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Stan Zuray Of

CATCH A TROPHY! Fighting Massive Kings Nushagak Secrets AK’s ‘Water Dragon’

LIFE WITH BEARS

New Book Chronicles Biologist’s Career At McNary R. Sanctuary Choosing Hunting Optics

YUKON MEN Finds Peace In Tanana

ARE YOU

TOUGH

ENOUGH? Grueling Kodiak Mtn. Goat Hunt

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ALASKA

SPORTING JOURNAL

Volume 8 • Issue 12 www.aksportingjournal.com PUBLISHER James R. Baker ASSOCIATE PUBLISHER Dick Openshaw GENERAL MANAGER John Rusnak EXECUTIVE EDITOR Andy Walgamott EDITOR Chris Cocoles

WRITERS Paul D. Atkins, Christopher Batin, Bjorn Dihle, Jeff Fair, Scott Haugen, Tiffany Haugen, Jeff Lund, Michael Lunde, Bixler McClure, Krystin McClure SALES MANAGER Katie Higgins ACCOUNT EXECUTIVES Mamie GrifďŹ n, Garn Kennedy, Mike Smith, Paul Yarnold PRODUCTION MANAGER Sonjia Kells DESIGNERS Lindsey Lewers, Sam Rockwell, Jake Weipert WEB DEVELOPMENT/INBOUND MARKETING Jon Hines

Spring Fly Fishing Trips at Gates of tthe he Mountains on the Missouri Missourii Rive River

DIGITAL ASSISTANT Samantha Morstan 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 media@media-inc.com

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ON THE COVER With the arrival of spring and summer looming, anglers will soon be ocking to Alaska’s river systems to wage epic ďŹ ghts with trophy king salmon. Austin Moser of Austin’s Northwest Adventures shows off a nice Nushagak River Chinook from last season.

(AUSTINSNORTHWESTADVENTURES.COM)

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CORRESPONDENCE Twitter @AKSportJourn Facebook.com/alaskasportingjournal Email ccocoles@media-inc.com

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CONTENTS

VOLUME 8 • ISSUE 12

89

FEATURES 19

STAN’S THE MAN Stan Zuray roots passionately for Boston sports teams, just like so many residents of his hometown do. But while he managed to get to a TV to join the rest of the New England Patriots nation celebrating their team’s remarkable Super Bowl LI win in February, Zuray watched thousands of miles away in his true home, Alaska. One of the stars of the Discovery Channel series Yukon Men, Zuray talks about leaving his troubled younger years in Bean Town for a subsistence lifestyle in remote Tanana.

37

FIGHTING THE WATER DRAGON One of writer Chris Batin’s biggest thrills taking on the Last Frontier’s fishing to-do list: battling massive northern pike. Considered a less than coveted gamefish by some and an invasive villain by others, Alaska’s pike provide Batin with a hard-fighting combatant that – especially in Western Alaska waters – grows to extraordinary sizes.

What’s not to love?

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DETHRONED BY A KING Chinook salmon fly guy Michael Lunde has endured his share of confrontations with fat kings at the other end of his line. Sometimes Lunde’s won, and in other cases the salmon got the best of him. Lunde shares one of his man vs. fish throwdowns, this one coming on the Susitna River against a whopper hen. Which side would reign in the end?

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LARRY’S BEARS In 1967, the Alaska State Legislature created the McNeil River State Game Sanctuary, a gathering place for a large number of brown bears attracted by abundant salmon.

Such rock stars are these bruins that visiting the park and getting close to these majestic animals requires winning an annual draw. Larry Aumiller was lucky enough to work at the sanctuary for 30 years starting in the mid-1970s.

In his new book, In Wild Trust, Jeff Fair shares some of Aumiller’s greatest memories.

KODIAK’S TOUGHEST HUNT

ALSO IN THIS ISSUE Want to hunt mountain goats in one of Alaska’s most rugged destinations? Get in shape first and foremost before heading to Kodiak Island. Our Paul Atkins, no stranger to the challenges of hunting in wild Alaska, put himself through a fitness regime to prepare for his adventure, but even then found himself physically as well as mentally drained on a quest with two good friends to bag their billies. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

77 107 129 134

Shrimpin’ in Prince William Sound Eyes on the prize: Hunting optics Shared with bears – sportsmen’s Admiralty Island trek Steelhead standpoints: Keeping perspective through illness

DEPARTMENTS 17 35 35 51 64

The Editor’s Note Protecting Wild Alaska: Bad dam idea damned by opposition Outdoor calendar From Field to Fire: Nushagak River kings and salmon grilling tips Fly of the Month: Prom Dress Intruder

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 © 2017 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. 12

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EDITOR’S NOTE

T

his month, we’re thinking big: big fish, big challenges and big dreams.

Maybe that’s what the spirit of Alaska brings out in all of us. The Last Frontier is also the largest frontier in our minds – from our fishing adrenaline seekers Mike Lunde and Chris Batin chasing monster Chinook and northern pike, to Paul Atkins, who is always eager to challenge himself, which he did with a draining mountain goat hunt on Kodiak Island.

Atkins’ story particularly intrigued me, since I consider him an absolute hellraiser with his tales of Arctic adventures in the kind of rugged environments and climates that remind me I’m just an urban guy who loves the wilderness when I can get out of my comfort zone and don’t mind shutting down the Wi-Fi connection.

I’m no Atkins in that world, but even he can get tested mentally and physically like he did on his hunt in Kodiak, which couldn’t care less how battle-tested one is. These mountains will kick your ass into submission, no questions asked, and Paul captured the moment with his story this issue.

Then there’s my conversation with subsistence outdoorsman Stan Zuray of Discovery Channel’s Yukon Men. Like me, Zuray was a big city dude, except his Boston in the 1960s might as well have been Hades. When self-destruction seemed imminent if he didn’t abandon Bean Town, he chose to follow his destiny. Finding peace with a less hectic life in the Alaskan hinterlands felt as exhilarating as yet another Super Bowl win

by Zuray’s beloved New England Patriots a few months ago.

What does the cliché always remind us? Go big or go home. Welcome to Alaska. -Chris Cocoles

Correspondent Paul Atkins participates in some tough-guy Alaskan hunts, but even he was tested mentally and physically on a mountain goat excursion on Kodiak Island. (PAUL D. ATKINS) aksportingjournal.com | MAY 2017

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BY CHRIS COCOLES

I

BOSTON FLEE PARTY YUKON MEN’S STAN ZURAY LEFT TROUBLED HOME LIFE FOR ROUGHING IT IN TANANA, ALASKA

t took a tiny dot on the Alaska map – in one of the state’s most isolated communities – for Stan Zuray to escape his loneliness and despair.

Consider the irony dripping from his story when you learn Zuray’s first home is New England’s center of the universe – Boston and its five million or so metropolitan residents. Now 67, Zuray grew up with loving parents and a loyal circle of friends who he went to Red Sox baseball games with, partied with and, at times, raised hell with.

Yet he was miserable, lost and in danger of self-destructing there. So now you can understand a bit more why he’s spent the last 40 years living the rugged yet simple life in Tanana, home to the trappers and subsistence hunters who are featured on Discovery Channel’s series Yukon Men. Unlike the chaos and buzz of Boston, Tanana’s population hovers around 200 or so, and even for Alaska it’s about as far off the beaten path as one could ask for. Boston seemed to unearth a path that Zuray feared treading down.

“People all over, but a lot of my friends were gone; people had died, others joined the service,” says Zuray, who spent his early and young adult years in the turbulent 1960s. “I had older friends in jail and friends getting jobs and starting careers while getting married.”

In a phone interview, he admitted that escaping the torture he seemed to be enduring was the only way to find peace.

“I found myself alone and with no future where I wanted to live,” Zuray says. “I just wanted something else for myself. I wanted something, something better. I was definitely lost.”

Finding his way took him way out of the way.

ZURAY’S SOUTH BOSTON HOME, Dorchester, is not only the city’s largest neighborStan Zuray, 67, has been living the subsistence life in Alaska for the better part of 40 years after growing up in Boston, where he considered himself lost and lonely. (DISCOVERY CHANNEL)

Zuray and family friend Albert Zangas work the ground in search of new water sources. “In a place like Tanana, there is usually no one to hire to do things for you, even if you could afford it,” says Zuray. “If one wants things in life, one better get figuring out how to make it work.”

(DISCOVERY CHANNEL)

hood, it’s also a big part of Beantown’s rich history. On March 4, 1776, George Washington-commanded Continental Army troops drove away the British from the Dorchester Heights area of

Boston for good, helping pave the way to independence.

Dorchester eventually became one of the city’s most diverse areas. Its famous residents include a wide range of

Life in and around Tanana: Charlie Wright and James Roberts take aim on a moose. (DISCOVERY CHANNEL)

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celebrity – from actor Mark Wahlberg and his brother Donnie’s boy band New Kids on the Block, to one of the country’s most infamous gangsters, Whitey Bulger.

Stan Zuray was just another son of Dorchester growing up. He didn’t lack a supportive family, so there was no broken home to shake free from.

“My parents were really good hard-working parents, and you know how it is when you’re a little kid: They took you to the beach and other places, and it was good,” Zuray says. “But when you get a little bit older and become a teenager, you start rebelling and doing things without your parents and getting in trouble.”

That was during the 1960s, when two of the Massachusetts Kennedy brothers – John’s and Robert’s parents Joseph and Rose have ties to Dorchester – were assassinated and the Vietnam War escalated. Zuray wasn’t a war protester, but he was nonetheless defiant during those days. His friends were just as mischievous and only got

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into more trouble as they aged.

Zuray’s inner circle included guys significantly older than he was, providing more opportunities and access to the wrong side of the tracks.

“There were times when I was in trouble with the law; it wasn’t anything major,” he says. “But the thing is, I always say the trouble that a teenager gets into and up to the age of 21 is one thing. But the 21 to 30 years of age, that’s the kind of stuff that puts people in jail. That’s where I was heading. That’s where my older buddies were. I had a lot of friends over 10 years older than me. And they had gotten into that type of trouble. You just saw that life ahead of you. And it wasn’t what I wanted.”

His parents had also changed young Stan’s life for the better. Just south of the urban sprawl of Dorchester is Blue Hills Reservation, a 7,000-acre outdoor playground of hiking trails and flora and fauna, a perfect place for a city kid to get away. Young Stan was mesmerized and preordained to bolt

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Courtney Agnes scouts out the terrain while moose hunting around Tanana. (DISCOVERY CHANNEL)

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the concrete jungles of Boston.

One of many jobs he took as a teenager and into his early 20s was as a commercial fisherman.

“I did fish out of Scituate (a fishing community south of Boston) on a dragger (trawler). That was a job and it was outdoors and the kind of thing that I liked,” Zuray says. “But I don’t think there was anything I was doing like I’m doing up in Alaska. I just liked the outdoors.”

“I loved fishing; even as a little kid I’d always asked to go fishing. And you’d see things in magazines and read about people moving into the woods here or there. But you had no concept of what it is like. It wasn’t like I could put my mind on it and say, ‘Well, I’m going there.’ I didn’t know what ‘there’ was. I mean, I grew up in Dorchester.

You had a one-track mind, but there was that thing. And in my mind, I gravitated to it.”

And the Blue Hills Reservation and a Massachusetts fishing boat gig was

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a good start to get out of the dark cloud hovering over him on the streets of Dorchester. Going west and north seemed like the most logical way out.

IT’S A LONG WAY from the troubles of New England to the junction of the Yukon and Tanana Rivers, where one of the storylines that Yukon Men has followed is the trappers’ vehement opposition to a road. While providing the villagers an easier opportunity to get to the outside world, it’s a treacherous path with limited parking because of surrounding private property, and the terminus on the Yukon just upstream of Tanana is described as only a “turnaround.”

While Zuray left all the necessities behind in Boston – the rest of those featured on the show like Charlie Wright, James Roberts and Courtney Agnes grew up in Alaska – he can understand the argument of why a road in and out of town is a reasonable idea.

“To get a snowmachine into Tanana, it’s about $800 by airplane, because

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they double freight them and charge you twice as much because it’s a big thing. And that’s a big deal. If the road was open, you can drive on in and get there in about four hours to the big city and get on back,” he says. “Just getting a vehicle into town can cost $1,500.”

But it’s the idea that anyone else with a sense of adventure can come into town that’s put Tananans at odds with each other. For Zuray, who prefers to take advantage of the salmon that run in Tanana’s confluence of rivers – the Yukon and Tanana – and the moose that congregate around the area, anyone else having access to the same fish and game decreases his harvesting odds.

(In one episode from this season, Wright and Roberts were hunting in the final hours of moose season when they regrettably stumbled upon the remains of a slaughtered bull. The animal’s horns were cut off and much of the meat left behind. “This is not the work of Tanana people,” a morose Wright said.)

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“There are a lot of people in the village who do the trapping, hunting and fishing lifestyles, and others who don’t do it as much. But the ones who do, they’re the ones who are going to be impacted by people coming in and taking over fishing spots and traplines,” Zuray says. “There are other people who just want to use their trucks and go to town and aren’t as concerned about it.”

