July 4, 2006
Its a great big, broad land up yonder,
It’s the forests where silence has lease,
It’s the beauty that fills me with wonder,
It’s the stillness that fills me with peace….
Denali is an overwhelming park. At six million acres, it’s roughly the size of Massachusetts. Without argument, it’s centerpiece is Mt. McKinley, which at 20,320 feet it is the tallest peak in North America. In another sense, at 18,000 feet, it’s the tallest peak in the world as measured from it’s base in terms of vertical relief. (Mt. Everest is about 11,000.) It is not a particularly difficult climb, at least in cooperative weather and 1,700 mountaineers attempt it each summer. About half succeed. But 400,000 people visit the park, and most everyone comes to see McKinley. They also come to see wildlife, sub-artic tundra, and hike trails or non-trails, camp, bike, bird watch, study natural history, take photos, casually and seriously, and participate in the many programs offered by the park rangers. Most everyone uses the shuttle busses as they are the most efficient way to see large parts of the park, including the wildlife, the rivers and the mountains. The majority of the 400,000 visitors are here for just one or two days, so to leave time to hit the gift shop, the busses make most sense, though only about 30% of one day visitors get to see McKinley due to rain and clouds. Still, it’s all fascinating wilderness, or at least the most wilderness any of us will ever see, and brings to mind the line from Thoreau, ” Nature here is savage and awful, though beautiful.”…. Outside the park, what is referred to as the “frontcountry,” is a melange of motels, gift shops, rafting outfits, flightseeing companies, and other cunningly contrived tourist magnets, all of which appear to thrive. As a thumbnail sketch, this will have to do, though in no way does it begin to capture the majesty of the
wilderness….. The drive down to the park from Fairbanks on Wednesday was only about 100 miles and uneventful except for the ubiquitous highway repairs. We were processed though the camping permit department very quickly, though Dave had to attend a 40 minute presentation since he was planning an overnight hike and camping trip. We then drove the 30 mile park road out to our campground and immediately were confronted with the problem of getting 50 plus feet of truck and trailer into spaces designed for something much smaller. With a bit of body language, as well as other language, and about ten shots, we succeeded. The camping spot is somewhat different from most RV parks in that an effort is made to separate the sites a bit among the black spruce and shrubs to provide more of a wilderness experience. Until a few years ago, tent campers were allowed into the Teklanika River camp, but first a wolf problem and later a bear problem have limited camping to those in hard sided vehicles. In fact, we’ve seen nonr of neither at the camp and rangers say they anticipate opening the area to tenters again next year….. On Thursday, the second consecutive nice day, we rode the tour bus from the campground to the end of the line at Kantishna out past Wonder Lake. For those of you planning to come, don’t bother to go past Wonder Lake as there isn’t much new to see, though you do ford two streams with the bus, but it adds considerably to the trip. As it was, the bus ride lasted from 9:05 AM till 7:05 PM. (For the folks who started at the visitors center, the ride starts and ends about an hour and a half later making the total trip a little over twelve hours.) If you liked Top of the World Highway, you’ll love this ride! There’s no roller coaster comparable, at least according to one women from California that says she’s sampled roller coasters all over the country. You drive on gravel roads terraced into sides of mountains that turn back on themselves at the very end of a ridge, and I mean very end. Thus, to folks sitting in the rear of the bus, it appears the front has traveled over the end of the road and is turning on nothing but air. Occasionally you meet a bus coming the other way– and somebody has to back up as there’s no way two can pass. In truth, after the Top of the World, I’ve become somewhat used to this type of aerial acrobatics so I enjoyed the trip more than I might have without that previous
