANNEL)

sure they’ve tormented themselves over. Yet why do they keep coming back? That’s the question anyone who tunes in

on Fridays might ask. “It’s whimsical; it’s edgy; it’s crazy; it bankrupts far more people than it makes APRIL 2015

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Emily’s love life has suffered and she’s both made and lost money on her experiences mining gold in the Bering Sea. “I wasn’t looking for a career change by any means. I was out of college and broke,” she says. (DISCOVERY CHANNEL)

wealthy,” Steve Riedel says. “So really knowing what I knew then, it was risky; knowing what I know now, I would never have done it.” Yet here they are and back in Nome, chasing what they might never ﬁnd but can’t stop searching for. Steve Riedel can’t leave even though the business has let him down so many times he’s now without a dredge. If your question is why, the Riedels aren’t even sure they have an answer to that question. “I didn’t have the grit to come here. I got the grit after I was here,” Steve Riedel says. “A lot of people do. You come up here and you throw yourself into it and dig deep. You keep digging deep every day, and pretty soon you ﬁnd yourself.” Even with a lot of losses along the way.

STEVE RIEDEL WASN’T sure what was next. He was born in Alaska and was a land surveyor in his early 20s. Steve reconnected with his future wife, Anne, and they eventually married in 1981. They had four children, including the youngest, Emily, who was born in 1988 in California, where Steve was working as a surveyor. But she grew up where the family eventually settled, in Homer, Alaska. In 2000, Anne and Steve separated and he moved to Anchorage, coming back every other weekend to visit Emily and the rest of the family. 18 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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“That was tough,” he says. “My parents were married for 56 years, so my idea was a marriage was something that lasted 56 years.” Even tougher was the physical pain he’d go through after suffering the emotional duress of the dissolution of his marriage to Anne. He’d worked for FedEx and performed jobs that required him to work with his arms above his head regularly. “Your body’s not designed for that. I guess it doesn’t lubricate the shoulder correctly and you injure it over time,” he says. “FedEx forgot to tell me that, so I was working there and (lifting) boxes over my head continually. And it failed.” One surgery to repair his ailing shoulder didn’t work, he says, so after another procedure, he ﬁnally had his condition corrected. “The whole thing was a three-year nightmare,” says Steve, who by that time felt well enough to get on with his life with a fully operational shoulder again, but looking for something meaningful to do. Enter Zeke Tenhoff, a family friend who grew up with Emily and was her future love interest, both when the Discovery cameras rolled and when they were off. Capt. Vernon Adkinson of the dredge Wild Ranger also was an inﬂuence on Steve’s decision. “I had no idea about offshore Nome

gold. Zeke started talking to me about it because he’d been up and was just about at the end of his ﬁrst season,” Steve says. “So I actually approached Vern about an idea and that became the Ranger. And coincidentally, Zeke invited Emily and I up. And so I got to build the (Wild) Ranger with Zeke and Grant. And we came up.” Adds Emily, “Zeke was up there doing it and he kind of was inviting all of his friends to come up. And my dad and I were the only ones crazy enough to accept the invitation.” Ironically, when Steve did make his life-altering decision, he swears he was never blinded by false promises, or prone to having unrealistic expectations. In other words: there was never the disillusioned sense of getting rich quickly, if ever. But even still, it hasn’t gone like he hoped it might, despite it being “the fresh start” he craved. “It had been a three-year ordeal, and so just before we came up it was at the end of the healing cycle, so I was feeling pretty good about my body. I really hadn’t been able to use my shoulder for three years,” he says. “It had been very depressing, so I felt really good. I wanted to do something to sort of ﬁt in. I just wanted to get a real job. Of course, gold mining is probably the total opposite of a real job.” But reality did set in on the last season of Bering Sea Gold. He eventually got his own dredge, the Minnow, but he and his crew never got off the ground and mined just $11,000-plus worth of gold, one of the lowest totals in the third season. “There are people who come up and dump $30-, $40-, $50,000 into an operation and they leave, sell everything off at 20 cents to a dollar. There are a lot of people up here like that,” he says. It got even more dire for Steve. “I lost my dredge in an illegal repossession. It was not supported by paperwork or court action. The police decided they were going to help this guy repossess my dredge and they threatened my arrest,” Steve says regrettably. He’s without a crew during the show’s new season, instead spending time at his

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Nome home base, affectionately known and described on the Discovery Channel website as “Steve’s World Luxury Hotel and Spa (complete with yurts and a porta-potty!”). But you’re not supposed to have it easy here. “One of the beauties of this place is, if you look historically at the ﬁrst gold rush that came through here (around the turn of the 20th Century), the men and women who came up here and then went back to America, they were the leaders,” Steve says. “They were the mayors and the governors. They reﬁned themselves and the hardships made them better people. That’s what Nome does for you.”

FOR BETTER OR worse, 26-year-old Emily Riedel arguably has become the face of Bering Sea Gold. She’s an attractive young woman with an eclectic backstory, whose professional and personal relationship with her longtime friend Zeke Tenhoff was captured on the show’s earlier seasons.

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Unlike her dad, who was looking for some purpose in his life, heading to Nome was more of a financial than a spiritual opportunity. Her first love is the performing arts and singing, and she’s dreamed of taking her beautiful singing voice to opera houses both here and abroad in Europe (Emily has studied in one of the world’s iconic opera cities, Vienna). She was simply looking for income to fulfill her singing dreams at schools outside the U.S. “I wasn’t looking for a career change by any means. I was out of college and broke. Alaska in general is a place where you can make a living,” says Emily, who attended college at the University of North Carolina School of the Arts. “I returned to Alaska every summer because I needed to pay for school. There are always well-paying jobs up there. That was the root: the convenience.” So she joined Zeke Tenhoff’s crew on his dredges, the Clark and Edge. Though the Tenhoffs and Riedels went way back

and were friends in Homer, Steve wasn’t so sure about his daughter’s professional relationship with Zeke. “Zeke is wild and I didn’t really trust him with Emily up in Nome alone with him. And not in the obvious way; but just teaching her how to mine and how to be on the water,” Steve says. “I just didn’t think he was capable of that. So I wanted to keep a close eye on the both of them and make sure nothing went crazy.” Looking back now, Emily isn’t sure if she listened to the right people. “Now that I’ve been in for four years, I would never tell a person like me, a music enthusiast and opera-singing wannabe fresh out of college for the arts, ‘Hey, you ought to try gold mining in Nome. You’ll have a great time. “It’s ludicrous. I thought, ‘I’m going to go up to Nome with $300 in my pocket and try to mine some gold in the summer so I can go to school.’ I was deﬁnitely delusional and naïve.” She understands what she’s done has carried an underlying element of risk,

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or equipment that you throw at it; it’s more about the experience of attempting it,” she says. “That’s why I have so much respect for it. With persistence and strength, you can achieve something there, and not necessarily by that avenue of dollars, but more the avenue of your spirit.”

Steve Riedel’s dredge, the Minnow, was repossessed from him, leaving him without a ride this season. “It’s whimsical; it’s edgy; it’s crazy; it bankrupts far more people than it makes wealthy,” he says of life in Nome. (THE DISCOVERY CHANNEL)

while also pointing out big rewards usually come from taking such chances. But when they don’t work, it only reinforces the idea about the amount of tenacity, grit and humility it takes to make it in the unforgiving waters of Nome, which can chew up and spit out its intruders like the Riedels. Emily invested her own money into a dredge she named the Eroica – named, of

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course, for Beethoven’s Third Symphony – with mixed results. The Eroica mined 104-plus ounces of gold – with a value of about $135,000 – during the third season of Bering Sea Gold. Last winter, Emily invested another $50,000 in top-of-theline ice-mining equipment, but her plans busted out with just 4 ounces (worth about $5,000) brought back from the sea. “It’s not so much about the money

YOU’D THINK AFTER so much grief and personal loss in Nome, the Riedel family would come together and take Nome head-on as a team. Fat chance of this father-daughter team forming a cohesive unit. Both laughed when asked if such a partnership could ever be feasible. “My dad and I are both stubborn and strong-willed when it comes to working together; we butt heads,” Emily says. Adds Steve, “We’re free-spirited; like to hold onto the reigns; very creative. And you put two of those people together in a head position and yeah, egos are going to get butted. I can work with Emily, but it’s very difficult.”

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“It hasn’t been an altogether positive experience; there’s no way I can say it has,” she candidly admits of her gold-mining career. “There have been many, many challenges, and some of them have threatened to break me completely. But sometimes it takes more courage to stop than to keep doing something. But I’m glad I didn’t stop; all the hard times I’ve had, I didn’t quit.” Steve kicked off fourth season’s premiere episode by broadcasting a radio message from his truck. He was without a ride, but still caught in the Nome cocoon of hope, expectations and the obsession with gold in this farﬂung locale. “Good morning, Viet-Nome!” Riedel announces over air. “It’s gold mining time; get your dredges ready.” And so he waits for another dredge and another shot to succeed. “Even if you get gold there’s a lot of reasons to leave here,” he says. “The weather stinks. The vistas are beautiful but bleak. Your love life stinks because

“But it never succeeds; I still love you, Dad,” Emily told Steve during a conference call. For Emily, she has plenty of time to pursue her singing passion in the future. At least if that’s what she chooses. “It’s one of the big conﬂicts of life for me – the fact that I can’t be an opera singer and a gold miner. I can be one or the other,” she says. “That’s something that took me a long time to come to terms with. Which one or the other I’m going to be, I don’t know at this point in time. I grew up in Alaska and I love ice climbing and skiing. And I love being in Nome and gold mining and have that part in me. And then I have the classical music and love of the arts part. And they just do not mesh well together.” It’s a bridge Steve won’t have to cross. “As far as my singing career, I’m still waiting on a call from Keith Richards. It doesn’t look good.” Emily says Nome has been a disaster for her romantic life, which went through quite a theme-park ride with Tenhoff.

you’re in Nome. It’s not an accounting job. Everything is up and down. It’s a big ride, so you just have to buckle yourself down and hold on tight.” Meanwhile, his daughter goes back out on the Eroica, still seeking the big strike that may or may not carry her singing voice out of town, and it begs the question again… Why does she keep coming back? “I’ve said this before: you don’t quit gold mining; gold mining quits you. You try to make it work as long as you possibly can,” Emily says. “It outruns you or you conquer it. The ocean doesn’t owe you anything. There’s no guarantee of success. So eventually it will quit me.” ASJ Editor’s note: Emily Riedel (@EmilyRiedel23) and Steve Riedel (@RiedelSteven) are both on Twitter. You can also ﬁnd them on Facebook. Watch new episodes of Bering Sea Gold on Friday nights on the Discovery Channel (discovery.com/tv-shows/ bering-sea-gold).

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CHICKEN’S NUGGETS GOLD MINING TOWN A QUIRKY CORNER OF INTERIOR ALASKA

BY MIKE BUSBY

n Interior Alaska near the Yukon border and in the historic Fortymile gold mining district lies the small town of Chicken. How did it get its unique name? Glad you asked. Following the discovery of gold here in 1896, a camp sprang up, and by 1900, the population had peaked at 400. Soon afterwards it was to be incorporated and receive a post office, so the area miners were assembled to give the new town a name. Ptarmigan was suggested, but because nobody could agree on the proper spelling, they decided on Chicken instead. It was apparently the only settlement in the world named Chicken, and while the name stuck, few of the town’s inhabitants did, as subsequent gold discoveries lured the local prospectors elsewhere.

SMALL BUT ACTIVE Over 100 years later, the community’s population ranges from a handful in the winter to possibly 200 in the summer, depending on whom you ask. In this eccentric, fun-loving community with a weird name and an off-the-beaten-path wilderness location, mail arrives twice a week by plane, electricity is provided by separate generators at each facility, and there is no phone service, ﬁre, police nor city service. There are no political entities, and consequently, no taxes. This is real Alaska wilderness and every-day amenities are not found here. So, what do you do in Chicken? The place may seem tiny, but a closer look ﬁnds a bustling, quirky little community with fun-loving residents and plenty of things to do. Most of the summer inhab-

A kayaker paddles the Fortymile River in front of an old gold dredge in quirky Chicken, a town of about 200 in the Alaska Interior near the Yukon Territory border. (CHICKEN GOLD CAMP & OUTPOST)

itants still mine gold. Recreational gold mining and gold panning are both readily available on many area claims. You can also go boating on the Fortymile River, hike or ride ATVs on miles of local trails, watch the northern lights, view or hunt wildlife, and ﬁsh the river or area streams for grayling, whiteﬁsh and burbot. Tours of several historic structures, such as the Pedro and Cowden Dredges, both built in the 1930s, and the remaining buildings in the historic townsite can be arranged at the area businesses, of which there are three: the Chicken Gold Camp & Outpost, Beautiful Downtown Chicken and the Goldpanner. All three have gift shops, cafes, accommodations and more. You can relax with a great latte or microbrew at the Outpost, or you can participate in some unusual Chicken civic traditions, such as shooting ladies’ panties from a cannon at the local saloon.

FAMOUS RESIDENT Chicken is also well known as the home

of the late Ann Purdy, who arrived in 1927 at the age of 19 to teach school, and later wrote a book, Tisha, based on her experiences as a young, single schoolteacher in the Alaskan wilderness. Purdy’s family still spends time at her Chicken home; the book is available in all of the stores here. If you are in the area in early June, you won’t want to miss the annual Chickenstock Music Festival, which is hosted by Chicken Gold Camp & Outpost. It features local musicians, mostly bluegrass, as well as “chickenites” and “chickenuts” in crazy costumes, jam sessions, unconventional contests and, of course, the chicken dance under the midnight sun led by Chicken’s own “chickeneers.” During the festival, hundreds of campers pitch their tents near the Pedro Dredge. Standing watch over this encampment is “Mr. Eggee” – a larger-than-life metal statue of the town’s namesake. From silly “fowl” statues, signposts and rustic, gold-era buildings to pastoral wilderness vistas and wildlife, the area will impress. Moose, beaver, Dall’s sheep, APRIL 2015

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The colors of the Fortymile River area make for an underrated destination when visiting Alaska’s Interior. (CHICKEN GOLD CAMP & OUTPOST)

wolves, fox, coyotes, lynx, grizzly and black bear are among some of the wild critters that can be found in the Fortymile area. About 100 years ago, the Fortymile caribou herd was the largest in Alaska, with estimates of over half a million animals. The herd was all but decimated around 1970, but it has rapidly rebounded. Last October, you would have waited 30 minutes for the thousands of caribou to pass across the Taylor Highway in Chicken. Chicken is accessed by the Taylor Highway from Tok and the Top of the World Highway from Dawson City, Yukon. It is one of Alaska’s out-of-the-way and least-visited places, and only accessible by road from late March to mid-October. But a visit to this fun-loving sportsman’s paradise it is deﬁnitely worth it. And did I say there is still gold in them there hills? ASJ Editor’s note: Mike Busby runs Chicken Gold Camp & Outpost in the town of Chicken. For more, call (907) 235-6396 or check out chickengold.com.