But despite their protests and pleas and the challenges that are portrayed on the show as critical to surviving the winter, this is the life Zuray and his cohorts have chosen. And while so many cable TV shows depict “life in Alaska,” many are questioned for their authenticity and honesty, so Zuray hopes his experiences provide a glimpse of “real-

Zuray prepares chum salmon to feed his dogs.

(DISCOVERY CHANNEL)

Q&A WITH STAN THE MAN Stan Zuray on …

Racing in the Iditarod in 1982 (it was Zuray’s only entry in the race, where he set a record finish by a rookie that wasn’t broken for 10 years): “In those years I was just a trapper with a very limited amount of worn-out dogs out on the trapline, barely keeping them alive and feeding them. And I was out on the trapline when a plane landed close to me and it was a friend of mine.

He lived about 40 miles away and his wife had landed and said, ‘Get into town sometime and talk to my husband. He wants to sponsor you in the Iditarod race,’ and that’s how it all started. It was a humble and meager start, but we ended up doing really fantastic and was one of the coolest things I’ve ever done in my life.”

How hard the training was for he and his also inexperienced dogs: “Most people at that point have one or two years of experience of training and assembling dogs just prior to the race.

And even the professionals have been training all winter up until that point and had full kennels, at least 50-dog kennels and maybe 100-dog kennels. And 26

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I’ve got seven dogs on my trapline. So I had to gather up another seven dogs somewhere and get them in shape. It wasn’t like I had access to a lot of dogs, but the dogs that I had were so tough.

And I guess it was the bush skills that I had were so hardened that I was able to get in the race and figure it out. I didn’t know about the Iditarod and it was a 16day race. And at the end I found myself right up with the leaders. There was a time I was actually in the lead, then fell back and had a little bit of difficulty but finished in ninth place. That was the only time I’d ever raced it, and I’ve been out in the woods ever since.”

Why meeting his now wife, Kathleen, changed him: “Kathleen brought stability to my life. The family we raised gave both of us a real purpose in life. We live healthy and bring up the kids in a subsistence lifestyle.”

When being creative to solve problems is a necessity: “In the city, if you are not creative or mechanical, then money can solve your problems. But in a place like Tanana, there is usually no one to hire to do

MAY 2017 | aksportingjournal.com

things for you, even if you could afford it. If one wants things in life, one better get figuring out how to make it work.”

The dwindling amount of big game available around Tanana for subsistence hunting: “I think it has always been hard.

Many parts of Interior Alaska have way less game per acre than more heavily populated states such as Vermont and Pennsylvania. The cold and barren areas make for hard hunting at times.

Outsiders hunting in our traditional subsistence areas don’t make it easier.”

His love for Boston sports teams and reacting to the New England Patriots’ remarkable comeback win in Super Bowl LI over the Atlanta Falcons: “All summer and in some of winter I am away from the village where there is TV (available). People usually tell me how the Boston teams are doing and my heart is always with them, of course.

But I don’t get to watch as much as I’d like. I did watch the Patriots game and saw the whole thing; it was absolutely incredible. They made everyone proud to be from Boston that day. I know our executive producer at Paper Route Productions is a huge Red Sox and Bruins fan. He even went to a Red Sox game with my brother a couple years ago.” ASJ

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“When I got there I realized that’s what I wanted,” Zuray says of his time in Alaska.

“Once I was there I thought, ‘this is it’ and something I’ve wanted for a long time.”

(DISCOVERY CHANNEL)

ity” about how difficult it is to fend for yourself in a place like Tanana.

“I do think the show showcases the lifestyle. Often hunting, trapping and fishing traditions get portrayed negatively, and I feel if given a chance to see some of the good sides of it, people would think better of it,” he says.

“Yukon Men reached a nationwide audience with that message and I’m thankful for that.”

IF ZURAY WAS GOING to find his happy place, it was going to be through adventure and the challenges a homesteader would take on. So he left Boston for good in the early 1970s.

“It was a long process to go from Dorchester to the West Coast, and then to (British Columbia) in Canada and the progression into the woods, and then eventually to Alaska and the Tozitna River (his cabin there has been featured frequently on Yukon Men) and where I started living,” he says.

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“And now I’ve been living around there for the last 40-something years.

When I got there I realized that’s what I wanted. Once I was there I thought, ‘This is it,’ and something I’ve wanted for a long time, from when I was a little kid in a vacant lot catching snakes at 8 years old.”

As you can imagine, it wasn’t easy at first. (“Those early years in Alaska were the toughest,” he recalls.) Even for someone as resourceful and in his element fishing, hunting and foraging for food, life in Alaska was full of challenges, setbacks and near misses.

But being in an area surrounded by Natives who knew a lot about the subsistence way was invaluable (Stan’s wife Kathleen is also an Alaskan Native).

“I didn’t know what I was doing, although I had some experiences and had been around some people and found myself trying to copy them,” Zuray says.

“You’re around Native people who made some stuff out of the woods:

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The drills they drilled the wood with; the moose hide and webbing. But when it came to doing it from scratch with no help at all, it was hard and you’d make mistakes. We made a lot of mistakes, which I really wouldn’t trade for anything. But it caused us a lot of difficulty and do a lot of things that were pretty crude.�

Now some of his best friends aren’t his cronies in Boston but of the four-legged variety. In the sixth season premiere episode, Zuray is preparing to leave his riverside salmon camp, 40 miles from Tanana. He chops up chunks of chum salmon, throws them into a pot for cooking so he can feed his dogs, not just companions but also a lifeline for transportation in an area where fuel for snowmachines can be scarce. “Short of family, these dogs are the most important thing; they’ve been my life for 40-something years,� Zuray says on the show. “When I moved here, I recognized dogs are a pretty necessary part of surviving out here.�

Say what you want about his lifestyle choice so far away from the hustle and bustle of Boston and the plank walk he seemed to be taking there. But there was never a case of buyer’s remorse from Zuray betting on Alaska. “Oh, there were times when you had to do things that you were sad about.

But again, I can’t say that I would trade it because it might have changed the outcome. And it was never something where you said, ‘I may as well leave here and go back to the city,’ or something like that,� he says. “Because what I had gone through in the city, you never want to repeat that. Nothing that I did was ever worth giving up what I saw as potentially a good lifestyle. So you just kept working at going through the hard times with patience. You just keep trying again.� ASJ Editor’s note: New episodes of Yukon Men appear on Friday nights on the Discovery Channel (check your local listings). For more, go to discovery.com/ tv-shows/yukon-men. Like Stan Zuray at facebook.com/stanzuray and follow on Twitter (@stanzuray).

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PROTECTING

UTILITY BACKS OFF IDEA TO DAM SALMON-BEARING KENAI LAKE TRIBUTARY

WILD ALASKA

The Snow River, a tributary of Kenai Lake, was threatened by a dam proposed by a local electrical utility, which withdrew it in the face of opposition to the project. (“BEEBLEBROX”/WIKIMEDIA)

BY MICHAEL LUNDE

D

amming a portion of a salmon-spawning river on the famed Kenai Peninsula didn’t seem like it would be an idea that would fly with fishing-oriented Alaskans.

A hydroelectric dam was proposed by the state’s largest electrical utility, Chugach Electric Association, potentially adding a 700-by-300-foot concrete dam on the Snow River, a headwater spawning tributary to Kenai Lake in Southcentral Alaska.

This project seemed like a threat to the conservation of salmon, steelhead and trout. The Snow River contains resident populations of rainbow trout and Dolly Varden, as well as well-established runs of sockeye and coho salmon.

In addition to the main dam, the pro-

posal highlights two smaller concrete dams required to assist the main dam in storage of water for power generation.

In protest of the plan, Kenai River Watershed Foundation president Bob Baldwin told the Alaska Dispatch News, “No additional hydroelectric facilities are wanted on the Kenai River watershed, period.”

Critics of the project like Baldwin were widespread. A GoFundMe account was created to raise money, and organizations such as Peninsula Rivers Conservancy created websites citing the cons against Chugach Electric Association’s plan.

In mid-April, the opposition proved to be too much, and the utility announced it was scratching the Snow River project.

“We are committed to sustainable energy, but we’ve heard from many

Alaskans who do not want us to study this option, and we appreciate and respond to those voices and concerns,” Lee Thibert, Chugach Electric CEO, announced via a press release.

Public meetings to discuss the project included information citing concerns about the potential to compromise fish habitat as it has with other U.S. dam projects. David Lisi, a Kenai guide and one of the Peninsula Rivers Conservancy board of directors, seemed pleasantly surprised it was halted a month after it was first announced.

“We had a feeling it would end, though obviously not so soon,” Lisi told the Peninsula Clarion newspaper. “Once we started thinking about things that had been brought up at the meetings … we definitely started to think this thing might not go through.” ASJ

OUTDOOR CALENDAR May 10 May 13-June 11 May 15 May 20 May 27 June 1-30 June 9-18 June 9-18 July 4 July 22

Spring brown bear season opens in Game Management Unit 10 (Aleutians: Unimak Island) Wrangell King Salmon Derby; wrangellchamber.org/annual-salmon-derby.html Start of Homer Jackpot Halibut Derby; homeralaska.org/jackpot-halibut-derby.html Start of Valdez Halibut Derby; valdezfishderbies.com Start of Ketchikan King Salmon Derby; ketchikankingsalmonderby.com/ Seward Halibut Tourney; seward.com/welcome-to-seward-alaska/halibut-tournament-june/ Downtown Soup Kitchen’s Slam’n Salm’n Derby, Anchorage; anchorage.net/events/salmon-derby/ Halibut Hullabaloo Derby; valdezfishderbies.com Mount Marathon Race, Seward; mmr.seward.com/ Start of Valdez Silver Salmon Derby; valdezfishderbies.com aksportingjournal.com | MAY 2017

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The splash of a giant northern pike, also referred to as a water dragon, is a thrilling sight for anglers targeting these toothy beasts. Pike may not carry the same street cred in Alaska as salmon, but their size makes them worthy of pursuit. (CHRIS BATIN)

SLAYING THE WATER DRAGON TAKING ON ALASKA’S MASSIVE, MISUNDERSTOOD NORTHERN PIKE

BY CHRISTOPHER BATIN

W

hen most anglers think of Alaska fishing, they envision huge runs of salmon migrating up crystal-clear gravel streams that shimmer enticingly at the bases of rough-hewn, snowcapped mountains.

Yet there are those of us who forsake such images.

We find our piscatorial treasures in mosquito-infested flats, meandering tannin-stained rivers, and marshy

oxbow lakes. This is flat-line country, void of a jagged mountain contour that signals a geological heartbeat.

Such country is neither for the petite of rod nor tenderness of skin. While some view it as a boreal hell on earth, I see it as a Tolkienian-themed destination for anglers searching for adventure.

The reason is obvious. But once you go, you’ll never be the same when you return.

For this be dragon country, my friend, and you confront them, one by

one, not to slay them, but to do battle, to count coup, and release the fish in order to be victorious. While the quarry is formidable, the battlegrounds are just as challenging.

It’s a place of survival-scenario nightmares, and rightly so. Miles of black-muck swamps suck moose to their bellies and refuse to let go.

A stranded angler can wander the surrounding swamps for weeks and never find civilization. Clouds of mosquitoes would suck him drier than a spouse’s bank account after a divorce.

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Any survivors would need to dodge the 4,000-plus lightning strikes that pummel the area during midsummer.

Smoldering timber from weeks of forest fires create an abstract reality starved of vibrant shapes and colors.

The sun becomes a dim flashlight bulb, an impotent orange orb that is neither warm nor bright. In this Land of the Midnight Sun, the forest-fire haze provides neither clues to day or night.

ONE FISHES ENDLESSLY, BASED on wakefulness to arise and to sleep when fatigued, because time has no meaning here.

Yet don’t expect to find the winged dragons of myth and legend. The quarry here is the water wolf, or big northern pike. Be not coerced into ambivalence: They are a frightening lot.

Big ones measure 45 inches, the beasts of legend stretching to 50-plus inches, tail not included. A mature pike uses its 700-plus sharp, snaggled teeth to impale, chomp and paralyze prey.

They are always watching for an opportunity to quickly cripple and devour fish, ducks, muskrats and birds. To hook and land a fish this size, let alone several, is an angling event of a lifetime.

Water dragons are no pushovers.

Mediocre anglers who engage this adversary will lose big. Water dragons exhibit no remorse in pounding the strongest angling combatant into a mincemeat of shame and defeat, an introverted head shaker who questions his angling skill sets.

I am confident in my quest – but humble in my approach – as we approach the pike oxbow, a wilderness sanctuary where nature and religion are one. All warriors – from the Knights Templar to King Arthur’s Knights – are introspective before battle, a purge of shortcomings, and a bolstering of actions that bring victory. I am no different when I battle big water dragons.

I vow to strike with precision and lightning speed. I dig deep within my psyche to ensure every cast is my best.