preparation. We lucked out and the day was gorgeous, only the second good day for viewing in some time. We had stunning views of the Alaskan Range and Mt. McKinley throughout the trip. And wildlife was fairly abundant, too. Caribou, moose, Dall
sheep bears, and eagles were fairly frequently in sight. Unfortunately, they were rarely in camera range. Again, if you are going on this trip, you need a telephoto lens as long as your leg— and believe it or not, the guy across the aisle from me had not one, but two, plus a video recorder that probably cost about what the 5th wheel did. All in all a great time. I should put in a good word for our bus driver who delivered us safely back to Tek camp. She has a nice sense of humor and a real command of the bus, as do all the drivers, I suppose. Most of them have several years of experience (this is her seventh season) and most not only are college graduates but many have advanced degrees…..Friday morning, under cold and threatening skies that were soon to deliver, Dave ventured forth on his camping expedition while, back at the trailer, I rifled through his papers to see whose name is on the life insurance.But I took some solace in the fact that after I reported him missing I could quickly be on my way to the salmon grounds without the planned delays in Grizzly Bear Park (And Petting Zoo), Mat Su and Anchorage. From my vantage point under the bed (after the failure to find any life insurance), I began to hear (poorly) the pitter patter of raindrops on the trailer roof. They were to punctuate the silence on and off into the next morning. Meanwhile, the temperatures overnight quickly plunged into the forties making me forget how difficult it was to sleep under the bed without a pillow. I won’t ruin his good story, which I’m sure he’ll be relating shortly, but i will forewarn you it includes tracking wildebeestes above the soggy tundra….. Upon his return, we fired up the trailer furnace for the first time. We had used the air conditioning twice early in the trip but had no occasion for heat. Today, we used the furnace again as the temps dropped into the forties. As you might gather, the weather the last couple days hasn’t been all that inviting,
though yesterday (Saturday) afternoon the sun came out about 4:40 PM and the mercury quickly climbed into the 70’s. These types of temperature wings are fairly commonplace here. Today, it has been cold and misting intermittently. As you who know me well may imagine, I’ve done a whole lot of reading. (Dave, by the way is off hiking again this dreary Sunday afternoon..). The Teklinka River, upon whose banks we are camped, is typical of many of the Alaskan rivers. At this time of year, it’s a half mile wide, comprising mostly sandbars interspersed with trickles of water and one main channel that may be a foot or two deep. However, the volume of water will increase nine or ten times by mid July from the melting glaciers and it will be a roaring torrent. These rivers in days gone by made fording virtually impossible during the summer months and thus made winter, with its frozen ground and snow, preferable for land travel…..There’s so much more to say about Denali but I’d like to get this off tomorrow, so I’ll just close this segment with a little more Robert Service:
No! There’s the land. (Have you seen it?)
It’s the cussedest land that I know.
Fromthe big, dizzy mountains that screen it
To the deep, deathlike valleys below.
Some say God was tired when he made it;
Some say it’s a fine land to shun;
Maybe; but there’s some as would trade it
For no land on earth— and I’m one……
Tomorrow morning, we saddle up again and move the thirty miles to the front of the park and then down the highway six miles to an RV park. At Teklanika, we are restricted from traveling back to the main entrance of the park. We have a couple trips planned including a white water rafting expedition on Wednesday, so it’s necessary for us to move. The good thing about this is that we should be in the land of wi-fi again and I’ll be able to get this blog off. Maybe just as importantly, our holding tanks are filling so we need to get to a dump station before we drown in sewage. In any case, if things go according to plan, you should receive this sometime Monday evening or Tuesday….Till then…