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Port

PROFILE

Seward Sewa Se rd’ d’s ’s h arb ar bor pr bor bo prov ovid ov ides id es a llaunching aunc au nchi nc hing hi ng p oiintt ffor or or Seward’s harbor provides point many charter ma cha hart rter er b oats oa ts iin n se sear arch ar ch o thee ar area e ’ss o ea ut-ut many boats search off th area’s outsstanding stan tandi ding ng h alib al but ﬁ shin sh ing. g The g. Thee city cit ityy iss hosting hos ostting ng its itss halibut ﬁshing. aannual annu an nnu ual h alib al ibut ib ut derby der e byy throughout thr hrou ough ghou hou outt Ju June ne. ne e (SEWARD (SEWARD (SEWAR D halibut June. C CHA MBER MBE R OF OF COMM C O OMM ERC CE)) CHAMBER COMMERCE)

HALIBUT HEAVEN BIG BUCKS AVAILABLE AT SEWARD’S SUMMER DERBY BY KARI MCKAHAN

moved from New York City to Alaska four years ago. My first experience halibut fishing was in a tiny skiff bouncing around a sunny bay on a midJune day that was also my birthday, learning how to work a jig (or whatever they call that thingy-bob you fishing types put on to get one to bite). It was either a slow day on the water or maybe we were having too much fun celebrating. Suddenly the rod went down and I had a fish on! Certain I had the big one, I squealed and squirmed and reeled that thing up and in – or so I thought. My first glimpse of a halibut was its fleshy, white belly emerging from the glacial-blue depths. At first I thought the creature was deformed. It was a little one too, about 20 to 25 pounds, and feeling a naïve twinge of guilt, I thought aloud, “Oh, you poor thing; I’m sorry.” That devilfish looked me right in the eye just inches from the boat and spit the hook. With a quick flip it hustled back down to the ocean floor. And like that, it was gone. I was immediately reprimanded by the skiff captain: “That was your birthday dinner, damnit!” I handed over my rod and pouted, but learned my lesson: I’ve never apologized to a fish since. My next reprimand was when, an-

ticipating a long fishing day ahead, I brought a banana onboard a newly purchased boat – ouch, big mistake! But it was the magic in those moments that sold me on living my life in wild Alaska, on the Kenai Peninsula. As tough as it can be to get here, it beats New York City any day. And the learning curve sure does keep me sharp! Speaking of the Kenai Peninsula, Seward might not be the first place that comes to mind as a world-class fishing destination for halibut, but I will let you all in on a little secret: It is! Check out our Seward Halibut Derby this June as proof. First prize for the biggest halibut caught pays out $5,000, with the second largest winning $2,500 and $1,500 for third. But landing a tagged halibut is where the real prizes are. We’re doubling our tagged halibut count this year because we want you to win! Tag fish prizes include charter seats, airline tickets, shopping sprees, and the chance at a new vehicle, plus cash tags. And the great thing about Seward’s tagged halibut is that we like to tag fish that are 50 pounds and lighter, so size really doesn’t matter! Daily entry in the derby is just $10, and it’s $25 for a threeday ticket. Buy them from your favorite Seward charter boat captain or pick them up from the chamber at our ticket station, located on the Seward boat harbor.

But flatties aren’t the only fish in town. “Sportfishing out of Seward is one of the best fishing opportunities of a lifetime, with so many species of fish right at the end of your rod,” says Travis Hall, a guide who sportfishes all over the Kenai Peninsula. “Yelloweye is my personal favorite for eating, but lingcod is the best fighting fish – unless you hook that 300-pound halibut. Of course, there are also the amazing silver salmon. I love them all. The best part is you can hook them all fishing right out of Seward.” The city is most famous for what will be the 60th Annual Silver Salmon Derby (August 8-17) and the 100th anniversary and 88th running this year of the Mount Marathon Race during our July 4 celebration. But year-round, Seward offers exciting, affordable tours and activities that provide fun for visitors and their families, including touring the Kenai Fjords, hiking Exit Glacier and visiting the Seavey family’s Itidarod champion dog kennel. Just 120 miles from Anchorage, the Aurora Awards just named Seward the Best Day Trip in Alaska! Come see for yourself. ASJ Editor’s note: The author is a public relations and events coordinator for the Seward Chamber of Commerce. For more info, call (907) 224-8051 or see seward.com. APRIL 2015

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U.S. Fish & Wildlife officer Rob Barto (left) patrols the Kenai National Wildlife Refuge, which covers about 2 million acres of land on the Kenai Peninsula. (STEVE MEYER)

Barto’s partner Rex is one of just eight dogs in service at the country’s national wildlife refuges. (STEVE MEYER)

KEEPING PEACE ON THE REFUGE GETTING TO KNOW A U.S.F.W.S. OFFICER AND HIS CANINE PARTNER BY STEVE MEYER

t seems most every hunter/ﬁsherman has thoughts of becoming a game warden. How cool would it be to go to work every day and be outdoors around the scene we love the most? My opportunity came in the late 1980s with an offer to work for the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service in Sitka. Life circumstances wouldn’t allow accepting the job, so there will always be the “what if” thoughts in the back of my mind. But about the same time, Rob Barto started his tenure with USFWS, working as a seasonal employee for the Kenai National Wildlife Refuge. “It was a great time working seasonal,” Barto says. “I learned the ﬁshing spots and had plenty of time to enjoy them, and during the offseason I could

go South and work other seasonal stuff, or just hunt, ﬁsh and trap.” But eventually we must all grow up – a real shame – and Barto became a fulltime wildlife enforcement officer with USFWS in the Kenai. The Kenai refuge sprawls across some 2 million acres of “Alaska’s playground,” the Kenai Peninsula. The terrain runs the gamut from coastal mud ﬂats to mountain glaciers; a large percentage is accessible only by foot, horseback, boat, airplane and snowmachine in winter when snow cover allows. Five full-time wildlife enforcement officers are assigned to monitor outdoor activities on the refuge. The hot spots where the most activity occurs include the Swanson River/Swan Lake Road, the Skilak Lake Loop (where hunting is prohibited except for some small game

archery and a youth hunting season for small game), Skilak Lake, the Kenai River, the Russian River, the Tustumena Lake area, and the Caribou Hills. The variety of outdoor pursuits on the refuge include wildlife viewing, bird watching, skiing, snowshoeing, canoeing, boating, mushroom gathering, ﬁshing, hunting and trapping. With such a broad spectrum of activities, refuge officers wear a lot of hats. Duties range from tracking down moose poachers to answering questions about the local ﬂora and fauna from the many visitors to the area, so they have a rather full plate. Refuge officers are also commissioned by the State of Alaska and have authority to enforce all state laws, as well.

PARTNERS IN (STOPPING) CRIME Some refuge officers have special additional duties/skills above and beyond the norm; Rob Barto is one of them. He patrols the Kenai refuge with Rex, a canine APRIL 2015

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The vastness of Barto’s beat is revealed in this aerial view of (KENAI the Kenai National Wildlife Refuge along the Sterling NWR) Highway. (KENAI NWR, USFWS)

officer and one of only eight dogs in service on national wildlife refuges across the country. Rex is a 5-year-old golden Labrador retriever and is the only one of these canines certiﬁed in wildlife detection. He is trained to detect all of Alaska’s big game species, plus walrus, seal and polar bear. Rex is also trained in article recovery and human tracking.

The pair will travel to other areas, such as the U.S./Canadian border and some of the coastal Alaska towns where illegal trading in wildlife is suspected. Barto and Rex have also worked with our Canadian neighbors to the east in Dawson City, Yukon Territories. They will be working in Whitehorse in the Yukon this spring. Having a canine partner is a rather signiﬁcant commitment for the dog’s

GETTING ON TRACK With Rob Barto’s canine partner Rex’s certiﬁcation, one might think the dog would make a great hunting partner. Of course, he isn’t used for hunting, but his special talents allow him, much like his drug counterparts, to sniff the air and indicate the presence of big game. That can include a parking lot full of vehicles or in baggage being checked at an airport. The value of Rex’s talents and the ability to use them, again as in drug dogs, is that the air does not require a search warrant. Rex can sniff the air 34 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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to his heart’s content, and his expertise when he indicates is such that the court will then issue a warrant for the search of the vehicle, bag, box or whatever he has hit on. Rex can and has tracked humans, as well, although Barto points out that often by the time he and Rex are requested for a tracking, the area has already been inundated with other human tracks that make it very difficult for Rex to get locked on a track. Rex is actually “tracking,” following the marks left on whatever surfaces the

human partner. Besides the obvious of making the dog a member of the family – feeding, watering, housing and providing exercise – there is the ongoing training. Canines in the law enforcement world have training sessions every day and, for the most part, more than one. It is part of the maintenance of the canine certiﬁcate that makes what he does acceptable to the court. Working dogs need to be

individual has traveled. How he does it is probably best left to the reality that animals have perceptions in many things that are far beyond our human capabilities – to be envied by us but not duplicated. He is trained in article location, which in simple terms means he is sent into an area that may hold some sort of article that was dropped or thrown. So long as there is some human scent on the article, he can ﬁnd it. Articles like credit cards, wallets, cell phones, even guns are within Rex’s view, and no, don’t call Barto to have him and Rex find your lost iPhone. -SM

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Barto’s day on the refuge might include checking ﬁshing licenses or tracking down illegal activities like shooting grouse on the side of the road, all guided by the maxim that his approach will dictate a sportsman’s response. (STEVE MEYER)

worked or they lose the excitement and drive for what they are trained in. Training sessions must be documented (more paperwork). Barto and Rex go to local schools and put on demonstrations for the kids; it’s a great public relations service and Rex gets to do what he does. Rex travels with Barto in a nicely built kennel in the back of his work

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SUV. He often rides with his big Labrador nose pressed up to the partition between the front and back seat, watching for some excitement that might employ him. He is a typical Labrador, with a big otter tail always wagging and what one always thinks is a smile on his face. He is friendly and has the diplomacy so loved by dog folks who know his breed.

A DAY IN THE FIELD Having the opportunity to spend a shift with Rob Barto and Rex was a pleasure and an eyeopener. His training sessions where he displayed his talents of finding small pieces of game and other articles hidden by his partner seemed picture perfect. What becomes obvious while watching the two work together is the bond they share. We headed out towards the Skilak Loop area to check on ice fishermen and anything else that might be going on. A vehicle headed in our direction blipped on the radar gun at 73 mph in a 55 zone. Barto turned around and stopped the speeder and explained that while they don’t make it a point to stop every speeding vehicle, when there is one that is clearly excessive, they pull them over. “There are enough people dying on the Sterling Highway as it is,” Barto says. The individual driving was not being reckless but just driving too fast. He did have a suspended license for nonpayment of child support. In Alaska, when one’s license is suspended a notification is sent to the individual with no guarantee the person actually received the notice. With that, the first time an individual is stopped and the suspension discovered, an otherwise arrestable offense is instead turned into an advisement. Henceforth, that person caught driving would be taken to jail. Within minutes of the first training session I attended in my law enforcement academy, the instructor made a statement that has rang true ever since: “Approach determines response.” Barto was pleasant when he contacted the driver, who was equally pleasant and apologetic in his failure to pay attention to his speed. With that, he chose to write the speeding ticket as a federal violation instead of a State of Alaska violation. That was a new one on me; I had no idea that such a thing existed. Barto explained that there are many regulations on federal property, including the refuge, National Park Service and U.S. Forest Service land, that mirror the state regulations. In the case of the speeding ticket, the difference was no points would go against the driver’s

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state record with the same ﬁne. So Barto elected to write the ticket federally and cut the guy some slack.

CHALLENGING A MYTH The point in telling that story is that the general public often has a misconception of law enforcement officers in general. They believe that officers are out to get them (I won’t deny there are some like that) and when confronted, they become less than cordial, and that rarely works out well. That reminds me of what I used to tell newcomers in the business: “It’s OK to be nice until it’s not OK.” In other words, why treat folks any less than with decency, unless they respond in such a manner that decency clearly isn’t going to work? My experiences with game wardens over the years have always been positive, and the Kenai refuge’s officers have been no exception. Across the board they have always been very appropriate, helpful with questions and

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are just generally decent officers who share the same love of the outdoors. Of course, there are sometimes rather humorous aspects to being a refuge officer. A common violation along the gravel roads of Swanson River and Tustumena Lake is hunters shooting grouse while they stand on the road eating gravel that aids their digestion. To help combat this, enforcement officers will set out decoys – mounted spruce grouse that appear alive until you watch them for a few seconds. Normally, the officer watching the bird will be able to stop the “hunter” before damage is done; but it’s not always the case. One frosty morning, a pickup pulled up and the driver stuck his .300 Winchester Magnum out the window and blew that mounted bird to bits before he could be stopped. Another time, a guy recognized what the decoy was and pulled up right next to it, grabbed it and took off down the road. He was caught down the road, and fortunately

for him, the officer recognized that boys will be boys and didn’t ticket him. There are some people out there who would initally scream out “entrapment.” How about just don’t commit the violation? I often hear hunters complain about the refuge’s officers, claiming they’re tree huggers and don’t understand hunters. I would say the opposite is true. Confusing some administrative policies that really have nothing to do with the decisions made at the local level with those who are tasked with enforcing regulations is throwing stones in the wrong direction. All of them enjoy the outdoors as much as anyone in their free time. They hunt, they ﬁsh, they trap and live wholesome rural lifestyles. They are active with kids in the community, and some are hunter education instructors. Rob Barto and his 11-year-old daughter, Emily, have been running a trapline all winter, walking 8 miles twice a week. What can possibly represent us outdoors lovers better than that? ASJ

EVERTS AIR CARGO Everts Air Cargo prides itself on being an Alaskan-owned and -operated company. To pay tribute to those cultural roots it has so ﬁrmly planted, Everts has several programs that help animals in rural communities, the elderly and Alaska’s environment itself. The Everts Animal Care program (EAC) is designed to create an easier, more affordable way to get animals in the bush the proper care they need. Everts Air Cargo’s “Honor Our Elders” program was developed with the idea in mind that elders are respected, appreciated members of our community who have nurtured and raised those that they love. Through it, any individual over 65 receives a discount of 10 percent on all shipments. And to promote the preservation and beautiﬁcation of Alaska, Everts’ Recycling Today for Tomorrow collects any old materials that could contaminate the ground, air, and water systems. Looking towards the future of Alaska and the well being of its citizens, it is important to initiate positive changes and practices. For more on any these programs, contact Everts Air Cargo at (907) 243-0009 or visit www.evertsair.com.

