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PUBLISHER
James R. Baker
GENERAL MANAGER
John Rusnak
EXECUTIVE EDITOR
Andy Walgamott
EDITOR
Chris Cocoles
WRITERS
Landon Albertson, Scott Haugen, Tiffany Haugen, Tiffany Herrington, Steve Ramirez
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Paul Yarnold
ACCOUNT EXECUTIVES
Janene Mukai, Tom St. Clair
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ON THE COVER
Three generations of Albertsons – including Mark (right) and his grandson Leo – enjoyed a memorable Yukon River moose hunt. Mark even used his late father’s rifle to harvest his first bull. Check out Landon Albertson’s recap of the hunt inside. (LANDON ALBERTSON)
CORRESPONDENCE
X @AKSportJourn Facebook.com/alaskasportingjournal Email ccocoles@media-inc.com
BLOODLINES AND BROW TINES
41 POPPIN’ FOR COHO
September is an ideal month to get in on silver salmon fishing. And for From Field to Fire columnist Scott Haugen, tempting coho with surface poppers is one of his favorite tactics this time of year. Scott provides all you need to know for a great day on the river. And his wife Tiffany Haugen adds a slow-cooked venison recipe perfect for a ready-made camp feast.
48 BOOK EXCERPT: CASTING HOMEWARD
For Florida-born Texas resident Steve Ramirez, his series of books chronicling fishing scenes around North America couldn’t be complete without experiencing Bristol Bay’s pristine streams and rivers full of fish and shared by bears as well as anglers. Ramirez’s fourth and final book of his project, Casting Homeward, has an extensive section on his Alaskan adventures. Check out an excerpt from it and our interview with the author.
58 BREWED IN THE WILD: DENALI BREWING COMPANY
This issue, we kick off a new series on Alaska’s burgeoning craft beer scene and local brewmeisters who have been inspired by the Last Frontier’s natural beauty. First up is Denali Brewing Company, whose owners Sassan and Kristy Mossanen pay homage to Alaska’s most mighty mountain and the lands surrounding it – in more ways than one. Tiffany Herrington, herself a beer industry veteran, chatted with Sassan about his brews and how he soaks up the state’s outdoor paradise.
EDITOR’S NOTE
The coach of one of the high school football teams I covered extensively when I was a sports reporter in Southern California once pitched a book idea to me and asked whether it was something I’d be interested in collaborating with him on.
At the time, I was still relatively young in the business – though not a cub reporter, by any means – and I felt like I hadn’t sharpened my writing skills enough to devote so much time to a side hustle on top of my full-time job at the newspaper.
Years later, I’m long gone from California, that coach now coaches a rival school that his previous teams regularly beat, and I have regrets that I never took him up on his offer. While he’s had a distinguished career, I don’t think he ever had that book written.
I still haven’t given writing a book a try, but Steve Ramirez gives me hope that someday I too can chronicle some of what I’ve observed over five-plus decades on the planet. Ramirez’s fourth and final book of what’s known as the Texan’s “Casting” series – his deep dive into what fishing from coast to coast has meant to him – includes a significant section on a trip to Alaska’s Bristol Bay (see an excerpt on page 48).
“I wrote it because I saw the diminishment and destruction of natural watersheds, rivers, estuaries and shorelines, and with them, the alarming loss of native plants and animals that have evolved in these places,” Ramirez says. “I saw the vanishing sense of community between people, and between humanity and the Earth. And I
saw that the way to touch human hearts, minds, and ultimately to change human paradigms has always been through the telling of stories.”
As Ramirez told me in our interview that’s running with the excerpt, these books are more about writing about life than fishing. I know the book the football coach wanted me to write was just as much about human interactions during the week between games as what went down on Friday nights.
Whether we know it or not, just about everyone you’ll meet has a story to tell and it’s worth asking them about it. I’m very grateful that I’ve made a career sharing some of those stories with readers. Hey, I could write a book about the characters I’ve encountered over all these years. Now I just have to do it. Someday. –Chris Cocoles
Author Steve Ramirez’s experiences in Alaska helped him complete a four-book series on fishing throughout North America. Storytelling like that is inspiring to the editor. (STEVE RAMIREZ)
CLOSURES, RESTRICTIONS OF COHO FISHERIES CAUSE SOME ANGST
With so much attention in the last few years focused on the crash of Chinook stocks in various parts of Alaska, could coho be the next Pacific salmon species to have such struggles?
It’s still way too early before the usual expected peak of the silver runs in Southcentral Alaska, but there was some growing concerns in that part of the state.
In early August, several usually productive fisheries were closed for coho fishing due to low counts of returning fish, including the Little Susitna River and Knik River drainage on the Kenai Peninsula.
As of August 8, just 878 silvers had crossed the Little Su River weir, which Alaska Department of Fish and Game area biologist Samantha Oslund said was well below the escapement goal of 2,154.
“Further evaluation of run size based on daily weir counts and observations by staff indicate more stringent action must be taken to conserve coho salmon returning to the Little Susitna River, Knik River drainage, and Cottonwood, Fish, and Wasilla Creeks,” Oslund said of the closure, which was set to be in effect through the end of this month.
The Susitna River also closed to silver fishing due to a low escapement count, and days later, bag limits were decreased in the Valdez Terminal Harvest Area.
Around the state’s largest city, the Anchorage Bowl Drainages Area – waters that include Ship Creek, the Eagle River and several other creeks and rivers – saw the state announce decreased coho limits and a prohibition on using bait. Of three salmon allowed in possession, anglers were able to retain just one coho.
“Coho salmon counts throughout the surrounding area are indicating a poor run of coho salmon and anglers have reported poor coho salmon fishing success throughout the Anchorage area,” Anchorage area management biologist Brittany Blain-Roth said. “It is warranted to manage the coho salmon fishery conservatively to alleviate pressure on smaller wild coho salmon runs.”
Prior to the Anchorage Bowl limit decrease and bait restrictions, longtime Ship Creek angler Jeremy Salvador told the Anchorage Daily News, “The runs are not like they used to be for silvers.” And that’s at least reason to be concerned for the future, given the state of some Pacific salmon up and down the West Coast.
AL ASKA BEAT
TWEET OF THE MONTH
Bears! Cliffs! Bottomless muskeg! For some unlucky or careless folks, Alaska really could be the Last Frontier.
If you time it right, you can take the pic of a lifetime on an Alaskan adventure.
Where are the coho salmon on the Kenai Peninsula and around Anchorage? Closures and bag limit decreases are a sign of concern from state managers. (ROGER TABOR/USFWS)
6,070
As of August 11, about this many king salmon (75 centimeters in length from mideye to tail fork) had been counted at the Kenai River mile 13.7 sonar station, well below the recovery goal of 14,250 to 30,000 large king salmon, as set by the Alaska Board of Fisheries. The Kenai, already closed to king fishing, saw additional fishing restrictions for other species to help protect returning Chinook.
THEY SAID IT
“ ”
“This $105 million investment, made possible thanks to the Biden-Harris Administration’s Investing in America agenda, will build on decades of salmon recovery work, while helping Pacific coast Tribes and Alaska Natives sustain their communities and cultural traditions in the face of climate change. This is a result of the most ambitious climate agenda in history, and I am proud that nearly half of all funds in this announcement are being awarded to Tribal applicants.”
-U.S. Secretary of Commerce Gina Raimondo on the creation of the Pacific Coastal Salmon Recovery Fund, which will fund restoration programs in Alaska and other West Coast states.
FROM THE ASJ ARCHIVES – SEPTEMBER 2015
BASKETBALL LEGEND’S PASSION FOR ALASKA, FISHING
There are also four older Barry sons: Scooter won an NCAA title at the University of Kansas and spent many years playing abroad in pro leagues. Drew is his college alma mater’s (Georgia Tech) all-time leader in assists and played for four NBA teams. Jon (ESPN) and Brent (TNT) are successful TV analysts who also had lengthy pro careers (Brent Barry also won the NBA Slam Dunk Contest in 1996).
“I’m hoping to get them up there (in Alaska), and I know Scooter told me he’d really like to go,” Rick says of his sons. “But they have young kids and they’re busy with what they’re doing. One of these summers I’m hoping to convince them to take their boys and go with me.”
And who knows? Rick Barry said events happen in threes; his sons all played basketball at a high level just as he did. At one time or another, Scooter and Brent also dabbled in broadcasting like their dad and brothers have on a full-time basis.
“Hell, the third thing can be that they all become fly fishermen,” Rick says.
Still, there is no shortage of sports royalty for Rick Barry to head up to Alaska with. There is World Golf Hall of Famer Raymond Floyd, who fished with Barry in Alaska earlier this summer. One of Barry’s closest friends, former Warriors teammate Clifford Ray, is a regular fishing partner who went with Barry on a trip to Sitka and to Prince of Wales Island in August.
“Clifford’s like a brother to me,” Barry says.