July 9, 2006
July 10, 2006
Exhausted from a round of newpaper and TV studio interviews, I still feel compelled to share with my faithful readers the dramatic events which unfolded in the upper drainages of the Sustina River this morning. For several weeks now the fishing has been poor, to say the very least. In fact, the situation was getting so desperate that the Saturday morning fishing shows were refusing to film in the Mat-Su Valley. In a final attempt to turn things around, the Alaska Travel Cooperative agreed to fly in such angling luminaries as Lefty Kreh, Joan Wolff, Lou Tabory and a host of others hoping that if just one majestic king salmon was caught the magic would return. To be brief about it, all the heroic efforts culminated in abject failure and each icon departed with an empty creel….. And thus the stage was set for this morning’s adventure. Arising at 2:45 AM to meet our guide at 3:30 PM, we then motored 50 miles north to Talkeetna where we boarded a jet boat and powered our way five or six miles up the river through the stabbing cold The guide finally slowed the engine to ask me exactly where I thought we should cast our bread upon the waters. Summoning my finely honed river reading skills I confidently pointed to a very fishy looking spot. Strictly between the two of us, and despite the frustrations suffered by the aforementioned acclaimed anglers, I immediately hooked up. Reluctant to embarass them in any way, I quietly put a bit of slack in the line and let the behemouth wiggle and giggle and slip off the hook. Time and time again, I deftly managed long line releases in an effort not to sully their reputations. Finally, after an appropriate interval, I cried, “Fish On!!!” Oh, what a fish it was! Skillfully, I guided it through the raging torrent protecting my light 40 pound leader. Time and time again, the bright and powerful 35 pound king made efforts to return to the sea from whence he had come 70 miles ago. It was thrust and parry, but patience and superior skill finally led him to the net. (Pictures not available as personal photographer was fishing downstream) And so the long drought ended. In itself, this would have been enough to etch the name of your’s truly in the pantheon of Alaskan anglers, but to prove the point, I nailed another king of 25 pounds or so. (Pictures may be available despite technical difficulties) Then, to great acclaim, I retired to the stream bank, satisfied that the lustre and attraction of the Mat- Su Valley had been restored….. I can hear my guardian devil whispering, “Enough. Enough!” I assume he means enough fish, though I suppose less kindly souls might interpert it as “enough bull-hit!”….. Now, Boys and Girls, here’s the true skinny. The day was gorgeous, the small river beautiful, and the guide knowledgable. Closely following his instrutions, I quarter cast my six inches of pencil lead and unbaited hook with plastic salmon eggs (”no more than two inches from said hook”) upstream and let the lead tick along the bottom setting on anything that might have resembled a snag. For any of you who might think this sounds suspiciously like Pulaski, N.Y., you’re right on the $$$. The guide swears the kings strike the “bait” and the first fish actually did seem to hit it fairly hard, but my guess it that I lined his mouth. Ditto, the second. It ain’t my favorite kind of fishing, and in Pulakski I’ve failed to attain the competence of such snagging masters as Frank Rusczek and Mike Bartolotta who seemingly can perform this prodigous feat just seconds before said salmon is set to expire of natural causes. Still, we had a fun time this morning, and by some perverse luck did “catch” two salmon. Rather than looking for me on “Good Morning, America,” search for Dan Rather’s return— that might be about the same time I catch my next one!…..Otherwise, we’re having a good time in Houston, Alaska, notable primarily for a Deputy Mayor who hails from Houston, Texas. But it’s also the fireworks capital of Alaska, or at least this part of Alaska, and the highway is crowded with fireworks stands— and plenty of customers…. Off to bed to dream dreams of landed salmon….