Heavenly Sights Charters & Campground

Heavenly Sights Charters and Campground is located in Ninilchik, Alaska, at milepost 132.2 on the Sterling Highway. Our captains make a point at trying to make your day on the water one of the best experiences you have in Alaska. Along with halibut ﬁshing, we have cabins, RV spots and tent sites. Most people coming to Heavenly Sights love to take pictures of the many eagles that are in our area. Moose are seen quite often too, and an occasional bear may come through. Other birds and mammals like to call Heavenly Sights their home as well. Topping it all off, a trio of volcanoes, Iliamna, Redoubt, and Augustine, are also visible from our grounds. For more, please check out our website, heavenlysights.com. You may also email us at heavenlysights@msn.com. We will love having you here at Heavenly Sights to play in our backyard! APRIL 2015

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NO SYMPATHY

WHY I PAY THE PRICE TO HUNT BY STEVE MEYER

t seems at least once a week an email arrives that boils my blood. Subscribing to email feeds from a number of outdoor-related sites gives one a sense of what is going on in the rest of the world. But it also sparks a fair amount of animosity towards some. The most offensive one of late came from a guy who has an outdoor show on one of the specialty channels. I watched the show once while in a motel on a hunting trip with absolutely nothing else to do; it bore about as much resemblance to real hunting as the typical “reality” show does (in other words: not much at all). In any event, he had written an editorial piece for a newspaper and extolled his opinion that all of the nonconsumptive users of the outdoors should be charged some sort of a fee to help pay for the conservation measures, habitat preservation and game management that hunters have been paying for since the conservation movement began in the early 1900s. He encouraged hunters to use his piece to solicit support across the country. The term “nonconsumptive user” has always offended my sensibilities. Seriously, if you are breathing the air of this planet you are consuming, one way or another. The term has evidently been coined by those who believe their position in life is more lofty than others

because they choose for someone else to kill what they eat. That’s ﬁne. I ﬁgure cheating oneself out of an honest relationship with the natural order of things is punishment enough. Hunters recognized over a hundred years ago that we couldn’t just keep killing game without managing the process, and

various conservation organizations such as Safari Club International – as it should be. As hunters, we have chosen to be completely engaged with nature and take game for our tables. Approximately 10 percent of the nation’s population does so annually, although Alaska’s hunters compose more like 17 percent

MANY SPECIES THAT WERE ON THE BRINK OF EXTINCTION NOW THRIVE THANKS TO HUNTERS’ DOLLARS AND COMMITMENT TO WILDLIFE. thus fees such as the Pittman-Robertson Act and the Migratory Bird Stamp (better known as the Federal Duck Stamp) were implemented at the insistence of hunters with some foresight. Since then, hunters have been dumping millions annually into wildlife conservation. Many species that were on the brink of extinction now thrive thanks to hunters’ dollars and commitment to wildlife. Many species have recovered in numbers larger than the best historical records suggest when the United States wasn’t doing anything. Assuring the future of the lifestyle that we love so much makes every dollar spent a worthy cause. In Alaska, fees paid by hunters for licenses and tags and taxes through the Pittman-Robertson Act account for approximately 80 percent of the funding required for state wildlife management programs. The balance comes from the general fund and through grants from

of the population. That we have been so supportive of game management via our contributions has given us a rather influential seat at the table when it comes to managing game populations for our benefit. The last thing we need is for nonhunters or antihunters to be forced to help foot the bill, gaining leverage when it comes to management decisions. It is bad enough as it is. The dollars hunters put forth obviously benefit the game species we stalk. The collateral effect of our efforts benefits all wildlife, as it should. Nongame fauna play a critical role in healthy ecosystems. So the issue of somehow taxing those who choose to enjoy the outdoors by way of observing, photographing or simply walking through the landscape is being vaunted by some who seem lacking in judgment. Even if this was considered, how APRIL 2015

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would one divvy up the responsibility? Would one have a â&#x20AC;&#x153;limitâ&#x20AC;? on numbers of photos taken? Would the family who happens to see a bull moose â&#x20AC;&#x201C; or a golden eagle, spruce grouse or dragonďŹ&#x201A;y â&#x20AC;&#x201C; and stops to enjoy it have to report their sightings and pay? It is rather ridiculous when you think about it. Hunters or not, most human beings enjoy seeing wildlife of all sorts; it is one of the blessings every citizen of the country can enjoy free of charge. Do we really want to charge groups of children on ďŹ eld trips a fee for enjoying the outdoors? There are already fees for entering many of the various parks, special management areas, enhanced viewing areas; that seems appropriate and enough. Some hunters would argue that bird watchers, wildlife viewers, backcountry skiers and other visitors have encroached on traditional hunting areas, and I agree that they have. More and more people are embracing the outdoors as an alternative to televi-

sion, playing video games or whatnot. Can those of us who enjoy the ultimate relationship with the outdoors ďŹ nd fault with and create fees that make it prohibitive for those who just want to see what nature might have to offer? Places I hunted many years ago are now basically hiking/skiing areas, and while I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t like it, I also understand it is the nature of our world. We refuse to stop breeding like rats â&#x20AC;&#x201C; everyday there are more of us, and it is the inevitable way of the world. Hiking further than everyone else solves the problem â&#x20AC;&#x201C; and keeps one in damn good shape too. Hunting has been part of our heritage since time began, yet in order to utilize game species as we do, we must be good stewards and do everything that we can to assure the future of utilization. One could argue that if hunting were to stop, the game species would revert to the state they existed in before man; there would be ďŹ&#x201A;uctuations in populations as predator/prey relationships ebbed and ďŹ&#x201A;owed. Nature might take

courses that result in the disappearance of species that canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t make it. Species have been going extinct since long before humans had any inďŹ&#x201A;uence. Hunters can ill-afford to demand others pay the price for the ultimate beneďŹ t we are blessed with in the hunting arena. What we can do is bring youngsters into the fold and encourage the fastest-growing hunter demographic in the country: females. If each of us bring two new hunters into the fold every year â&#x20AC;&#x201C; whether theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re kids, women or even adult men â&#x20AC;&#x201C; the wonders and beneďŹ ts of the natural order that is hunting can be preserved. If we donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t, we only have to look in the nearest mirror to place blame. My thought when I saw this ill-conceived idea was this: Heck, I can drink cheaper whiskey, eat more beans and move into a cardboard box â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll do whatever it takes to pay whatever it takes to preserve the seat at the table that allows us to do this. ASJ

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SEEKING A STAMP OF APPROVAL

A FEDERAL UPLAND BIRD STAMP COULD HELP PRESERVE DECLINING HABITAT

The author’s bird hunting passion was born with ducks in 2006. But while waterfowl already have one, an Federal Upland Stamp would bring awareness to the declining habitat of grouse, prairie chickens and ptarmigan in Alaska and the Lower 48. (CHRISTINE CUNNINGHAM)

Editor’s note: Alaska Sporting Journal correspondent Christine Cunningham and Ultimate Upland founder Brian Koch are co-creators of a petition to add a Federal Upland Stamp that would help identify declining numbers of upland bird habitat in North America.

It won’t be an easy road to obtain a federal stamp for upland birds, but the author and an upland bird organization founder have created a petition to get this stamp approved. (SHARI ERICKSON/ULTIMATE UPLAND)

BY CHRISTINE CUNNINGHAM

t was in the fall of 2006 when I ﬁrst discovered duck hunting. The ground was cold and unforgiving, and the nearest escape from the misery of damp cobwebs and the ﬂesh of rotting salmon was a 400-yard crawl away. Mascara dripped into my eyes as the sky opened up with rain. Life at that level was as foreign to me

as anything I had ever experienced. The raw sludge of the swamp, ﬁlled with spider webs and shrews, was a kind of hell that I wondered if I had the grit to bear. As I crawled through the marsh, each throw of the shotgun ahead of me was a decision to not stand up and leave. When I reached the edge of the pond, two wigeon glanced at me from the sides of their heads. Their bodies broke from

the surface, shedding pond water and lifting into the rain-ﬁlled sky. I heard the voice behind me tell me to shoot, and I pulled the trigger without fully mounting the gun. I watched the pair of wigeons ﬂy into the distant clouds. Their wings carried an untranslatable story – a sound like the rushed beating of my heart if it pumped wind instead of blood. Beside me, a spent APRIL 2015

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12-gauge shell lay in the marsh. The friend I had joined in the ﬁeld – an “old duck hunter” – picked up the shell and held it up to his nose. “This is what fall smells like to me.” While I had been miserable up until that point, something had changed from the moment I watched in disbelief as the two ducks ﬂew away. It’s this “some-

thing” that caused me to try hunting again, and again. The oldest tradition in the human race involves hunting and gathering. Before the sensational world of television, sports and politics, there was a need to survive. It was this ﬁrsthand sense of survival, one based on the life of other creatures, that was missing in my previous experiences in the out-

doors – hiking, kayaking and mountain biking, or of the indoors, as a yoga enthusiast and government employee. Watching nature does not bring about the same dialogue as participating in it. Adventuring into the ﬁeld to hunt brings about a primal energy that cannot be duplicated through another medium.

AS MY LIFE as a hunter evolved, I took up The northern bobwhite quail is among many upland birds seeing a sharp decline, due mostly to a loss of habitat. (STEVE MASLOWSKI/USFWS)

212 Seal Face Housing

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other types of hunting and was attracted to pursuits that involved hunting dogs. Upland hunting in the Kenai Mountains with an English setter is the highlight of my life. But growing up in Alaska, I was insulated from the political and environmental situation facing grassland birds. It wasn’t until I traveled to the Lower 48 to hunt pheasant and sharptail grouse that I encountered my ﬁrst glimpse of a grim future for upland hunting. What I saw was what many hunters and conservationists already know: American landscapes are forever changing as we face the loss of some of our most iconic game bird species.

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Grassland birds are among the fastest and most consistently declining bird populations in North America, and grassland and prairie habitats are the fastest disappearing habitats in the U.S. Last year, the Gunnison sage grouse and lesser prairie-chicken were listed as threatened under the Endangered Species Act. The greater sage grouse, greater prairie-chicken, sooty grouse, and northern bobwhite have experienced a 40 percent rate of decline in the last 40 years. Scaled quail and sharp-tailed grouse are also showing steep declines, with loss of habitat being the primary cause and ultimate solution. Upland game are now resting on the same precarious perch as waterfowl stood a century ago. Hunters saved waterfowl in part with the federal duck stamp, which was formally introduced as the Migratory Bird Hunting and Conservation Stamp. A fellow hunter mentioned that maybe we could do the same for upland birds

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with an upland stamp. It is certainly the time to rise to the occasion and raise funds for grassland birds, and a federal hunting stamp could be one answer. Of course, most upland birds aren’t migratory like waterfowl and there are hurdles to any big idea, but this doesn’t mean we can’t devise an equitable system for distributing stamp funds for habitat improvement at the state level. The beneﬁts of an upland stamp to conservationists, collectors and artists include an educational aspect and opportunity to highlight the cultural value of upland game species to broader audiences. We started an online petition to support the idea and launched a new website (uplandstamp.org) to start a dialogue with hunters on a solution and bring awareness to the problems facing upland species nationwide.

MY JOURNEY AS a hunter began with duck hunting on Alaska’s tidal ﬂats, and hunting has become my passion. With the demographic realities of shrinking hunt-

ing numbers and our role as leaders in conservation, hunting asks more of me than to take game from the ﬁeld and follow regulations. Today’s hunter must be informed and act on policy issues that affect us. We must promote the value of hunting to wider audiences, and recruit the next generation of hunters. We must bring innovative ideas, the way our forebears did for us, in order for the tradition to continue. Alaska is often called the Last Frontier. We have abundant public land and hunting opportunity. We, as hunters, are facing a last-chance proposition when it comes to the future of upland birds. I look forward to the conversation and challenges an upland stamp will face, and hope hunters will join me in this worthy cause. ASJ Editor’s note: To sign the petition to create the federal upland stamp, go to uplandstamp.org/petition.html. More on Ultimate Upland can be found at ultimateupland. com or facebook.com/ultimateupland.

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PROTECTING

WILD ALASKA BY CHRIS COCOLES

WHAT LIES UNDER THE SURFACE

he tug-of-war between Alaska’s ﬂora and fauna and the state’s rich oil and mineral reserves seem like a rope without much leverage in one direction or the other. While the Pebble Mine in Bristol Bay and British Columbia’s Mount Polley Mine near the border with Southeast Alaska are a concern for the salmon ﬁshing industry, oil reserves in the Arctic Ocean just happen to be in the same feeding waters for sea creatures. President Obama drew the ire of some Alaskan politicians when he proposed thousands of acres of Arctic National Wildlife Refuge and its coastal plain be protected under the Wilderness Act, despite the presence of billions of barrels of oil there. “This administration has effectively declared war on Alaska,” U.S. Sen. Lisa Murkowski (R) told The Associated Press. Days later, the Obama administration planned to protect among four Arctic areas a part of the Chukchi Sea known as Hanna Shoal, located 80 miles off the coast of Northwest Alaska. The AP reported that a sizeable population of walrus and bearded seal raises and feeds pups there. Murkowski

President Obama and Secretary of the Interior Sally Jewell announced proposals to protect Chukchi Sea waters known to house feeding walrus cows and pups, despite rich oil deposits there. (JOEL GARLICH-MILLER/USFWS)

– who accused the Obama administration of treating Alaska like a “nice little snow globe” – and other Alaska politicians pointed to more billions of barrels of oil on the same sea ﬂoor. Secretary of the Interior Sally Jewell recently visited Alaska. “Alaska is a critical component of our nation’s energy portfolio, and the Chukchi Sea has substantial oil and gas potential, as well as sensitive marine and coastal resources that Alaska Native communities depend on for sub-

OUTDOOR CALENDAR

April 1 Opening of spring brown bear season in game management unit 8 (Kodiak) April 2-5 Great Alaska Sportsman Show, Sullivan and Ben Boeke Arenas, Anchorage; greatalaskasportsmanshow.com April 15 Start of Ninilchik King Salmon Derby, saltwater between Deep Creek and Stariski Creek April 17-19 Fairbanks Outdoor Show, Carlson Center, Fairbanks; carlson-center.com/outdoorTravelShow May 10 Opening of spring bear season

GMU 10 (Aleutians) May 16 Start of Goodnight Inn Lodge King Salmon Derby, Kenai River May 23 Start of Mat-Su King Salmon Derby, Little Susitna River; wasillachamber.org/kingderby.htm

sistence,” Jewell said. “We remain committed to taking a thoughtful and balanced approach to oil and gas leasing and exploration in this unique, sensitive and often challenging environment.” “We know the Arctic is an incredibly unique environment, so we’re continuing to take a balanced and careful approach to development. At the same time, the President is taking thoughtful action to protect areas that are critical to the needs of Alaska Natives and wildlife.” ASJ Brown bear hunting spring seasons will begin at various Game Management Units in both April and May. (STEVE HILLEBRAND/ USFWS)

May 23-25, May 30-31, June 6-7 Ketchikan CHARR King Salmon Derby; facebook.com/pages/Ketchikan-CHARR-King-Salmon-Derby/274823911299 May 31 Close of brown bear season in several GMUs

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An image from the Anchorage Museum shows a polar bear hunter returning from a successful hunt. Even though those glorious days of adventure in the high Arctic are long gone, they will never be forgotten. (STEVE MCCUTCHEON COLLECTION/ANCHORAGE MUSEUM)

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LEGENDS OF THE ICE POLAR BEAR HUNTING WAS ONCE PART OF ALASKA’S OUTDOOR SPORTING LORE BY PAUL D. ATKINS

he phrase “cheating death” is often overused here in Alaska, but to the guides, outfitters and hunters of the 1950s, ’60s and ’70s, it was an everyday occurrence, especially in Northwest Alaska. Men risked their lives, fortunes and namesakes to venture on and above the pack ice in search of the infamous and most glorified predator of all – the mighty polar bear. This was a time when Alaska was new and uncharted for the most part, a time when the great gaming lands of the Arctic were unspoiled and plentiful. Like Africa in its glory days, Arctic Alaska was full of big game during this era, and there were liberal bag limits and few regulations. Those thrill-seekers who wanted adventure got it, and if you had the financial means to do so, then searching for the iconic white bear was at the top of your list.

