Karma bites: An angler’s on-the-water observations

KARMA ON THE WATER

AN ANGLER OBSERVES MOMENTS OF POETIC JUSTICE

STORY BY TONY ENSALACO • ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOSEPH FRUEAUF

Iam definitely not superstitious (knock on wood). I refuse to legitimize any irrational, mumbo-jumbo fallacies that land my size 10 sneakers on. I spoke to my mother this morning and she says her back feels fine. can “supposedly” have a negative impact on my life if I don’t follow its rules.

In fact, I purposely go out of my way to walk under ladders, insist on letting black cats cross in front of me, and make it a point to step on every crack that I can Now, when it comes to karma, that’s a different story. I mean, who am I to tempt fate by challenging a religious belief that dates back thousands of years? Besides, I have firsthand experience witnessing the wrath of karma and what it’s capable of doing to someone, so I want to make sure that I stay in its good graces.

THE FIRST TIME I was exposed to karma was on my honeymoon. I wanted to take my new bride on an Alaskan fishing trip – fly into Anchorage, rent a car and maybe fish some of the streams along the Kenai Peninsula’s road system. She had her heart set on a beach vacation.

So, we did what any newly married couple would do: We compromised … by going on a beach vacation. She did agree, however, to throw me a bone by letting me book a half-day saltwater charter that ran out of Sarasota, Florida. What an angel.

As soon as we met the captain on the dock, I knew the day was going to be a disaster. He was a portly, foul-mouthed, crusty old codger who had a knack for

Our correspondent Tony Ensalaco has endured his share of frustrating and awkward interactions while fishing, including with “a portly, foulmouthed, crusty old codger who had a knack for dropping F-bombs between every three or four words.” Fortunately, for him, karma intervened and he

felt vindicated. (JOSEPH FRUEAUF)

dropping F-bombs between every three or four words.

It was obvious that he wasn’t worried about making a good first impression, and he was even less concerned about who his new audience was. But before we were allowed to board his boat, the captain informed us that the party of four that was booked to join us had cancelled, and he was going to have to raise his fee an additional $15 a person – paid upfront – to help make up for the lost revenue. I was hella pissed about the breach of contract, but what could I have done? I had to agree to the new terms because I knew damn well that he wasn’t about to return my deposit.

The deckhand was a real treat as well. He was a shaggy-haired, lanky kid – probably in his early 20s – wearing a soiled T-shirt with the sleeves torn off and shredded cargo shorts that looked like they were hand-me-downs from a shark attack victim.

His eyes were bloodshot and his breath reeked of stale booze – probably collateral damage from a late night on the town. He didn’t seem to be much of a talker, which was fine because after getting clipped with the extra charge, I wasn’t looking to engage in any friendly conversations.

About half way into the trip, we did some bottomfishing over a deepwater reef and had some luck catching a few keeper-sized grouper and snapper. Every time I hooked a fish, I would offer the rod to my wife. This might have been the second or third time fishing in her lifetime, so I wanted to get her some experience fighting fish.

One of the times I set the hook, I immediately felt strong, powerful headshakes, indicating that it was a good one, so I insisted that she take my rod. After a couple minutes into the contest, she was starting to have trouble handling whatever was attached to the end of the line and needed some help, so I began instructing her on how to pump the rod.

The deckhand must not have appreciated my coaching because he came over to me, stuck his lips within a couple inches of my ear and said, “Stop being a @$%# and let her fight the fish, man!”

What did he just say? I was more than blown away with his ballsy remarks. My blood instantly started to boil and my mind raced with all sorts of medieval ways that I could retaliate. I mean, did this punk think he could get into my face and get away with it?

The only thing I wanted to do was to get my footing back on terra firma so I could air out my hostility, along with a few haymakers. Between my hot Italian temper and my fragile male ego, there was no way I was about to let this conflict go. I spent the rest of the morning plotting my revenge.

Fortunately, karma would step in and

“The deckhand was a real treat as well. He was a shaggy-haired, lanky kid wearing a soiled T-shirt with the sleeves torn off and shredded cargo shorts that looked like they were hand-me-downs from a shark attack victim,” the author writes. (JOSEPH FRUEAUF)

When Ensalaco coached his new bride how to battle a big fish, it didn’t sit well with the rather abrasive deckhand. “Let her fight the fish, man!” he rudely told his customer. (JOSEPH

FRUEAUF)

Poetic justice was about to intervene in the form of a snagged setup and a knockout blow landed on the deckhand’s nose.

(JOSEPH FRUEAUF)

save me from having to make a court appearance. About an hour later, my wife’s egg sinker became wedged in one of the crevices of the reef. She tried everything, but she still couldn’t dislodge the weight from the rocks.

The deckhand saw that she was hung up and went over to see if he could fix the problem. While he was pulling on the rod with every ounce of his scrawny little frame, the line suddenly snapped, causing the thick butt section of the glass rod to come screaming back and drill him square in the nose, knocking him into a bewildered stupor.

His knees buckled for a split-second before he toppled over backwards, landing flat on his back. I did all I could to keep from laughing, but still couldn’t contain myself. I remember staring at him while he was lying there motionless and imagining the cartoon tweetie birds chirping and circling above his head. Talk about receiving some payback. Karma delivered the sweetest vengeance that I could ever have envisioned.

The lush bucket got jacked harder than any sucker punch I could have thrown at him. It was apparent that he was disoriented, but I had no intention of helping him to get back on his feet. Instead, I blurted out “Holy %$@#, dude, that must have hurt,” while trying to keep a straight face.