Distractions are powerless against me 38

ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

A variety of lures and baits can entice a pike strike. (CHRIS BATIN)

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the morning air. It’s real time, but I experience it in slow motion, frameby-frame memory, hoping my endorphin-fueled resolve prevents the dragon from throwing the hook. My legs go numb, and I tighten my grip and pump the rod, a move that angers and awakens the beast. My 10-weight’s beefy spine whips, bounces and bends, like a puny blade of grass battered in a piscatorial typhoon.

THE ANCIENT NATIVE AMERICANS of the

A northern pike is released so it can fight another day. The author regularly catches and releases dozens of pike during some successful trips. (CHRIS BATIN)

as I focus on tying a perfect knot each time. My hand is a hair trigger, ready to unleash a cocked arm that will generate a 7-foot-pound hookset into one of the toughest, strongest jaws in freshwater sportfishing.

Confidence oozes from my arms like morning dew off barbed wire. I challenge the beast beneath the lily pads and taunt him to come forth to prove he is worthy of the name: water dragon.

I tie on a steel leader and rig my 10-weight fly rod for battle. I take a deep breath, focusing on the dragon’s lair. The cast lands perfectly in a pocket of water surrounded by horsetail reeds. The flashabou pattern flutters enticingly as I twitch it to taunt the dragon I know is holding there. A water drake’s weakness is a love for all that glitters, and I have arrived with a fly box full of temptations.

Then it happens; a maneuvering fin creates a ripple; a larger swirl follows.

The brown tea-like water convulses – then swirls to a washtub-sized boil – as the dragon attacks. A buck40

ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

et-wide toothy maw erupts from the gossamer pondweeds and engulfs a square foot of water that contains my glittery, sacrificial fly.

I strike hard and grit my teeth. This is no country for old men.

The enraged dragonfish feels the sting of a solid hookset and quiet backwater becomes a tsunami of destruction. The waves obliterate a swath of horsetail reeds, which lie whiplashed and broken in the bubbly, boggy foam. Bottom muck bursts upward like angry underwater thunderheads, as a foot-wide tail churns in thunderous retaliation. My fly reel handle rakes my knuckles into numbing pain that nearly breaks the vicelike grip I have on the rod.

From its watery realm, 4 feet of water dragon twists and writhes violently, reaching for sky with gills flared in a rage that would send dainty, dry fly trout anglers running for cover.

Blurred, violent headshaking atomizes the lake into a spray that floats like a million pieces of cottonwood fluff in

MAY 2017 | aksportingjournal.com

Pacific Northwest believed the fish gods know one’s heart. For over a century, the water dragon’s reputation has been undeservingly sullied by the bombastic legions of rainbow trout and salmon anglers who blaspheme pike as unworthy of their efforts. Perhaps what happened next is what a trophy water dragon demands in return for being caught.

I bow to the fish to ease tension on the leader. My act of fealty shows respect and honor to the dragon, as well as puts slack in the line. Hopefully, my action makes me worthy enough in body and spirit to win the battle.

After 14 minutes of a back-andforth slugfest, where the hope of landing the fish was lost several times, I subdue the dragon onto its side and ease it to the boat. A sinister, primordially intelligent eye tracks my outreached hand.

I reciprocate the honor of this battlefield concession with a thought.

Religion aside, Darwinian-minded scientists say fossil records show ol’ Esox has remained virtually unchanged for over 60 million years. I had just battled over 4 feet of an evolutionary wonder, and soaked in the biological adaptations of this perfectly marvelous killing machine.

While I had won the battle, I would not kill this fish.

The 49-incher continues to eye me with precise calculation as I ease needle-nose pliers to release the barbless fly in the corner of its mouth, a harmless coup to show I won. The dragon jaws jerk up and snap tight as a bank vault on my gloved hand, and won’t

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The author’s giant 49-inch northern pike was a struggle to bring into the boat, but that’s part of the lure of chasing these misunderstood Alaskan predators. (CHRIS BATIN)

open. The response makes my victory even more satisfying. This is no ordinary predator, but a fish with heart, one worthy of the quest as the Holy Grail of pike anglers the world over.

Mean. Indefatigable. Proud.

After extricating my punctured glove and hand, I release a much-wiser water dragon to fight again another day, and doctor my hand with antiseptic salve so it can do the same.

Fishing for big northern pike is exciting, drag-down dirty fun, and one of my top three Alaska sportfish species to catch. On three separate trips to Alaska’s Innoko National Wildlife Refuge, I’ve caught pike over 45 inches. This claim is no big deal for some but a lifelong dream for others. On a week-long trip, friend Larry Suiter and I caught 247 pike in five days, with four reaching 47 inches, a 48-incher, 48.7-incher and 49-incher. That’s roughly 50 pike a day per boat. While I didn’t catch that elusive 55-incher the occasional – and lucky – angler catches, I’m not disappointed.

I’ll be preparing to find and battle a record-breaking 59-inch pike on my next quest.

PIKE TRULY EPITOMIZE SURVIVAL of the fittest. Its temperament, build and traits make it the perfect predator that has embraced the Darwinian ethic of survival of the fittest.

Historically, Canada has been the hot spot for large northern pike in North America. That honor is now being bestowed on select pike stocks located in Alaska riversheds with prime habitat and salmon and forage fish populations. Some of the best include Minto Flats and the Innoko, Mulchatna and Nowitna Rivers.

In these food-rich waters of Western Alaska, northern pike grow far larger and more numerous than previously believed. Research conducted by fisheries biologist Brendan Scanlon with the Alaska Department of Fish and Game confirms that select western and interior rivers provide healthy pike fisheries that few people currently enjoy. I suspect biologists will keep 42

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discovering how large the river-based northern pike population is in Western Alaska. I recall my conversation with Scanlon when I first planned an expedition pike fishing trip to the region.

“Low fishing pressure, abundant food supply and ample and various types of water systems found in the tributaries of the Yukon River contribute to growing the large size and num-

bers of pike,” he says. “On average, a 40-inch pike is about 20 years old.”

For instance, his research has shown Innoko River pike can appear anywhere at any time, their migratory

Author Chris Batin often finishes a “week of pike fishing with fly boxes depleted, leaders chewed to shreds and hands red and callused from the nonstop action.” Fellow pike anglers wouldn’t want it any other way. (CHRIS BATIN)

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habits perhaps a key to their continued growth and proliferation.

“Pike will move out of the main rivers and spawn, and perhaps move a few miles to spend the summer feeding in a slough or lake,” Scanlon adds.

“Others decide to head elsewhere.”

Elsewhere can be a long swim. One 30-inch fish traveled over 243 miles in eight months. A 42-inch fish moved 34 miles in one month, overwintered in the Yukon River and was found in the original tagging location the following spring, a distance of over 90 miles.

The vast interconnectivity of Yukon River oxbows, lakes and sloughs allows these migrations to take place and, in effect, grow large, healthy populations of pike that have been little studied – or fished – until now.

I’m convinced pike in the Yukon-Kuskokwim drainages are more numerous and larger than elsewhere in North America.

WHILE FISHING FOR THESE monsters from moose camps to float trips, there is water here that has received little if any fishing pressure. Indeed, some remote waters have never been fished because of sheer number and difficulty of access. Lodges that specialize in pike boast that their clients catch and release from 500 to 1,000 or more pike a week, which is about right, as during our trip, we caught about 250 pike over 36 inches, which is saying a lot.

In such areas, wildlife is abundant and relatively unafraid of people. During our journeys into these remote sloughs, black bears ignored us as they tried to fish for pike in the shallows. Moose remained and fed in lakes at our approach, requiring us to change course to prevent a possible aggressive charge.

The problem with exploring new waters is that sometimes a big-fish location turns up dry. One day we spent an entire morning catching hammer-handle fish, pike less than 20 inches.

I remember one trip, where we motored and push-poled our way up the 46

ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

IF YOU GO PIKE FISHING Lodges in the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta, along the 1,980-mile length of the Yukon River, and Aniak River country offer a variety of superb pike fishing. Some mobile pike camps offer floating accommodations with private staterooms, indoor plumbing and all the amenities of a full-service, land-based lodge. Dropoff, boat-in or fly-in trips to cabins at George Lake, Nowitna River and Minto Flats, and cabins scattered throughout the Susitna drainage are most popular among the do-it-yourself crowd. Most air charter services in Anchorage and Fairbanks offer pike fishing options that include cabins with stove, bunks and camping gear, as well as boat and outboards. Costs range from $4,500 for six days for guided lodge trips and about $150 to $200 a night, per person, for a fly-out/cabin package.

TACKLE OPTIONS

scented lures create, which big pike can easily pick up and track in ponds and backwater areas.

For great topwater action in the weeds, chartreuse Bass Pro Shops Lazer Eye Double Willow spinnerbaits tipped with soft plastics are the tickets to pulling big fish out of heavy cover. I was surprised that the sheefish ignored my favorite flies and spoons in favor of a Blade Dancer fished in a steady retrieve under the surface, but didn’t hesitate to fish it until I lost it on a monster pike holding beneath the sheefish. Now I stock plenty. I convert all lures and plugs to single-hook rigs to prevent fish injury and facilitate unhooking.

An Abu Garcia levelwind reel filled with 35-pound green Gorilla Braid works well for me, as well as spinning reels with 20-pound mono.

Small pike are not finicky about lure offerings, but big pike often require specific actions, finishes and retrieves for hookups. The lures that produce the biggest pike for me are big gold spoons and large Rapalas or similar-sized Storm Warts in a variety of colors. A Timberdoodle tipped with an orange Gulp! bait, and a weedless Johnson gold spoon tipped with PowerBait in various sizes and configurations, also produce big fish. While the Gulp! trailer baits seldom last more than a few fish, they do eliminate the short strikes and entice fish to strike faster over that of fishing a plain spoon. Whatever lure you use, a swimbait grub or various soft plastic or PowerBaits typically used for bass fishing always seem to increase strikes, perhaps because of the scent fields the

FOR FLY GUYS AND GALS

channel to the remote tundra lake. It was wilderness like I’ve experienced in the Amazon or Southeast Asia. No planes flew over, no other boats or signs of people were in sight. Baitfish scurried across the surface, indicating a feeding frenzy was taking place. A moose remained in the lake and was intent on chewing water plants. Mos-

quitoes blackened the back of our jackets and covered our waders as densely as chocolate sprinkles on an ice cream sundae.

After my fishing partner Larry released a mammoth pike of 45 inches, we couldn’t keep the smaller 20- to 30-inchers off our flies and lures. We pulled anchor and continued downri-

MAY 2017 | aksportingjournal.com

Open tundra lakes offer perfect opportunities for fly fishing. A G.Loomis 10-weight GLX and CrossCurrent rods and Rio InTouch pike-taper line was the perfect match for big pike. The combo allows me to cast large poppers, mouse patterns and 6-inch baitfish patterns into the wind and drop them precisely into shoreline cover.

Also pack jaw spreaders, long needle-nose pliers, and black plastic-coated 3- and 12-inch wire leaders for spin lures. A Scientific Anglers Pike Musky leader with Bite Guard wire is required for all fly fishers, and stock plenty. In a pinch, haywire twist black wire leader material from fly to tippet. Expect them to only last a dozen or so fish before they’re shredded. CB

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ver, where we had no big pike action.

We decided to change our tactics.

Catching dragonfish on topwaters is exceptional fun and worthy of another feature, but even this action paled in comparison to the sheefish we found ambushing migrating salmon fry at a river mouth. Big sheefish to 30 pounds hammered our lures and flies on nearly every cast. There were no wakes telegraphing an impending strike. The fish often jumped completely out of the water, grabbing the lure or fly on the way down. It was a gift from the water dragons and a suitable way to end this particular quest.

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fly boxes depleted, leaders chewed to shreds and hands red and callused from the nonstop action. It takes me weeks to block out the pike fishing anthem I play over and over again in the MP3 player of my mind while fighting these fish: The legendary John Mellencamp, the everyman’s philosopher, might be referring to pike fishing, as well as relationships, when he sings, “Come on baby, make it hurt so good.�

Nothing else needs to be said.

Fishing for water dragons in Alaska’s no-man’s-land – of swamp, mosquitoes and forest fire smoke that often blocks out sunlight to twilight levels – is as close to fishing “the dark ages� as you can get. But with trophy pike action like this, please leave me in the dark indefinitely. Just be sure to stockpile enough flies, plugs and wire leaders for me until the lights come back on. ASJ Editor’s note: Chris Batin is editor of The Alaska Angler, and author of numerous award-winning books on Alaska fishing and hunting, including Advanced Alaska Fly Fishing, and The Alaska Hatch DVD, which shows step-by-step instructions on tying five of Alaska’s most-effective fly patterns and details on how to fish them for salmon, trout and pike.

Alaska Sporting Journal readers can receive free shipping when ordering any DVD or book by ordering online at AlaskaAngler.com, with promo code ASJ57.

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THESE SALMON ARE ROYALTY

BIG NUMBERS OF BIG KINGS RULE THE DAY ON THE FAMED NUSHAGAK

BY SCOTT HAUGEN

“T

hat’s it, I’m ready to go back to camp,” said my wife, Tiffany, who let it be known that she was done after releasing yet another king salmon.