Even legendary NBA/ABA star George Gervin, who was known as “The Iceman” during a Hall of Fame career, got in on the action. That spurred a joking twinge of disdain from Barry about these two hoops gunslingers meeting in Alaska.
“George is a spincaster. He didn’t have any waders or boots. But he came up with his son (and a couple others) and we did mostly saltwater fishing and we did some freshwater too. We had a good time,” Barry says, recalling that not many old basketball war stories were swapped.
But The Iceman did get in a memorable photobomb.
“We have a great picture where I’m holding up a nice silver salmon, and George is in the background with his son and they’re both giving me the finger.” -Chris Cocoles
Basketball Hall of Famer Rick Barry is a regular visitor to Alaska to cast for salmon and other species. He’s also introduced some of his hoops contemporaries to the Last Frontier’s fishing scene. (RICK BARRY)
Sept. 1 Last day to fish Valdez Silver Salmon Derby and Halibut Derby (valdezfishderbies.com)
Sept. 1 Black bear seasons open in Game Management Units 1 (Southeast Mainland), 2 (Prince of Wales Island) and 3 (Petersburg/Wrangell)
Sept. 1 Wolverine season opens in GMU 4 (AdmiraltyBaranof-Chichagof Islands)
Sept. 1
OUTDOOR CALENDAR
Moose season opens in GMU 5B (Yakutat)
Sept. 1 Brown bear season opens in GMUs 5 (Yakutat), 6A, 6B, 6C (North Gulf Coast and Prince William Sound) and 14A (Mat-Su Valley)
Sept. 1 Moose season opens in GMU 7 (Seward)
Sept. 1 Bison season opens in GMU 11 (east of the Copper River, south of the Klawasi River and west of a line from Mount Sanford to Mount Wrangell to Long Glacier, west of the Kotsina River)
Sept. 1 Goat season opens in GMU 14A (south and east of the Matanuska River)
Sept. 15 Deer season opens in GMU 4 (Chichagof Island east of Port Frederick and north of Tenakee Inlet and remainder of unit)
Sept. 25 Elk season opens in GMU 8 (southwest Afognak Island)
For more information and season dates for Alaska hunts, go to adfg.alaska.gov/index.cfm?adfg=hunting.main.
The Kenai Silver Salmon Derby is set for September 10-15. Check out kenaisilversalmonderby.com for more information. (KENAI SILVER SALMON DERBY)
BEST ROUTE TO A BULL
HOW A MOOSE HUNTER PREPARES FOR AND TRACKS DOWN ONE OF ALASKA’S MOST COVETED BIG GAME ANIMALS
BY SCOTT HAUGEN
As I looked through binoculars, I could see steam roll out of the bull’s oversized snout as it tipped skyward. The moose would punish the tundra, toss sod over its back, rest, and do it again. It was about 800 yards away and there was no cover between us.
I was subsistence hunting out of my home at the time, Anaktuvuk Pass on the North Slope of the Brooks Range. A buddy and I had actually set out for caribou … until we spotted this moose. We let out a call just to see what the bull would do. Instantly, it took a step our way, then another. Soon it was on a slow, methodical walk, coming right at us.
When it got within 100 yards the bull’s pace slowed and its massive head
swayed from side to side. We’d tucked into some nearby willows along the banks of the Anaktuvuk River. I could have shot it at any time, but I wanted to see how close it would come.
When the bull stopped at 12 yards, lifted its head and flared its nostrils, I raised the gun for an easy shot. The bull fell on the outer edge of the willows on a gravel bar, which made the butchering job simple. We could drive to it with our Argo. That hunt took place nearly 30 years ago. It was my first moose hunt and I was hooked.
MY LAST MOOSE HUNT took place a few years ago. It wasn’t so easy. Buddy Chris Stewart and I hunted with good friend and guide Bruce Hallingstad of Becharof
Author Scott Haugen has been hunting throughout Alaska for over 30 years, and he ranks moose hunting among the most potentially physically demanding the state has to offer. (SCOTT HAUGEN)
Outfitters (becharof.com).
Bruce is a fan of calling and using decoys; that’s how we killed my bull. We spotted it right before dark on opening day, set up the decoys and called. The bull covered several hundred yards but would not cross a raging river. It was in a bad place to shoot, so we backed out and hoped to find it in the morning. We did – it was on our side of the river and bedded very near where the decoys had been.
The grass the big bull was bedded in was tall. I needed the moose to stand up to get a clear shot. With the gun resting steady in the tripod, we waited and waited. Eventually, the bull stood. The shot was simple, and for the next 11 hours we packed meat. The next day we rested. “I couldn’t care less if I shoot a bull,” shared Stewart. “I’m getting too old for all this packing.”
All we needed was a day to recover and we felt refreshed. We got to a high point and spotted a massive bull over 1,500 yards away. Bruce called and the bull heard him. It lifted its head, looked our way and started thrashing some alders. There was no way to reach the bull in the swamp it stood in. “We’ll just keep calling and hope it moves closer,” said Bruce, letting out another grunt, then some more.
It took over 30 minutes but the bull moved closer. At just over 600 yards
Remington Magnum. He was lying prone on the tundra and there was no wind. He was shooting downhill and spined the bull, dropping it on the spot. A follow-up shot finished it. The bull fell near a slough of the main river, making for a simple packing job. Few moose hunts end with such a pack.
MOOSE
HUNTING IN ALASKA requires a lot of work and planning. Start by being honest with yourself and others in your party, making certain your outdoor skills are to the level where you can survive in the wild under any conditions and circumstances.
Next, address how good of shape you’re in. Moose hunting can be extremely tough, especially when you get a bull down. Hiking across the tundra, through bogs, over snow and in rivers is the norm. One moose hunt I went on with a buddy found us carrying waders, knee boots and hiking boots in order to efficiently negotiate the variety of mountainous and boggy terrain we’d have to hunt in the western Arctic – and, yes, we used all three pairs of boots.
Once you know you can physically handle a moose hunt, decide on a place to go. Thoroughly research your options and make sure there are moose in the area you plan to hunt. Decide if you’re going on
a river hunt or a mountain hunt, or maybe a combination of the two habitats.
On a river hunt, you’ll likely get dropped off by an air charter in one spot and picked up seven to 10 days later at a designated spot downstream. Here, you’ll navigate rivers in a raft, so be certain you’re comfortable doing that with all your gear and 800 pounds of moose meat, cape and antlers.
On a mountain hunt, you’ll probably stay in one camp, hiking and glassing each day. If you get on a big bull, you might spike camp out for a few days. Make sure you can physically handle hiking in the terrain you’ll be hunting, survive with minimal rations and be able to navigate in fog, snow and other conditions that may arise. Once you’re dropped off to hunt, there’s no turning back.
AS FOR GEAR, I regularly see people taking too much on a moose hunt. On my last 10-day outing, I wore the same outer clothes every day and wore some of those on my flight into Alaska on the commercial airline.
I hunted in Dry-Plus waders every day and took a medium-weight rain jacket. A few pairs of socks and underwear, thin gloves and a stocking hat, along with a couple base layers and insulated hoodie rounded out my wardrobe.
Perhaps the best piece of gear you can
Moose decoys by Montana Decoys are lightweight, easy to pack and can help archers and rifle hunters close the deal. (SCOTT HAUGEN)
Stewart felt confident with his 7mm
invest in is a satellite phone. If there’s an emergency, you want to get out. If there’s a storm coming, you may need to relocate. This happened to a buddy and I on a moose hunt, but our plane’s engine blew during our relocation effort to avoid a massive storm. Luckily, we made an emergency landing on a gravel bar that was below us, but our hunt was over. Sometimes, simply surviving a remote hunt in Alaska means the hunt was a success; filling a tag can quickly become secondary.
WHILE MOOSE
ARE BIG, they are not difficult to bring down. A well-constructed bullet fired from a .30-06 is perfect. My last bull fell to a pair of 150-grain Nosler Partition bullets fired from a .270 Weatherby – one behind the shoulder and a second to the neck, which dropped it on the spot.
As with any big game, shot placement is the key, and that’s where a solid rest and
reliable shooting sticks come in handy for moose. A sturdy tripod serves as a nice walking stick on the tundra as well as a valued shooting rest.
Smart moose hunting comes down to gaining elevation, glassing and then glassing some more. The goal is to spot a shooter bull, then figure out how to get to it. Cover as much ground as possible with your eyes rather than your feet. You can walk several hours a day on tundra and through bogs, which is some of Alaska’s most challenging terrain to negotiate. If you do walk, get from point A to point B, fast, as you want to spend time looking for distant big game critters, not looking at the ground as you walk. If you can set up camp and glass directly from there, that’s ideal.