The captain saw what had happened, but didn’t show any compassion. Instead, as the poor bastard was collecting his wits (and maybe a couple of cracked teeth), the captain started shouting profanitylaced orders at him to get back to work and find my wife another rod.

The inadvertent smackdown must have knocked some sense into him because he actually turned out to be alright for the rest of the charter, even though I still held a grudge.

Back at the dock, the deckhand helped us disembark. He thanked us for the meager tip that I begrudgingly gave him and politely asked us what our names were again. I reintroduced ourselves by telling him that my name was Tony, and this was my new wife, Karma.

Maybe he was still a little groggy, because I don’t believe that he picked up on my sarcasm.

THE NEXT TIME KARMA would intervene on a fishing trip took place 12 years later and over 4,400 miles to the northwest, in Alaska’s Panhandle. I had just arrived in town and was sitting at the bar, waiting for my buddy Danny Kozlow to put away his things before joining me.

I was about three swigs into my first beer when the side door flew open and a gray-haired man with a red, windburned face came barging through the entryway and made a beeline to the closest barstool, where he promptly ordered a cocktail.

He was still sporting his waders, so I thought it was a safe assumption that he had just come off the river. “How’s the fishing?” I asked, not sure if I was prepared for any bad news. “Fishing would be fine if it wasn’t for a couple of blankity-blank soand-so’s in the green and white, fiberglass drift boat,” he replied.

After taking a hard pull of his drink, he continued with the bitch session by telling me that two guys on the river had spent most of their day deliberately racing his group from spot to spot. He went on to describe in graphic detail (his exact words were unfit to print) about how they would intentionally “low-hole” them every time they stopped to fish.

Then, as soon as his group indicated that they were about to move, those guys would sprint back to their boat and bolt downstream. When he thought that he had given them the slip, the green and white craft would reappear and find another way to invade their space. I thanked him for the “heads up” and toasted him “to better days on the water” before calling it a night.

The following morning, Danny and I were about a mile into the trip’s inaugural float when we came around a bend and discovered the aforementioned boat anchored in some slack water, though no signs of any fishermen. As we continued our journey downstream, we saw a pair of anglers standing in the middle of the stream about 100 yards in front of us.

We both agreed that these two had to be the same hombres who we were warned about – and then it was confirmed. As soon as their internal radar picked up our presence, they abruptly reeled in their lines and hightailed it back upstream to the unattended boat. We said good morning in passing, but they chose to ignore our pleasantries.

Next, we watched in disbelief as they hopped in the boat, quickly lifted up the anchor and began rowing like madmen in

a blatant attempt to get ahead of us. Up until then, I was in a pretty good mood, and I really wasn’t interested in starting a turf war, so I slowed down to give them their space.

Of course, it wouldn’t have made a difference how long we held ourselves back because we ran into these fools a short time later. They followed the same script. When they saw us, they jumped in their boat and raced down to the next spot. The unwarranted game of leapfrog went on for most of the morning. The handful of times that we were able to fish in front of them, it would only be a matter of minutes before they would come barreling downstream again. What miffed me the most was that every time they came through, they would take some casts into our hole while we waited for them to go by. They clearly had no shame and desperately could have used a few lessons in stream etiquette.

The shenanigans felt like it was getting out of hand until I finally had had enough. I told Danny that we were going to take a break and camp out on a hole for a while to create a cushion of space between us and them. I hadn’t travelled to the largest state in the union to share every other spot with strangers.

It was late in the afternoon and we were about three-quarters of the way downriver when Danny and I had our final encounter with the duo. As we were coming up to one of the most anticipated holes on the bottom end of the float, there was a logjam blocking our view. After clearing the jam, the green and white drift boat appeared below us. It was anchored in the middle of the stream and its occupants were laid out – fast asleep – with their feet dangling over the sides.

I’m pretty sure their reason for choosing that particular place to rest was to guard that coveted hole downstream, but unfortunately for them, they had fallen asleep on their watch duty. That’s when the evil alter ego inside my head started to harass the part of my conscience that’s in charge of the moral compass. I had to do something.

Now, if you’re familiar with drift boats, you know that the boats are designed to be so stealthy that a good oarsman can sneak up on a sasquatch getting a drink of water. I could have easily slithered past them without being detected. But what would the fun in that be?

Instead, I slapped the oar paddles on the river’s surface with all of my strength, making it sound like a meteor had fallen from the sky and cannonballed into the river. My intention was to get their attention, and it worked because they instantaneously snapped out of their naps and immediately sprang into action. Just as predicted, they booked straight to the hole. This is when it became entertaining. As they approached the hole, the dude upfront shot off a cast right into a fir tree that overhangs the top of the run, burying his rig deep in the branches. He must have been using some heavyweight braid, because while he was trying to retrieve his tackle, it prevented the rower from maneuvering the boat over to the gravel bar and staking their claim on the soughtafter spot.

After several futile attempts to break off, the dude stuck in the tree still wasn’t able to make any headway. The second one working the sticks became noticeably frustrated watching the stalemate, so he decided he wasn’t going to wait any longer and bailed out of the boat.

Bad move.

The water was deeper than it looked, as the guy unexpectedly found out. It was a good thing that he was holding onto the gunwale because he accidentally baptized himself up to his armpits after hastily deciding to evacuate a perfectly dry boat. It took some effort to gain solid footing, but he finally was able to beach the boat without getting more drenched. His partner had no choice but to cut his mainline at the rod tip, which must have accounted for losing half of his line supply.