Guide Austin Moser held up the clicker to my face and smiled. No words were necessary. The salmon Tiffany just released was the 117th of the day for the boat, and there were only the three of us. It was just after 4 p.m., and the day had included an hour-long lunch break.

This was mid-June and we were fishing Bristol Bay’s famed Nushagak River with Alaska King Salmon Adventures (alasakakingsalmon.com). It’s the uppermost camp on this stretch of river, and one of the nicest tent camps I’ve seen in anywhere in Alaska. I’ve been fishing with this camp for over a decade, and there’s a reason I keep going back. Actually there are several reasons, but this time, for the first time, Tiffany joined me.

While we’d lived in and taught school for years on the North Slope, this was the first time Tiffany had been to the Nushagak, a place that’s far different from anything the Arctic has to offer: trees, lush, tall grass, salmon runs numbering into the hundreds of thousands. This was a great place for us to spend some time together.

“The Nushagak not only receives the state’s biggest run of king salmon but is the largest run of king salmon in the world,” noted a smiling Scott Weedman, one of the co-owners of this camp where we enjoyed a de-

Scott and Tiffany Haugen hoist what brings people to the Nushagak River: plentiful king salmon. (SCOTT HAUGEN)

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licious lasagna dinner made by the camp’s longtime chef. “That storm we had (recently), that brought in thousands of salmon, that’s why you guys caught so many today.”

The day of that storm, over 18,000 kings had pushed past the counting station. The next day, over 20,000 worked their way upstream. In the past, I’ve seen a storm with high winds and lots of rain create the perfect conditions for large numbers of salmon to move upriver, and when you hit it right, it’s salmon fishing like you’ve never seen.

What made it fun is we didn’t just backtroll plugs. We also dragged freshly cured eggs, which triggered hits so voracious that they about ripped the rods from our hands. We also side-drifted and bobber-dogged bait, cast spinners and drift fished. No matter how we fished, we caught salmon.

Not only did we catch kings but also just-arriving chums, many in excess of 15 pounds. Early-run chums are excellent eating since their fat

After being dropped off by a floatplane, right in front of camp, the fun begins at the Nushagak’s Alaska King Salmon Adventures. (SCOTT HAUGEN)

content this time of year makes them great for smoking.

When we tired of catching salmon, we headed upriver into secluded sloughs. There, we tossed topwater presentations for feisty northern pike.

At the bottom of some of the deeper holes we caught and released rainbow trout measured in pounds, not inches.

On the shores of camp, we experienced some of my favorite fishing in Alaska: enticing Arctic grayling.

Tiffany hadn’t fished for grayling since we lived in Anaktuvuk Pass in the late 1990s, and on her first cast she tied into a beautiful fish. After plucking the little red-and-white Rooster Tail from the grayling’s lip, she cast it

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FIELD

With warmer weather heading our way and fat salmon heading into the rivers, using a plank to cook your Chinook makes for a delicious dining experience. (TIFFANY HAUGEN)

THIS PLANK’S MADE FOR COOKING ON

BY TIFFANY HAUGEN

W

ith spring here and summer fast approaching, it’s time to think about grilling.

Whether you’re working with fresh or previously frozen fish, plank cooking adds great flavor, keeps fish very moist and makes for easy cleanup.

One of the benefits of plank cooking is that food can be served right off the plank. And when using single-servesize planks for a crowd, salmon can be flavored in multiple ways, accommodating many palates.

If looking for a tasty, novel idea, break out the planks. Fish can be plank cooked in the oven or out on the grill. The smoke flavor is deeper when cooked on the grill, but the presentation is impressive with either method, and the house smells great when cooked in the oven.

Whip up a few toppings or just go to your spice rack and put a variety of things out. Let guests individualize their piece of fish with whatever flavors they desire.

Write names on the planks with a pencil and get them on the grill or in the oven.

RECIPE SUGGESTIONS 1. Garlic chives + parsley + butter 2. Favorite fish rub + olive oil drizzle 54

ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

3. Sliced oranges + herbed cream cheese 4. Feta cheese dressing + chopped black olives 5. Harissa or Thai sweet chili sauce

PLANK PREPARATION Step 1: Soak plank in water or suggested liquid – minimum one hour, max 24.

Step 2: Preheat plank on grill at medium heat for five minutes or in a 350-degree oven for 10 minutes.

Step 3: Brush a light coating of olive oil onto cooking side of board.

PLANK COOKING OPTIONS Grill (direct heat): Use the lowest setting on a gas grill or low charcoal heat.

Place plank with food directly over the heat source. Cook with the lid closed so smoke surrounds food and infuses flavor. Plank should reach heavy smoke in 15 to 20 minutes. When plank begins to smoke, check often – use spray bottle filled with water to extinguish any flame on the plank. This method promotes a heavy smoke flavor.

Grill (indirect heat): Use a medium setting on a gas grill. With charcoal, pile coals to one side. Place plank opposite the heat source. Cook with lid closed so smoke surrounds food and infuses flavor.

Plank should begin to smoke after 15 to

MAY 2017 | aksportingjournal.com

20 minutes. The plank should not catch fire using this method. Cooking time increases due to the lower temperature.

This way promotes a light smoke flavor.

Oven: Preheat oven and board to 350 degrees or as stated in recipe. Place plank with food directly on oven rack.

Position a foil-lined baking sheet on the rack below the plank to catch any drippings. This method infuses a light smoke essence into food. Planks can be reused.

A WARNING Planks can be placed close together in the oven, but if grilling, make sure there is at least 1 inch between planks for air circulation. When cooking, never leave planks unattended. Avoid repeatedly opening grill cover, as this can cause flare-ups and lost heat. When opening grill, take caution not to inhale or stand in direct smoke.

Editor’s note: For signed copies of Tiffany’s popular book, Cooking Seafood, send a check for $20 (free S&H), to Haugen Enterprises, P.O. Box 275, Walterville, OR 97489. This and other cookbooks can also be ordered at tiffanyhaugen.com.

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into the flats again. She barely started her retrieve when the ultralight 6-foot rod doubled over. Soon, a 12-pound king was making a run for it and cartwheeled through the air as it headed to deeper water. She eventually landed that salmon and then caught another couple grayling. By then it was time for happy hour around the campfire.

We shared the fire with a red fox that was more curious than scared. On another day, a porcupine sauntered by and moose were seen every day while on the river, as were bald eagles.

Multiple flush toilets and hot showers were a luxury to have, something you don’t often get in remote Alaskan camps. And the fact that we had Wi-Fi to check in on our sons back home set our minds at peace. In other words, it was the perfect destination for us to spend the week.

Not only did we come home with our limits of king salmon but also a box of chum salmon, a few tasty Arctic gray-

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ling and some pike. Because Tiffany is a cookbook author, she is always eager to eat what she catches, and was overjoyed with the bounty from this trip.

While the bonus species made for great meals and created moments we’ll never forget, it was the king salmon that brought us there and what we caught every day. With the king salmon fishing struggling in some traditional streams around the state, rest assured the action is as good as it’s been on the Nushagak.

“With this year’s cold conditions in the region and all the snow that stuck around, I think the fishing could be really good through mid-July,” offered Weedman.

By then, 24 hours of daylight and hard-fighting kings will keep anglers wanting more. Sure, you might go home a little sleep deprived, but that’s the price you pay when fishing the mighty Nushagak.

King salmon still rule here. ASJ

MAY 2017 | aksportingjournal.com

When you get tired of catching salmon on the Nushagak (and remember that you may catch and release a lot), there are plenty of other fish to pursue. Tiffany had a blast going after this pike on the surface. (SCOTT HAUGEN)

Editor’s note: To see videos and learn more about fishing the Nushagak River with Alaska King Salmon Adventures, visit scotthaugen.com. Here, you’ll also find many how-to salmon fishing books.

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THE KING AND I AN ANGLER’S EPIC BATTLE WITH AN ALASKAN CHINOOK

Alaska’s fishing culture starts and ends with its salmon, and the state’s giant kings are among the most daunting targets, as the author has discovered, both catching and losing Chinook. (MICHAEL LUNDE)

BY MICHAEL LUNDE

K

nee-deep in the icy turquoise-blue glacial waters of the Susitna River in Southcentral Alaska, I envisioned making it through the winter for eight long, agonizing months.

Through the darkness and frigid below-zero temperatures, I could hear the acoustics of a 4½-inch-diameter aluminum fly reel singing amid schools of 30- to 50-pound chrome Chinook salmon in their mid-depth run. I’d think of overcast cloud cover drifting in on a southeasterly alpine breeze with scattered rainfall, and the kings hunkered on the cobbled bottom of Willow Creek

and then crashing the surface.

The 4½-hour drive southbound had taken me through picturesque scenery of the Alaska Range and sisterly snowcapped empresses dotting the landscape for miles to see. Above-freezing temperatures in low-altitude areas had left splotchy distributions of leftover snow to melt, joining other meltwater sources until they formed a uniform channel and created silver and blue highlights that exited the cliffside.

The river’s currents interconnected once again to reform the mainstem river as it flowed peacefully through craggy ledges of shale and spruce-rich forests.

The only sound was that current.

My blood pressure boiled like a gey-

ser, and in the distance, the river’s natural flow was violently interrupted by the sounds of bowling ball-like splashes.

With our Spey rods in hand, we hiked down the trail towards the Susitna River on an anadromous expedition to be crowned king, as we chased the kings.

CHINOOK SALMON REPRESENT SOME of the biggest, most prized gamefish in Alaska, and they present one of toughest challenges in the world of freshwater fly fishing. Due to their immense size, fast swimming skills and aerial acrobatics, they are line-screaming, rod-breaking demons, and will shatter the confidence of both beginners and expert anglers alike.

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Compared to steelhead battles, reeling and fighting a Chinook can bring on fatigue, with an accumulation of lactic acid in the muscles. Luckily, we are blessed to live in an advanced era with graphite rod technology and reels with dependable drags and leader systems, all designed to manage and withstand the unpredictable fighting ability of a giant king. Most size-classes of kings are capable of being dethroned on the appropriate equipment, but there are a few select scenarios in which an angler encounters a fish with a pissed-off attitude. That king makes us feel helpless, because regardless of our fish-fighting experiences, the fish often breaks lines and rods and consumes drags to fight another day.

Some king enthusiasts refer to these as “super-fish.” During the swing presentation, the line is stopped abruptly by the classic take, and the fish momentarily holds its position in the current. The angler’s mind enters a state of confusion and silence.

The line slowly changes direction, bobbing up and down and lasering up-

stream in the blink of an eye. Standing somewhat helpless now, line screams off the reel, sending the fly line and backing knot shooting through the guides like a 44-magnum bullet. The rod bends like a flexible bungee cord.

At some point, the initial run will end – it may be 400 yards downstream, perhaps upstream or even back into the nearby ocean, but it will stop. Take a deep breath, relax and enjoy the show.

Patience is your greatest asset at this point. As the battle between fly angler and an annoyed Chinook ensues, be prepared for one hell of a ride.

LATE ON A SATURDAY afternoon, the weather remained identical to what it had been in the morning, when my friend Aaron and I landed about 14 dime-bright Chinook between us.

After approximately 45 minutes of fishless action, I switched from a blue/chartreuse Intruder to a blue/ purple-colored Prom Dress tied on small-diameter tube connected to a No. 1/0 Gamakatsu SL12S saltwater

hook. I pinpointed my target area and launched a 40-foot double Spey cast that ascended and landed just outside of a silt-line transition zone.

After a well-executed mend to prevent the 3-knot current from sinking the fly, the chartreuse-colored Skagit line launched itself into the air for a brief moment. The rod tip hung inches above the water’s surface as the current triggered the 4-inch Prom Dress tube fly to come to life. Some anglers refer to this type of movement as the vortex effect.

It was a fitting description in this case.

Midway through the presentation, the fly achieved its maximum depth through the run as it entered the clearer water below the mouth of Willow Creek.

As I continued to methodically slow the fly down to get maximum possible depth, a violent collision bent the top of my 14-foot G.Loomis NRX. In the blink of an instant, the yodeling of a fly reel echoed through the mountain air, while a pan-sized boil interrupted the water’s smooth surface.

A large, 45-plus-pound female king

It’s not just the strength of the salmon that fishermen must overcome but also the pull of Alaska’s powerful rivers. (MICHAEL LUNDE) 62

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MAY 2017 | aksportingjournal.com

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FLY MONTH T OF THE

he original Intruder pattern, designed by the intelligent minds of Ed Ward, Jerry French and Scott Howell, spawned a generation of fly design never seen before for in the world of anadromous fly fishing. Here, we present a recent modification to the original Intruder that combines the profile and movement exhibited in Ward’s original, coupled with Howell’s Prom Dress, resulting in a deadly pattern for Chinook in rivers.

Specifically, no fly tier is credited for its creation, yet several guides in British Columbia introduced custom-made versions. Therefore, I sketched multiple length dimensions of the fly, considered material selection, movement specifics, and weight before I finalized the first Prom Dress Intruder. The fly’s profile is characterized by two spinnerbait-like skirts composed of center-tied Flashabou, a Flashabou body, and dressed with ostrich or Rhea feather fibers spun in a dubbing loop. A key structural difference between this style of Intruder and the original is that there are two sections, a back and shoulder consisting of additional flash.