A spotting scope and good tripod are important tools. Take a stout,
Packing out moose meat sometimes takes longer than the actual hunt, and being prepared to tackle this project takes serious planning and a lot of effort. (SCOTT HAUGEN)
Optics are must-have tools for a moose hunter. A spotting scope allows you to efficiently cover ground with your eyes and size up bulls from a great distance. (SCOTT HAUGEN)
If your timing is right, you can catch a bull along the river’s edge, making for a short packing job, as it did here for Todd Crawford. “A moose hunt can be one of Alaska’s most rewarding adventures,” the author writes, “but it’s far from easy.” (SCOTT HAUGEN)
lightweight tripod that will hold steady on the tundra in high winds and rain. I like a thick carbon fiber tripod, as it’s sturdy and light. A quality spotting scope is necessary to size up bulls to make sure they’re legal. They can also be used to study the terrain to plan a stalk.
AN OFTEN OVERLOOKED TOOL to have is a moose call. The September rut is a time when a lot of bulls are on the move, and a cow call can help bring bulls out of unnavigable terrain into a shootable position. Get a call and practice with it. It can pull a bull out of an inaccessible area and provide you with a shot opportunity you’d otherwise not have had.
A Montana Decoys Moose II cow decoy can also work great, and teaming it with a Moose Rack decoy is even better. Because bulls are coming out of velvet in early September, tape some white towels or paper towels over the antlers of the Moose Rack decoy to increase its visibility. Decoys and calls are more than worth the effort to pack.
Once you spot a bull, the hard part is figuring out a way to get to it. If you don’t want to call, then you’ve got to figure out a way to get within shooting range; that’s simply impossible sometimes. On my last moose hunt we spotted a giant 70-inch bull, but it was in a deep swamp surrounded by deeper water and
tall willows. There was no way to get to that bull with a raft or by wading, and it wasn’t responding to the calls or decoys; such is moose hunting.
A LOT OF HUNTERS think they can float a river in a raft and bulls will be standing around every corner. These hunts do produce, but the number of moose that are standing just out of view is surprising. Spend time glassing these river bottoms from an elevated vantage point and you’ll actually see more moose. Be sure to maximize the visibility of the habitat you’re hunting in order to find more bulls.
For a first-time moose hunter, the most surprising moment comes when they walk up on a downed bull. A big bull moose can stand over 7 feet tall at the shoulders and weigh 1,500 pounds. You’ll get about 700 pounds of bonedout meat off a big bull. If you’re going to have your bull mounted, add at least another 150 pounds for the antlers and cape. They’re a massive animal; and once down they require a lot of work.
Be sure to have the proper tools to handle a downed bull. The same knife you use on deer will work fine, and have a sharpener on hand. If hunting near water, a one-man inflatable raft is a great way to pack out moose meat. If not, make sure your pack frame is a good one.
Start with quartering the animal, then removing the backstraps, rib meat, neck and brisket meat, securing it all in game bags. All shank meat and the tenderloins must be taken. Alaska meat salvage laws are very clear, and there’s no hiding a moose carcass from troopers patrolling from the air. Abide by the regulations and recover all the required meat; that’s why we hunt anyway.
A moose hunt can be one of Alaska’s most rewarding adventures, but it’s far from easy. Moose numbers are doing well, and the last three seasons have seen a good success rate on big bulls in many parts of the Last Frontier. If you’ve ever dreamed of hunting moose in Alaska, now’s the time to make memories. ASJ
Editor’s note: For signed copies of Scott Haugen’s best-selling book, Hunting The Alaskan High Arctic, visit scotthaugen .com. Follow Scott’s adventures on Instagram and Facebook.
Three generations of a family – a fourth if you include the rifle handed down from an older member of the lineage – headed out along the Yukon River in search of a moose. The hope was for the patriarch of the clan to score his first-ever bull.
BLOODLINES AND BROW TINES
FAMILY TIES AND YUKON RIVER SLOUGHS WIND THICK ON AN ALASKA MOOSE HUNT
BY LANDON ALBERTSON
Every moose hunt demands meticulous planning and preparation, but embarking on a 800-mile journey along the Yukon River in pursuit of a once-in-a-lifetime Alaskan bull moose requires an extraordinary level of detail and commitment. Nothing could have prepared us for the relentless setbacks that marked the beginning of our journey or the unforgettable adventure
that lay ahead. When my father Mark, my son Leo and I all drew moose tags for a remote region of the Yukon, we knew we were in for an adventure that would test our skills, endurance and resolve. This was particularly special because it would be my dad’s first Alaska moose hunt with a tag in his pocket, making it a hunt that he had dreamed about since he was a kid.
Our plan centered around my 26-
foot Weldcraft, a boat that has seen countless hours on the Pacific Ocean while fishing for halibut, rockfish and salmon in places like Seward and Whittier, Alaska. However, it had never been in a river. My boat is heavier than most river craft, which meant that navigating the shallow, unpredictable waters of the Yukon while hauling 1,200 pounds of fuel, 500 pounds of gear
(LANDON ALBERTSON)
and three grown men required serious consideration. Premaintenance on the boat was crucial to ensure we avoided any mechanical issues during the trip.
WITH OUR HUNT SCHEDULED for midSeptember, I began preparing the boat in mid-August, which allowed for what I thought would be enough time to address any problems that might arise. The routine maintenance – changing the oil, spark plugs, fuel filter, water separator and lower unit oil – was going smoothly until I encountered a significant setback.
When I drained the lower unit oil, it poured out the color of an iced mocha latte – a clear sign that water had infiltrated the oil, likely due to leaking seals in the lower unit. Alarmed, I removed the lower unit from my 250 Yamaha and rushed it to the boat shop. As expected, the seals were
compromised, but the real issue was a slightly bent prop shaft, which likely was the result of a run-in with some rocks during a sea duck hunt out of Whittier the previous fall. With time running out, I was told the needed parts wouldn’t arrive in time for our departure.
Desperation set in as I called around Alaska searching for parts. Fortunately, a boat shop in Anchorage had a complete lower unit available – for a steep $4,500. But with the hunt on the verge of cancellation, I had no choice but to buy it. My dad, who had just arrived from Oregon, jumped into action, picked up the new unit and helped me install it.
Just days before our departure, another setback struck. My dad, while on the way to check on my chickens in the backyard during a light drizzle, slipped on the wet steps and fell backward, hitting
his head on the stairs. At nearly 60 years old, he didn’t bounce right up like he did in his younger years. Daze and disoriented, he stumbled back inside the house with blood running down his face. The fall resulted in a deep gash on his scalp, requiring a trip to the emergency room and five staples to close the wound.
The bad luck didn’t stop there either. While loading gear into the truck, our 20-horsepower outboard, essential for exploring smaller tributaries with a raft, slipped off the motor mount. My dad instinctively tried to catch it, injuring his shoulder in the process – a pain that would later require surgery to repair a torn rotator cuff.
Despite the series of misfortunes, the day finally arrived, and we set off on our two-week-long moose hunting adventure, determined to overcome the challenges
Leo Albertson (left) and his dad Landon share a moment just as the sun rises over Interior Alaska. (LANDON ALBERTSON)
and create memories that would last a lifetime.
THE FIRST THREE DAYS of our journey were a blur of travel – 500 miles on the highway and another 400 miles along the winding Yukon River. We were fortunate to be accompanied by some great friends who had done this hunt before. Their experience and knowledge of the river were invaluable, and they both guided us through the
challenging terrain and helped us avoid potential pitfalls along the way.
By the afternoon of day three, we finally arrived at our hunting location. Our friends had tags for a different area further downriver, so after sharing some final words of encouragement and good luck, we parted ways. We then ventured up a tributary that fed into the Yukon, searching for the perfect spot to set up camp and hunt for the
next 10 days. After some scouting, we found an ideal slough off the main river; calm and secluded, it offered a strategic base for our hunt. We decided to leave the big boat at camp and use the raft to explore the surrounding area.
As we were setting up camp, a grouse wandered through, providing an unexpected opportunity for fresh camp meat. I took it down with my bow and we enjoyed a quick, satisfying meal before the sun dipped too low. With just enough daylight left, we decided to take the raft out and explore the slough to develop a game plan for the days ahead.
The slough was slow-moving – almost still – with little to no current. It snaked through the landscape, its edges thick with alders and tall grasses, while spruce and birch trees stood further back from the banks. As we made our way down the slough, we noticed rubs on the trees where bulls had been shedding their velvet and marking their territory. Rubs are a clear sign of moose activity, a way for the bulls to announce their presence and establish dominance. They essentially said, “I’m the biggest, baddest bull moose around. Challenge me if you dare!”
Using onX maps, we identified several pockets of swamps just beyond the brush. These open areas would give us a tactical advantage for moose calling and provide a clear line of sight if a bull decided to investigate our calls. As dusk
The guys got in some pike fishing during their adventure, as Mark Albertson (left) and grandson Leo experienced. (LANDON ALBERTSON)
Leo calls for moose near a cow decoy borrowed from one of his dad’s buddies. (LANDON ALBERTSON)
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approached, we decided to test our strategy with some light calling before darkness set in. The plan was to return at first light the next morning, ready to put our carefully laid plans into action.