Danny and I decided to drop anchor and pretended like we were organizing our tackle so we could watch the carnival that was surely about to ensue. I didn’t care if I had to row off the river in complete darkness, as long as I was able to give them a taste of their own medicine.

They were aware of our whereabouts, so they tried their best to put on a show for us. But the pressure of performing

“To this day, I make a conscientious effort to stay on the righteous path whenever there is a choice between good and evil,” Ensalaco admits. “Because it’s been proven that karma has a way of balancing things out!”

(JOSEPH FRUEAUF)

must have been too much since they couldn’t get through two consecutive drifts without one of them misfiring a cast into the overhanging brush on the opposite bank, or hanging up on the bottom, possibly from running their rigs too deep. If my memory is correct, they were fishing a snag-infested part of the hole, and I wasn’t about to advise them of that fact.

The calamities lasted for several minutes, and in that time, those morons must have sacrificed 10 jigs, some expensive bobbers and a spool of braid to the fish gods. I did a quick tally using my mental abacus and figured they must have “donated” at least 50 bucks worth of tackle without anything to show for their efforts. They finally got the hint and decided to cut their losses. I waited for them to drag the boat off the gravel bar before I made my descent.

Those guys didn’t even make it to the tailout before I instructed Danny to “let it rip.” My partner launched one of the farthest casts I have ever seen on a stream that small. It miraculously cleared the overhanging fir tree and landed dead center in the hole. The float didn’t travel more than 2 feet before disappearing. The instant Danny set the hook, a 17-pound, black-backed silver torpedo skyrocketed 5 feet into the air and landed within an oar’s length of the green and white boat as it was about to relinquish the hole.

We both shouted “Fish on!” – even though the loud splash caused by the steelie reentering the water was enough to get anyone in the vicinity’s attention. I should have been concentrating on the battle, but I was more interested in seeing those guys’ reactions. Let’s just say there appeared to be some dissention between those jokers, or even the start of a possible mutiny.

I’ll never forget watching the fish’s aerial display as the green and white drift boat slowly faded around the corner and out of sight.

Later that night, I ran into that man and his group that were harassed by those same two guys on the previous day. All of us shared a good laugh as Danny and I delivered the blow-by-blow account of our last run-in with them. We collectively agreed that karma was definitely in our corner that afternoon, and were elated that it was able to settle the score in a peaceful, yet amusing way.

Danny and I floated the river for the next four days, but thankfully, there were no signs of those yahoos. I don’t know if that last encounter drove them off, but it sure was nice not to deal with any nonsense for the rest of our stay.

THAT EPISODE HAPPENED OVER a decade ago, and since then I’ve often wondered if our spectating was the primary reason for their difficulties, or if there really was a greater force involved.

I would like to think that we didn’t intentionally cause their problems – even though I know deep down that our presence was probably the catalyst. Whatever the reason, I believe karma played a major role in their misfortune.

And to this day, I make a conscientious effort to stay on the righteous path whenever there is a choice between good and evil. Because it’s been proven that karma has a way of balancing things out! ASJ

Shrimp & Crab Gear

Complete Supply Source Quality McKay Qwik-Pot Shrimp & Crab Pots Gasoline & Electric Pot Pullers Rope P Pole Buoys Davits Capstans In Stock

“Crabs love our pots. Once in they never leave.”

(360) 900-9439

www.mckayshrimpandcrabgear.com

THEY WRITE COUNTRY SONGS THEY WRITE COUNTRY SONGS ABOUT MORNINGS LIKE THIS. THEY WRITE COUNTRY SONGS ABOUT MORNINGS LIKE THIS. ABOUT MORNINGS LIKE THIS. THEY WRITE COUNTRY SONGS ABOUT MORNINGS LIKE THIS. THEY WRITE COUNTRY SONGS ABOUT MORNINGS LIKE THIS.

BUT AT 70 MPH YOU BUT AT 70 MPH YOU CAN’T HEAR THEM. BUT AT 70 MPH YOU CAN’T HEAR THEM. CAN’T HEAR THEM. BUT AT 70 MPH YOU CAN’T HEAR THEM. BUT AT 70 MPH YOU CAN’T HEAR THEM.