The first step in tying the Prom Dress Intruder is to center-tie 10 to 15 strands of Flashabou on the tube and fold remaining tag ends in a downward angle and secure with additional thread wraps. This is repeated by consistently rotating the vice 360 degrees. It should take three to four clumps to form the back shoulder section. Next, ostrich fibers are spun in a dubbing loop and palmered in the same direction with an application of quick-drying adhesive to strengthen/reinforce thread wraps.

Body composition consists of five to ten strands of Flashabou tied in and palmered forward, while leaving adequate tying space near front of tube to form the front shoulder section.

The same tying steps used to form the back region of the fly are repeated for the front section.

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Alaska features some of the world’s premiere waters for fly fishing, so we thought it would be a good idea to share some of the best Last Frontier-inspired patterns to work on your fishing destinations here.

The Prom Dress Intruder, a hybrid of flies created by Ed Ward and Scott Howell, is a pattern that Alaska Chinook find irresistible during their upriver runs. (MICHAEL LUNDE)

To provide additional aesthetics and a touch of beauty, Lady Amherst fibers can be spun in a dubbing loop to pro-

vide supplemental movement and color to the fly to entice an aggressive reaction strike. -Michael Lunde

MATERIALS LIST

TYING STEPS

Tube: Small plastic tube (3/32-inch diameter) Thread: No. 6/0 Uni-Thread or Verivas Weight: Dumbbell eyes, conehead, Monster Cone sonic disc Rear body: Flashabou (center-tied bundles and folded over) Main body: Five to 10 strands of Flashabou Back and front collar: Flashabou (center-tied bundles and folded over) Back and front hackle: Ostrich or rhea Secondary collar: Lady Amherst fibers Junction tubing: HMH or Eumer Junction tubing (small, 1/8 -inch diameter) Stinger hook: No. 1/0 to 2/0 Owner Aki or Gamakatsu SL12S Optional dressing: Two to four dyed grizzly saddle hackles

Insert tube into tube-adapter attachment.

Apply dubbing ball to back section of tube.

Center-tie multiple bundles of Flashabou (about 15 to 20 strands) and fold remaining strands over in 45-degree angle.

Repeat until spinnerbait-like skirt formed.

Continue to build up well-formed thread head. Apply quick-drying adhesive to cement the thread wraps.

Select ostrich or Rhea plume, cut section with desired amount of fibers, spin in a dubbing loop, and palmer. Use additional Lady Amherst fibers if desired.

Tie in four to 10 strands of Flashabou.

Palmer forward until slightly behind front section of tube.

Repeat step 1 with another application of a dubbing ball. Repeat step 2 to form front spinnerbait-like skirt. -ML

MAY 2017 | aksportingjournal.com

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breached and was airborne for a brief moment. Her majesty landed headfirst in the clear water and she charged downstream at roadrunner-like speed.

The current and a submerged tamarack that had dislodged alongside the outside shoreline and was bobbing up and down presented me with several challenges. All I could do was keep my confidence together, reel in line as fast as possible and prepare for any last-minute changes. This water was her empire, a throne that she was determined to keep.

At this point, the rod flexed deep into the corks and forced me to redistribute my grip higher up on the foregrip and rear grips of the rod. Sweat protruded from my forehead like drops of rainwater.

Thirty minutes into this tug-of-war battle between angler and Chinook, I gained an advantage when I climbed up the steep eroding bank that was covered with alder stumps and exposed rootwads. Tripping was not an option at this spot.

As I climbed the hill, the salmon

As the author discovered, sometimes the power of the fish and current means you have to dodge vegetation on the bank to keep up with your salmon. (MICHAEL LUNDE)

looked fatigued, her caudal fin barely generating any energy. Aaron attempted a hail Mary of a tail-grabbing maneuver, but it was more of a fail Mary.

The king sensed the movement, which represented a true symbol of her inner intelligence and wisdom, and after a tail

slap, she vanished downstream in an instant. I panicked while 100 yards of line peeled off the reel at a rapid rate. I counterpunched and hopped over stumps to enter the water again. A large 70-foot half-hollow cottonwood blocked my path downstream, so I had to jump into

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waist-deep water with my feet merely inches from a drop-off.

One or two steps too far and it would be good-bye to this Chinook. Minutes passed and the advantage had been regained.

The king was about 10 feet from the bank, and I was positioned near the top of a hillside. Aaron had recently had knee surgery that prevented him from inching into deeper, faster water to execute a well-placed tail grab. A landing net would have been a lifesaver, but unfortunately we didn’t have one, and the king’s inner drive to escape back to her empire paid off once again. Line screamed off the reel in slow bursts.

It was a last desperation attempt but I had a gut feeling that the final moments of this epic battle was approaching.

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MAY 2017 | aksportingjournal.com

Author Mike Lunde cradles a king caught on this issue’s Fly of the Month, a Prom Dress Intruder. (MICHAEL LUNDE)

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With over 150 yards of line out and the salmon out in the faster current of the Susitna, I had no choice but to tighten the drag to maximum force and change the sideways rod position; it was now redirected so it would point straight at the salmon.

The plan worked in the beginning; as I reeled, she attempted to make a run but couldn’t. Soon, the chartreuse-colored running line encountered the rod tip – perhaps a sign that this battle of David vs. Goliath had swung my way.

My upper body muscles were extremely fatigued but I redistributed my fighting grip and foot position once again. After three full cranks of the reel, a loud noise equivalent to the sound of a shotgun blast echoed through the Susitna River Valley.

Bang!

The line snapped, and drowning in sweat, I took a slow agonizing walk 800 yards upstream to where I had originally hooked her. This king had beaten me.

You’re likely going to lose fish as often as you’re lucky enough to bring one to the shore, but there are few less exciting encounters for a fly angler than to match up with a large Chinook, whether or not you get dethroned by the king. (MICHAEL LUNDE)

THROUGHOUT MY EXPERIENCES FIGHTING big chrome Chinook fresh from the sea, I have landed and lost plenty. As much time as I spend envisioning the transcendental moment of the hook-up, I know things can simply go wrong. Regardless of having lost a giant fish that escaped back to her river empire to finalize her reproductive quest, it is living the moment and remembering the event that makes fly fishing for king salmon such an indescribable experience.

The aerial display of acrobatics, the high-speed swimming performance, curiosity to run into snags, and violent head shakes are all textbook fighting characteristics that define and earned a Chinook’s nickname: the king!

As that particular day with Aaron passed and the disappointment festered, I was reminded of landing my first Kenai king on a fly. It’s like a search for a holy grail of chrome-bright brilliance. Landing the first one on a fly is perhaps a crowning achievement of Alaska fishing lore.

To some it’s an everlasting memory; to others it’s an endless angling odyssey.

For myself, it’s a royal infatuation with a king. ASJ 70

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MAY 2017 | aksportingjournal.com

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Bixler McClure pulls a shrimp pot out of Prince William Sound. Storms that blow through the sheltered Southcentral Alaska sea and the depth of its water can make for a challenge, but the reward is tasty shellfish meat. (KRYSTIN MCCLURE)

SHRIMPIN’ THE SOUND THE DEPTHS OF PRINCE WILLIAM SOUND HOLD PLENTY OF SPOT SHRIMP, BUT HAZARDS ABOUND

BY KRYSTIN AND BIXLER MCCLURE

I

peeked over the side of the boat in the hopes of seeing another motherlode of shrimp appear from the murky glacial waters of northern Prince William Sound.

A few days prior, we had pulled up a pot filled with over 100 succulent spot shrimp. We greedily had strung together two pots and peppered the same spot, hoping to both double and repeat our success.

Bixler manned the pot puller and carefully coiled the line into a nice stack on the back deck of our boat, Missing Lynx. With a little over a half mile of line already out of the water, space was tight. Still, I managed to squeeze a viewing spot for the incoming pot.

Instead of seeing a shrimp-filled pot appear from the depths, the pot puller whined and the boat lurched into a list.

Bixler shut off the pot puller and quickly tied off the shrimp line before it slipped back into the depths. We were hung on the bottom.

OUR ANNUAL PRINCE WILLIAM Sound vacation took a new turn during the summer of 2016. Our 40-year-old sailboat Carpe Ventos was out of the picture, replaced by our brand-new powerboat. With the new ability to travel five times faster through the vast waters of the sound, we were overwhelmed with the fishing opportunities at our fingertips.

Generally, our PWS trip was when we started stocking up on fish for the winter. The only problem facing us

was the dearth of fish. That summer, the pink salmon fishery tanked in the sound. Halibut and other bottomfish – even other species of salmon – seemed equally as scarce. We usually fed ourselves with Prince William Sound’s bounty, but we were now scratching our heads as to what protein to eat from the surrounding waters.

We did find, however, that the shrimping was fantastic, and soon we

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were sounding like Bubba from Forrest Gump when it came to mealtime.

Our meals went something like this: Shrimp and eggs for breakfast, followed by shrimp sandwiches for lunch, and either peel-and-eat shrimp, fried shrimp or shrimp poke for dinner.

We made an effort to drop our pots before anchoring for the night and pulling them after we left the next morning. We became experts at reading the topography to find the succulent bottom-dwelling creatures. “Deep and steep” is the general mantra for shrimping, but we started dropping pots in holes and other varied terrain.

Halfway through our trip we headed north into the sound’s well-known shrimping grounds. The deep fjords here are home to some of the finest shrimping grounds in the entire sound.

We also decided to head that direction to wait out a small storm that was passing through the area.

Bixler motored in and we studied the above-water terrain while watching the bottom sounder.

I stood on the back deck and baited pots while waiting for Bixler’s command. As soon as he yelled “Go,” I paid out the line and attached the buoy before tossing it overboard as far away from the outboards as I could throw.

We snuggled into a cove, listening to the weather on the radio deteriorate but enjoying the last of the midnight sun before the rain moved in.

Prince William Sound on a calmer day. The weather was about to turn, though, as is often the case in unpredictable coastal Alaska. (BIXLER MCCLURE)

THE FOLLOWING MORNING WE pulled our pots under light rain. One pot required an extra nudge to get off bottom and we ended up pulling up an enormous quantity of shrimp. Bixler and I jumped with joy thinking of all the wonderful dishes we could make with our gallons of shrimp – perhaps tacos or nachos tonight?

I cleaned out the old bait and started rebaiting the pots for another drop. The weather was blowing heavily outside of the fjords, so we were stuck for at least the night.

“We should connect two pots together at this spot,” Bixler said as he started to pull the heads off our mountain of shellfish. “We have that jumper we made.”

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MAY 2017 | aksportingjournal.com

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When you haul up your pots, sometimes some of what lies beneath the surface comes up as well. (BIXLER MCCLURE)

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“Yeah, definitely,” I replied while I finished up baiting and closing up the pots. “And we should try that other spot south of us, too.”

“The one with the hole?” asked Bixler, referring to a feature he had seen on the bottom sounder.

“Yeah, that one.” I then got a handful of ziplock bags for the shrimp tails, which were then stuffed into a cooler filled with glacial ice.

With our plan set, we dropped our pots. Prince William Sound has a fourpot limit, so we dropped the two pots joined together at our motherlode spot, a random pot at a new spot, and the final pot in the hole south of us. Afterwards, we settled into our safe anchorage and ultimately decided on shrimp nachos, with a side of peel-and-eat.

We awoke to a breakfast of – wait for it – shrimp-filled goodness (breakfast tacos, to be exact) and heavy rain. Light williwaws were gusting into our anchorage. We donned our Grundens and set out to pull our shrimp pots, and agreed to try to head into Whittier to beat the brunt of the storm.

Bixler pulled up to the first pot and I grabbed the buoy with the gaff. He came out into the rain and started the pot puller. Immediately, the device bogged down and the boat listed. Bixler tied off the line to the deck cleat and instructed me to gun the engines when he gave the signal. We had been stuck earlier in the week and managed to break the pot free from some deep-water coral, which came up with the pot and was now stored on our bow.

I gunned the engines to no avail. The rain was worsening and we still had more pots to pull. Bixler got out his knife and sacrificed the pot to the depths, where it would eventually deteriorate on its own.

Bixler, sopping wet now, walked inside and grumbled over the lost pot.

Losing pots is not uncommon, especially in the rough terrain we were shrimping in. Thankfully, the second pot came up without a problem, and we sped over to the last two pots connected under a single line.

We did our usual dance routine, with

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Snags on the bottom, lost pots and bad weather – like everything else in wild Alaska, shrimping can be difficult, but the reward is worth the effort. (KRYSTIN AND BIXLER MCCLURE)

me grabbing the shrimp buoy and Bixler maneuvering the boat. Once I had the buoy in hand, I passed it off to Bixler, who manned the pot puller. Again, we heard the familiar sound of the puller bogging down under load, and felt the boat listing.

“No!” he shouted. “We are not losing this string of pots! Not at this spot!”

I jumped into the captain’s seat and started revving up the engines. Bixler was shouting various different directions to take the boat. I turned the boat through all points on the compass. The pots did not budge.