ON THE FIRST MORNING of hunting, we loaded our gear into the 12-foot raft and set out to explore the swamps, hoping to catch sight of any bulls that might have wandered in overnight. The air was crisp as we glided through the slough; the 20-horse Honda motor hummed quietly at a slow idle. We were only about half a mile from camp when we rounded one of the S-curves and were met with an unexpected sight – a bull moose standing right on the edge of the water!
I quickly raised my binoculars and tried to determine if it was a legal bull for my dad, but before I could get a good look, the moose disappeared into the thick brush. We tried calling, imitating
the sounds of a cow moose from the dinghy, but our efforts were in vain.
But just as we were about to give up, we heard another bull raking brush and grunting in the direction we had just come from. We set up on the side of the river in hopes he would emerge to investigate the cow’s calls, but the wind was not in our favor. I suspect he caught our scent before we could catch a glimpse of him. The rest of the morning passed quietly, with only a couple of beavers and some mallards breaking the stillness.
Day two dawned with another slow morning with no moose in sight. To pass the time, we fished for pike in the slough, managing to catch a few. I cleaned the pike and prepared a delicious fish fry at camp for lunch. We were relaxing and content with full bellies when suddenly, we heard the unmistakable grunts of a bull moose across the creek from camp. My heart raced as I began to grunt back,
challenging the bull to a fight.
The bull appeared about 70 yards away, straight across from camp, and was aggressively raking the trees while making the brush sway back and forth. I watched him through my binoculars and could tell he wouldn’t meet the requirements for a nonresident-hunted moose – 50 inches wide or with at least four brow tines on either side – so my dad couldn’t take the shot. However, since Leo and I had any-bull tags as Alaska residents, the opportunity was still there for one of us.
I quickly grabbed my bow and placed it in the raft. As soon as the bull slipped back into the brush and out of sight, I made my move and rowed across the creek as quickly and quietly as I could.
As I reached the other side, I could feel the wind blowing at my back, which is never a good sign. I tried some raking and hoped to lure the bull closer, but as my dad always says, “You can fool their eyes, you can fool their ears, but you can’t fool their nose!” Unfortunately, those words rang true. Despite my efforts, I never saw the bull again.
THE NEXT COUPLE DAYS were slow on the slough. We didn’t spot any moose or hear a single grunt. After that promising first day when we saw and heard two bulls, our hopes had been high. But now, after a few
Landon was at least comfortable as he overlooked a swampy area and waited for a bull to appear. (LANDON ALBERTSON)
The Albertsons’ strategy was to travel along the Yukon’s sloughs to find ideal moose habitat, and then set up. (LANDON ALBERTSON)
days of silence doubts started to creep in. We began questioning our strategies and whether this was the right location.
It was an unusually warm fall, with heavy August rains that had flooded many of the grassy swamps visible on onX maps. I suspected this might have delayed the rut, or maybe there just weren’t as many bulls in the area as we’d hoped. We might have just gotten lucky on those first couple of days.
That evening, we decided to take the big boat around the main creek to explore new areas. We discovered some promising bedding spots, more rubs and even saw a few cow moose. One cow still had two 11/2-year-old calves with her, which I found odd since she should have been ready to breed and typically would have pushed those calves away by now.
ON DAY FIVE,
I received an inReach message from my good friend Austin, who was heading back home up the Yukon from his guiding area further south. He suggested we meet at the mouth of the creek where it meets the Yukon in the morning, and we planned to do a short hunt together before he continued his journey home. We met him the next morning, shared stories and pored over maps of areas further south of our slough that we should try. Austin provided us with valuable advice on grunting and raking, even lending us an old moose shoulder blade to use for the rest of our trip. We considered packing up camp and moving to the area he suggested, but ultimately, we decided to give our slough one more day.
That evening, we thought we’d change our tactics by splitting up and sitting in different parts of the slough. Previously, my dad, Leo and I had been hunting together, but by spreading out we could maximize our chances of being in the right spot at the right time and minimize the risk of being seen or smelled by only having one person at each location. First I dropped my dad off close to where we’d seen and heard those bulls on day one. Then I traveled another half mile and dropped off Leo before heading to my area.
As I pulled up to my spot, I had a good feeling about the hunt. I dragged the raft up on the bank, and before I could even settle in, I heard a shot ring out in the distance:
Poooww! I couldn’t tell if it had come from my dad’s location or Leo’s. I rushed back to the raft, threw my gear in, and the motor roared to life with two quick pulls of the starter cord. I gunned it full throttle, racing to see who had made the shot.
I reached Leo’s location first. He was already standing on the bank. “Did you shoot?” I asked. He shook his head, “No, it must have been Papa!” We quickly got back in the raft and made our way toward my dad. As we approached, I saw him standing on the bank with a big grin stretching from ear to ear. We pulled up and he began to tell us the story.
FROM MY DAD’S PERSPECTIVE, as soon as I’d dropped him off, he started walking to his spot when he heard two bulls grunting behind him and across the slough. He began to lightly grunt back and scrape the brush with the shoulder blade Austin had lent us. He could still hear the motor of the raft as Leo and I
headed out of sight.
Then the bull appeared from the alders, staring directly at my dad. All he could see was part of the bull’s right antler and the upper half of its right side through the rifle scope. A few more grunts from my dad seemed to fire the bull up even more. It started raking and tearing at the alder brush in front of it, as if challenging the entire forest.
My dad accepted the challenge; he scraped the brush back, which brought the bull even closer to the edge of the slough. Now standing at 75 yards, Dad had a clear shot. He was using an old 7mm Remington rifle that had once belonged to my grandpa Leo, who had passed away a few years earlier. We were all very close to my grandpa; I even named my son Leo after him because he was such a great man. His passing had been hard on the family, especially my dad, who had been helping take care of Papa Leo and the ranch as his health
The smiles tell the story, as Leo (left) was as thrilled with this harvested bull as his dad and grandpa Mark, who would give his father’s rifle to the youngest member of the family on this trip. (LANDON ALBERTSON)
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This was quite the trip from Oregon to Alaska for Mark, who had suffered two accidental injuries leading up to the hunt. But taking his first moose with a treasured family rifle made for some reflective moments and memories to last a lifetime.
declined. Taking his rifle on this hunt was a way to keep him with us in spirit.
Dad slowly chambered a round, but the shell didn’t go in quietly, and he feared the bull had heard it. The bull stood there, staring in his direction, quartering toward him with its head turned toward the slough and its left side exposed. My dad rested the rifle on his shooting sticks, noting at least four brow tines that made the bull legal but still unable to see the full paddles due to some hanging branches. He put the crosshairs on the crease behind the bull’s shoulder, clicked off the safety and slowly squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out.
The old rifle kicked hard. As my dad always says, “It kills on one end and maims on the other.” The kick sent him back a step. Before he could regain his footing and chamber another round, the bull disappeared into the brush.
Filled with adrenaline from his story, we hopped in the raft and crossed to the other side of the slough, where Dad had last seen the bull. The slough was only about 30 yards wide, but 6 to 12 feet deep in places. I pulled the raft onto the shore and we began tracking.
“He was standing right here,” my dad
said, pointing to fresh tracks in the mud by the bank. We followed the tracks for about 10 yards uphill and found blood, so it looked like he’d made a solid hit. Then my dad pointed to a small tree and said, “I last saw him disappear behind that.” Just then, we spotted the bull’s paddles sticking up in the brush. Bull down!
AS I WALKED AROUND to the front of the enormous animal, I couldn’t believe it. It was a beautiful bull, with five-by-five brow tines and a spread of 55 inches. It had checked all the boxes of the requirements and then some. My dad’s eyes started to well up as he walked up to the bull, laid his hands on its paddles, and said, “I got my first moose, a dream I’ve had since I was a little kid. I did it with my son, my grandson and with my dad’s rifle!”
He held the rifle high in the air. It was like Grandpa Leo was there with us. Then he looked at my son Leo, handed him the rifle, and said, “This is yours now.” We all hugged, tears streaming down our cheeks. It was a moment I will never forget.
As darkness set in, we gutted the bull and decided to finish the processing in the morning. It took four trips in the
raft to haul all the meat back to camp. Although our backs were sore, our hearts were full.
This Yukon moose hunt was more than just a pursuit of a trophy; it was an adventure that spanned generations. From the challenges we faced to the quiet moments shared around the campfire, it was a trip that tested our resolve, brought us closer together, closer to God and the nature He created and reminded us of the importance of family. My dad’s first moose, taken with my grandpa’s rifle, was the culmination of a lifelong dream and a testament to the enduring bonds between father, son and grandson.
As we sat around the camp that final night, exhausted but elated, we knew that this hunt would be etched into our memories forever. It was a story to be passed down, just like the rifle, to the next generation of hunters in our family. 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”).