CONNECTICUT

Connor’s and O’Brien Marina

CONNECTICUT Pawcatuck, CT connorsandobrien.com CONNECTICUTCONNECTICUT

It’s a glorious sunrise, viewed in fast forward thanks to the power of your 250 ProXS. Because you need to get there while the fish are still eating breakfast. It’s a glorious sunrise, viewed in fast forward thanks to the power of your 250 ProXS. Learn more at mercurymarine.com or visit your local dealer, today. Because you need to get there while the fish are still eating breakfast. It’s a glorious sunrise, viewed in fast forward thanks to the power of your 250 ProXS. It’s a glorious sunrise, viewed in fast forward thanks to the power of your 250 ProXS. Learn more at mercurymarine.com or visit your local dealer, today. It’s a glorious sunrise, viewed in fast forward thanks to the power of your 250 ProXS. Because you need to get there while the fish are still eating breakfast. Because you need to get there while the fish are still eating breakfast. Because you need to get there while the fish are still eating breakfast. Learn more at mercurymarine.com or visit your local dealer, today. Captain Bub’s Marine Inc. Obsession Boats NEW HAMPSHIRE Learn more at mercurymarine.com or visit your local dealer, today. Learn more at mercurymarine.com or visit your local dealer, today. Lakeville, MA East Falmouth, MA captainbubsmarine.com capecodboatcenter.com Dover Marine Connor’s and O’Brien Marina Pawcatuck, CT connorsandobrien.com Defender Industries Inc. Waterford, CT defender.com O’Hara’s Landing Salisbury, CT CONNECTICUT Connor’s and O’Brien Marina Pawcatuck, CT connorsandobrien.com Defender Industries Inc. Waterford, CT defender.com Defender Industries Inc. Waterford, CT defender.com O’Hara’s Landing Salisbury, CT oharaslanding.com MASSACHUSETTS Connor’s and O’Brien Marina Pawcatuck, CT connorsandobrien.com Defender Industries Inc. Waterford, CT defender.com O’Hara’s Landing Connor’s and O’Brien Marina Pawcatuck, CT connorsandobrien.com Defender Industries Inc. Waterford, CT defender.com O’Hara’s Landing Captain Bub’s Marine Inc. Lakeville, MA captainbubsmarine.com Doug Russell Marine Worcester, MA WorcesterBoating.com Essex Marina LLC. Essex, MA essexmarinallc.com Obsession Boats East Falmouth, MA capecodboatcenter.com Portside Marine Danvers, MA portsidemarine.us Riverfront Marine Sports Inc. Salisbury, MA riverfrontmarine.com Captain Bub’s Marine Inc. Lakeville, MA captainbubsmarine.com Doug Russell Marine Worcester, MA WorcesterBoating.com Essex Marina LLC. Essex, MA Obsession Boats East Falmouth, MA capecodboatcenter.com Portside Marine Danvers, MA portsidemarine.us Riverfront Marine Sports Inc. Salisbury, MA Doug Russell Marine Worcester, MA WorcesterBoating.com Essex Marina LLC. Essex, MA essexmarinallc.com McLellan Brothers Inc. Everett, MA mclellanbrosinc.com Portside Marine Danvers, MA portsidemarine.us Riverfront Marine Sports Inc. Salisbury, MA riverfrontmarine.com South Attleboro Marine North Attleboro, MA www.sammarine.com Captain Bub’s Marine Inc. Lakeville, MA captainbubsmarine.com Doug Russell Marine Worcester, MA WorcesterBoating.com Essex Marina LLC. Essex, MA essexmarinallc.com Obsession Boats East Falmouth, MA capecodboatcenter.com Portside Marine Danvers, MA portsidemarine.us Riverfront Marine Sports Inc. Salisbury, MA riverfrontmarine.com Captain Bub’s Marine Inc. Lakeville, MA captainbubsmarine.com Doug Russell Marine Worcester, MA WorcesterBoating.com Essex Marina LLC. Essex, MA essexmarinallc.com Obsession Boats East Falmouth, MA capecodboatcenter.com Portside Marine Danvers, MA portsidemarine.us Riverfront Marine Sports Inc. Salisbury, MA riverfrontmarine.com WASHINGTON PASCO Northwest Marine and Sport 2250 Commercial Ave. NEW HAMPSHIRE Dover Marine Dover, NH dovermarine.com Winnisquam Marine Belmont, NH winnisquammarine.com RHODE ISLAND NEW HAMPSHIRE Dover Marine Dover, NH dovermarine.com Winnisquam Marine Belmont, NH winnisquammarine.com Dover, NH dovermarine.com Winnisquam Marine Belmont, NH winnisquammarine.com RHODE ISLAND Billington Cove Marina Inc. Wakefield, RI bcoveyc.com NEW HAMPSHIRE Dover Marine Dover, NH dovermarine.com Winnisquam Marine Belmont, NH winnisquammarine.com RHODE ISLAND NEW HAMPSHIRE Dover Marine Dover, NH dovermarine.com Winnisquam Marine Belmont, NH winnisquammarine.com RHODE ISLAND oharaslanding.com MASSACHUSETTS O’Hara’s Landing Salisbury, CT oharaslanding.com Action Marine & Watersports Inc. Holyoke, MA actionmarineholyoke.com Salisbury, CT oharaslanding.com MASSACHUSETTS Salisbury, CT oharaslanding.com MASSACHUSETTS McLellan Brothers Inc. Everett, MA mclellanbrosinc.com South Attleboro Marine North Attleboro, MA www.sammarine.com essexmarinallc.com McLellan Brothers Inc. Everett, MA riverfrontmarine.com South Attleboro Marine North Attleboro, MA Merrimac Marine Supply Methuen, MA merrimacmarine.com Wareham Boat Yard W. Wareham, MA wareham-boatyard-marina.com McLellan Brothers Inc. Everett, MA mclellanbrosinc.com South Attleboro Marine North Attleboro, MA www.sammarine.com McLellan Brothers Inc. Everett, MA mclellanbrosinc.com South Attleboro Marine North Attleboro, MA www.sammarine.com (509) 545-5586 www.nwmarineandsport.com Billington Cove Marina Inc. Wakefield, RI bcoveyc.com RHODE ISLAND Billington Cove Marina Inc. Wakefield, RI Jamestown Distributors Bristol, RI jamestowndistributors.com Billington Cove Marina Inc. Wakefield, RI bcoveyc.com Billington Cove Marina Inc. Wakefield, RI bcoveyc.com Action Marine & Watersports Inc. Holyoke, MA actionmarineholyoke.com MASSACHUSETTS Action Marine & Watersports Inc. Holyoke, MA Bill’s Outboard Motor Service Hingham, MA billsoutboard.com Action Marine & Watersports Inc. Holyoke, MA actionmarineholyoke.com Action Marine & Watersports Inc. Holyoke, MA actionmarineholyoke.com Merrimac Marine Supply Methuen, MA merrimacmarine.com mclellanbrosinc.com Merrimac Marine Supply Methuen, MA Nauset Marine-Orleans Orleans, MA nausetmarine.com Merrimac Marine Supply Methuen, MA merrimacmarine.com Merrimac Marine Supply Methuen, MA merrimacmarine.com Wareham Boat Yard W. Wareham, MA wareham-boatyard-marina.com www.sammarine.com Wareham Boat Yard W. Wareham, MA Wareham Boat Yard W. Wareham, MA wareham-boatyard-marina.com Wareham Boat Yard W. Wareham, MA wareham-boatyard-marina.com Jamestown Distributors Bristol, RI jamestowndistributors.com bcoveyc.com Jamestown Distributors Bristol, RI Jamestown Distributors Bristol, RI jamestowndistributors.com Jamestown Distributors Bristol, RI jamestowndistributors.com Bill’s Outboard Motor Service actionmarineholyoke.com Nauset Marine-Orleans merrimacmarine.com wareham-boatyard-marina.com jamestowndistributors.com Hingham, MABill’s Outboard Motor Service Bill’s Outboard Motor Service Orleans, MANauset Marine-Orleans Nauset Marine-Orleans billsoutboard.com Bill’s Outboard Motor Service Hingham, MAHingham, MA nausetmarine.com Nauset Marine-Orleans Orleans, MAOrleans, MA Hingham, MAbillsoutboard.com billsoutboard.com Orleans, MAnausetmarine.com nausetmarine.com billsoutboard.com nausetmarine.com