Bixler took command and gunned the engines. Missing Lynx was pulled backwards by the hung pots. Round and round in circles we went until we called it quits.

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DEEP AND STEEP IS THE TICKET The key to shrimping, typically, is to fish deep and steep. Be wary, however, with where you set your pots. If there is a current running, your target depth of 450 feet might be well over your lineshot length by the time the pot hits the bottom. Err on the side of caution so you don’t lose your pots!

Stringing together several pots on a single bottom-line works great for fishing a good area.

However, don’t underestimate using multiple bottom-lines to spread your pots over an area to test the waters, especially when scouting.

Keep good records of locations, hours soaked, and shrimp hauls. You can always reset all of your pots in the same area on the next drop.

Check Alaska Department of Fish and Game regulations, as the pot requirements can change year to year. For more, see adfg.alaska.gov. BM

MAY 2017 | aksportingjournal.com

Bixler McClure with some of the sound’s delicious bounty.

(BIXLER MCCLURE)

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Bixler reluctantly cut the line and once again sacrificed two pots to the depths.

Disappointment.

WE EDGED OUT OF the fjord to try a hand at getting to Whittier, but after sitting in the trough of waves so tall we had to look up to see the tops, we turned around and hid for another night. They don’t call it a gale warning for nothing.

The following morning, we pulled into Whittier. I threw our remaining pot in the bed of the truck and started investigating our stash in the cooler. We still had shrimp – lots and lots of shrimp. Unfortunately, our luck and our greed had gotten in the way of getting more.

That night at home, we packed and froze the shellfish and settled into moose burgers for dinner. We spent the evening cleaning the boat and servicing the engines.

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Carri Ann Mueller happily shows off the reward for what can be a grueling hunt: chasing mountain goats across the steep terrain on Kodiak Island. It turned out to be anything but an easy trip for author Paul Atkins and friends. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

GOTTA BE TOUGH TO TAKE ON KODIAK SUCCESS CAN COME IN MANY FORMS, EVEN WHILE STRUGGLING MENTALLY AND PHYSICALLY ON A MOUNTAIN GOAT HUNT

BY PAUL D. ATKINS

T

he old saying goes, “If you want to catch a fish, you need to think like a fish.”

The same could be said when hunting big game animals, and if you truly want to hunt a specific animal, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Mountain goats are the same, or so I thought.

I’ve climbed a lot of mountains in my time while hunting sheep, bears and muskox – finding success many times – but that was when I was young and the

pain was something that I didn’t mind or care about. Now it’s quite different; I’m older, with bad knees and a bad back and trying to accomplish goals that many call a “young man’s game.”

“If you’re going to hunt goats, you better do it now while you’re young,” they all said. I ignored them and thought I’d have plenty of time to get it done.

But time passed. Work and family persisted, and all those moose, bear and caribou, plus trips to Africa, kept me pretty busy over the years. But like all things we enjoy and want to do and

fulfill, I still thought I had time.

I’ve been on two goat hunts in Alaska. Both were cancelled due to weather or other conditions that were out of my control. Each time I was prepared but never given the chance to test my ability and challenge the mountains before me. I wanted to and the time was right, but it wasn’t meant to be. So goes hunting.

Trying to complete my hunting “Super 10” has taken me years. There have been hard-fought battles with bad weather, close calls and rough plane rides all across this continent.

But with a generous supply of luck, being in the right place at the right time and hunting with the right people I have been blessed, and it has all

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brought me to this moment. The Super Nine is nice, but a mountain goat would be the pinnacle to my success, it has also become my Achilles’ heel over the years.

A PIECE OF THE ROCK Kodiak Island is legendary to the point that you know what I mean if you’ve ever hunted there. The “Rock,” as it is affectionately called, is an unspoiled wilderness with sharp, jagged peaks that reach the heavens, and the ocean surrounding them is the deepest and darkest blue you can ever imagine.

Kodiak is the home of giant bears and herds of blacktail deer spread out across its vast wilderness, and many of my adventures have taken me there.

But goats are numerous too, and the reason for my return.

Goat hunting is a mental and physical game, with the latter being the easier of the two. I knew that if I was going to have a chance at getting this done I would have to prepare my body for the challenge long before I boarded a Kodiak-bound Alaska Airlines jet.

Training for a specific hunt is a rarity for some and a must for others, depending on what your goal is. It’s a journey that should start long before the hunt arrives.

I started getting ready six months before. The 5 a.m. workouts at the school gym were tiresome, but with time and eating right they became easier and something that I actually and still look forward to. Cardio was my focus, with a little bit of strength training and all those crunches! Taking supplements helped, plus putting the right food into my body made all the difference. It wasn’t long before I could see the results.

It got real the day we arrived in Kodiak, especially when we got to camp.

My good friends and hunting companions Andy and Carri Ann Mueller were there with me and I couldn’t have asked for better company. We had planned the hunt a year before and were prepared in every way with the necessities that would make it successful and comfortable.

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One might think a mountain clear of snow and ice would be easy to climb, but water seeping through the frozen earth makes it and the brown grass that covers it super slick, requiring extra traction. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

A STIFF CHALLENGE The mental game came into play as soon as we climbed the shoreline and ascended the bank. Brutal wind combined with cold temperatures blasted us and increased the challenge. But we were there, and after a few moments behind the spotting scope we could see goats. This was going to be a grand adventure, I thought, especially if we could get to them.

From the tents the mountain looked doable, but they all do on the first day. It’s deceiving; where it looks flat from camp it’s really straight up or straight down. With one false step, it can be all over.

Getting to the top, or at least

MAY 2017 | aksportingjournal.com

where the goats are, is tricky, and if you’re not in top shape, the task will be futile.

With two experienced mountain hunters and best friends in camp I knew I was in good hands. My ability to climb and get into position for a shot and not let them down or hold them back, however, was my worry, which I realize now was the wrong approach. This wasn’t about letting someone down; it was about me and the ability to conquer a dream or, in this case, the mountain before me. Yet experience and trust are two of the biggest elements when it comes to hunting in the mountains, something I knew no matter what I had their support.

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After a fall – a nearly disastrous one – getting back to the relative safe haven at camp was a godsend for the author. Two tents are common on most of his hunts, one for storing gear, while the other is used for sleeping and eating. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

FINDING GOATS The first legal day of hunting we spotted goats on a shelf of rocks that looked obtainable. When glassing further we found a spot where we could climb, or at least it looked like it. So down the beach we went to the rockslide we would use as our guide. We started up and immediately I could tell all those early-morning workouts were paying off and I was up to the physical challenge. We got to the top but knew that goats are smart and agile. By the time we reached the point where it started getting uncomfortable they had moved out of reach.

But no regrets; I had made it and I was happy with my success.

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hunt, you should “never look up and never look down,” as the saying goes.

It’s one step at a time and you live by it. Your eyes become exhausted from always looking ahead and looking for indentions or a lone rock; or a soft spot in the grass; or the next patch of dirt to place your foot – anything that will give you a grip and anything that will give you an edge or an advantage, anything to get you up where you need to be.

It’s never about getting down; it never should be, and even though it may sound physical, it’s not, it’s a mental game. On the descent I thought about it a lot and found that this is truly the essence of mountain hunting.

MAY 2017 | aksportingjournal.com

SWITCHING IT UP The second day we tried a different approach and attacked the mountain head on. Our goal was to make it from point A to point B to point C, working our way up the face through grass and boulders, traversing and switchbacking until we got within range. It came in stages. The first part of the climb was up a steep embankment where the slick brown grass was treacherous, especially with the frozen icy ground underneath.

At the top it happened. I took too big of a step and slipped and fell while sliding down. Thankfully my pack caught and left me hanging there in midspace, but I couldn’t see below and it freaked me out considerably. I felt thankful for the pack

LODGING

and Carri Ann, who climbed down to retrieve me. I was safe but shaken.

Although we continued up, my mind and body were stressed from the near disaster and I really didn’t want to continue. Physically I did, and made it up another 1,000 feet to a huge gray rock overlooking the ocean below me. Camp looked like a tiny speck in the distance, and it was at this point I became comfortable with where I was situated and didn’t want to move.

I knew goats were just above us and that another 150 yards would have me close to them. As I watched my two friends continue up I sat. I was mentally drained and couldn’t go any further.

Had I failed? I don’t know, but maybe.

I had made it this far after the near fall and that was OK with me.

After what seemed like hours we were together again and heading down.

Each step was tricky, and when we reached sea level my adrenaline returned to a normal level. I was happy for it to be over.

Climbing is tough work, especially when it’s straight up through a rockslide.

Atkins and his hunting partner and good friend Andy Mueller take a break during their pursuit of Kodiak mountain goats. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

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DETERMINED TO SUCCEED The next day I decided to stay in camp and glass, while Andy and Carri Ann went up without me and pulled off an incredible feat – taking a nice billy close to the top, in a place where few would ever venture. Carri Ann made an incredible shot with the 7mm; the goat slid down to where she was situated.

Watching them through the scope as they carefully brought down the heavy packs was an amazing sight. It was at this point that I knew I wasn’t going to let the near fall or the mountain beat me. I had trained too hard, shot too many arrows and prepared too long to just stay in the tent.

A day later I strapped on the crampons and headed up with my friends.

Each step was nerve-wracking, but like all great hunting partners Carri Ann kept reassuring me.

“It’s one step at a time, Paul; take one step at a time.”

With goats in the distance I kept the pace and eventually it became easy

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again. My body responded and mentally my mind came into focus.

Andy and I traversed across a rockslide and thick alders, peering over the edge where the goats should have been within range, but they were gone, vanished into thin air. Though we were disappointed, for me it was a success. I conquered the fear and conquered the mountain again, clearing my mind and giving me an appreciation for what this really was. It wasn’t about killing a goat; it was about being able to get where I needed to be in order to have a chance at a goat. I did that.

On the day the hunters were supposed to fly out but couldn’t, this goat made the mistake of coming too far down the mountain. Mueller made the quick decision to ascend and it paid off. Goat hunting is about opportunity, and when one arises, you have to go for it.

(PAUL D. ATKINS)

BAD NEWS AND GOOD NEWS We were scheduled to fly out the next day, but the wind and cold decided differently and made a pickup in the bay impossible for the floatplane. Like most hunts on Kodiak, we were stuck in camp with nothing else to do but glass the mountain for an opportunity.

The group of goats we had been seeing were nowhere to be found, making the

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morning long but still flickering with hope.

It wasn’t until 4 p.m. that a lone goat appeared down low and in a place that was achievable. Andy had been on this same hunt the previous year, and even though he didn’t get his goat he wanted one as bad as myself or anybody else. He was determined and due, so up he went with Carri Ann. I stayed behind and got camp in order, checking the bear fence and filtering water from a nearby waterfall.

No time had passed when shots rang out on the mountainside. Through the scope I could see the goat down in a place that was further up than where it had been before. It looked tough and dangerous, but incredibly Carri Ann climbed the snowy slide, retrieved it and brought it down to where she and Andy had been situated for the shot. It was amazing, and in no time they were back in camp with Andy’s goat. To say the least, it was a festive evening back at the tent.

On our last day the weather cleared, and like all hunts, we found ourselves

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A successful week of hunting resulted in the taking of two incredible goats by Carri Ann and Andy Mueller. The trio shared a great camp, learned a lot from their failures and successes and had an adventure of a lifetime. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

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breaking camp, packing gear and listening for the floatplane to make its appearance in the clear Alaskan sky.

We sat on the beach waiting and the mountain itself loomed behind me, giving me a new appreciation of life and the dedication all hunters have.

We were happy, successful and, believe it or not, wanted more.

Rifle hunting, bowhunting or any kind of hunting can be tough, and this was the toughest I’d ever been on. If anything, I’ve become addicted, though not just with getting a goat with a bow but the process that it takes to bag a billy or other animal. I’ll be back next year, smarter and even more prepared than I am now. It’s all a journey. ASJ Editor’s note: Paul Atkins is an outdoor writer and author from Kotzebue, Alaska.

He has written hundreds of articles on big game hunting and fishing throughout North America and Africa, plus surviving in the Arctic. Paul is a monthly contributor to Alaska Sporting Journal.

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Hunting goats is a physical and mental challenge. For some, the ability to get up after a near disaster and position themselves where need be is an accomplishment in itself.

And even though Atkins didn’t score on a goat this trip, he was satisfied and happy with that success, and even more so for his fellow hunters and friends. This is the true essence of hunting in the mountains and the hunting itself. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

MAY 2017 | aksportingjournal.com

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You might be old school and just carry binoculars, but the better the optics, the more likely you are to successfully spot that trophy mountain goat or deer. The author finally decided to go all out with a purchase. (JEFF LUND)

EYES ON THE PRIZE

WHEN IS IT FINALLY TIME FOR BETTER OPTICS? HERE’S HOW ONE HUNTER FIGURED IT OUT

BY JEFF LUND

I

had hiked 3,000 vertical feet up a mountain I knew really well. Hunting solo, I sat on the ridge and looked down at a dozen deer bedded on the slope. Which play do I make?