July 11, 2006
A lot of loose ends here, things I’ve thought of but never- at least to my rapidly failing memory- included in the blogs…. Weather: Everyone talks about the weather, right? Well, the sky in Alaska is tough to read for a small town boy from Connecitcut. The cloud formations are just different. Stratocumulus, or what I think of as stratocumulous, seems to predominate, but it’s not always a good indication of rain, though you could predict rain up here every day and not be too far off. That’s not true, perhaps, in Fairbanks and some other northern areas, but elsewhere wear Gore Tex. Another problem is the mountains. They cause clouds to form overnight just about every night. Sometimes, they clear off— at least for a while. We’ve actually been fortunate according to tales we’ve heard from other folks who have come to believe the rain follows them around. But since Thursday, June 29th we hadn’t had a completely sunny day till yesterday. Today has been cloudy with a few breaks of sun since late afternoon. Anyway, this place ain’t Phoenix!….If you’re thinking about RV’ing your way up the Alaskan Highway and then through the Last Frontier, wait a year or two if you want wi-fi. More than a half dozen places we’ve stayed are either installing wi-fi or plan to install it during the off season. In a couple years, all the non-government campgrounds will have it. For me, with my inability to hear at all decently on the phone, it’s been a lifesaver, and a lot of other people really appreciate it. In Dawson City, one women explained to me how she was making the arrangements for her mother’s funeral (back in Texas) on the computer. I kid you not. I gave her my condolences— in person…. Buy gas in a competitive city. You need at least eight or ten gas stations before the gouging stops. In one station towns you’ll surely get gouged badly. I’ve been told that in many places coming up the Alaskan Highway there is one price for locals and another price for tourists, and it can be more than a dollar difference. I have no idea if this is true. In any case, in several towns in Canada we were paying more than $5.00 a gallon; that’s American dollars and American gallons…. There are some Alaskans, a goodly number in fact, who are downright unfriendly. This is noticable most everywhere we’ve been since we arrived here. The tourist based folks are just as friendly and helpful as elsewhere, and in fact the guy who owns the campground we’re staying at now is, maybe, the nicest and friendliest guy we’ve met on the trip. Mine is not an isolated observation as Dave has noticed it, too, and a number of other RV’ers have made comments to the same effect These folks I’m describing will not acknowledge a “good morning” if you walk by them and you’re the only person proximate They keep to themselves, and I haven’t even seen the type I’m describing socialize with other Alaskans very often. In a way, at least at a campground, it can be unnerving because it’s so much in contrast to the general conviviality of the RV’ers as a group. But if you think about it, a lot of them are likely the social isolates who build a house at the end of a dirt trail ten miles from the nearest neighbor. I’d have to say that even a cold Yankee makes these folks look absolutely frigid…. Alaska has great ice cream. I’ve eaten way too much of it…. And the supermarkets, at least the big chains like Meyer’s and Carr’s, are spectaular, if expensive. They have mouth-watering bakeries, delicatessans New Yorkers would drool over, top shelf meat departments, and fruit and vegetables from the world over. Just bring a big-time credit card…. Denali tops all when it comes to prices. It’s more expensive than the hotel district in Manhattan. in fairness, like many other areas, they have to make all their money in a four month period, and almst two of those months ain’t all that great either. Still, you have to behold the prices to appreciate them. There are no markets where you can buy even hot dogs or hamburger within about 50 miles. Some people swear this is a conspiracy to force you into a restaurant. I’m not sure, but the restaurants are doing a good business…. Sticking with Denali for a minute, if you go, and you’re not a real wilderness fan, stay outside the park or at Riley Campground which is just inside the park gates. Otherwise, you can’t get in or out of the campground where you’re staying for things like rafting, flightseeing, or even going into the park presentations that are held in and around the Visitor’s Center. The good thing about staying in the park, though, is you can’t get out to fuel the tourist economy mentioned above….. Yesterday, our guide on the