NOT MUCH WAS written about polar bear hunting, especially those hunts that took place here starting in 1952 and ending in the early 1970s. Stories passed down from generation to generation and those told in biographies are about all you can ﬁnd these days, if you’re lucky. But if you were to pick up a Boone & Crockett record book and turn to the section on the subject, you would ﬁnd a list that isn’t too long, but is full of bears that came from this region of Alaska. Kotzebue, where I live, is located

on Alaska’s northwest coast, 33 miles above the Arctic Circle and about 200 miles from the Russian border. Most residents are Inuit Eskimos, the great people of the north known for their subsistence lifestyle and masterful skills on the ocean and rivers that flow through this part of the state. It was during this timeframe when Kotzebue became known as the polar bear hunting capital of the world. Men from all parts came north to pursue Nanuk – as the bear is known in the Inupiaq language – and find adventure in one of the most remote places on earth. Bears were plentiful too; so much so that the current No. 1 and No. 2 record-book animals were taken on the same day by two hunters from totally different walks of life. Of the approximately 141 bears listed in the book, an incredible 72 came from this area. Many more were never entered, and if you talk to the old timers who were here at the time, some of those bears were records too. Stakes were high in those days. Hunters who came here wanting to fulfill their dream risked it all, whether it was climbing into a Super Cub for an all-day ride with the chance of running out of fuel or braving the extreme cold, which were both detrimental to their success.

WHAT ABOUT THE guides? The polar bear hunters were led by a special group of men. Guides were brave souls who loved what they did for a living and the challenges the Arctic brought them. APRIL 2015

ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

Kotzebue, located 33 miles above the Arctic Circle and 200 miles from Russia, was considered the polar bear hunting capital of the world until the Marine Mammal Act of 1972 barred the hunt. One of the few relics of that age is the wooden bear (left) that welcomed hunters who dared chase the world’s only maritime bear, Ursus arctos. Today, residents move the carving from house to house; a weather-beaten sign that follows along recounts the town’s origins as a native trading center and its naming after a Russian sea captain. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

They were hardcore men who were all excellent pilots, blessed with the ability to ﬂy in all kinds of weather conditions; plus they had the eyes of eagles. These guides knew the land from top to bottom, but more importantly they knew ice and how an ocean can freeze and refreeze again and again. They could spot tracks from the cockpit of their plane, and some were so good they could tell you how big the 56 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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bear was from the air before they even saw it in the flesh. Guides valued their reputation of being able to put their clients in a position to take a good bear, no matter the cost. Sometimes, those costs were high. Losing planes to open leads in the ice or having a big boar do what it wasn’t supposed to do and charge the hunters or the plane itself were all common pitfalls. Close calls were the

norm, but most survived; it was classic Arctic Alaska toughness!

A TYPICAL POLAR bear hunt, if you could call it typical, wasn’t much different than any other guided big game hunt up here today. But in those days there were 737s and no Alaska Airlines, and all flights in and out of Kotzebue were through Wien, a major company of the day. Hunters arrived at the air-

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port, where they met their guide and were then taken to a hotel, or, in most cases, a cabin located along the beach that was owned by somebody in town, if not by the guide himself. Most hunts started in early April and took place on the pack ice between Kotzebue and the eastern border of Russia. In preparation for the hunt, guides would load their Super

The era of polar bear hunting is slipping into the myths of time, but in springs past, hunters came to Kotzebue from far and wide to head onto the pack ice in search of the huge predators. Pictured here is Tom Bolack and his 13-foot monster, taken on the pack at 50-below zero. (BOONE & CROCKETT CLUB)

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Cubs with plenty of fuel, gear and their client. Gear was just as important then as it is today, and the ability to survive in all conditions was always a concern. Big heavy parkas lined with fur, mukluks or boots, plus sealskin mittens were the norm for both guide and hunter, in addition to the big rifles cleared of oil and able to function in cold weather.

Kotzebue looked quite different in the 1950s and ’60s. The Arctic Alaska Adventures Club was a special place where big game hunters and guides gathered. The club closed after polar bear hunting was discontinued, and the building has been modiﬁed and now is a resident’s home. (WIEN COLLECTION/ ANCHORAGE MUSEUM)

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The majority of hunts were conducted using two planes, one serving as a spotter and the second to place the hunter in a position to get a shot. This sometimes became tricky and dangerous, especially when leads would open up in the ice after landing, leaving the group scrambling before the plane and men were sucked under. Scary times! Even though the sea ice spanned hundreds of miles, it was a very competitive time for most outfitters who were all in search of the same thing. It was, of course, a much different time than today, but that is how it was done. Bears still had to be tagged and only one bear per hunter was allowed. Big crowds would gather in front of town when a plane landed, all wanting to see another great bear. It was a glorious time, to say the least, an era that we will never see again. Polar bear hunting was closed after ratification of the Marine Mammal Act of 1972. Even though there are still plenty of polar bears, only Alaska natives can hunt them now. Occasionally, these days, when the sun is high in the sky and the ice is deep, a lone wandering bear will stroll into town, usually lost, but still a cause of great excitement. On a final note, most of the men whose names we see in the record books today are gone, and, sad to say, most of those great guides are also no longer with us. They are mythical ghosts who are as much a part of the Alaskan culture as anything we are known for. Alaska is affectionately called The Last Frontier, and never was it a more fitting description than in the heyday of polar bear hunts. So the next time you’re in a sporting goods store and you see a mounted polar bear, take a look at the fine print and you’ll know what I mean. ASJ

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Editor’s note: Paul Atkins’ soon-to-bepublished book, Legends of the Ice, which will detail more of this amazing time in Alaska, features stories of the great guides and hunters and more photos of the time.

If you travel the world or stop by a sporting goods store and happen to see a polar bear mount, take time to read the ﬁne print. There is a good chance it will report the animal was taken on the Chukchi Sea, during the golden age of Alaska hunting. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

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From

FIELD FIRE

Hunting bears isn’t easy in this part of Alaska. Tides, mud ﬂats, tundra and changing winds are where the challenges lie, but when it all comes together, the efforts and patience are more than worth it. (SCOTT HAUGEN)

BARELY BEGUN BRUIN A HUNT WITH LOW EXPECTATIONS FINDS QUICK SUCCESS BY SCOTT HAUGEN

“

he weather’s been terrible and we’ve only seen one bear; if you want to reschedule for another season, I’d understand,” lodge owner Bruce Hallingstad told me from a satellite phone. I appreciated his honesty; some outﬁtters would have said nothing just so they could have kept the booking, pocketed a big chunk of change and sent the hunter home, knowing all the while that the chances of getting a brown bear were slim. So after chatting more with Bruce,

I decided to proceed with the hunt as planned. Bruce is the owner of Becharof Lodge (becharoﬂodge.com) and was calling from his camp near the village of Egegik, a place I had hunted fall brown bears with him before. I’ve also experienced some of the best coho ﬁshing in my life in this area with Bruce. But things were different on this spring hunt.

COMING OF SPRING Typically, the ice in Egegik Bay breaks up around the middle of May, but last spring during my hunt, breakup came in early April. Temperatures this time of

year are usually in the 30s to 40s in the day and below freezing at night. When Bruce called me on May 12, temperatures at his bear camp had been in the low 80s. I’d talked with a couple buddies who hunted the south side of the Alaska Range a week prior; they both tagged big bears and saw many more on the move. Bruce and I continued talking and convinced one another that bears would show up on the beaches of Egegik – it was just a matter of time. Last spring, the hunting season was extended in this part of Alaska to the end of May. (Usually it ends at midmonth.) Due to the previous spring seasons being locked in ice, making access tough, Bruce and I agreed I’d come for APRIL 2015

ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

From

FIELD I-CAN’T-BELIEVEFIRE To

IT’S-NOT-BEEF BEAR

BY TIFFANY HAUGEN

hen it comes to eating bear meat, everyone has his or her opinion. Truth is, if you’ve had bear prepared properly, it is some of the most tender, tasty game meat there is. But if you’ve not had a good experience, chances are it will be tough talking you into giving it another try. Believe me when I say bear meat is worth it and is honestly a family favorite; we eat two to three black bears a year. With bears, the trick is to remove the hide as quickly as possible, bone out the meat and get rid of the fat. Removing meat from the bones ensures quicker cooling. Getting the meat into a cooler, where it can properly age, is crucial. In our family, we prepare bear meat in several ways. If entertaining guests who’ve not enjoyed bear meat, the following recipe offers a failsafe starting point.

TEX-MEX FILLING This meat ﬁlling can be catered to ﬁt any taste. Use a favorite prepared or homemade salsa, be it hot or mild. Add heat with jalapeños or a favorite taco, burrito or fajita seasoning instead of chili powder and cumin. This recipe suggests using a pressure cooker, but a slow cooker can also be used when cooked on high for six to eight hours. 2- to 3-pound bear roast 2 tablespoons canola oil 2 cups salsa or picante sauce 1 cup tomato sauce or V8 2 teaspoons chili powder 1 teaspoon cumin 1 tablespoon hot pepper sauce In a pressure cooker, heat oil on medium-high heat. Sear bear roast on all 64 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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sides. Add salsa and tomato sauce and seal pressure cooker lid (or follow the manufacturer’s instructions). Once the pressure cooker has reached at least 15 pounds pressure (or started to rock) on high heat, set timer for 40 minutes. Reduce heat to medium or just enough to keep pressure constant. Remove and let pressure come down naturally as meat is still cooking. When pressure is released, open lid and test meat for doneness (bear must reach an internal temperature of 165 degrees). Tear or shred meat with fork and add spices. Keep warm until ready to ﬁll burritos, tacos, enchiladas, or you can also use it as a salad topper. This ﬁlling can be frozen for up to three months.

A WORD ON TRICHINOSIS Although not common in the United States, trichinosis can be found in some types of meat. Trichinosis is a parasitic disease caused by eating raw or undercooked pork and wild game infected with the larvae of a species of

roundworm. Most trichinosis parasites can be killed by freezing the meat to at least 5 degrees Fahrenheit for at least three weeks. However, trichinosis found in Arctic animals is freeze-resistant. To rest assured no trichinosis ends up on your dinner plate, always thoroughly cook all meat, allowing all parts to reach at least 165 degrees; this applies to all cooking methods, including hot-smoking and cooking over an open ﬁre. Editor’s note: For 100-plus more big game recipes, signed copies of Tiffany and Scott Haugen’s popular book, Cooking Big Game, can be ordered by sending a check for $20 (includes S&H) to Haugen Enterprises, PO Box 275, Walterville, OR 97489, or order online at scotthaugen.com.

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the ﬁnal two weeks of the season. Bruce had three hunters in camp prior to my arrival and they saw one bear in 10 days and killed it. It was the only bear they saw. “Usually we’re seeing two bears a day, on average, and are 100 percent on shot opportunities on this hunt,” Bruce noted. When passing through the King Salmon airport on my way to catch the bush plane to Bruce’s camp, I spoke with a guide, and the camp he worked in had gone 0-11, and usually they’re 100 percent success too. That’s bear hunting in Alaska – there are never any guarantees. I love the Egegik region, and since plane tickets were booked and my bear tag bought, we decided to go for it. We were filming the hunt for Alaska Outdoors TV, a show I’m fortunate to now be hosting. I went into the hunt knowing the chance of success was low, but happy just to be in this great land, watching waterfowl migrating, enjoying the tundra springing to life and spending time with fine people.

SPOTTING A BEAR After we took a boat from the lodge across Egegik Bay to Bruce’s camp on the South Spit, we were soon unpacking our bags in a rustic cabin. Seven minutes into the unpacking I heard Bruce: “Bear! Bear! Big bear!”

The bear was more than 20 years old and led a full life, as evidenced by the worn, aged teeth. The brown was a true giant, the kind of brute hunters usually only dream about. (SCOTT HAUGEN) 66 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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wait, the breeze shifted and we were on the move again. With an hour of daylight remaining, we found our bear and worked fast to close the distance. We rafted across meandering creeks, trudged through quicksand-like mud and scurried across the tundra; we were as close as we were going to get. “It’s now or never,” Bruce said. I set the .338378 Weatherby Magnum in the Bog Pod shooting sticks and ranged the bear one last time. At 325 yards across the tidal flats, I felt solid and confident. I sent the 225-grain Triple Shock on its way and dropped the bear on the spot. An insurance shot kept him down. Walking up on that bear was a moment I’ll never forget: The bruin was even bigger than I imagined. The bear squared 10 feet, 9 inches and carried a 29 4/16-inch skull. At over 20 years of age, the bear had little fat; his teeth were broken and worn to the gums. Eleven hours after spotting the bear, the hunt was over on day one of our two-week journey. I’ve been on many bear hunts throughout the state and knew I’d just experienced a true hunt of a lifetime. It’s one I’ll likely never top and that I’ll certainly never forget. ASJ

The author (right) and Bruce Hallingstad were more than elated with this monster brown bear of a lifetime. For Bruce, it ended a ﬁve-year quest of chasing this bruin. (SCOTT HAUGEN)

Scrambling for binoculars, we were intent on getting a closer look. “There he is – walking across the tundra, toward those willows,” said Bruce. Though the bear was well over a mile away, the morning sun reflected off his light hide and made him easy to see, even with the naked eye. “You keep an eye on him; don’t let him out of your sight; I’m going to get the spotting scope,” Bruce said. Through the binoculars the bear looked giant; through the spotting scope the beast was immense. Heat waves made it challenging to see much detail on the bear, but by his gait, head size and demeanor, you could tell it was a big bruin. Between the heat waves, Bruce finally got a good look at him. “That’s him, that’s the one we want. I’ve seen this bear five years in a row, and we’ve never been able to get him.” While I got my gear ready, Bruce watched the bear; then we switched roles. Soon we were headed across the tundra, but the wind changed in the bear’s favor. After an eight-hour

Editor’s note: Personally signed copies of Scott Haugen’s thrilling book, Hunting The Alaskan High Arctic, can be ordered by sending a check for $35 (free S&H) to Haugen Enterprises, P.O. Box 275 Walterville, OR 97489, or order at scotthaugen. com. Scott Haugen is the new host of Alaska Outdoors TV. Watch for this hunt in early April on the Outdoor Channel.

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HUNTING ALASKA’S SPRING BEARS FROM THE GRIZZLIES OF THE ARCTIC TO THE GULF OF ALASKA’S BLACK BEARS, OPPORTUNITIES ABOUND

As temperatures warm and that first drip of melt hits their hide, bears leave the dens. Boars usually exit first, and they have just one thing on their mind: find something to eat. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

BY PAUL D. ATKINS

t was a gorgeous day in the Arctic. The April sun was booming through the old spruce and the snow was still deep in most places. So deep, in fact, that it was hard to maneuver without snowshoes, which I unfortunately had left at home. The grizzly that stood before me probably was wondering why I had left them too. For most hunters, spring in Alaska means one thing: bear season. April is the key month when it all starts. Starting in the southern part of the state and working north, bears will be leaving their dens

well rested and hungry. Six months of hibernation takes its toll and they are ready to do something different. But I have seen bears exit their dens earlier, especially big boars that seem to leave as soon as the ﬁrst drip-drip is felt in their shallow den. Once, while hunting up in the northwestern Brooks Range on a special subsistence sheep hunt, I came across one of the biggest bears I have ever seen – and it was only March 20! We took each other by surprise as I rounded the corner of a frozen creek. He didn’t stay around long, heading straight up and over a snow-covered hill. It was too deep to follow, but the size of his backside is

Though taken a few years back now, the author’s ﬁrst grizzly bear was special. The Kotzebue-based writer hunted all spring that year and then made a stalk after ﬁnding a moose kill. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

etched in my mind.