(LANDON ALBERTSON)
CAST, POP, CATCH
SEPTEMBER AN IDEAL TIME TO TEMPT COHO WITH SURFACE POPPERS
BY SCOTT HAUGEN
There’s a lot happening in Alaska this month. While I love hunting, this is my favorite time of year to get after coho, and my preferred approach is catching them on surface poppers.
Surface poppers can be fished on a fly rod or spinning rod. Lightweight plastic, foam and hair poppers that are designed for fly fishing are all easy to cast, drift, mend and swing. For spinfishing fans, think fishing surface plugs for bass or pike.
Though popping plugs and surface poppers come in an array of colors, as with everything terminal gear-related to catching coho, think pink. Ninety percent of my popper selection is pink, with the remainder being chartreuse and a smattering of orange and green. If I find a plug I like but can’t get it in pink, I’ll paint it pink myself.
EARLY RISERS
My best results for consistently catching coho on surface poppers has come early in the morning and on undisturbed water. If fishing alone, you’re in control of everything. If fishing with friends who are working the same poppers, that’s great;
For fly anglers, it’s hard beating the thrill of catching silver salmon on surface poppers. (SCOTT HAUGEN)
Want an easy meal for your next hunting camp? Slow-cook venison or other game meat at home and bring it along for a delicious protein-packed option. (TIFFANY HAUGEN)
SLOW-COOKED VENISON A GREAT CAMP MEAL HELPER
BY TIFFANY HAUGEN
September is a prime-time month for camping and hunting in Alaska. And the easier the camp cooking is, the more hunting you can do! This tasty meal is easy to cook at home, freeze, then take to upcoming hunting camps to warm up and eat.
The great thing about slow-cooking venison is that the meat can be added to virtually any meal. Cooked low and slow with a jar of salsa, this venison recipe is inspired by leftovers, garden bounty and the love of spaghetti. Deer, moose, caribou and even ptarmigan all work great with this recipe.
Several more cups of seasoned vegetables can be added to this one-pot meal. Using elbow macaroni makes this a freezer-friendly entree which is great for reheating in camp. Taking prepared frozen foods made from wild game to hunting camp not only provides a quick, healthy meal, it also makes the benefits of hunting last all year.
3 to 4 cups venison, cooked*
8 to 12 ounces elbow macaroni
3 tablespoons olive oil
One onion, diced
One bell pepper, chopped
3 cloves garlic, puréed
One to two large tomatoes, chopped
2 tablespoons parsley, finely chopped
1 cup tomato juice or V8
Salt and pepper to taste
Slow-cook venison and chop into bitesized pieces. Cook elbow macaroni, al dente, according to package directions. Drain and set aside. In a large pot, heat olive oil on medium heat. Sauté onions for five to 10 minutes. Add bell pepper and garlic, sautéing another two or three minutes. Add juice and bring to a low boil. Add cooked turkey and noodles and bring to desired temperature. If needed, add a bit more juice or a drizzle of olive oil. Salt and pepper to taste. Add parsley right before serving.
*SLOW-COOKED VENISON (OPTION)
Place venison roast, neck meat or shanks in a slow cooker. Add 16 ounces of your favorite salsa or spaghetti sauce. Cook on high heat, four to six hours, or until the meat separates easily from the bone. Separate all meat from any cartilage and sinew, chop and set aside for a garden veggies, noodles and venison meal, or refrigerate or freeze for another recipe. Leftovers of meal-size portions can be put in sealable baggies and frozen. Come hunting season, just pull out a package, take it to camp and you have a quick, mess-free, tasty meal that takes only minutes to reheat and enjoy.
Editor’s note: To order signed copies of Tiffany Haugen's popular book, Cooking Big Game, visit scotthaugen.com for this and other titles.
FIELD
Gear anglers can cover a lot of water and get some aggressive chugging action going with popping plugs. These are great options. (SCOTT
you can share water and your approaches will be the same. But if you’re fishing with anglers who want to drift bait, float jigs or cast spinners, have them give you first water. In other words, you fish the prime water before they do.
Coho are most aggressive in the morning when conditions are calm, the water smooth and skies dark. The more fishing pressure a school of coho receives, the deeper they’ll descend into holding water, and that’s when your friends can start fishing their subsurface presentations. It can be hard pulling a coho to the surface once it’s retreated to deep water that’s been fished.
I’M A DRIFTER
Be it with a fly or spinning rod, dead-drift your first round of casts. If the hole is long enough, start at the top and slowly and quietly fish your way downstream. Simply cast and let the popper be carried downstream at the natural rate of the stream flow. Mend the line as needed so it doesn’t get ahead of the popper
and start pulling it downstream at an unnatural speed.
I like covering an entire section of water by first dead-drifting a popper. Once you’ve dead-drifted the hole, go back to the top and this time cast and strip the popper as you work your way downstream. Fly anglers should make short, quick strips to get the popper chugging water. One or two good chugs is all you need, then let the popper drift downstream a few feet before repeating the quick strips. At the end of the cast, swing the popper with aggression and keep it coming in quickly. Once it’s reached the bottom of the swing, keep the rod tip low and quickly strip it all the way in. Be ready, as coho often follow the popper right to your rod tip in mere inches of water; these takes can be vicious.
Gear anglers will want to cast their surface popper, give the rod tip a quick lift to take up the slack, then snap the wrist so the plug throws water. Drop the rod tip and let the plug move downstream, then twitch and pop it again. Once the drift is parallel
or slightly below where you’re fishing, you might need to let out some line to allow the plug to move naturally downstream.
SUBTLE BITES
Coho topwater takes are not like that of northern pike, where they attack with vengeance and spray water everywhere. A coho popper take is more like a boil, and often you’ll see the plug disappear well before feeling the fish or having the line go tight. If you see a boil and your popper disappears, set the hook. It’s not uncommon for a coho to miss a popper by a foot or more, and when this happens keep the plug out there to give a slight twitch to entice the fish into returning.
Slackwater settings where coho stack up after a night of traveling are ideal places to fish poppers. Estuaries and river sloughs where coho congregate can also be excellent places to popper fish. In rivers, the inside edges of seams near shore where the water is calmer make perfect popper habitat. In small streams and creeks, especially clear ones, try
HAUGEN)
FIELD
One of author Scott Haugen’s favorite ways to catch coho is on surface poppers. He caught several aggressive coho on this cloudy morning featuring a slight chop on the water, mostly by deaddrifting the presentation. (SCOTT HAUGEN)
drifting the popper right down the center, as coho can attack from anywhere.
WHERE TO AIM
When fishing tannic-stained streams, put the popper exactly where you want it –behind boulders, on the edges of seams and over deep holes – so coho can see it. A salmon’s best sight window is in front of it and overhead, followed by either side. If there’s a bit of chop on the water, try dead-drifting the popper, but go right to stripping if no bite comes. More aggressive pops are usually needed to attract the attention of silver salmon in choppy or dark water.
September is prime time to popper fish for hard-fighting coho. Though you won’t catch high numbers, as soon as you experience the hit and then latch into one, you’ll instantly want more of this exciting approach. ASJ
Editor’s note: For signed copies of Scott Haugen's popular line of fishing books, visit scotthaugen.com. Follow Scott’s adventures on Instagram.
THE ALASKA OF HIS DREAMS
BOOK EXCERPT: AN ANGLER RECALLS BRISTOL BAY FISHING ADVENTURE
Florida-born and now living in Texas’s Hill Country, Steve Ramirez was a U.S. Marine and law enforcement officer in a career that spanned 35 sometimes stressful and tumultuous years. So his outdoor experiences have been cathartic in many ways.
“Anyone who reads my work will come to know that I have endured and witnessed much brutality … I have lived with the challenges of PTSD and have chosen to transform that experience into greater understanding and compassion for others,” he says. “I have experienced and often write about the healing power of nature and what has come to be known as ‘nature therapy.’ Through so many of life’s hardships and heartaches, nature has always saved me. I want to do what I can to return that favor.”
Fishing has become a passion for Ramirez, and his adventures throughout North America are chronicled in a series of books, the final installment of which includes memorable trips casting for trout, grayling, char and salmon in iconic Bristol Bay.
His previous books in the quartet – Casting Forward, Casting Onward and Casting Seaward –included detailed content about fly fishing on the rivers of his central Texas home base, paying homage to native North American species and the excitement of saltwater fishing.
In Ramirez’s grand finale, he recalls the Last Frontier’s pristine beauty and the thrill of targeting the myriad fish species that traverse Bristol Bay lakes and river drainages, which he refers to as “a journey from one of America’s least impacted legendary angling waters.” That included a memorable trip on the bay’s Agulowak River.