John Schoen’s first experience working with wildlife in Southeast Alaska came on Admiralty Island in 1977. Since then he’s worked tirelessly on multiple critter and conservation projects in and around the Tongass National Forest. (JOHN SCHOEN)

KEEPING THE TONGASS GROWING

BY MARY CATHARINE MARTIN

In 1977, John Schoen flew to Hood Bay on Admiralty Island. He’d been hired as the first Southeast Alaska research biologist to study deer, and this was his first trip into the field.

“Flying into the bay, looking at humpback whales and all the bald eagles in the trees … we got out of the Beaver, stepped on the beach and saw these huge, enormous brown bear tracks. And listening to the blue grouse, and the geese on the beach, I just thought ‘Man, I’m getting paid to do this? Unbelievable!’” Schoen recalled.

Forty-four years later, he’s made a career studying and working to conserve deer, mountain goats, brown bears, plus Alaska’s ecosystems, and he’s written a book about the journey, Tongass Odyssey: Seeing the Forest Ecosystem through the Politics of Trees; A Biologist’s Memoir.

“What we learned is that old-growth forest is very important,” Schoen said of research he did with U.S. Forest Service research biologist Charlie Wallmo and fellow Alaska Department of Fish and Game research biologist Matt Kirchhoff. “Clearcuts were used by deer in the summertime, when there was an abundance of food, but in the winter

Schoen and colleagues’ Sitka deer studies in the Tongass emphasized the importance of old-growth forests for the species. “The value of old growth isn’t (just) deer habitat. The value of old growth is as an ecosystem. A very unique ecosystem,” he says. (JOHN SCHOEN)

time, when the snows came the deer couldn’t use them. In the second growth, the deer would have to pack a lunch to make it through. There’s just nothing on the forest floor.”

“One thing led to another. We published our results, and then we took tremendous flak from the Forest Service and the timber industry. I quickly realized that the science was hard to do without bumping into the politics.”

At times, politics seemed to threaten Schoen’s job. Twice in the 1980s, he was invited to testify before Congress about his research. Though his immediate supervisors and the then deputy ADFG commissioner were supportive of his work, higher-ups in state government were not. The State of Alaska first told Congress he was unavailable – then that there was no money to send him. That wasn’t true. He felt strongly enough about his duty to share what he had learned with the American public that he took annual leave to go testify each time, even taking out a loan to be able to afford the plane ticket.

HOW A CONSERVATIONIST FOUND HIS PURPOSE

The following is excerpted from Tongass Odyssey: Seeing the Forest Ecosystem through the Politics of Trees.

Part 4: Conservation I can’t recall when I first began thinking about it, but I suspect my conservation philosophy began to emerge when I was a teenager on (Washington State’s) Orcas Island, hunting deer in the forest behind our home, digging clams and collecting oysters off our beach, or diving for abalone and rock scallops in the intertidal waters of the San Juan Islands.

Our family’s harvesting rule was simple: Don’t take more than you can use, and don’t concentrate your taking in one place. That basic approach describes my place-based conservation strategy. After going to college and majoring in biology, my conservation philosophy evolved; after grad school, I gained the tools to ground my conservation philosophy in ecological theory.

For me, conservation includes protecting and managing natural resources from berries and fish to trees and deer – so that they are available in perpetuity for others to use and enjoy. In 1905, Gifford Pinchot, appointed by President Theodore Roosevelt as the first chief of the United States Forest Service, described the purpose of conservation as managing resources “to provide the greatest good to the greatest number of people for the longest time.”