fishing trip was personable, knowledgeable, and patient with his sports. We have been told, however, that “he thinks he owns the river.” Sure enough, we got to see him in action. Dave was taking a break on the river bank and four guys, who had hiked a couple miles thorugh the brush, and I mean brush, from the sandbar where they had camped the night before, moved into his spot. The guide immediately confronted them. In his defense, he was right as fishing ethics go, but his style left more than a bit to be desired. it never got farther than a shouting match, but the fourth guy who was fishing with us later reassured me greatly by patting his hip and pointing out that he was packing heat…. Alaskan TV does not have as many cartoon channels as Canadian….. If some of the stuff in this blog tend to the negative, let me assure you that it hasn’t diminished our fun at all….. And that leads me to friends. It’s my so-called buddies who are causing me to lose faith in my fellow beings!!! Buddies all right! Instead of accepting last evening’s blog at face value, they are demanding PICTURES. All I can say is, ye of little faith make Doubting Thomas look like a True Believer. A good story is a good story and the pictures be damned!…. Tomorrow, it’s on to Anchorage where we meet up with Charmi on Wedesday. I sure hope she recognizes me with my new Mohawk hair cut and sealskin parka to say nothing of my gold tooth and walrus tusk earring…. Hope you all are doing well; I’m lookin’ great!…
July 13, 2006
Anchorage Daily News: July 12. The Alaska Department of Fish and Game (ADF&G) today announced they have reached agreement with a Connecticut angler to restrict his capture of salmon. On Sunday, in less than five hours of stream time, the angler in question managed to land two huge king salmon. As dedicated fisherpersons know, on average it requires thirty hours of hard fishing to catch a king, though that time can be approximately halved with the assistance of a guide. Though a guide had been retained, in this instance it appears the angler was guiding the guide. When contacted, the ADF&G admitted that they were concerned that “one person with this level of skill could single-handedly decimate the rebounding salmon stocks. We are pleased that the individual is a superb sportman and has consented to release all salmon he doesn’t keep. Additionally, he has agreed not to reveal his cutting edge techniques to other anglers or to photograph the specimens he releases.”… Like a whirlwind moving from Talkeetna to Houston and on to Anchorage, Carl H. Sundell is a man on the move. The “Daily News” outdoor editor was finally able to snag Mr. Sundell at the Anchorage RV Park where he is taking a break from piscatorial pursuits. With his usual modesty, Mr. Sundell admits he is a born fisherman. “Back in Connecticut they call me ‘Catchin’ Carl’ but I’d like to give credit to a lot of the fellows I fish with— mostly for staying out of my way.” While Sundell is restricted from revealing the secrets to his success, it’s apparent that intellgence and a consummate knowledge of the angling arts play a big part. “I make my own luck,” Sundell says. He agreed to the ADF&G restrictions when he came to the same realization as the ADF&G, namely that at the rate he was catching there would be no salmon left for the end of his vacation. Also, he has been joined by his wife of 34 years and is busy feting her at the finest area restaurants. But while Mr.Sundell has put away his rods temporarily, he is now engaged with his bride trapping bears on the campground when foreswearing epicurean delights. Modesty moves to the forefront again as he admits that if he does catch a bear, he’ll allow his wife to release it. “I love to share with others,” he avers. “It’s going to hurt that I have two buddies joining me on the Kenai Peninsula in August and won’t be able to show them exactly what to do. Neither one of them is much of a fisherman, but with my assistance at least they might have managed not to hook themselves.” But the creel should be full long before that as Sundell has additional salmon and halibut trips scheduled prior to their arrival….. We are proudly nominating him for Alaskan Angler of the Year. Even if he were not to catch another fish, he’s proven himself at least the equal of the best of the Last Frontier.” A noted Shakespearean scholar, we honor Mr. Sundell with these words form Julius Caesar: ”Why, Angler, he doth wade the fishing world/ Like a Lefty Kreh, and we petty bait fishers/ Stand in the shadows of his arcing casts/ And search about to find ourselves a watery grave.”….Can there really be folks back on the States that need pictures????