SPRINGING FORWARD Most spring grizzly hunts begin in late April and conclude when the ice starts to break up and travel becomes a little less formidable. Snowmachines are used to get to certain areas where bears may have denned up. APRIL 2015

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Those areas usually include hills and mountains with outcroppings of rocks and boulders. Some bears like these areas, but others will simply dig a hole into the side of a dirt bank or other areas down low. These dens are often used by the same bear each year or others who may find it by chance. My first spring grizzly came many years ago when I was a newcomer to Alaska and a novice when it came to hunting bears. I was also new to snowmachines and my ability to stay aboard one when traveling into the backcountry. If you haven’t ridden a snowmachine before, it can be tough, especially through trees and the deep snow that seems to engulf them. We were heading north into the mountains looking for likely locations that might harbor a freshly undenned bear. The key, I learned, was to look for bare patches on the side of mountains, paying particular attention to slopes facing south, where a bear might be found sunning himself. Spring bears, specifically tundra bruins, like to keep out of the deep snow and usually stay up higher until things begin to melt, so glassing is key. We spent most of that spring looking for bears, only to come up empty-handed. As time went by and daylight increased, we were able to include weekdays in our pursuit, as each day after work could find us heading out.

NIGHT MOVES My ﬁrst bear came on a Wednesday night at approximately 10 p.m. – late, you say? Well, it didn’t get dark until almost midnight, so we were good and legal. We were up a soggy, slushy drainage when we found a reasonably fresh moose kill. With ravens swirling, my hunting partner and I stopped to have a look. The dead moose had been ravaged and the tracks surrounding it were numerous – a mixture of bear, wolf, fox and lynx were everywhere. It was quite the sight. We were discussing the merits of how incredible this was when I noticed something on the adjacent hill. After close inspection with the Leicas, 70 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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The author found this den while caribou hunting. Bears will den up where they feel safe and can get out of the cold around October and November. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

Whether baiting is your thing or not, it is a very popular way to hunt spring bears in Alaska. Bait stations have to be registered with the state and maintained according to standards. The science of it can be as intense as you like, but the reward is seeing many different bears and being able to take the one of your choice. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

I could see it was a bear, which must have just left the kill; we apparently had scared him off. We quickly made a plan and scurried around the backside of the hill, hoping to be in time to make a stalk up the backside. It worked, and the bear never knew we were there. It was the ﬁrst wild grizzly I had ever seen, and I never felt the recoil of the 300 Win Mag. The bear wasn’t that big, but to me he was incredible. He now resides on my living room ﬂoor. It was quite the bear hunting experience, and since then I’ve become addicted.

There have been many grizzlies since, and each one of those hunts has been a new experience in itself. The challenge of ﬁnding a good bear in the vast Arctic can be tough; getting to them can be even tougher, but the thrill of seeing a bear after it has exited its den is quite a sight.

DON’T FORGET BLACK BEARS Besides grizzlies, black bear hunting is also a popular hunting experience to be had here in the Alaskan north. In the Arctic, black bears are few and far between, but south of the circle they

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Hunting black bears is about as much fun as any big game in Alaska. The animals are plentiful and can be found just about anywhere in the coastal regions of Southeast and Southcentral. Finding them by boat and then spot-andstalking them along the shoreline is a favorite method. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

are numerous and about as fun of a hunting adventure as you can have. Most black bear hunting in Alaska is over bait or bait stations set up by hunters long before hunting season begins. You have to have a permit to have a station and proper rules and regulations must be followed. It is a science, and if you talk to those who do it, they all have their secrets. Like my first grizzly, my first black bear experience came many years ago. I had never hunted bears over bait, but heard the stories of how incredible an event it could be. I was hunting with good friends in Southcentral Alaska who had been baiting for years and had taken some nice bears. The setup was complete with our own mixture of bait and located in a stand of birch trees, including platform stands overlooking the area. In three days there we saw 33 different bears; I wanted to arrow all of them. Luckily, my hunting companion kept me in check and didn’t let me shoot. It was only on the last day that a big boar wandered in and I was able to take him. It was about as much fun as I have ever had on any hunt. 74 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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METHOD HUNTING When it comes to black bears, I’ve also tried the spot-and-stalk method. It’s a lot of fun, but a little bit more specific than sitting in a stand. Black bears can’t see well, but they can hear and smell beyond belief. Be prepared to be in stealth mode, and always pay attention to your surroundings. My first spot-and-stalk hunt came on a cast-and-blast trip in and around Homer. These hunts are fun, and with a group of hunters they’re even better. We headed out in big cruisers capable of handling up to six or seven hunters. We fished for halibut and rockfish during mid-day, and hunted the shoreline for bears in the early mornings and evenings. The key again was to glass and locate bears that were inspecting the shore for forage. Once you locate a bear, you unhook the skiff and go ashore, hoping to intercept a bruin along the coast. On this hunt, we saw several great bears and were able to take a few, myself being one of the lucky ones. We also caught some monster halibut and incredible rockfish. Bear hunting in Alaska is an adventure that every hunter should experience. Hunting spring grizzly can be ex-

pensive for the nonresident, as a guide is required to do so. With plenty of bears, however, you’ll pretty much be guaranteed some sort of action. Black bear hunting is different, but whether it’s over bait or spot-and-stalk, it can be done relatively on the cheap and cost you no more than a bear hunt in the Lower 48 or Canada.

A BEAR CONFRONTATION The grizzly that stood in front of me on that April day was a bit intimidating. I was standing in knee-deep snow without snowshoes, and pursuit would have been futile. Instead, the bear looked at me and then turned and left. It was a great experience and something I will never forget. Most would think I might be disappointed after such a confrontation, but I wasn’t. It was only early April; there were more hills and mountains ahead of me. ASJ Editor’s note: Paul Atkins is an outdoor writer and a contributor to Alaska Sporting Journal. He has written hundreds of articles on hunting big game throughout North America and Africa. He lives in Kotzebue, Alaska.

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CARPE URSUS AN IMPROMPTU HUNT WHILE OUT ON A SAILBOAT RIDE IN KENAI FJORDS MAKES FOR A MEMORABLE FIRST BLACK BEAR BY KRYSTIN MCCLURE AND BIXLER MCCLURE

The authors’ hunt took place amid a gorgeous backdrop: Aialik Fjord, just west of Seward. They originally were there just to check out the glaciers that jut into the sea. (BIXLER MCCLURE) 76 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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Krystin McClure ﬁgured hunting for her ﬁrst black bear would have to be put off until the fall. But an opportunity to track a bruin on a sailboat outing with a friend proved too good to pass up. (BIXLER MCCLURE)

f you are a friend of ours who joins us on a sailing trip, we will guarantee you an adventure – always. But here’s a caveat: “adventure” does not always equate to “fun,” as was discoverd by one of our friends who was skeptical when we invited her out sailing for the second time that summer. She had gone out with us during a rainy spring weekend, woefully unprepared for the damp chill that comes with being on a boat in Alaska. She spent the afternoon curled up in the V-berth under a pile of sleeping bags, while we ﬁshed for cod off the stern of our boat, Carpe Ventos. So when we invited her again in June, she was hesitant. However, her need to escape the metropolis of Anchorage and the forecast of nice weather overcame any hesitations and she showed up to our boat with Grundens foul-weather gear in hand. Our destination that weekend was Aialik Fjord, the ﬁrst such majestic long and deep inlet to the west of Seward in Kenai Fjords National Park. Our friend

wanted to see glaciers and play the role of tourist, which was fine for us since we had essentially given up on bear hunting at that point. In June, there is too much vegetation to glass hillsides for bears. We had technically lost our window of opportunity, but we still kept our hunting gear stowed away in the black hole that is our quarter berth. Bixler had gotten his first bear in the spring and now it was my turn. The spring hunting season had long passed as far as I was concerned, and I was resigned into waiting until fall to down my first bear.

CARPE VENTOS SPED forward under her diesel engine until we reached Rugged Island, the last of the landmasses blocking our route to Aialik from the Gulf of Alaska. The waters from the harbor to this point were glassy and comfortable, but as soon as we passed the island, our sailboat was battered by winds and large ocean swell. The boat bucked around in the wind, tangling our halyards as we tried APRIL 2015

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to raise the sails. I suggested we head east, which would be a shorter, more comfortable ride. Thankfully our friend was in agreement, and the majority vote beat out Bixler’s wish to continue in the bumpy conditions. With sails up, we headed east and quickly reached protected waters. The eastern coast outside of Seward is not part of the national park and it does not experience the constant drone of tour boats traveling back and forth. This quiet corner of paradise east of Seward is lightly visited, home to both open land and private cabins. We anchored up in a cove for the night, watching the weather improve. Bixler dug out the hunting gear from the

The bear obviously had some big paws compared to the hunters’. (BIXLER MCCLURE)

Bear tracks were spotted on the beach in an area the authors thought was private land. As it turned out, it was state ground, providing a chance for them to hunt it. (BIXLER MCCLURE)

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quarter berth in the outside chance a bear might appear. Several weeks earlier we had spooked a black bear on the beach at the head of the bay near an old cabin. Thinking that the land was private property, we assumed hunting was out of the question. A little bit of research showed the opposite; the land was owned by the State of Alaska and someone had been simply squatting on it. The next morning, we piled in our dinghy, revved up the 2-horsepower outboard and sped towards the head of the bay. We beached the dinghy in a tidal lagoon and started heading up a river to reach the glacier. As usual, we disregarded the “Alaska

mile” concept, thinking the glacier was right around a bend in the river, only to discover that we needed to hike several more miles before reaching the glacial lagoon. The dense vegetation and ample bear tracks weren’t helping, so we headed back to the beach. Bixler, ever-vigilant for bears, decided to run to the opposite end of the beach to see if the black bear we saw a few weeks ago was in the area. Our friend and I simply decided to walk along the beach and snap pictures. The sun was out on a gorgeous June day and the beach was littered with bear tracks. In the distance, I saw Bixler walking towards us with purpose. In his hand was his orange Grundens jacket. He ran up to us. “I’ve been waving my jacket for the last 15 minutes,” he said between breaths. “Did you see me?” “No,” we said in unison. “There’s a bear back by the stream,” he replied.

IN AN INSTANT, I dropped my pack and grabbed our Ruger .30-06 and bipod. Our lazy walk on the beach came to an abrupt end, as I started walking quietly to where Bixler had seen the bear. He gave instructions to our friend to stay back. The south wind was coming up and we did not want the bear to bolt into the woods after smelling us. I walked along a grassy path in between debris left by the squatter with knots in my stomach. Would I miss the shot? Would the bear run off into the woods before I could get close to it? Various scenarios ran through my head. The largest animal I had shot before this was a grouse and our experience with Bixler’s ﬁrst black bear (Alaska Sporting Journal, May 2014) was a nightmare. Bixler walked quietly behind me while our friend waited on the beach. Without making a sound, I crawled over to a grassy embankment and peeked my head over the top. In the grass there was the bear in question. He turned in circles, casually eating grass while I watched to make sure it wasn’t a sow with cubs. I crawled back to Bixler and discussed my game plan. I could not climb over the

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embankment or go around for fear of the bear smelling my scent with the incoming south wind. I decided to stand up and shoot over the embankment. I carefully extended the bipod, racked a round into the rifle, and stood up, blocking myself with a few scraggly alders. The bear continued to eat and periodically looked in my general direction. The bruin did not seem to mind the sun’s reflection off my bright orange Grundens, but was skeptical at my presence (note to self: invest in camo). I placed the rifle on the bipod and gazed through the scope. There were too many tree branches in the way for me to make a good shot, so I took a step to the left and carried the bipod with me. As I got into position, Bixler whispered for me to take off the safety. I breathed in, aimed, and on my outward breath, I squeezed the trigger. My first black bear fell into the grass. I was both shocked and delighted. I paused for a second, then racked another round into the rifle to approach the bear. Mean-

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while, Bixler was running back to the beach to gather up our friend. Both arrived as I was approaching the bear. I picked up the bear’s head out of the grass. The shot was so clean there was still grass in the bear’s mouth. All of that June sunlight had given the bear a thick, lustrous coat, and all of that grass made the meat lean and delicious.

OUR FRIEND, WHO had wanted to see glaciers, was now helping us drag a black bear out of the grass and down to the beach for field dressing. We butchered the bear and loaded the meat and hide into our dinghy for the ride back to the boat. When we returned to the harbor, the bear’s hide was sprawled across the deck of the sailboat and meat bags were loaded in our fishing coolers. Wayward tourists and those out fishing paused at the strange sight of a black bear on

The author felt nervous about taking the shot, but she was pleased to take down the black bear with an almost perfectly clean kill. (BIXLER MCCLURE)

a sailboat. We said our goodbyes to our friend later that evening. She always seems to get an adventure when hanging out with us. She paused before she got into her car and said, “Well, I certainly didn’t expect to be doing that this weekend!” ASJ Editor’s note: For more on the authors’ Alaskan adventures, check out their website, alaskagraphy.com.

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Alaskan

MEMORIES OF A FIRST HUNT FLOAT-HUNTING FOR MOOSE, GRIZZLY WITH DAD Part I of II

She may use ﬁshing terminology to describe the act of killing big game, but there’s no doubt that huntress Hillarie Putnam has experienced plenty of wild Alaska. The following story recounts ﬂying into a remote stretch of the Yukon for a moose hunt, and in this image she’s on Kodiak Island in search of its giant brown bears for an episode of The Hunt. (HISTORY CHANNEL)

By Hillarie Helen Putnam

navy blue Chevy truck made its way down an old dirt road over hillsides painted brilliant hues of amber and violet, as the change of the seasons lit up the tag alders. The trees’ growth was stunted by the year-round permafrost, which was hidden just beneath the tundra. On the truck’s radio spoke a familiar voice whose poetic words echo in the memory of every Alaskan child: “There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, but the queerest they ever did see was that night on the marge of Lake LaBarge I cremated Sam McGee.” In the driver’s seat was a woman, her hair the color of salt and pepper.

She had a sarcastic air to her, but deep respect for the untamed world she and her family called home. Her eyes scanned the vast landscape in awe before they landed on the curly blonde-haired, rambunctious little girl in the passenger seat. As the poem ﬂowed over the airwaves, the girl recited each word with careful consideration and loving appreciation, almost as if they were her own. To the girl, Robert Service was a cherished storyteller, and his poems were her bedtime stories and inspiration in expressing the art in her soul. There she sat at the start of her fall journey, a young girl on a 12-hour road trip with Mom up the renowned Steese Highway. She was headed to meet her father, David, somewhere above the Arctic Circle for the hunting trip of a lifetime. David had already been living off one of Alaska’s northernmost rivers

for over 19 days, and his daughter was to join him for 15 more in hopes of “landing” her ﬁrst Alaskan bull moose and an Interior Alaska grizzly bear with a CVA Muzzleloader. She was 12 years old.