BY STEVE RAMIREZ
T he goal of life is to make your heartbeat match the beat of the universe, to match your nature with Nature. –Joseph Campbell
It’s 5:40 a.m., and I woke up with Alaska in my dreams. Alaska is like that. It hangs in my waking thoughts and calls to me in my sleep. I remember every detail. Like how the alders and spruce embraced the edges of its cold, clean waters and how the salmon, char, trout and grayling vanished into its deepest holes.
I remember the sensation of floating on currents of air as the 1957 de Havilland Beaver carried me over forests and tundra, and then floating on the currents of its rivers while casting and connecting to the many beating hearts that swam within. I recall the primal gaze of brown bears and how that moment of eye contact grounded me in the certain knowledge that in the wilderness, I’m simply another source of protein. And at this moment in the darkness of my room, I am reliving my first and final days when a single river and special fish were both joined to the deepest part of my eternal soul. This is our story.
The following is excerpted with permission from Casting Homeward: An Angler and Naturalist’s Journey to America’s Legendary Rivers, by Steve Ramirez and published by Lyons Press.
EVER SINCE I WAS a boy who sat up at night reading Jack London, Russ Annabel and vintage outdoor magazines, I’ve dreamed of this moment. To my childhood mind, taking off and landing in a floatplane was the ultimate gateway to adventure. It brought to mind the images of floating over rugged mountains, raging rivers and endless expanses of wilderness where trees were many and landing sites were few and far between. And now here I was, about to begin my weeklong adventure at Bristol Bay Lodge with my buddy, sporting artist, author and guide Bob White.
Ron Salmon is a quiet, kindhearted and exceedingly competent pilot with over 50 years of experience. Every lesson he ever learned during his winged lifetime was self-evident as he effortlessly launched and landed the floatplane on the surface of Lake Aleknagik.
The subtle separation between the surface of the lake and the underbelly of the plane’s pontoons was surprising, and it took me a while to realize we were airborne as perspectives altered and realities shifted. As we rounded Jackknife Mountain, Ron adjusted flaps, mixture, propeller and throttle so that the alchemy of his actions resulted in the pontoons resting back onto the waters with the natural grace of a mayfly. Stepping onto the dock and into my childhood dreams come true, I could never know that at that moment, I was coming home.
Ramirez, standing in the tracks of a coastal brown bear on the banks of the Ungalithaluk River with Bristol Bay and Walrus Island in the background, recently finished a series of four books about fishing in North America with a detailed focus on Bristol Bay. Ramirez writes that the Last Frontier “hangs in my waking thoughts and calls to me in my sleep. I remember every detail.”
Steve
(STEVE RAMIREZ)
A Bristol Bay Lodge floatplane sits on Upnuk Lake, a transportation portal that connects visitors with world-class fishing opportunities. “It is a land of possibilities, rather than a paradise that is already lost,” book author Steve Ramirez says of Alaska. (STEVE RAMIREZ)
CAPTURING THE SPIRIT OF ALASKA
ASJ editor Chris Cocoles chatted with author Steve Ramirez, who’s now written four books in his Casting series, about his Bristol Bay fishing experiences.
Chris Cocoles Congratulations on finishing this series of Casting books, Steve. Tell me about how important it was to write about your experiences in Alaska. Steve Ramirez My time in Alaska’s Bristol Bay region was the intentional launch point for this book project and was essential to its completion for several reasons. All of my books contain layers of themes, paths of discovery, life lessons learned, and philosophical and metaphorical meaning. One aspect being explored was the deeper question of how we define “home.” When I asked my dear friend, author and sporting artist Bob White, “What are the home waters of your heart?” He immediately said, “The Wood River drainage of Bristol Bay, Alaska, where I’ve guided for over 20 years and where I met my wife Lisa.” So,
I wanted to experience this place in part, through Bob’s eyes. I say “in part” because all nonfiction contains an element of fiction in that it is influenced by the perspective of the person telling the story – and my own personal perspective certainly melds with Bob’s and everyone else I reached out to, both Euro-Americans and IndigenousAmericans.
And that leads me to the second reason Alaska was so integral to the creation of this book and its larger story. I also wanted to tell the story of North America from a metaphorical journey backward from that part which to date is least impacted by humanity – Alaska – to the place that is most impacted – New York City. I was traveling backwards along the routes of Euro-American immigrants from “land’s end” to “landfall,” and along the way, I did as I do in all of my books. I did my best to tell the story of the impact this had on our Indigenous peoples, and on our natural world. And I am able to show those lessons Indigenous peoples have to teach the rest of us about how to live as one in
partnership and community with nature. It was important to me to show that even as far away as Bristol Bay, blind capitalism and greed is endangering a national natural treasure, and the “home” of so many living beings, human and nonhuman alike.
CC You’ve spent a lot of time fishing in your first home in Florida and Texas, where you live now. Can you compare those experiences to your Alaska time? SR Alaska is far more vast, and although it has been deeply impacted by the activities of humanity as all of this beautiful planet has been, it has within its forests, tundra and waters more hope than most places might. The wild Florida that I once knew is either gone forever or seemingly doomed toward extinction by anthropogenic alteration, and sadly, Texas is trending in the same direction – but still has a chance. Alaska cannot escape the ravages of humanaccelerated climate change, which is already melting your glaciers and changing the outcomes of fish and crab
harvests. But Alaska still has wilderness, wildlife and free-roaming rivers that can be the example and the gold standard for the rest of the country. It is a land of possibilities, rather than a paradise that is already lost.
CC I talk to so many people who have fished or hunted there and I like to ask them if they had a welcome-to-Alaska moment. Do you have one that made you say, “Holy #$%, I’m in Alaska right now!”?
SR Yes! It was my first time flying in a floatplane over the mountains, forests, and rivers for over an hour only to land on a lake that felt untouched, even if that was only a feeling. I stepped out of the plane and into the tracks of a big brown bear and a massive moose and then into the lake itself. I didn’t want to leave and, in a way, I never did.
CC I loved in the chapter we’re running that you talked about eating a freshly caught Agulowak sockeye on the banks of the river. How special of a moment was that?
SR It was simply magical. I don’t use that word casually. I intend to say that we weren’t simply frying fish and potatoes along the riverside; we were doing some sort of voodoo alchemy that seemed to make the food taste as if it were a part of the land itself – because it was. It felt primal and communal and yet deeply personal. And I am not joking when I say I can taste it now in my imagination, and wish it were in my reality – once again.
CC Bristol Bay is such a sacred place that Alaskans and non-Alaskans alike have fought to protect its salmon runs from the Pebble Mine project. Having spent time there, how important is it to ensure that those watersheds are protected? SR It’s vital. And it’s also another reason I wanted to include Bristol Bay and Alaska in this book. In my third book in the series, Casting Seaward: Fishing Adventures in Search of America’s Saltwater Gamefish, I explored Southeast Alaska’s Tongass rainforest and inland passage to try to share the story of this one-of-a-kind historical landscape, its people and its importance to this magnificent “Garden of Eden” planet we’ve been gifted. By
following salmon from the ocean to the tiniest tributaries in the forest, I wanted to show that we need all of the habitat. Lose any one part, and you lose it all.
I knew then that Bristol Bay was my next logical stop, even if I had no idea how I’d get there. As is often the case, the doors were opened by good people who have lived with and loved Southwest Alaska as their home, including the good people of Bristol Bay Lodge, who invited me to be their guest. Having now had the opportunity to experience this place for myself, even briefly, I am even more committed to doing everything I can to spread the word: Bristol Bay and the Wood River drainage must be protected. To do anything less is in my estimation not only a crime against the Earth and any future generations of our descendants; it’s also a sin.
To that end, on September 24 I have the honor and pleasure of hosting a conversation between Delores Larson, deputy director of the United Tribes
of Bristol Bay, Trout Unlimited Alaska, and my local Guadalupe Valley Trout Unlimited Chapter, here in the Texas Hill Country (grtu.org). It is my understanding that GRTU is the largest Trout Unlimited fundraiser for the protection of Bristol Bay. Your home is my home. As I write in my books and essays, “In nature, everything is connected to everything.” We travel together.
CC What was it like sharing the river with the bears?
SR Cautiously thrilling. Frankly, it would not have felt the same without the healthy bear population being present, and ecologically, the bears are as important as the salmon. I’ve always had a healthy respect for bears, which sounds so much better than saying fear. With that said, I loved every sighting and found it to be life-altering in a fortunately positive way. I know I am the interloper. The bears were here first and I respect their power and potential and gave them plenty of room. But I’m so grateful that they are still there
Ramirez (right) soaks in the scene on Lake Aleknagik. He had a view of this scene from the Bristol Bay Lodge, home base for this Alaskan adventure. ” (STEVE RAMIREZ)
doing what bears do and holding up the ecosystem, along with the salmon and the clean, cold waters.
CC Do you want to get back to Alaska someday and is there still a bucket-list destination you’d love to fulfill?