I had no idea.

My bargain binoculars gave me no insight into what I was looking at. Not that everything is about the horns, of course, but if you have 12 obvious choices, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with choosing the one with the most impressive rack.

But I couldn’t tell. They were all big bodied, so the meat would be great, and all of them would require a ridiculous hike down, then back up and over the ridge to break camp and hike out with everything.

One deer stood to feed. My binos had me at no-clue status.

I could say I ended up making a good call, because I was really happy with my three-point with two eye guards, but I don’t know what the others were. What if I had passed on an epic four-by-four, or one of the rare five-by-four blacktails that grace the slopes of the mountains?

Earlier that season I saw bucks sparring but couldn’t decipher what either one of them had in terms of points.

When they took their fight to the trees, the chance to find out was lost.

That buck sealed the deal. It was time for an upgrade.

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You spotted this bear on a hillside, but is it a big enough boar to take a shot at based on this point of view? (JEFF LUND)

YOU GET WHAT YOU PAY FOR Remember that time you bought the cheaper hiking boots that relieved you of most of the skin on your heel? Or that bargain fly rod that broke on a regular back cast?

Hopefully not, but I’ve seen both.

The first was an unlucky buddy who was visiting Alaska for the first time.

After one junior varsity hike, he was in pain and still had a week to go.

The other was hilarious because it wasn’t painful. My buddy Nate had a brand-new fly rod break during a back cast. OK, so he is 6-foot-6 and weighs 250 pounds, but still, you get what you pay for.

In this light, we all consider premium, or closest to premium without the premium price, if for no other reason

MAY 2017 | aksportingjournal.com

than we want to see what happens when technology is applied and corners aren’t cut. So where do you look?

THE NAME GAME When you’re new to something and begin paying attention, you are first attracted to reputation. There are always brands that have established themselves as “The Brand” within a specific area. Of course there are other brands, but in most cases one or two stand out because of sheer advertising reach.

Nike dominates basketball and football. Simms is the Nike of waders. Sage and Orvis are recognizable fly rods, but once you investigate you discover Winston and Beulah. There’s always an alternative if you sleuth hard enough.

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As far as optics, maybe Nikon or Bushnell jump out at the most recognizable to a newbie. Once you’ve trained your eye a bit, Ziess, Swarovski and Leupold become some of the top brands.

So how do you choose?

There are less recognized brands with quality components run by great businesses without name inflation.

That’s not to say that elite brands with established reputations have inflated prices, but you do sometimes wonder.

Anyway, I kept noticing a brand that was always competing with the big boys. It scored highly in performance, and the price point was always a positive rather than a detriment.

Vortex looked the part.

PULLING THE TRIGGER While I was still considering my options, I tagged along as a meat Sherpa on a mountain goat hunt and got to see under-the-radar premium in action in the form of a Vortex Razor spotting scope and binoculars.

There’s a lot going on there, and not just the view. The more detail you can see from a distance, the better your chances of spying a big buck. (JEFF LUND)

I could not believe the quality of the image, especially over such a long distance. We stared at three goats without the frustration of blur. It was impressive.

To an untrained eye such as mine, it is

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Jeff Lund prefers the brand Vortex, but the bottom line is this: There are a lot of options on the market, so do your due diligence. (JEFF LUND)

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into the terrain in which they live?

The same principle applies when hunting black bears.

What are you looking at? You know it’s a bear but how big is it? Do you have a clear enough image and accurate yardage to determine size?

If this is, again, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, sure you’ll be happy with a bear. But in areas of dense populations, why not get one that will cover a wall, not a coffee table?

Anyway, we looked and looked and really looked at those goats, finding one in particular that looked worthy of making a move. We did and my buddy scored a top 100 all-time billy.

The deer from the solo hunt put me in the market, but that goat put me over the top. There is a good chance you have the same story with your pair of Leupold, or Swarovski.

But if you’re in the market, you can’t go wrong with Vortex. That’s just my opinion, so make your own decision, but on your next hunt, your optics could make the difference between a missed opportunity and an epic score. ASJ Editor’s note: Ketchikan-based Jeff Lund is the author of Going Home, a memoir about fishing and hunting in Alaska. For more, check out jefflundbooks.com.

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LARRY AND HIS BRUINS

Alaska’s iconic brown bears thrive at the McNeil River State Game Sanctuary. In Wild Trust author Jeff Fair calls it “likely the best brown bear viewing in the world.”

(LARRY AUMILLER)

NEW BOOK CHRONICLES LIFE WITH THE BROWN BEARS AT MCNEIL RIVER SANCTUARY Editor’s note: Larry Aumiller might just have one of the best jobs in all of Alaska, especially when you consider his office setting and work buddies: the majestic brown bears that call Alaska’s McNeil River State Game Sanctuary home. The protected land and its ursine residents are so popular, potential visitors must participate in a lottery draw to earn a precious permit to view the bears (Alaska Sporting Journal, February 2014). Aumiller has been the head poobah at McNeil since January 1976, and as you can imagine the veteran bear savant has plenty of stories among 30 years’ worth of his adventures, including on his very first day on the job, when a young and enthusiastic brown bear hijacked his raft and gear before Aumiller yelled loud enough to shoo away the animal. Author Jeff Fair has compiled many of those memories in a new book. The following is an excerpt from In Wild Trust, published by the University of Alaska Press and reprinted with permission from the author.

BY JEFF FAIR

N

ever, ever step between a mother bear and her cubs. This is the cardinal rule in grizzly or brown bear country. Most of the Northern Hemisphere has heard this maxim by now, and all nine of us knew it well, long before we came here.

It is the evening of August 7, 2005, and we are hiking down along the McNeil River – home of the world’s largest concentration of brown bears – in Southwestern Alaska, 100 miles from the nearest digression of the road system. We have left the observation area at McNeil Falls and hope to reach our

tents and the cook cabin at the mouth of the river before the incoming tide renders the broad estuary flats uncrossable. As we descend a low bluff toward the flats, however, we encounter a delay. To our left we notice two young brown bear cubs at play. To our right, 50 yards from the cubs, stands their mother, snout deep in a fat chum salmon but with eyes averted in our direction. Our route of travel (proposed) goes right down the middle.

Our guide on this day is Larry Aumiller, manager of the McNeil River State Game Sanctuary for the Alaska Department of Fish and Game (ADF&G). Fit, trim, of average height, he’s in

his standard uniform: flannel shirt, hip boots, sweat-stained ball cap, beard, and backpack.

Careful and conservative as he is in such situations, he has suggested we pause here. One of his guiding tenets across three decades in this job is to not intrude enough to change a bear’s behavior, and he’d rather not disturb this young family. Aumiller carries a 12-gauge shotgun loaded with slugs, a state requirement, but in 30 years here, he’s never had to shoot a charging bear and he prefers not to spoil that record.

The weapon remains lashed to the side of his pack.

So we wait. We make a modicum of

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noise to subtly reiterate our presence.

We watch. One of the cubs rolls over onto its back, unconcerned. Opposite him, the female peers at us, then reinvests her attention in the salmon she is dissecting. She turns her back to us.

Minutes pass. Aumiller scrutinizes the situation. He’s watched this bear, the Spit Bear, tend her yearling cubs all summer and knows that she’s a little less protectively aggressive and more likely to allow them to wander farther away. Finally, he suggests that we move slowly as a tight group down to the beach, then turn hard right and proceed along the base of the bluff, which will take us fairly closely past her but never put us between her and her cubs. An eagle alights on the beach out beyond the mother bear, which moves off to investigate, giving us a little more room.

We commit ourselves and make all of 10 yards’ progress before the female moves all the way back, past her fish, to the base of the bluff. We halt. She sits down, back to us again.

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Meanwhile, the cubs have moved farther off in the opposite direction.

Aumiller takes it all in. “Anyone bring camping gear?” he says. The answer is no, and he knows it. His touch of humor helps calm the tension.

“Any volunteers to test that old maxim about a mother bear and her cubs?” he inquires. None step forward. “Well, let’s see; who can we afford to lose?

We have two accountants in the group, don’t we?” Nervous laughter.

Someone brings up the old joke about the slowest runner. Mom rolls us an attentive glance. More long minutes transpire; the tide seeps onto the flats, slowly but perceptibly rising. Aumiller eyes the bear closely, the tide, each one of us.

“OK,” he says, “how about we try breaking the rule this one time?”

He isn’t kidding. He has a strong measure of this bear’s unusual tolerance and has assimilated the cues from her behavior this evening. And, he points out, we’ll still have room to react

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Larry Aumiller came to Alaska looking for a career in the outdoors, and he found work with the Alaska Department of Fish and Game. But McNeil River became his promised land in the Last Frontier. (LARRY AUMILLER)

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Visitors to this sanctuary are treated to shockingly close encounters with some of Alaska’s most beloved and feared big game creatures. (LARRY AUMILLER)

to her behavior – to retreat if prudent.

It’s Aumiller’s judgment that must prevail, and he offers the group little time for worry: Stay close together, look slow but walk as fast as you can (looking slow) – and off we go, bisecting the bear family and the cardinal rule with ten human spirits and the Aumiller acumen for this specific and unusual case.

Mom reels about immediately to watch us. We proceed (not looking that slow, I’m thinking) into the estuarine shallows toward camp and salvation.

She moves, deliberately but unhurried, perpendicular to our course, toward her delinquent cubs. We keep going; she crosses our trail behind us, pauses to sniff and look our way, then ambles on toward her offspring, never once offering an interpretable threat.

Aumiller in the lead, we wade into the deepening estuary. Half a mile later, ascending the shallows back onto hard ground on the other side near camp, he stops and faces us with a grin, offering high fives to each as we pass – a parody of himself and all that he stands for – as though we’d just escaped a certain death. He knows, and we do too from his drollery, that this is not a case of beating the odds. This is a case of knowing the bears. (And of getting back to camp with the cold, incoming tide barely below the tops of our boots.)

IN 1967, THE NEW Alaska State Legislature, driven by major movers, including Clem Tillion, a state senator from a 120

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small town across the bay from Homer, and Jay Hammond, created the McNeil River State Game Sanctuary, closing to hunting, mining claims, and other development 131 square miles (later expanded to 200 square miles), including the McNeil River and Mikfik Creek, that little creek to the south, which also drains into McNeil Cove, in order to forever preserve this unique congregation of bears. The legislative act presented the sanctuary’s priorities: First and foremost, to protect and maintain this concentration of brown bears; and secondly, to provide for human use, including viewing, research, photography, and so on, in such a manner as not to obstruct the first priority. It should be noted that state sanctuary status is the highest level of protection available through Alaska state wildlife management; the closure was deemed appropriate and necessary in order to protect this rare gathering of brown bears – the largest in the world. The following year the McNeil Sanctuary was declared a National Natural Landmark by the U.S. Department of Interior. There seemed to be little disagreement then about the area’s importance or its precious nature.

Sometime during those same months, ADF&G hired Jim Faro, a sentient biologist and hunting-minded conservationist to work out of King Salmon, some 85 air miles southwest of McNeil Falls, covering a huge region of Southwestern Alaska.

Participating in a brown bear research

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project at McNeil in the late 1960s and early 1970s, which was not a job priority for him but rather a personal interest, Faro noticed how human visitors were crowding the bears at the falls, and in fact driving them away. Somewhere there is a photo of a photographer’s blind erected on a large rock in the center of the cascade, ruining shots from both banks of the river and asking for trouble. Trouble in the form of risking the bears’ reputations and his own physiology by encouraging such close proximity to the bears and their food. The private airplanes parked on the beach and the scattered, unmanaged campsites with food to lure in the bears were asking the same. One summer day, an off-season bear guide, there from Kodiak to take photographs, walked up to within 15 feet of a sleeping bear and her cub, startled them awake, and elicited a rush from the mother bear.

He then fatally shot her in the back after she quit the bluff and turned to run away. Faro found it necessary to kill the cub rather than let it starve or be injured by other bears. This he detested. The tide of unregulated tourism was rising, and in his mind this was the last straw.

McNeil had been discovered, and its magnetism was tripping up the delicate dance of bears and salmon and fouling the very objectives of sanctuary formation. Faro recognized the value of this wild nexus to the bears and to all walks of Alaskans and wildlife watchers, and pondered the pressure of human stam-

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pede it could handle.

MEANWHILE, ON THE LAST day of summer, 1970, a dull black Volkswagen Bug with a red petrol can on its hip rolled into the city of Anchorage. From the Pentagon on July 11, Aumiller had made it to Fifth Avenue in Anchorage on September 20, all on freedom and a whim. He had selected Anchorage over Fairbanks simply for its reach to the open sea. It just felt good.

Ah, but now what to do? His art degree seemed like an anchor to indoor work, and he hadn’t come all this way to remain indoors. Nonetheless, he took a job in a pet store, enabled by his experience working at animal hospitals all through high school. It was animals, but it was indoors. No good; move on.

He reasoned that perhaps he might use his art degree and abilities to teach art which would provide him with summers off to explore wilder Alaska landscapes.