MY NAME IS HILLARIE Helen Putnam, and this is just one memory from my years of growing up in Alaska. Today, I am a professional actress and talent manager. I have spent almost the last decade of my life living between every major city up and down the West Coast in pursuit of the elusive and always changing entertainment “career.” You might recognize me from the occasional theater, television or feature ﬁlm role, or the various modeling gigs here and there. However, recently it seems that things have come full circle: Most people now associate my name with primitive weapons hunting and outdoor APRIL 2015

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Alaskan

The gorgeous fall colors of the Interior. (HILLARIE PUTNAM)

survival. It’s a result of “catching” one of the planet’s most revered and vicious land carnivores, the Kodiak brown bear. A year ago, I was lucky enough to draw the lottery of a lifetime and soon found myself flying to Kodiak Island with my father, armed with only two CVA Muzzleloaders and enough gear in our packs for 15 days. To top it all off, a film crew accompanied us to capture every moment of the action. To make a long story short, my father left the island after 11 unsuccessful days in the field, leaving me alone with a cameraman and at the mercy of whatever the island chose to throw at me. I was, however, finally able to land a brown bear, and the excitement became something everyone in the world could enjoy when it aired later on History Channel’s series, The Hunt. From there, I was able to start working on hunting show ideas of my own, begin a unique female hunting-wear line, and start on this – my first column for Alaska Sporting Journal. But before all that, things were different. Before I moved to Los 92 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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Angeles to pursue a life in the arts; before I turned to the entrepreneur world and started a talent company; and before my ﬁrst role in a community theater, I could be found in nature alongside my father trying to “land a big one.” This is what I hope to bring to Alaska Sporting Journal: ﬁrst-hand hunting, travel and backpacking adventures from the perspective of a young girl who grew up in one of the most ruthless lands on Earth – the Last Frontier. I have come to be known as an “Alaskan Huntress,” or so I have been crowned on Twitter, and that is exactly what you can count on in this space. Alaskan Huntress will bring you past, present or upcoming adventures in this beautiful state I call home. Whether you’re looking for hunting insights on the people, regions, units or animals, I hope to offer readers an inside look on locals, permits, dangers and more through my own personal experiences and stories. Now, where did that little blondehaired girl who was repeating the Robert Service poem go?

BEFORE LONG, THE truck and its two passengers reached the end of the

primitive, dusty road at the small native community of Circle, Alaska. The desolate village was a familiar sight to the young girl and her mother, as they had been there many times before, dropping off hunting partners of David’s at the small landing strip in town. Except this time was different; this time the girl herself was taking off in a Cessna 180 and flying over the vast tundra known only by the Athabaskans and Gwitch’en who subsisted there. In her eyes, Circle was an interesting village, with a gas station/grocery store, history museum and general populace of 100 people, which included 22 families. It sat alongside the Yukon River, the very water David and his hunting partners were at the moment rafting down, but miles and miles further north. After a quick meal in town and a long and emotional hug from her mother, the girl boarded a plane piloted by a native Athabaskan, and began the second stretch of her journey. The small bush plane flew high over the tundra, where the only sign of human life was the plane’s shadowlike reflection gliding over glassy lakes flooding the mossy earth. Car-

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Alaskan David’s and Hillarie’s camp near the Yukon River. (HILLARIE PUTNAM)

ibou by the hundreds moved with ease through the terrain. Moose with calves in tow appeared giantlike in the low-relief grassland below, and the occasional brown bear could have been mistaken for a hill next to the remote vastness of its surroundings. There was so much space, so much life, so much to get lost in if it weren’t for the amazing twisting and turning rivers that marked the way home. It instantly became clear why her father was so in love with the land he left his family for every fall. It was heaven and hell right here on earth, and outside of the natives who called it home, only a few brave souls who embarked on a journey of this magnitude understood its brilliance. Before long, the pilot made a gesture towards a long dirt runway next to a bunch of small homes in the middle of what seemed like nowhere. “We need to make a short stop,” he said, and they descended into the Athabaskan village of Chalkyitsik. It wasn’t even halfway to her father yet. Upon landing, the plane and its pilot were greeted by members of the village. Men, women and children came on four-wheelers towing long plastic sleds and began unloading the freight that sat in the far back of the plane. Among other things, a moose carcass was thrown in quarters on the totes to be taken home and turned into moosehead soup, a The author deplaning and ready for an adventure. (HILLARIE PUTNAM)

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delicacy in this region. It was clear that a potlatch was set to begin. The faces of the people of Chalkyitsik – round, tanned and hardened by a life’s exposure to the elements and subsistence lifestyle – bore welcoming expressions. Their clothing was made of wool, flannel and animal hides. Each one of them greeted the visitors with hidden excitement and a cautious demeanor, for it was not their people who seemed out of place. The pale skin, blue eyes and freshly washed curly blonde hair of the “crazy hunting girl,” as the pilot referred to her, were a rarity here. Moments after the plane emptied, another one arrived. This one was much larger and carried many young passengers. They were children coming home from Fairbanks, where they went to school for a “proper” education. Each child got out of the plane and grabbed a piece of freight before hopping on four-wheelers to head home. This was one of the weekly flights into the village that brought various necessities, an essential service that linked two very different worlds. Roughly two hours passed before the small plane could continue on its way to David. After another hour and a half of flying, they finally saw it: the long, rocky sandbar stretching

alongside trees and river that marked her final landing spot. The girl could see her father’s raft, bloodied game bags that meant successful harvests for his friends, and numerous antlers, horns and hides. The pilot circled a couple times to make sure of his landing, and began the descent. The runway, created by years and years of river erosion, was covered in downed trees and river debris, but it was just long enough for takeoffs and landings, and soon the girl was greeted by a hug from her father. Weight is everything on trips like these, and on a river where the only form of transportation is a raft, one can only put down the number of animals that can fit on the tubes. Before the duo could proceed, her father’s partners and their catch and equipment had to be transported back to civilization. This was where having an experienced pilot was important, as passengers must entrust their lives with his or her skills. Once the plane was loaded up and ready to take off, the father and daughter made their way to camp, which was tucked away in the safety of the trees. As the engine began to roll and the propeller’s wind kicked up rocks, they made a raging fire and shared

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Alaskan stories from their weeks apart. It was in these moments that everything truly set in. She watched the plane disappear into the distant horizon and felt the uneven ground beneath her feet. The smell of the piercing fresh air, and sounds of the rushing river and howling trees brought to life this new reality. Help was some 300 miles away, and everything they needed to survive ﬁt on a raft no bigger than their dining room table.

THE FIRST FEW nights on the river held a learning curve for the girl; she helped perfect a moose’s rack and a realistic bull and cow call, and learned various game signs and survival skills. Probably most important was proving herself to her father. She took note of every detail in setting

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up and tearing down camp, as well as how to walk the woods and listen to the world around her, plus cleaning pots and pans, purifying the water and cooking dinner. Everything took careful consideration and was completely in the moment, and the ﬁrst few days were just that: coming to terms with this new world they’d call home. “I hate the weekend hunting trip,” David would always say. “A person really needs at least a week out here before they can start to feel comfortable and really call it hunting.” Maybe not as poetic as Robert Service, but those words and the tradition of remote survival adventures would become something she would come to look forward to every fall and spring season. On their ﬁfth day on the river, they pulled into a new camp spot. It was there – tucked just inside the trees with a view of a rocky sandbar separating them from the other side

The huntress taking advantage of some Yukon River ﬁshing. (HILLARIE PUTNAM)

of the riverbank – where everything became all too clear as to just how close the action was to them. They were ﬁnally in big moose country! ASJ Editor’s note: Look for part two of this hunting adventure in the May issue of Alaska Sporting Journal. Hillarie Putnam is on Twitter (@hillariePutnam1) and Facebook (facebook.com/putnam. hillarie).

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AH-TEN-HUT! ANCHORAGE’S JOINT BASE ELMENDORF-RICHARDSON FEATURES 74,000 ACRES TO HUNT AND FISH IN THE MIDDLE OF ALASKA’S LARGEST CITY

BY TOM REALE

ow many large cities do you know of that have a 74,000-acre wildlife area with fishing and both small and big game hunting opportunities within their city’s limits? Well, Anchorage does, and it’s known as Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson. Within the confines of the base, there are a dozen fishing lakes and tens of thousands of acres of wildlands open to hunting. It’s probably fair to say that the majority of Anchorage outdoorsmen and -women seldom think of JBER as a place to go when they think of likely spots to catch fish or hunt big or small game. Perhaps it’s all the fences, gates and armed guards at the entrances that foster this feeling, or maybe that’s just me. Prior to 2010, this military reservation was actually two separate facilities: Elmendorf Air Force Base and the U.S. Army’s Fort Richardson. They were combined to form JBER (pronounced locally as JAY-bear) by the 2005 Base Closure and Realignment Commission. The base is home to the United States Alaskan Command, 11th Air Force, U.S. Army Alaska, and the Alaskan North American Aerospace Defense Command Region, among others. In spite of the intimidating aspects of going onto a military reservation, there are numerous recreational facilities on base, and they’re

Tony Gillham harvested this moose within the borders of Anchorage’s Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson, which features 74,000 acres of wildlife habitat as well as ﬁshing. (TONY GILLHAM) APRIL 2015

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Several lakes within the borders of the base feature ﬁshing, and there is also a section of Ship Creek that’s on the base and ﬁshable. (CHRISTOPHER MILLS)

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RULES AND REGULATIONS For starters, only day use is allowed â&#x20AC;&#x201C; no overnight campouts or multi-day excursions in pursuit of ďŹ sh or game. Fishing, small game and waterfowl hunting and other recreational activities are allowed under these conditions. Big game hunting is limited to a few moose hunts by drawing permit only, and theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re limited to archery and muzzleloaders. To qualify for these hunts, you need to apply during the annual Alaska Department of Fish and Game drawing lottery; the deadline for these applications is in December. Included in these permit hunts are two that are restricted to qualiďŹ ed disabled veterans â&#x20AC;&#x201C; requirements include speciďŹ c physician and VA certiďŹ cation and paperwork. Restrictions on these hunts are unique, as you might imagine. For starters, once youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve run the lottery gauntlet and secured a permit, youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll be required to pay a $125 access fee to the base. In addition, according to the drawing supplement published by ADFG, â&#x20AC;&#x153;JBER . . . may require successful applicants to demonstrate proďŹ ciency with the weapon they intend to use.â&#x20AC;? A valid hunter education certiďŹ cate is also required for all big game hunts on the base, so if youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re planning to apply for any of these hunts, make sure you have all of your paperwork and weapon and hunter ed certiďŹ cations updated well in advance of the hunt dates. People who wait until August to start looking into hunter ed-

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It’s probably not likely that many military installations in the Lower 48 feature moose crossing the path of vehicles. (NATHAN HENDERSON)

ucation and weapons-certiﬁcation testing often wind up with none of the above.

WORTH THE WAIT However, if you’re lucky enough to draw the tag, and you successfully navigate the requirements of the hunt, your chances of

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harvesting a moose are pretty good. Tony Gillham drew an archery tag last year and arrowed a nice 60-inch bull. He and his wife went in on Sept. 20, and the date was by design. “We waited until then because I wanted to wait for the rut so I could do some calling,” says Gillham, who went into a brushy area and called a few times, hearing bull grunts right away. “I heard him a ways off, but I thought it might have been another hunter I’d seen go in ahead of me. But then I heard two moose calling back and forth and ﬁgured it was really an animal. I pulled out my scraper and scraped one time, and here he came, grunting at every step. I barely had time to nock an arrow when he stepped into the only shooting lane I had. I came to full draw and at 27 yards, I put an arrow into him.” After following the blood trail for 75 yards, he found the moose, down but with his head up. When he angled around to get into position for a second shot, there was another bull standing

nearby. “I thought, ‘man, this is really a good tag to draw!’” Beginning to end, the hunt took about 45 minutes. “I was kind of bummed,” he says. “I like to hunt, not just kill things.” Gillham’s recommendation for prospective JBER hunters is learn to call. “There are videos out there and YouTube stuff, (so) use them,” he says. “I ran into a couple of guys who didn’t even recognize bull grunts when they heard them – they thought they were hearing dogs barking.”

PLENTY OF FISH Fishing is a year-round proposition on the post. Twelve lakes are open for ﬁshing, as is a section of Ship Creek. ADFG stocks the lakes with rainbows and landlocked salmon, and ﬁshing is a “put and take” situation, so don’t feel guilty about keeping and eating the ones you catch – that’s what they’re there for. One of the lakes on the post, Otter Lake, has been infested with northern pike, so no more stocking is taking place there until these invaders have been

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It takes ﬁlling out some paperwork and complying with restrictions that limit hunting to archery or muzzleloader only for big game, but a trip to JBER can result in a great experience, as hunters like Tony Gillham can attest. (TONY GILLHAM)

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eradicated. There’s a notice posted on the base ﬁshing pages asking anglers to help stop the spread of pike. Any of these toothy predators that are caught should not be returned to the lake, and anyone catching pike is requested to call the conservation office and report it. While northern pike have a place in Alaska’s ecosystem, lakes in the Anchorage Bowl deﬁnitely don’t qualify. You should also be advised that as of 2012, felt-soled waders are prohibited in Alaska freshwaters, and while boats are allowed on some of the lakes, there are horsepower limits. Also, you’re required to have all Coast Guard safety equipment and life jackets for everyone on board. To manage all of this recreation by military members and civilians, the post employs two conservation law enforcement officers and a contingent of post personnel as part-time assistants. The LEOs are trained at the federal law enforcement academy and work in conjunction with the Alaska State Troopers and the ADFG to manage the people

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and the wildlife on the base. Mark Sledge is the senior JBER conservation LEO on the base, and has spent his entire conservation career at Elmendorf-Richardson. When the bases were joined together in 2010, Sledge says that the transition was actually beneﬁcial to his duties. “(The change) added a couple of guys to my staff, since the Ft. Richardson and the Elmendorf offices were combined,” Sledge says. “And as far as our mission, it’s all the same animals, so we were really working together anyway.”

GETTING ON J.B.E.R. To gain access to the base, the military has set up a system designed to enable civilians to get onto the grounds with a minimum of distracting paperwork. However, there are hurdles to jump, and everyone needs to be aware of them. The first step to take prior to your first visit is to dial up the JBER iSportsman website at jber.isportsman.net. Click on the registration icon first and follow the prompts to register for your permit. Once you’ve completed the process, print out your access pass. This alone doesn’t allow you onto the base – of course, there’s more paperwork waiting for you.