SR Yes, I’d come back in a heartbeat given the opportunity. I left part of my heart in Alaska, as well as a few pints of blood (the mosquitos are amazing!). And yes, I have a place I’d love to explore while I am still alive and physically able to do so,
Ramirez with a hard-fighting chum salmon from the Wrong Turn River near Bristol Bay, a place he fell in love with and longs to see stay pristine. “Having now had the opportunity to experience this place for myself, even briefly, I am even more committed to doing everything I can to spread the word,” Ramirez says. “Bristol Bay and the Wood River drainage must be protected.” (STEVE RAMIREZ)
and that place is The Gates of the Arctic and perhaps the Alaskan shoreline with the Arctic Sea itself. I don’t know if this will ever happen; I’m a “starving artist.”
But I have been pondering a story that needs to be told and that is a place ripe for telling it.
CC Overall, in completing this four-book project, what’s it like to reminisce about all these adventures you’ve had fishing in various corners of North America?
SR I am deeply grateful. That is the first
feeling and impression that comes to mind. And with it, I am hopeful that I have been telling the stories in a manner that will reach more people and will in some way cause them to love and value these places as much as I have. I don’t write “fishing stories.” I am writing timely stories about life and living in the 21st century, and about choices and consequences. It is my hope that we can come together and through the power of stories, build a better world for all living beings – human and nonhuman. We’re all in this together. ASJ
The flat metal tin can of a johnboat bounded and slid across the choppy surface of the Agulowak River as my newest friend, Sam Fisher, deftly maneuvered us toward Grayling Island. I had barely stepped off the floatplane and into the boat when I told Sam that my number one dream was connecting with an Alaskan grayling. I asked if he thought we might find one before dinner, to which he responded, “Heck yeah!” Sam is a kind, open-minded and able young man with an infectious smile and good nature. We hit it off immediately, and it mattered not if we were 26 or 62 – real friendship is timeless. It was my first day, and every possible reality lay in front of me as each cast would roll out like dice tumbling across a table.
Sam set the anchor at the edge of a community of half-submerged willows, and I began casting a fluffy white dry fly with a tiny Copper Bob nymph dropper. Almost immediately the dry fly became an indicator as I raised my rod tip a bit too softly, hooked and then lost a grayling while we both lit up with excitement and then moaned with good-humored disappointment. That scene continued through four more half-hearted hooksets before I finally shook off the first-day jitters and landed the first grayling of my current lifetime. It was all I had hoped for, and more. He was a beautiful fish, and I tried to burn the image of him swimming back home into the currents of the Agulowak, where he would live and die and live again as his DNA passed through
time. It is the way of things that we are all both mortal and immortal – all at once.
For me, a fish is not a thing; it is a living being with a desire to survive as long as possible and with the best quality of life possible – just like me. When I do take the rare photo with a fish, I am never intending to say, “Look what I caught,” but rather, “Look who I met.” This is why I bring “him” or “her” to the net – not it. And this is why I say “thank you” when I release each beautiful creature back into the river of life. In the language of Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Native American ancestors, I might say, “megwech.” The intention is the same. Respect, empathy, and gratitude.
For me, a river is not a thing; it is a living being with a desire to flow as long
“I’d come back in a heartbeat given the opportunity,” says Ramirez of Alaska. “I left part of my heart in Alaska as well as a few pints of blood (the mosquitos are amazing!).” (STEVE RAMIREZ)
special focus fly fishing
as possible with clarity and good health – just like me. I’ve noticed that how we treat ourselves often determines how we treat others and the planet. If I eat more plants and less meat and processed foods, my heart and soul will thrive. If I pollute my body with fat, sugar and salt – I will no longer be the man I might have been. It’s the same with forests and fish and rivers and relationships. We get what we give.
THE MORNING CAME WITH coffee and breakfast and a view of Jackknife Mountain while looking across Lake Aleknagik from the window of Bristol Bay Lodge. I sat there in the soft silence with my friend Steve Laurant, who is the owner and general manager of the lodge, and Bob White, who is more like a brother to me than simply a dear friend. We didn’t need to say much beyond our usual morning greetings. We sat together in silence or spoke in hushed tones about the peace of the moment and the joy of being alive. We didn’t even talk about fishing. Among friends, silences are at least as important as spoken words. There is a comfort that comes with sipping coffee in the morning beside a person or persons who see the same magnificence and magic in the world around them and within the universe.
The Agulowak River is the home waters of Bristol Bay Lodge, as it is just across the lake from the dock that harbors several boats and three de Havilland Beaver floatplanes. The three full-time pilots include Steve, Ron Salmon and a man who goes by the call sign of “T-Bird.” (More on T-Bird in another chapter.) The Agulowak is approximately 4 miles long and is the connecting river between Lower Nerka Lake and Lake Aleknagik as part of the Wood River watershed. It is renowned for its large native rainbow trout, Arctic grayling, Arctic char, Dolly Varden char and as the spawning grounds for approximately 200,000 sockeye salmon, with another two million passing through its waters on their way farther up the drainage.
After breakfast, we looked at the chalkboard on the wall to see what the day might hold, and next to my name was the term “Wok.” This meant that
I’d be fishing the Agulowak, so I’d be loading onto a boat and not a floatplane. Bob and I walked down to the docks and met our guide for the day, a nice young man named Ethan Warren. Ethan was calm, quiet, patient and competent with an easy smile. I liked him. The boats were basic 16-foot metal johnboats with oars on the sides and enough motorized horsepower on the back to get the job done without being obnoxious about it.
If taking off in a de Havilland Beaver is my favorite way to launch into adventure, then crossing open water in a boat is a close second. There is something magical about the bouncing of the bow across the water, the coolness of the air and spray on your face, and the anticipation of what lies ahead. And there is something meaningful about looking back at the wake behind the boat and the changing perspective of the place you left behind and the one you are growing ever closer to discovering. It’s not that you wanted to go; it’s that you felt compelled to go. As if staying behind would cause your moist lungs to stop
breathing and your warm heart to cease beating. Living life urgently demands that we live gratefully in the moment while looking forward and remembering the lessons of our yesterdays.
Our target species on this first full morning was sockeye salmon, and the location was a turn in the river known as the “sockeye tree.” The salmon are everywhere in the Agulowak as they swim almost zombie-like against the current toward their destiny – the place where they were born and where they will spawn, die and give their last full measure by adding nutrients to the river and surrounding forests. Salmon and coastal brown bears are integral parts of this ecosystem. Without them, it is forever diminished. These fish are the stuff that such dreams are made of. They are the brick and mortar that built this wilderness. They are its lifeblood.
As we pulled up to the sockeye tree, we could see that my new friends Pue Nguyen and Steve Negaard had already arrived and were busy casting and catching as
Ramirez caught this beautiful lake trout on Upnuk Lake. (STEVE RAMIREZ)
waves of salmon swam over the shallow water that surrounds this bend in the river. And it was this shallow water that made this act of catching these salmon possible. The rigging we were using was basically a salmon egg bead suspended above a hook with a “slinky”-style weight attached to a swivel clip. The weight allows your rig to bounce along the bottom; once the angler feels the pull of the fish, the hook is set and hopefully the fish is landed. While the sockeye salmon are predominantly plankton feeders and therefore less likely to strike, the bead allows the angler to simultaneously fish for the Arctic and Dolly Varden char and rainbow trout that may be following the salmon in hopes of eating eggs that may be washed downcurrent from the redds. Beyond their platonic feeding habits, sockeye salmon are unique in that they require spawning rivers and streams that have lakes at their headwaters – such as the Agulowak, which empties into Lake Aleknagik from its headwaters at Nerka (the Russian name for the sockeye salmon) Lake.
This being the first full day of fishing in a new place, I was focused on getting to the boat and out to the river, which led to me forgetting to bring a few items that later proved meaningful. They included gloves, a head net and mosquito repellent. I never made that mistake again. I quickly concluded that the most frightening sound in the Alaskan wilderness is not the growl of a bear or snarl of a wolf – it’s the whine of a tiny blood-sucking insect in your ear. Enough said.
Upon arrival at the sockeye tree, the guides set up a plastic folding table and laid out a filet knife and a club for dispatching the fish we would be keeping today. The filet knife was long and thin and sharp – like any other of its kind. The club was part of a moose’s femur bone –a truly Alaskan choice. Although I’m usually a catch-and-release angler and go to great effort to be careful with the fish I catch, I am not opposed to a fresh salmon shore lunch when the run of fish is healthy and plentiful. If bears knew how to fry potatoes, I’m sure they would. We are all hunter-gatherers by nature. ASJ
Editor’s note: Order Steve Ramirez’s new book Casting Homeward at lyonspress .com/books/9781493051458.
BREWING IN THE WILD
ALASKA OUTDOORS LIFESTYLE INSPIRES THE CRAFT BEERS OF FAMILY-RUN DENALI BREWING COMPANY
BY TIFFANY HERRINGTON
Nestled in Alaska’s rugged wilderness, Denali Brewing Company is more than just a brewery; it’s a testament to adventure, craft, community and nature.