He went back to school, got a teacher’s certification, and tried that. At the end of one year, he was done with

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Jim Faro (left, with his supervisor, John Vania in 1978), who became an Alaska Department of Fish and Game biologist and worked near McNeil, was Aumiller’s mentor.

“He knew that Aumiller had no wildlife or science degree,” Fair writes about their relationship, “but he recognized savvy, creativity, good judgment, and a close-to-theground center of gravity.” (LARRY AUMILLER)

teaching. That, he discovered, was still too much of an indoor occupation.

What, he wondered, would he like most to do with just this one summer before him? He made a list, which came to only two goals: work outdoors in the hinterlands, and work with wildlife. The options were suddenly obvious.

He drove to the regional ADF&G office, walked in, and told the receptionist

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he was looking for summer work; were there any jobs open in the back-of-beyond? Why, yes, as a matter of fact, there were. Two doors down on the left; talk to Darwin Biwer. Aumiller walked out five minutes later with an assignment to King Salmon in Southwestern Alaska to assist on a fisheries research project. (This was May of 1972, when one could still pull such a stunt in the

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Last Frontier.)

A few days later he was onboard the M/V Kittiwake in Bristol Bay, counting salmon in the gillnets of modern science for the Division of Commercial Fisheries. He spent the better part of two years on the bay and on the Kvichak River counting red salmon on the largest red salmon (also known as sockeye) run in the world. Then he switched to the Division of Sport Fishing and catching and tagging and cataloging Arctic char and rainbow trout on tributaries all around Bristol Bay. Big rainbows in that country, he discovered.

Not a bad-paying job for a guy who likes to fish. Throughout those four years he was always working out of King Salmon, where he crossed trails with Jim Faro, who at the time was tagging bears in the area.

One night early in his career there, Aumiller paid a visit to one of the little fishing town’s social clubs (a backcountry Alaska bar) for a bit of community fellowship before going to sea.

Sometime around midnight one of the regulars announced that it was “time to see the bear” and the whole place emptied (drinks in hand) out the back door, Aumiller floating with the tide.

There before him, in the bed of a pickup in the parking lot, lit by the midnight sun, stood his first-ever brown bear – peeling garbage out of plastic bags and chewing up stale bread, rancid steak bones, and tinfoil with impunity. The crowd encircled the truck and watched for several minutes, enthralled as usual by the presence of the bear, while the bear was drunk on the provenance of free calories.

When refills were called for and the troop trooped back into the social center, Aumiller found himself to be the last one near the truck, watching the bear and forgetting to be afraid – or even thirsty. His trail had just converged with Ursus arctos.

FARO HAD WATCHED HUMAN disturbance at McNeil grow, until in 1972 he noted,

“The bears gave the falls to the people.”

In order to uphold the objectives of the sanctuary, he proposed, and in 1973 installed, a permit program to limit the numbers and activities of visitors there.

Faro was a mainstream, company-man kind of biologist, but he was a thoughtful wildlife biologist and a true conservationist with vision. His region offered the largest harvest of brown bears in the state, which steeped him in the bear-killing tradition but also provided the absolute counterpoint to this new set of values. McNeil was a nontraditional, nonconsumptive-use sort of place that offered a lot to those who just wanted to see and appreciate the largest terrestrial predators on Earth, and Faro went out of his way and beyond his agency priority list to conserve this value.

That year and the next, he spent time at McNeil to monitor and oversee visitation, working out of the researchers’ cabin that had been cobbled up near the sea on the south shore of the estu-

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ary, 2 miles from the falls. (It would become the tool shed in a later iteration.)

In 1975 he hired Walt Cunningham to be stationed there throughout the visiting season to provide education, safety, and enforcement of the basic rules.

The summer went well. Cunningham was a phenomenal field biologist, but he had a new project to start in 1976. Aumiller had been voluntarily helping Faro with some bear tagging around King Salmon and in Katmai National Park, and so Faro had quietly become Aumiller’s mentor and had taken his measure. He knew that Aumiller had no wildlife or science degree, but he recognized savvy, creativity, good judgment, and a close-to-the-ground center of gravity.

On a late summer day in 1975, they were in Faro’s state truck talking about Walt leaving McNeil, when Faro looked Aumiller in the eye and said, “Are you interested in McNeil?” Meaning the job.

“I don’t know much about the place,” Aumiller answered, hesitant at first.

“Aumiller would have to depend on his own artful and sensitive savvy, his engaging manner, and a conservation ethic that would reach from the upper McNeil to thousands of human hearts from Alaska and around the world,” Fair writes. “He never looked back.” (LARRY AUMILLER)

“What kind of job is it? What exactly do you do there?” And finally, within a minute or two, “When do I start?”

Another serendipitous, seat-of-thepants decision destined for adventure.

And from another perspective that even he had yet to perceive, here was a better way than war for Aumiller to serve

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his country.

The true moment of convergence for Aumiller and McNeil and its bears occurred on June 28, 1976, after he had touched down on the spit for that first time, unloaded the plane, and listened as the airplane’s engine faded back into the sky and the quietude of the wilderness (“that most blessed of sounds,” he called it) filled in around his soul. Just before the bears commandeered his raft, and not so much later, the course of his life.

A few days after his arrival, Aumiller rendezvoused with his first permit-holding visitors. He was boating back downriver from the falls with Faro as the permittees disembarked their seaplane onto the beach at camp. Aumiller swallowed hard.

“They’re all yours,” Faro told him.

“Where’s the manual?” replied Aumiller. Faro smiled. There wasn’t one.

Aumiller would have to depend on his own artful and sensitive savvy, his engaging manner, and a conservation ethic that would reach from the upper McNeil to thousands of human hearts from Alaska and around the world. He never looked back. With the test of a lifetime before him and the passion of one as well, Aumiller had found his wilderness. ASJ Editor’s note: To purchase In Wild Trust, go to amazon.com/Wild-Trust-Aumillers-Thirty-McNeil/dp/1602233233.

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You never know what residents you’ll encounter on Admiralty Island, and considering the fact that brown bears outnumber the people who call this Southeast Alaska island home, author Bjorn Dihle wasn’t surprised by this sight during a south-to-north hike of the island with his brother. (BJORN DIHLE)

SHARED WITH BEARS

SPORTSMEN’S TREK UP ADMIRALTY LEADS TO ENCOUNTERS OF THE BRUIN KIND

BY BJORN DIHLE

O

n a particularly rainy day on Admiralty Island, my older brother Luke and I watched three land otters loping across Swan Cove’s expansive tidal flat.

“I’m going to run one down,” Luke said, motioning as if to take off his heavy backpack with his swollen and wrinkled hands.

We’d planned to walk the length of

the island, but with stormy weather preventing us from landing in a floatplane at the exposed southern tip, we were forced to start in White Water Bay. For the last nine days I had whined how, due to the 10 miles we lost, we’d never be heroes.

“My golden retriever puppy will never respect me!” I screamed at the universe. The sound of hard rain echoed in reply.

Luke dealt with his disappointment

by becoming strangely obsessed with wanting to rodeo an otter. I don’t have his flare for chasing mustelids. In the pantheon of superheroes, he’s like a mixture of Captain America and the Flash. Me, I’m more like the Plausible Hulk – a large man who eats a lot of nachos, rarely works out and becomes sadder and fatter when antagonized.

The otters seemed to be running for their lives, even without Luke chasing them. And they had good reason for

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hustling; there were bears out all over the place.

Near the treeline, a large male was chasing a female bruin and her two cubs. A younger boar trailed behind tentatively until the bigger bear turned and postured towards him. The spooky-looking larger male quickly won that argument and his rival trudged dejectedly in our direction. Soon he was 100 yards away and inadvertently paralleling us. A smaller bear was walking in our direction as well. Another bear grazed on sedge grass farther away.

Swan Cove is included in a small part of Admiralty Island that’s closed to bear hunting. Perhaps that explained why these bears seemed to disregard our intrusion. We’d encountered numerous bears elsewhere during our walk in areas open to hunting. Perhaps it could be attributed to the heavy rain and often howling winds, but the majority let us get within rifle range, despite our yelling to try to scare them off.

Brown bears never cease to sur-

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prise me. Perhaps the largest bear I’ve ever seen was one, one spring many years ago, in an inlet where four bears had already been killed by hunters that year. Foolishly, I approached the massive animal as it fed on sedge grasses in an estuary until I was 70 yards away and in plain sight. It looked at me and then continued placidly grazing.

I watched for a few moments before feeling guilty and walking back to the Lund I was borrowing.

A year before Luke and I made our walk, bad seas had forced me and a group I was guiding to beach our kayaks in Swan Cove to wait for better weather. I’d wandered off to find water for hot drinks. A large male, feeding on sedge 400 yards away saw me. He immediately began a 5 mph trudge toward me.

He was inquisitive, probably thinking I was a smaller bear and hoping to either mate or whoop up on me. It was probably too much to ask for a gentle cuddling, so I took precautions to make sure there’d be no funny business by

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slowly backtracking to the group.

Luke and I slogged through the muck, worried more about getting across the flooded creek than a bear becoming aggressive. Normally the first creek in Swan Cove is easy to cross in rubber boots, but with the inordinately heavy rains, today it was better classified as a river.

Luke and I stripped down and carefully picked our way across. We backtracked numerous times when the water got well above our waists and threatened to knock us off our feet.

There’s something exhilarating, even liberating, about swimming and playing in the mud while being surrounded by bears. This could be a fine ecotour/wilderness spa/no pants party if someone could figure out how to market it properly.

Out of the water, we watched the younger male continue to the head of the cove. We approached Swan Creek proper, which was significantly deeper, wider and swifter than the creek we’d

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just crossed. The smaller bear seemed to be suffering similar misgivings about crossing as it ambled in our direction and occasionally glanced at the deep current.

When the bear got a little too close, I hollered. It took one look at us and leapt into the creek and swam for all it was worth.

“That’s really deep,” Luke said as we watched the bear being carried downstream.

“It’s a small bear,” I said, trying to be optimistic.

Twenty minutes later, we sat on the other side shivering and putting our soaked pants and boots back on. The rain lessened, clouds swirled away from mountains and we hobbled on, leaving Swan Cove to the bears. ASJ

While bears seem have an easier time traversing this landscape than the brothers Dihle did, high, fast water can prove daunting for them too. (BJORN DIHLE)

Editor’s note: Bjorn Dihle is a Juneau writer. His first book, Haunted Inside Passage: Ghosts, Legends and Mysteries of Southeast Alaska, is now available most places books are sold. Follow him at facebook.com/BjornDihleauthor.

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KEEP IT ALL IN

PERSPECTIVE

BY JEFF LUND

A

couple hacks, followed by a liquidy discharge. Now both dogs have puked and the midnight misery continues.

There are expected elements of disaster and/or chaos when camping in Southeast Alaska. Many of them are eliminated when renting a U.S. Forest Service cabin instead of pitching a tent. But that doesn’t mean you’re in the clear.

It was raining, so the three of us humans were cozy in the cabin preparing dinner on a pair of dueling Jetboils.

The two dogs sought the lowest point to avoid the heat radiating from the small wood stove. Steelhead had been caught. We were dry. Leaky waders were drying. Life was good.

Between the exhaustion from the fishing and the heat, we were doomed to sleep shortly after the sun went down.

Around midnight, the first dog lost it. Once her mess was cleaned with half a container of wet wipes, we all settled back into dreaming about bigger and fussier steelhead.

Then that unmistakable sound, this time from the other dog.

But disaster is totally relative.

No one wants to hear me seriously whine about dogs throwing up in the middle of the night on an overnighter at a cabin.

It’s not serious. It’s not a big deal.

A broken leg is a big deal. Cancer is a big deal.

It’s a big deal to be able to be out there because there are people who would love to but can’t. There will be a day I can’t – a day I won’t be able to hike 4 miles to stand in a river with leaking waders, listen to two dogs throw up, then wake up the next morning and lose

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the biggest steelhead of the trip 10 feet from my boots.

No one ever knows when that time will be. The roller coaster crests, then falls.

A couple I know is going through it.

The weight of life and the heaviness of existence are with them now. At times on weekend steelhead trips it all feels light and fluffy and fun. But for them, recreation is a dream, a memory of a past life they’d like to rejoin or continue later when life permits. We thought about them as we poured chili over hot dogs.

Outdoor anecdotes are great, especially in times of severity. Silly stories of how things don’t go well can be a tonic.

They are a reminder of how things can

Chaos may ensue during a fishing trip for steelhead, but it’s all relative to those on the adventure. For some, it would be welcomed compared to life’s other struggles. (JEFF LUND)

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be, and “when what we consider serious really isn’t; when what’s miserable really isn’t.”

For those of us living the rise of the roller coaster, it should be our responsibility to live it well while we can, if not for our personal enjoyment then for those who would make the most of the time we waste given their new perspective.

Some who would give a lot to have their leader break and a steelhead swim off as they reached for it. Some who would love to be able to hike 4 miles to a cabin and have sore hamstrings or hip flexors.

And some – two in particular – who can’t wait for the day a dog getting sick is the worst thing that happens during a steelhead trip. ASJ

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