The access tab gives more details about the procedure and features a number of downloadable maps showing the boundaries of the various training areas on the base. To ﬁgure out which ones are open for the day, go to the areas tab and go through the dropdown menus there to see which areas are open for the date you wish to visit. “It’s real important for people to understand the areas that are open for the day,” says Jim Hart, JBER public affairs spokesman. “You don’t want to go out there and suddenly have soldiers all around you and artillery simulators going off. If something’s marked off for no access, pay attention to that. The system keeps the public from getting hurt and they still have the opportunity to recreate.” In addition to the hunting and ﬁshing opportunities on base, there are also hiking and biking trails, picnic areas, and even a ski slope, assuming there’s more snow on the ground than we’ve received this year. So if you’re somehow at a loss for new and exciting places to safely recreate during just about any time of year, head on out to JBER and take advantage of your tax dollars at work. ASJ

GETTING TO THE BASE Once you have planned out your visit, you can head for the base. For recreational access, you’ll need to go to the old Fort Richardson gate near Arctic Valley on the Glenn Highway. But before you reach the gate itself and the sentry who checks credentials, pull into the parking lot to the right of the gate to access the visitor’s center. This is where you’ll obtain your daily pass. You’ll need your printed access pass and the registration and insurance paperwork for your vehicle. In addition, you need to provide the details of all firearms you’ll be carrying. You have to fill out a form listing the weapon type, 110 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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make, caliber or gauge, and serial number – don’t take any firearms into the visitor center. Once inside the visitor’s center the personnel there will go over your paperwork and do a quick check to make sure there aren’t any disqualifications in your background. Once you pass muster, then you go through the gate and show your pass to the sentry there, and you’re in. Once inside, you’re to travel only to and from the areas you wish to access – no wandering all over the base and sightseeing. And then once you’re done for the day, be sure to check back out, using your phone, Internet access, or the kiosk near the gate. You don’t want to trigger any unnecessary searches. -TR

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Bent ﬂy rods are a common occurrence at George Lake, which is between Fairbanks and Tok and chock-full of northern pike, hungry ﬁsh that will keep anglers busy all day. (DENNIS MUSGRAVES)

BY GEORGE, YOU’VE GOT IT NORTHERN PIKE ABOUND IN INTERIOR FISHERY BY DENNIS MUSGRAVES

aunching a 16-foot ﬂat-bottom aluminum jet boat into the glacially turbid Tanana River always has me a bit apprehensive. Navigating the fast-ﬂowing braided system safely can be a challenge since the silt-laden water looks more like a river of chocolate milk and prevents a clear view of potential underwater hazards. Avoiding obstacles like large fallen timber or high-centering the boat on a sand bar is a constant concern. Staying alert behind the steering column is a must when running the unforgiving and icy-cold river. Unnerving as it may be, taking cal-

culated risk and traveling the murky drainage by boat is necessary if you want to reach the premier northern pike fishery located at George Lake. I say it’s also only half the adventure. Although a few do choose to fly, using a floatplane to access the semi-remote 6-square-mile lake, a boat will provide a much better fishing platform and give travelers an adrenaline-packed ride via George Creek before arriving at the lake for a day of fishing.

GEORGE LAKE IS situated about 35 miles southeast from Delta Junction, and just north of the Tanana River in the heart of the Interior.

A public boat ramp along the Alaska Highway at milepost 1385 provides access to the Tanana River. Traveling downstream a distance of approximately 3½ miles and positioning a boat on the north shore will bring one in close proximity to the mouth (slough) of George Creek. The shallow creek ﬂows about 7 miles, twisting and turning sharply through dense, forested landscape before reaching the lake. Piloting a boat here requires a mixture of reckless caution and sheer nerve. Keeping the throttle down and the boat up on step ensures passage in portions of the creek that are extremely shallow. Add in some horseshoe-shaped bends and turns, some only the width of a boat, and a few sunken boulders for obstacles and it’s APRIL 2015

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close call on the creek.

WHAT

ATTRACTS ANGLERS to white-knuckle the creek to get to George Lake is simple – the northern pike fishing is phenomenal. Here is one of the few places in Alaska where you can literally catch 100 fish in one day. You may not catch trophy-sized fish, but you can catch fish until your forearms explode. Those I typically catch range between 20 and 30 inches, with a few larger fish up to 35 inches. Casting a lure in any direction from a boat in certain spots will instantly produce aggressive strikes, double over a fishing rod, and cause frequent smiles. The lake can provide some silly nonstop action. Lure selection, presentation nor experience levels make any difference. Everything seemingly works, as George Lake is simply that abundant with northern pike. I have found over various outings that the coves along the lake’s southern banks, as well as the northeast corner, are very productive. You should also expect to do most, if not all, of your fishing from a boat, since there is limited access to the shoreline. Most of the land that surrounds the lake is privately owned. Conventional and fly fishing methods are both very effective. Nothing fancy is needed; fishing for pike at George Lake requires little fi-

Getting through George Creek, a very shallow creek with sharp, narrow turns, forces boaters to turn off the engine and listen for oncoming craft. They usually must stay on step at full throttle to navigate the sections wide enough for only one boat. (DENNIS MUSGRAVES)

more like a thrill ride at a theme park. There are even a couple particular spots along the creek with hand-painted warning signs: “Caution – Stop – Wait – Listen 4Boats.” The signs suggest you stop, turn off your engine and listen for oncomixng traffic before proceeding. The creek is simply not wide enough in particular sections to accommodate passing boats. Fortunately for me, I have only ever had one

IF YOU GO

George Lake is a prolific northern pike fishery and is located deep in the heart of the Alaska Interior. Somewhat remote, it is about 6 miles north of the Tanana River and the Alaska Highway and roughly 35 miles southeast of Delta Junction, which is between Fairbanks and Tok. George Lake is one of the two largest northern pike fisheries in Alaska (the other is Minto Flats). George is accessible during open-water season by floatplane or by boat via the Tanana River and George Creek (slough). It’s an adrenaline-packed ride to navigate the river in a jet boat. You can also

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access the lake via snowmachines or skis during freeze-up in winter. Both conventional and fly fishing methods work for northern pike. Just about any type of large lure will work to catch these aggressive predators. Favorites casting choices included large in-line spinners and spoons and large white 8-inch curly tail worms (like those used for halibut jigging). Fly anglers will find using a fly rod in 7/8-weight ideal and striping large colorful streamers quickly just below or on the surface will entice strikes. Be prepared to do almost all of your fishing from a boat. There is limited shoreline access for fishing.

Most of the land that surrounds George Lake is privately owned, but those looking to spend the night at the lake have a great option courtesy of the Alaska Department of Fish and Game. The ADFG has a public-use cabin, which can be reserved in advance for no fee and stayed at for up to ﬁve days. The cabin at George Lake sits on a clearing with a nearby outhouse. A wood stove is available, but there is no dry wood nearby, so guests must bring their own ﬁrewood to burn. Reservations can be made six months in advance. Contact the ADFG for reservations and more info at (907) 4597228. –DM

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Once you navigate through the creek and reach the lake, ﬁshing the coves along the George’s southern banks or in the northeast corner can be very productive. (DENNIS MUSGRAVES)

nesse. My preferred choice is a medium-heavy-action casting rod for chucking large in-line spinners or heavy long-tailed plastics. I like to cast my lure out as far as possible and let it sink, then reel in quickly to create plenty of action to entice bites. What makes fishing George Lake appealing for most is a combination of productivity and that it can be accomplished in a single-day trip. However, those wanting to overnight at the lake for multiple-day trips can easily plan a reservation at a public-use cabin with no fees courtesy of the Alaska Department of Fish and Game. The cabin can be reserved for up to five days, and reservations can be made up to six months out (see sidebar).

ANGLERS WANTING TO get in on the fishing action at George Lake should take into consideration that late summer is notorious for low water levels in the small creek and creates very difficult, if not impossible, conditions for boating. Respecting the elements and potential risk should never be overlooked, and personal floatation devices should always be worn when boating. In addition to safety considerations, it’s also every individual’s re116 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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sponsibility to know the regulations. Although the Southcentral and Southeast regions consider northern pike an invasive species, the fish are actually native species for most of Alaska, Large inline spinners and heavy long-tailed plastics are among the spin-ﬁshing lures that are bound to catch a lot of George Lake northern pike. (DENNIS MUSGRAVES)

including George Lake. Unlike the areas where the fish are considered a nuisance in (and harvesting is required), special regulations are in place for their protection from overharvest in the rest of the state. Make sure you check the sportfishing regulations bag/possession limits with ADFG before you cast a line. The lake is one fishery in Alaska you will never forget once you visit. It’s a cardio-pumping boat ride, followed up with plenty of upper body muscle strength conditioning – shoulders, biceps and forearms – from the nonstop action of casting, setting the hook and reeling in northern pike. By George, you might just need a day to rest after only one day of fishing! ASJ Editor’s note: For more information on author Dennis Musgraves’ fishing adventures throughout the state of Alaska, check out his organization’s website, alaskansalmonslayers.com.

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BEST OF ALASKA LODGES KVICHAK LODGE The Kvichak Lodge is located 240 miles southwest of Anchorage in the Bristol Bay watershed, home to the world’s largest sockeye salmon run, trophy-class rainbow trout, coho, chums, kings and pink salmon, Arctic char, pike, grayling and Dolly Varden, as well as indescribable beauty in one of Alaska’s most pristine regions. The lodge is situated about a half mile from the mouth of Lake Illiamna, on 12 acres of Kvichak River waterfront. It was the first to be built on and be in operation on the river, and provides convenient access to the best spots on the river and the local community. The Kvichak Lodge can accommodate up to 12 people in private and semiprivate rooms, allowing the staff to treat guests individually in a homey and comfortable atmosphere. The living room, bar, dining room, sun room, deck and all bedrooms upstairs overlook the breathtaking beauty of the Kvichak River, and the lodge features gourmet cuisine, satellite TV, satellite Internet, satellite phone service, housekeeping and laundry services. In addition to proximity to world-class fishing, Katmai National Park is just 50 miles from the lodge, and fly-out bear-viewing trips at the world-famous Brooks Falls is a favorite activity of guests. Float fishing nearby streams is another option. The lodge boasts that its guides are the best in the business, and they have almost 55 years of combined experience with them. For more, contact the lodge at (907) 533-2313, (907) 272-0209 or (907) 230-6370 or www.kvichaklodge.com.

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RECALLING SILVER ANNIVERSARIES A TRADITION OF KASILOF RIVER SALMON FISHING

John Conley (right) celebrates a successful ﬁshing trip on Alaska’s Kasilof River, where the author annually chases its silver salmon. (CHARLIE MCCRONE)

BY CHARLIE MCCRONE

y blushing bride and I moved from Hawaii to the Great Land in 2009, and have lived on the upper Kasilof River for ﬁve years now. During that time, the most enjoyable ﬁshing has been for silver salmon. Here are some memorable moments frozen in time, and the stories that go with them:

FIRST PLACE AT LAST CHANCE Our neighbor and my good friend, Lenny Dipaolo, is a former guide on the Kasilof. He has acted as our salmon sensei, and has given me multiple lessons on where and how to ﬁsh the river

for each species of salmon. He rowed as we approached an area that really didn’t look like a “hole.” It had no slack water and no visible structure that would hold fish. “There’s no fish here!” my better half, Annette, exclaimed with conviction. Seconds later she ate her words when a powerful strike bent her rod tip toward the water. At the other end was an angry silver, which exploded in a geyser of foam. Smiles abounded as Lenny rowed us to calm water and Annette slowly worked the fish to the boat. At the last minute, it peeled line from the reel in one final valiant attempt to escape. Finally, we got our silver treasure in the boat. Put the

chicken back in the freezer; we were having fresh grilled silver salmon fillets for dinner! We were anchored in the hole known as Last Chance, not too far above the boat ramp at the bridge where we took out. Lenny was fishing eggs on a light fly rod with a koa wood butt that a friend and former client from Hawaii built for him. His rod tip began to bounce, and he expertly dipped the tip toward the fish, giving it slack and waiting for an assertive pull before setting the hook. After what seemed like an eternity, he flicked his wrist and the fight was on! The silver torpedo streaked upstream, jumped twice, and then headed for the fast current in the main river APRIL 2015

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Craig Allen (left) and the author after a great cast-and-blast outing on the Kasilof. (CHARLIE MCCRONE)

channel. Lenny applied the maximum pressure he could with his fragile wisp of a rod and was able to turn the salmon’s head in the right direction. Eventually, his patience and steady pressure won the battle.

FROM DUCKS TO HOOKS John Conley and I launched an hour before sunrise and motored toward where Tustumena Lake becomes the Kasilof River. John set a pattern of goldeneye and mallard decoys and I rowed us to shore, where we awaited ducks coming off the lake. After shivering for much too long and watching several flights of mallards fly overhead oblivious to our decoys, a small flock of goldeneyes came whistling in. John got two, and we had to row after a cripple, which he closed on a couple hundred yards downstream. Rowing back, two more flew in as we were approaching, and he took down 126 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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another. About an hour later, we picked up the decoys and motored back to the launch. John spotted two ducks in the water, and I “stealth rowed” without taking the oars out of the water until we were within range. As they flushed, his 12-gauge boomed authoritatively, and we had our first mallard drake of the year. Then it was time to fish! At the tail end of the Kasilof’s Fourth of July Bar, we back-bounced eggs while anchored in the seam where the current transitioned from fast to slow. I felt the tap-tap-tap of what seemed like a small trout or Dolly Varden bite, but the rod slammed down, and the reel yielded line grudgingly. A chrome rocket went airborne – once, twice, and three times. Then it was a slow and steady struggle to work the fish to the net. This fish was more streamlined than a silver, had spots on the back and sides, and an iridescent glow on its flanks. It was a steelhead buck! After determining that it was deeply hooked, we decided to keep it. Many people fish catch-and-release only for steelies, while others view the practice as “playing with your food.” Everyone agrees that they are an extraordinary game fish. By regulation, anglers may retain two steelhead per year on the upper Kasilof (above the Sterling Highway Bridge). The fish must be recorded on the back of one’s license, or harvest ticket. The upper Kasilof closes to the use of bait on September 15, in part to conserve this subspecies of sea-run rainbow trout. John and I fished three more holes without results, and then we anchored in one of Lenny’s favorite spots. I soaked eggs while John cast a large Vibrax within a foot of the bank; he retrieved it enticingly. His light spinning rod suddenly bent, and he set the hook assertively. It was a respectable hooked-nose coho, and we were both smiling. There was a school in the hole, and within half an hour, I got my limit with bait; he caught his second on the spinner. We were done for the day, and it was a very good day, indeed! My daughter Shannon and neighbor Craig Allen fished with me the next day. Silvers were definitely coming up the river. We released a steelhead along

the first grassy bank, and anchored in a hole at the end of the run. One nice fish came to the boat, but other anglers were fishing from the riverbank, so we moved on. We caught two more fat silvers just above a small creek, and kept a steelhead that was bleeding. We were in the last hole and Craig drifted eggs downstream under a bobber. At 75 yards downstream, the float disappeared, a salmon leaped 2 full feet above the water and made a 360-degree flip. These were certainly the feistiest fish on the river! Then it was Shannon’s turn. As she back-bounced eggs, suddenly the line went slack. “Reel, reel, Shanny!” I called out to her. She cranked and a jumbo silver responded with a blistering run. When she finally worked the fish to Craig’s net, the buck baptized them into the silver salmon cult by the sprinkling/ splashing method. We finished collecting our limits, and then it was time to see who could make their fish look larger by holding it out the furthest. It looked like a tie to me.