Founded by Sassan and Kristy Mossanen, what began as a passion project has grown into a beloved local institution. “Brewing in Alaska requires grit, perseverance, ingenuity and a passion for the craft,” says Sassan.
Their journey is one of resilience, creativity and a deep love for Alaska’s wild landscapes. In this Q&A, we explore the origins of Denali Brewing Company (907733-2536; denalibrewing.com) and how Alaska’s untamed beauty shapes their brewing philosophy. Sassan Mossanen shares the couple’s story of moving to a remote area north of Talkeetna in 1996, where they lived as experiential education instructors and guides. This deep
Sassan and Kristy Mossanen’s passion for mountain climbing is reflected in their craft beer operation, Denali Brewing Company, based in Talkeetna, not far from the continent’s highest peak. Their beers pay homage to the wilderness they love. (DENALI BREWING COMPANY)
connection with nature influences every aspect of their brewing, from sourcing local ingredients to practicing sustainability.
The Alaskan wilderness is more than just a backdrop; it’s integral to Denali Brewing Company’s identity. As Sassan explains, “We love the wilderness, and without it, we would not be brewing here. The reason we are here is first the place, then the passion for the craft.”
Using local ingredients like chaga mushrooms, birch syrup, berries and spruce tips, the natural environment shapes their beers’ flavors and character. Sassan’s experiences living off the grid and guiding expeditions inspire the company’s beer names and community initiatives.
The Mossanens’ commitment to sustainability is evident through initiatives like Talkeetna’s largest solar array, robust recycling programs and
advanced waste treatment systems. By supporting local causes and events, they foster a strong community spirit. Reflecting on the growth of Alaska’s craft beer scene since 2009, Sassan highlights a vibrant community of over 50 breweries, with Denali Brewing Company leading in creativity and sustainability.
Come along as we journey through Alaska’s wilderness with Sassan Mossanen, discovering the stories behind Denali Brewing Company’s exceptional brews and experiencing the synergy of craft beer, community and Alaska’s breathtaking wilderness.
Tiffany Herrington Can you share the story behind the founding of Denali Brewing Company? How does the Alaskan wilderness influence your brewing philosophy and the beers you create?
Sassan Mossanen The Alaskan wilderness has everything to do with it. My wife (and company cofounder) Kristy and I moved up to Alaska in 1996 to live in the roadless area north of Talkeetna – “up the tracks" – and work as experiential education instructors teaching multiweek mountaineering courses. This eventually led to working as a guide in the Alaska Range and climbing on Denali. Brewing in Alaska requires grit, perseverance, ingenuity and a passion for the craft. We love the wilderness, and without it we would not be brewing here. The reason we are here is first the place, then the passion for the craft. There are far easier places to brew, but it’s not worth it if you don’t first love the place.
TH How do you incorporate local ingredients into your brewing process?
each year. “I love to eat salmon, and it’s what our kids were raised on,” Sassan Mossanen says. (DENALI BREWING COMPANY)
SM Too many to list! Kristy and I are farmers, gatherers and naturalists. It comes naturally to us to use the terroir of the region: chaga, birch syrup, highbush cranberries, blueberries, currants, cloudberries, rose hips, rose petals, devil’s club, wild ginger, spruce tips, salmon, oyster shells, kelp, Kachemak Bay sea salt, etc.
TH What is your personal connection to the outdoors?
SM Outside of my family, it’s everything. From 1992 to 2003, I averaged about 200 days a year in the field, either on personal trips or guiding. For most of that time, when I wasn’t living out of a tent, I was living 14 miles off the road north of Talkeetna with Kristy in the cabin we built. I am a defender of wilderness and feel at home in the mountains, rivers and woods. With three kids, every free moment is spent at our cabin north of Talkeetna or on some adventure. Arguably, the things we do as a family would be considered extreme by most people’s standards, but our three daughters are incredibly capable in the great outdoors.
TH What drew you to Alaska?
SM I am not a native Alaskan, but I live
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on their lands and am grateful for their tolerance of my presence. Denali and the desire to be around it drew me here, along with building a home with Kristy in the woods and having a job doing what I loved. Back then, it was climbing; now, it’s brewing and distilling.
TH What was the inspiration for the fishing theme on the Twister Creek IPA label?
SM Twister Creek is the creek you cross right as you come down the hill into town. My family and I make an annual pilgrimage to the Copper River to dipnet and catch our annual salmon (harvest) to feed us. Other than that, I don’t really fish too much. I love to eat salmon, and it’s what our kids were raised on. Otherwise, I’d be just as happy sitting by the river watching it go by.
TH Do you have any other beers that were inspired by the Alaskan wilderness or Denali itself?
SM To a large extent, they all are. Denali is not just a name; it’s a mountain that I
am familiar with and a big reason why we came to Talkeetna. Most of the other beers are based on something local. For example, Chuli Stout is named after the Chulitna River, and Single Engine Red is about the pilots who fly us to the mountain. Mother Ale refers to Mother Earth. Many of the one-off beers we make are focused on the sponsorship of rides or races, as we all ski, ride bikes and raft.
TH Is Denali Brewing Company involved in any initiatives that promote sustainability and environmental stewardship in Alaska?
SM Yes, too many to list! It would be great to give you a tour. I believe we have the largest solar array in town, a fivestar energy audit, a recycling program, a waste oil burner, a composting program, a greenhouse feeding back into the
Whether they’re on a rafting expedition on the Marsh Fork of the Canning River or scaling the mighty mountain (above) that adorns their craft brew label, the Mossanen family embraces the outdoor paradise that is Alaska. (DENALI BREWING COMPANY)
tasting room, and our waste treatment is done internally; we are not on a municipal system, which is a huge deal! We sponsor the Susitna River Coalition, Denali Education Center, Denali Arts Council, and the American Lung Association, among others.
TH Are there any local events or festivals focused on outdoor activities that you sponsor or participate in?
SM We sponsor and participate in the TRIO Fat Tire World Championship, Oosik Classic Ski Race, Fireweed 200, Bun to Bun Run, Clean Air Challenge,
Idita Sport, and Denali Ultra Marathon.
TH Do you have any future plans or projects that might appeal to our readers who are passionate about the Alaskan wilderness and outdoor activities?
SM My family and I are hoping to climb and ski Mount Sanford in Wrangell-St. Elias National Park. The Copper River Basin and surrounding mountains are the places we most often gravitate toward when we have a chance to range further than Denali and our own backyard. My daughter Maya is about to start a 16day trip with some of her college friends, traveling from the McLaren River off the Denali Highway back to Talkeetna. She has also worked at the brewery. I am
personally super inspired by (Alaskan ultra-endurance cyclist) Lael Wilcox and hope to bike as many of the roads in Alaska as possible. I am not the incredible athlete that she is, but I hope to plug away at it over many years to come.
TH How has the craft beer scene evolved in Alaska since you opened in 2009?
SM We were license number 18, and now there are over 52 breweries in the state. I think this is fantastic. I believe every town should have a brewer, baker, butcher and building supply store. Alaska is known for making some of the highest-quality beer in the U.S. I’m proud to be among such great company. In this transition, there have been many ebbs and flows of new styles and innovations in the brewing world that have kept beer relevant and still the people’s drink of choice. Denali has also led the innovation charge by adding distillation and winery production to our offerings. For us, it has been a golden era of innovation,
A family that brews together plays together – in this instance, a roped-up trip along Ruth Glacier below the summit of Denali. The Mossanens and their three kids Maris, Maya and Lea share a love of adventure, which is reflected in their beers. (DENALI
BREWING COMPANY)
“I am a defender of wilderness and feel at home in the mountains, rivers and woods,” says Sassan Mossanen (left, with daughter Maya and Aiden Powell at the 2024 Fatbike Race in Talkeetna). “With three kids, every free moment is spent at our cabin north of Talkeetna or on some adventure.” (DENALI BREWING COMPANY)
creativity, and community building that has been an honor to be a part of.
TH Do you have any personal stories or memorable experiences involving fishing, hunting, or other outdoor activities in Alaska that you’d like to share?
SM I worked for Colby and Katlin Coombs at Alaska Mountaineering School for a short period. The summer we spent on Denali was, outside of what I do now, the best job I ever had. I will always be grateful to them for the job, friendship and great memories. I also cherish the time spent dip-netting with my family on the Copper River. When Kristy was six months pregnant with Maya, she was catching fish so fast that I had to put my net down and just support her in gilling and stringing our fish. We lived for almost 10 years “up the tracks” from Talkeetna. The time we spent living out in the woods, building our home and guiding was a succession of many dreams coming true. ASJ
Editor’s note: Like Denali Brewing Company at facebook.com/Denalibrewing. Tiffany Herrington is a Seattle-based writer.