Conservation, in my opinion, includes both preservation and use. But the key is sustainable use and enjoyment of

LIGHTWEIGHT. The lightest 200-hp four stroke LIGHTWEIGHT. on the marketThe lightest 200-hp four stroke on the market POWERFUL. 2.8L displacement and Variable Camshaft POWERFUL. Timing give it the best power-to-weight ratio 2.8L displacement and Variable Camshaft of any 200-hp four strokeTiming give it the best power-to-weight ratio of any 200-hp four stroke COMPACT. Nearly 120 pounds lighter than our COMPACT. four-stroke V6 F200 Nearly 120 pounds lighter than our four-stroke V6 F200

THE ALL-NEW F200 IN-LINE FOUR. FORWARD THINKING.THE ALL-NEW F200 IN-LINE FOUR. FORWARD THINKING.

Show the water who’s boss with the new F200 In-Line Four. Incredibly light, responsive and fuel efficient, it serves up plenty of muscle to handily propel a variety of boats. On top of that, its 50-amp alternator offers the power to add a range of electronics, and its 26-inch mounting centers and compatibility with either mechanical or digital controls give you the flexibility to easily upgrade your outboard or rigging. Experience legendary Yamaha reliability and the freedom of forward thinking, with the all-new F200 In-Line Four. Show the water who’s boss with the new F200 In-Line Four. Incredibly light, responsive and fuel efficient, it serves up plenty of muscle to handily propel a variety of boats. On top of that, its 50-amp alternator offers the power to add a range of electronics, and its 26-inch mounting centers and compatibility with either mechanical or digital controls give you the flexibility to easily upgrade your outboard or rigging. Experience legendary Yamaha reliability and the freedom of forward thinking, with the all-new F200 In-Line Four.

WASHINGTON

PASCO Northwest Marine and Sport 2250 Commercial Ave. (509) 545-5586 www.nwmarineandsport.com

YamahaOutboards.com/F200InLine

Follow Yamaha on Facebook® and Twitter™

YamahaOutboards.com/F200InLine

Follow Yamaha on Facebook® and Twitter™

REMEMBER to always observe all applicable boating laws. Never drink and drive. Dress properly with a USCG-approved personal REMEMBER to always observe all applicable boating laws. Never drink and drive. Dress properly with a USCG-approved personal

those resources over time measured in decades and centuries.

Early in my career with ADFG, when I was first doing deer research on the Tongass, I was often asked by forest managers and administrators, “How many deer do you need?”

Underlying that question was the assumption that there would always be some deer left after harvesting timber – timber was more important because it provided jobs and a strong economy. The conventional wisdom at that time was that logging benefited deer. However, the more we learned about old-growth forests – including differences in various types of old growth – the more we began to understand that many other species also used old-growth habitat, including bears, marten, flying squirrels, bald eagles, marbled murrelets, goshawks, salmon, and many other fish and wildlife species. And those species depended on a variety of old-growth habitat types that were not necessarily the same as optimal winter deer habitat.

In the early stages of our research, it became clear to us that conservation on the Tongass was not just about deer. Fundamentally, conservation was about sustaining the natural diversity and integrity – structure, function and diversity – of the ecosystem.

Aldo Leopold said: “The last word in ignorance is the man who says of an animal or plant, ‘What good is it?’ If the land mechanism as a whole is good, then every part is good, whether we understand it or not. If the biota, in the course of eons, has built something we like but do not understand, then who but a fool would discard seemingly useless parts? To keep every cog and wheel is the first precaution of intelligent tinkering.”

I believe strongly in Leopold’s tenet that the “first principle of conservation is to preserve all the parts.” Keeping all the parts of an ecosystem should be the foundation of any conservation strategy for our public lands. This does not mean that those lands should be protected from any human uses. But it is imperative that all of the ecological parts should be sustained over time. On the Tongass, high-grading the rare, large-tree old growth violates Leopold’s first principle of conservation just as much as threatening the existence of individual species – like king salmon, grizzly bears or spotted owls – that has occurred on public lands and waters south of Alaska’s border.

The concept of conservation must be broadened beyond simply protecting rare, threatened or endangered species. It must encompass sustaining the integrity of ecosystems, including species, distinct populations, discrete habitat types, and the natural diversity, structure and function of the ecological communities that make up the greater whole. On an ecosystem level, the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. ASJ

“I just said, you know, if they don’t want me to go back that much and I have done this work on behalf of the public – it’s a public resource – I have to go back (to D.C.),” he said. “It’s my responsibility.”

As he branched out into researching brown bears and mountain goats and as his knowledge deepened, Schoen began thinking about old-growth forest in a different way.

“The value of old growth isn’t (just) deer habitat. The value of old growth is as an ecosystem. A very unique ecosystem,” he said. “The old-growth forest is a patchwork quilt of all these different kinds of stands, from shore pine to mountain hemlock that may be 6 inches in diameter and 200 or 300 years old. And (different kinds of forest) have a different understory, and they have different values to different species at different times of the year.”