SKUNKED WITH MARTY Marty Yenter from Colorado is our summertime neighbor and went with Annette and I on my first trip rowing our Willie drift boat on the upper Kasilof for silvers. I had fished the river with two former guides, and was pretty confident that we could catch limits for everybody without too much effort. After all, I had just been shown all the holes, and the techniques that worked, by two of the best experts. Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy, right? Wrong. Just below the first set of rapids was a slack water that sometimes holds fish. I rowed rhythmically against the current as Annette and my neighbor back-bounced clusters of salmon eggs with 2-ounce sinkers on each side of the boat. Suddenly Marty yelled out, “Fish on!” I wasn’t sure who was more surprised – the fish or us. The salmon made three slashing runs – upriver and down – and jumped several times. After a chaotic scene that resembled a Three Stooges-like sketch involving a net that

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The author’s daughter, Kris Webber, had one of those no-luck days on the river.

middle daughter, Kris Webber, ﬁshed with us on one of those lackluster days. The only thing more frustrating than the “clousy” weather and not getting bites is missing multiple strikes. In Hawaii we would call this having “stink hand,” or blame it on having “rubbah hooks.” After Kris missed her fourth serious bite and reeled in her hook devoid of salmon eggs, I believe that Dad may have said a very bad word. Her expression said it all.

(CHARLIE MCCRONE)

HAWAIIAN TROPICS caught everything but the salmon – the fish was landed. Further on, at the confluence of a small creek, Marty made the hookup victory announcement once again, with gusto. The fish ran downstream, jumped twice, and then headed upstream, tangling with the anchor line. I asked him for the rod, passed it under the rope and handed it back. Miraculously, the fish was still on. Finally, it came to the net and we

high-ﬁved triumphantly. In spite of my inexperience, and marginal rowing skills, Marty managed to land two silver bullets. Annette and I were both skunked. I believe this may have been the last time we ﬁshed for silvers with Marty. Nothing personal.

THE AGONY OF DEFEAT Not every ﬁshing trip is a catching trip and ends with the thrill of victory. Our

The weather in Southcentral Alaska in September can occasionally be somewhat wet and cool. On the last day of the open season for fishing with bait on the Kasilof, I asked a neighbor and fellow expat from Hawaii to fish with me. Bobby Dang has fished the Kasilof for the better part of two decades and ran a bustling lodge back in the heyday when the hatchery was open and the fishing was legendary. This was

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Kodiak Russian River Lodge is located on the edge of the Alaskan wilderness and boasts incredible mountain views and easy access to a variety of outdoor activities, including ﬁshing, hunting and sight-seeing. The bed and breakfast is surrounded on three sides by spectacular mountains and on the fourth by Womens Bay (part of the Gulf of Alaska). The area, locally known as Bells Flats, is located 6 miles from the airport and 4 miles to the Coast Guard base south of the town of Kodiak. It is also close to ﬁshing and hunting areas. We are a half block off the Chiniak Highway and walking distance to the ocean, Sergeant Creek, Russian River, and the Rendezvous Bar and Grill. We are approximately 100 yards from the AC store, a small rural convenience store for gas, liquor, and assorted food items you may have forgotten in town. 128 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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Colorado resident Marty Yenter spends his summers in Alaska and takes advantage of the fantastic salmon ﬁshing. (CHARLIE MCCRONE)

before the unfortunate declines in king salmon runs. Superstitious Hawaiians would never ask if someone wants to go fishing. Instead they would ask if you want to go “walking around” so that the fish don’t hear. “You like go ‘holo-holo?’” I asked, lapsing into Pidgin English. “Rain, rain, but we not going melt.” “We go!” he replied enthusiasti-

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cally. And we did. The fish didn’t know it was raining, but we were down to the last three holes with nothing in the box to show for our efforts. Bobby and I were cold and wet, and he suggested that we go in already. “Not until we get our fish,” I said. We were at a slough at the end of a grassy bank just below the lodge where he lived. Finally, a tentative bite turned into a silver flash on the end of his line. “Hanapa’a; hookup!” I yelled. This fish was not a trophy by any means, but some of us believe the smaller fish are more tasty. We landed one more at the next hole, and each had a fine fish dinner after a hot shower chased the cold from our bones. The last day we fished this year was a family affair with Shannon and Annette on board. And I thought, “I sure hope they don’t see this story in Hawaii. It’s already getting a little too crowded here!” ASJ

Lenny Dipaolo (right) is the author’s “salmon sensei” and a former guide on the Kasilof River. Dipaolo made a triumphant return. (CHARLIE MCCRONE)

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The author is a bit sheepishly empty-handed in this photo opportunity gone awry. Clearly, catching that Alaskan steelhead, salmon or trout is the major obstacle. But documenting it isn’t always a snap. (JEFF LUND)

SLIP-AND-GRIN SHOTS WHEN THE CAMERA RUINS YOUR FISHING PHOTO OP BY JEFF LUND

trip is not just about the pictures, but a memory isn’t really complete without them. Left without a frame of reference or guide, the brain can do all sorts of

things (this is why the one you lost is always the biggest). But a picture, even if it’s one of those locked-elbowed, shove-it-at-the-camera types that would make the fish look biblical if your fingers didn’t wrap around it, takes the guesswork out. It was an ex-

act and accurate moment, leaving just the events leading up to and after it as prone to embellishment.

THE WORLD OF fishing and hunting carries an understood element of braggadocio. It’s a natural reaction to hold a fish up (and out) and get a shot for the computer archives to go with the one behind your eyes. So naturally, you want it to look good. But sometimes the hero shot is as difficult as catching the fish. APRIL 2015

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preserve the life of the fish. You set the timer, get the photo and let the fish go. Only then do you realize the ISO was set for high noon in Tucson, so you and your beautifully blushy steelhead on this cloudy Alaskan winter morning are beyond the miracle touchups of even Photoshop. I’ve been there. The moment is still there in my memory, but the proof is ruined. It doesn’t ruin the trip, but when anyone asks about the fish, they have to take my word for it. Which they say they do, but you know the saying about fishermen and their lies.

Trust us when we say that the author is holding a quintessential Southeast Alaska steelhead. But the camera’s glitches left the evidence of a beautiful ﬁsh in the dark. (JEFF LUND)

I WAS SHOWING a couple of close You buy a nice camera to take nice pictures and why spend $450 or more just to use the automatic setting? If

you’re alone, and in a catch-and-release situation, you want to take a picture as quickly as possible so as to

friends an unnamed body of water located in a certain area of the Northern Hemisphere and hooked up, but no one was around. I had already lost a

AHH, STEEL-#$!%@*!-HEADING I’m slowly making my way back to my life. The weekend trip to some river somewhere else was unsuccessful. This somewhere else is my special somewhere else – my clutch somewhere else and my desert island somewhere else. But it let me down, or the fish let me down, or I let myself down. Or maybe it’s a little bit of each. That’s what steelhead fishing is – euphoria with long stretches of failure and coping. Steelhead fishing will cure you of any sort of arrogance, overconfidence or even general self-esteem while ridding you of a healthy bank account. I’m just about done with the grieving process, and figuring out how much this failed trip cost me. I’m not too concerned about it, because the point of having a passion or hobby is not to have it break even on a bank statement, it’s to help one achieve mental and emotional equilibrium while navigating the river of life. That doesn’t mean it’s not frustrating. The common defeated angler is the metaphorical equivalent of a volcano. On one end you have the Mount Rainier angler, stoic but potentially catastrophic 136 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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should it blow its top. It never does, but if it did? One summer, a friend of mine from California was embarrassingly incapable of catching a single fish, while another buddy and I had limited on silver salmon in minutes. When he finally hooked up, the fish broke his line. He quietly reeled up, set the rod down, and simply stated, “That’s it, I’m done.” There was no anger in his voice, just a simple, calm declarative sentence he would have used when ordering a Big Mac. On the other end for you vulcanologist types there’s Mount St. Helens – the angler furiously spewing vulgarities like lahars. But it doesn’t stop there. The heat causes flooding, which erodes landscape. The devastation can last a generation, or in the case of a friendship, the entire drive home. If a fish is caught in a catch-and-kill situation, you can bet the demise of the poor fish will be epic. Hours of dormant rage freed with frightening (maybe a little comical) results. I’ve seen straight legs lifted to chest level and then brought down on flopping fish, the heel of the wading boot punish-

ing an unlucky salmon for the transgressions of its cousins. I’ve seen rocks, sticks and fists thrown in fits of cathartic rage. It’s funny when it’s not you. With steelhead, you have no choice but to be reserved. The human body is not capable of sustaining a St. Helens eruption each time an angler is deprived of bringing a steelhead to hand, especially if you’re fishing for native fish with a fly rod. Eventually, you end up at the hotel, local watering hole or campsite away from the offending parties, so in order to enjoy your friends and the experience, you’ve hopefully stopped being a comparison derived from geological events. In my case, I simply took a breath and looked up at the trio of bald eagles watching from a dead cedar tree high above me. They were dark specs in an increasingly dark evening. I noisily left the water, traversed the trail, drove home and finished the last of my todo list. I set fire to the old pallets in the burn pit. I think I handled that well. –JL

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A slick, lively ﬁsh, wet hands and a race against the camera’s self-timer – it’s a wonder the author even captured the ﬁsh in the frame! (JEFF LUND)

fish, and we were working back upriver to spots we had already hit when my fly searched through a riffle and

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found a mouth. The water was just over the top of the bank, making a waist-high table

of sorts. My gear and camera bags were off to the side on a tuft of grass. I worked the steelhead to shore, tailed it and watched it recover in the 2 inches of water that spilled onto the shelf. I grabbed my camera, set the timer and held up the fish as I flashed a smile and clutched the beautiful steelie. I took another, then released it. I didn’t think to look at the image because I had just held the thing in my hands. When I met the others, I scrolled through to find a sharp closeup of absolute darkness. A starless night sky in the shape of a fish. By the end of the day, I had three encounters with steelhead that were all foiled by different circumstances – frayed line, a violent head shake and the wrong ISO on my camera. Yeah, it was great to be out with my friends. Yeah, the weather was great. But I had actually caught a steelhead. It wasn’t a “you gave it your best shot” 14th-place ribbon-type day. I got one, and the fragile mind of a steelhead

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fisherman sometimes just needs to scroll through the digital library and remember what life is like when it doesn’t involve work. I had the only thing worse than not having a picture: A worthless picture. I had the manual setting all ready for lunchtime light, but the clouds changed. The light changed. The direction changed. I got blackness – a steelhead-shaped hole. This is not the first time this has happened. Fish have slipped from my hands. People who have thought they took photos really hadn’t (the sound of the camera focusing is different than the sound of the shutter). “I took a couple.” Actually, no you didn’t.

The author’s camera survived this summer ﬂoat down Alaska’s Thorne River, but not the winter steelhead season. (LYNSEY MILLER)

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LAST YEAR I set my camera down on a flat rock as I held the fish upright before letting it slide from my fingers and back into the current. It had been very mild-tempered, but sensing

a moment, it ﬂailed wildly, caught my camera’s strap and turned the $450 Canon into a paperweight. Given time, perspective returns. It’s just a camera; it’s just money; it’s just a picture. Though documentation is easier and probably more important to us than ever before, missing out on a picture isn’t a big deal. It’s an extra. The perfect hero shot is the second piece of pie, topped with a scoop of ice cream. You go to ﬁsh. If you get one, it sets in motion the bonus of a camera snap. It isn’t about showing your buddies your steelhead; it’s about (to paraphrase Jack London) the honest pursuit of living, not merely existing. It’s about constantly getting out there to make new memories rather than living off photos of old ones. That night I did have a second piece of cherry pie, and I ate it a la mode. I then caught three steelhead the next day and got two solid photos as a visual show-and-tell prop. Perfect trip. ASJ

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SEE SPOT, RUN! BY CHRISTINE CUNNINGHAM

light appeared in the darkness behind us. It was someone wearing a headlamp. My pace quickened. “We’ve got company,” I said. My fishing partner and I had arrived hours before daylight to get our spot, and were taking two friends who had never been to the lake before. I had forgone precious sleep and a latte to get up before coffee shops opened to claim my spot on the lake. I was hauling a sled that weighed 70 pounds and was 2 miles into a 3-mile hike. The thought of not having my sleep or coffee and still not getting my fishing hole flashed before my eyes in the form of panic. “Is there a problem?” my friend asked. “That headlamp has been gaining on us,” I said. “We better pick up our pace.” I tried to pick up my pace, but there was no visible change in my speed. My heart rate quickened, my lean gained a few degrees, but my pace did not change. Maybe the sled weighed 80 pounds, I thought. I’d have to weigh it when I got home. “If we get passed, we won’t get our spot,” I said. “Is there only one spot?” my friend asked. In my mind, there was only one place to fish, but I hadn’t really thought it through. I hadn’t rationalized it. “Yes,” I said, without any authority. Even as I said it, I wondered if it was really true. I’d fished that same spot for years, but how did I get to the idea it was the only spot? And how did I get to the assumption that the headlight behind us was worn by another ice fisherman who was heading to the exact same spot? “Are people really this serious about 142 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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“The rainbows circle the lake on the hour.” My friend’s husband looked at his watch. “It’s five ‘til seven now,” so we better hurry. ice fishing?” she asked. At the moment, “No,” I shook my head. “It’s not acI was almost parallel to the ground trytual hours; it’s fish hours.” ing to haul my sled over a log. I didn’t My partner could tell I needed help have time to stop being crazy to explain with not continuing to sound crazy, so why I was crazy. We had to get to the he offered some explanation. “What spot first and ask questions later. She we do,” he said in a tone that could be offered to run ahead with my fishing perceived as mocking, “is we wait until partner. But the headlamp walked by us a fish bites, then we synchronize our leisurely. “Good morning,” it said. watches.” “Good morning,” I grumbled. MayYes, I thought. That’s what we do. be if I wasn’t hauling a 90-pound sled “Then it takes them an hour to get back I would have been in a better mood. around the lake,” I added. That’s when It’s hard for me to be pleasant if I think I had my morning snack. My friends someone is racing ahead of me to get accepted this my fishing spot. bit of bad logic I try, but mostly The author (left) and her friend celebrate an ice fishing success story after finding the and we all got I’m consumed right spot. (CHRISTINE CUNNINGHAM) to fishing. As I by self-critisat in my shancism. Why did ty, I wondered I pack the sled about myself. so heavy? Why There were so didn’t I get up many things I earlier? Why did while fishdid I bring the ing that didn’t barbecue grill make sense if I on a backcountried to explain try ice fishing them. It’s not trip? like rainbows We conhave a little caltinued to plod endar on their along and were walls or live surprised to and die by a find that the 15-minute block headlamp fishcalendar. They erman was not weren’t wearing heading for little watches or my exact spot. tracking their In my mind, I activity on fitthought, “Ha, ness bracelets. ha, he doesn’t As long as I caught fish, it didn’t even know where the good spot is. Ha, matter what time it was, the color ha, ha.” of my lure, which way my shanty or Then I remembered I was crazy and chair faced, or the exact spot I fished. decided not to say anything until I As long as I caught fish in my spot, I could get home and go to some therwasn’t crazy. Thank goodness we apy sessions. caught fish. ASJ “We better get to fishing,” I said.

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