“My evolution has been from looking at the habitat of a single species to looking at the old-growth forest as a very rich, productive ecosystem. People say ‘We’re only logging a small portion of the old growth, so that’s not a problem.’ But they’re focusing that harvest on the rarest, most valuable fisheries and wildlife habitats … Old-growth forests

A photo of a 60-year-old second-growth mixed hemlock-spruce stand on Admiralty Island shows all the trees are the same age and size and few forest floor plants occur because of low light levels. “The deer would have to pack a lunch to make it through [winter here]. There’s just nothing on the forest floor,” said Schoen, who measured blacktail density here in comparison to an adjacent old-growth stand. (JOHN SCHOEN)

Schoen radio-collared this mountain goat between the Mendenhall and Herbert Glaciers at about 3,000 feet elevation. This goat was captured during winter by shooting an immobilizing dart out of a helicopter. (JOHN SCHOEN)

Mud Bay on northern Chichagof Island was protected via a Land Use Designation II in 1990. Mount Fairweather and Glacier Bay National Park are in the background across Icy Strait. (JOHN SCHOEN) are not renewable. You cannot clear-cut a forest that has 800-year-old trees in it and expect it to come back in 100 years to have the same structure and function of an old-growth ecosystem.”

LATER IN HIS CAREER, Schoen was the lead scientist for Audubon Alaska. In that role, he organized a letter from seven professional societies representing more than 30,000 scientists to then Secretary of Agriculture Tom Vilsack (whom President Joe Biden has appointed to the position once more) about the importance of transitioning out of oldgrowth clearcutting on the Tongass. They never got a response. But he’s hopeful that the Forest Service policy of allowing clearcut old-growth logging on the Tongass will change, especially since even more research is coming out. A recent study estimated the Tongass stores 44 percent of the carbon in all U.S. national forests.

Schoen published Tongass Odyssey in September of 2020, inspired by people’s shifting idea of what was “normal,” the too-slow pace of change he had seen in 40 years of U.S. Forest Service

“We still have an opportunity to keep the diversity of forest habitats on the Tongass National Forest,” Schoen says. “There’s no other national forest in the nation where we have this opportunity.” (JOHN SCHOEN) management of the Tongass, and the endangered status of the Tongass’ remaining large-tree old growth, which represents just 3 percent of the forest.

“I wrote it because I feel it’s important to get this message out,” he said. “I wanted to put down a marker – here’s what’s happened since I started in 1977. And we still haven’t applied the science that we’ve learned to management. It’s been over 30 years, and we haven’t had the political will … We still have an opportunity to keep the diversity of forest habitats on the Tongass National Forest. There’s no other national forest in the nation where we have this opportunity.” ASJ

Editor’s note: John Schoen’s Tongass Odyssey was published by University of Alaska Press and is available at your local bookstore, on Amazon, or at press.uchicago .edu/ucp/books/book/distributed/T/ bo68374362.html. The Salmon State is provided by its namesake SalmonState, an Alaska-based initiative which works to ensure Alaska remains a place wild salmon and the people who depend on them thrive. Go to salmonstate.org for more information.

Cumberland’s

Northwest Trappers Supply, Inc.

Cumberland’s Northwest Trappers Supply is your one-stop trapping supply headquarters, featuring one of the largest inventories in the U.S. We are factory direct distributors on all brands of traps and equipment which allows us to offer competitive prices. Give us a try. Our fast, friendly service will keep you coming back.

Over 50 Years Of Service To The Trap & Fur Industry

Request A Catalog Or Place An Order By Phone, Mail Or On Our Website If you get in the area, visit our store!

We are the new home of “Trappers Hide Tanning Formula” in the bright orange bottle. Retail & dealer inquiries are welcome.

P.O. Box 408, Owatonna, Minnesota 55060 • (507) 451-7607 trapper@nwtrappers.com • www.nwtrappers.com

LEO’S BIG BULL

For 13-year-old Leo Albertson, a caribou hunt in the Alaskan Interior was a special moment for both he and his dad Landon, who recalled hunting experiences with his own father in Oregon. (LANDON ALBERTSON)

BY LANDON ALBERTSON

Iremember my first hunt like it was yesterday.

It was a cold October morning in southern Oregon and we were chasing mule deer with my dad. Even now, I can smell the thick junipers and the sagebrush that stood taller than my head.

We sat next to a barbed wire fence on the edge of a small alfalfa field. The deer would cross the fence in the mornings coming from the alfalfa fields and heading into the junipers to bed.

Right at first light, I could just see a herd of deer start to jump the fence through my scope. I peered through and looked for a buck: doe, doe, fawn, doe, and then finally a buck, which jumped the fence. I shot a small forken horn that day, but I was so proud of that buck it might as well have been a state record. The memory is a trophy, and I’m lucky to have shared that experience with my dad.

BOOM! THE RIFLE RANG out and the dust flew from behind the target. “Two clicks to the left and about 1 inch high,” I told Leo, my 13-year-old son. He made the adjustments on his scope and sent another round downrange. Bull’s-eye! We were sighting in his rifle and doing some target practice, preparing for his hunt that was less than a month away.

Leo had drawn a youth caribou tag for Game Management Unit 13 in central Alaska. Unit 13 holds the notorious Nelchina caribou herd, which has been a popular subsistence hunting herd for centuries. The youth season runs August 1-5 and provides a great opportunity to

The Palmer-based hunters were ready to go with their ATV and side-by-side, which came in handy in the muddy terrain they’d travel

on. (LANDON ALBERTSON)

harvest a caribou before the general season begins on August 10.

Caribou are a popular and highly sought-after big game animal in Alaska. They are members of the deer family, sized like an elk and a large mule deer. Bulls weigh 350 to 400 pounds, cows from 175 to 200 pounds. Caribou are unique in the deer family in that both sexes have the ability to grow antlers.

Leo’s hunt was for either sex, but he had high hopes to take a bull as his first ’bou. Caribou mostly live in the tundra, but in the early season they escape to the mountains to get away from Alaska’s large mosquitoes and biting flies. That’s where we planned on finding them.

AFTER LOADING THE CAMPER, side-byside and four-wheeler, we finally hit the road by 8 a.m. the day before opening morning. With us on this hunt was my 10-year-old son Caleb and my good friend Tyler. It was about a five-hour drive from our home in Palmer to the Denali Highway, a mostly dirt road that runs east to west to connect the Richardson and Parks Highways.

We got to the parking area, unloaded the off-road vehicles, grabbed enough supplies for a few days and headed out into the bush. Thanks to the long summer days in Alaska, we still had about six hours of daylight left to scout and then set up camp.

The trail to the hunting location took us about 12 miles from the main road. We crossed running creeks, climbed rocky hills and bogged through swamps. Along the way, we spotted ptarmigan already changing from their auburn-colored summer plumage to their winter white. The birds looked as if they had put on a brown T-shirt and white painter’s coveralls.

At about the halfway mark, we found fresh caribou tracks crossing the trail. The excitement grew as we knew we were getting closer.

The ride across the tundra took about three hours, one of which was spent digging and winching the side-by-side from a muddy swamp. Finally, we reached the base of the mountain, only a little more covered in mud than when our adventure started.

As we made the climb up the steep slope, I paused and turned to check on my sons following close behind on the four-wheeler. It was then that I spotted a caribou rack moving through the brush only 50 yards from the trail.

The large bull worked its way across the mountainside, but since it was the day before season we could only watch as it crossed the trail behind us and escaped

Caleb Albertson, the author’s younger son, scans the horizon in search of

caribou. (LANDON ALBERTSON) Finding tracks on the trail is always a thrill for a hunter.

(LANDON ALBERTSON) into the tall brush.

We spotted herds of cows crossing ridges and feeding through the draws. We scouted a bit more and came up with a game plan, deciding to wake up early and get to the top of the ridgelines to scout. I had high hopes of finding a herd of bulls or even spotting the bull that we’d seen on the way in. We set up camp, ate dinner and then tucked into our sleeping bags to anxiously wait for morning.

THE TEMPERATURE DROPPED 25 degrees overnight and the boys had trouble leaving the warmth of their sleeping bags in the morning. I made oatmeal and opened a pack of doughnuts in hopes of enticing them to get up. We ate breakfast, loaded up the side-byside with gear and headed for the ridge where we had seen a herd of cows the day before.

Leo passed on a smaller group of cows along the way and was determined to take a bull. Up and over the mountain we went and onto the other side, where I spotted caribou feeding about a half-mile away. Through the binoculars, I could tell

it was a bachelor herd of bulls and there were a couple of shooters mixed in.

We decided to head towards them, with the ankle-high grass and a small boulder field as our only cover. We used the ridgeline as refuge, crouched low and only moved when the bulls lowered their heads to feed. We closed the distance to 300 yards and Leo readied himself on the shooting sticks.

A heavy crosswind blew every few minutes, making it difficult for Leo to get

Leo was thrilled with his Game Management Unit 13 bull. (LANDON

ALBERTSON)

steady. I noticed a large, wheelbarrowsized rock protruding from the ground about 2 feet. The rock was about 100 yards in front of us, and we knew if we could get to it that Leo would be able to lie down for a steadier shot. Leo and I quickly grabbed our gear and jogged to the boulder as the bulls continued to feed. They were oblivious to the impending danger.

We made it to the rock and Leo placed his .300 Win. Mag. on the boulder, then lay down on his belly. He shouldered the rifle and slowly loaded the chamber with a 190-grain Winchester Expedition big game bullet. While still breathing heavily from our jog, he peered through the scope.

Five bulls were munching the grey lichen on the lower side of the mountain face as a single bull stood feeding 20 yards above the group. I told Leo to focus on the lone bull and wait for his opportunity.

The bull slowly turned and presented a quartering-away shot. I heard the click of the rifle’s safety and Leo took a deep breath; then, boom!

The shot rang out and dirt flew only inches above the bull. The caribou spun 180 degrees but didn’t run, as he was unsure of where the loud sound had come from.

“A little high,” I told Leo. “Just take your time and a deep breath and try again.”

He chambered another round, inhaled, and squeezed the trigger. Another shot echoed through the mountainous tundra and the bull instantly fell. Leo’s face lit up and he gave me a huge hug. Then we slowly approached the bull.

Leo grabbed its velvet horns and lifted its head for a better view. He stared and smiled, unable to speak, until he looked up at me and said, “Thank you, Dad!”

For the elder Albertson, the nostalgia of his own adventures with his dad made it that much more special to share this harvest with Leo and Caleb. “I’m grateful to have those experiences with my sons,” he writes.

(LANDON ALBERTSON)

I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER the hunts I shared and lessons I learned with my father and I’m grateful to have those experiences with my sons. Youth hunts give kids the opportunity to experience hunting with less competition and less pressured animals.

Getting my sons outdoors has taught them about more than just the landscape and the wildlife; they’ve also gained valuable skills like patience, respect, problem-solving, confidence and responsibility.

Hunting has shown them the value of meat and given them the ability to provide for our family. I hope they always remember these experiences and carry the tradition into adulthood to remain hunters for life! ASJ

Editor’s note: Landon Albertson grew up in Lakeview, Oregon, but now chases hunting and fishing adventures as an Alaskan transplant. Check out some of them at preyonadventure.com and on his YouTube page (search for “Prey On Adventure: Alaska Fishing & Hunting”).