July 19, 2006
Faithful Readers: I’m sure you all anticipated the blog slow down once Charmi joined us in Anchorage. In part, this was due to our separation of six weeks and the need to catch up on the latest doings back home. Beyond that, Dave and I needed to do some real sightseeing so Charmi would think we were getting our money’s worth and not just collapsing at the end of each day’s travels. But ultimately, all of you who know me well, have already figured I was wining and dining her at Anchorage’s finest establishments. And so it was. On Friday, after wonderful tours of the Federal Land Administration Building (scintillating) and the Museum of History and Art (not bad either), Charmi chose an attractive reindeer hot sausage wagon as THE place to eat. While time doesn’t permit a full review here, and Charmi iniitially indicated she’d like to eat at a fancy crab restaurant, the Chowder House, that looked a bit expensive to me since they had painted the place in the last ten years, I’d still like to cover this delightful lunch in a some detail The lunch wagon was operated by a lovely young women, who served as maitre-d’, chef, waitress, and cashier. The wagon itself was largely stainless steel and looked as if it had been cleaned recently. The reindeer sausages came in either regular or hot. This limited menu allowed the delightful young lady to concentrate on doing just a few things well. Unfortunately, this delectable delight was served on “just plain old buns,” as Charmi described them. A full complement of condiments was avalable and, at no extra charge, you could get some chunks of hot pepper with the sausage, so I did. Therefore, I cannot tell you how the reindeer sausage tasted. On the side, I had Dorito’s, in a new red bag (small) which were as crunchy and delectable as back in the States. To get the pepper burn out of my mouth/throat/esophogus/stomach, I had a classic Coke. While seating was available on the curb, or on the patio of the Chowder House, we chose to eat in the truck with background music from one of the local evangelical churches on Dave’s 8-speaker Dolby system, but it was unfortunately tuned to AM with lots of static caused, I assume, by the church steeples. I thoroughly enjoyed the repast and would have had dessert if the meter hadn’t run out. I didn’t really mean to toss the wrappers on the sidewalkand the cop probably never would have noticed had one of the coke cans not clanged off some old guy’s wheel chair. That little faux pas cost me $200.00 for littering bringing the meal total to $206.25. Under the circumstances, I didn’t leave a tip. There were no court costs…. We put Anchorage in the rearviews the next morning and have been in Seward the past four days. Since it rains here every day they have no weather bureau. We did hike to Exit Glacier on Sunday, and this proved fairly interesting, but the best of the best here in Seward was a marine cruise we took yesterday highlighted by a gastronomic belly-buster called an all-you-can-eat salmon and prime rib buffet. Surprisingly, it was quite good. I am also happy to report that I did not fall off the ship, in part because the cruise was significantly altered due to fog— which also made viewing any sea lfe more than two feet outside the portholes very difficult. Anyhow, again this evening we headed out on the town, this time to the Crab Pot Restaurant, which has prices like Ruth’s Chris but serves stuff hauled out of the harbor by the ton just a few blocks away. After I get rid of this indigestion I’ll tell you how much fun I had picking the exoskeleton out of my king crab…. Till then….
The pictures have arrived and we should be able to wrap up the debate over Carl’s salmon stories. Below is a set of 3 photos of the second fish ‘caught’. Forensic analysis proves that this evidence has not been altered in any way.
Is that a bear swimming in the water? A log? I’m not sure.
Well, I recognize that hat. At least my father was actually on the stream the day in question. I think the guy in the white hat just threw a large rock into the water.
This is our proof? I’ve seen clearer pictures of Big Foot!
I have a ton of other pictures that I’ll be posting as soon as I have a chance, so check back soon!
-dan
July 23, 2006
If you’ve been following the blog at all, you know that Alaska is expensive. You have a pretty good idea how tourists help keep it that way. But how did it all start, and what else fuels the economy ? The answer to that question is probably simpler here than most geographic or governmental areas, despite the relatively large mass of land. Part of this relates to the small population, only about 600,000 residents….. Anyway, to start from somewhere near the beginning, the First Nation folks (Athabascans, Inuits, etc.) crossed the Bering Strait about 12,000 years ago. Fairly quickly they thinly distributed themselves throughout what is now known as Alaska— and beyond for that matter, including quite probably most of North and South America. For well over 11,000 years the First Nation people remained hunter/gathers living close to nature and inhabiting, but not uniting or “developing”, in any real sense, fairly discrete geographical areas. Then, along came the Russians, possibly as early as the 17th century, primarily interested in furs, and who claimed the territory as their own. So Alaska became an area to be trapped and hunted for it’s many different and available fur bearers. Gradually, the Americans moved into the fur trade, and Russia, sensing that in the longer term that it could not sustain against the American influence, sold “Seward’s Icebox” to the U.S. just after the Civil War. Still, there was no significant migration to the area until the gold rushes that began in the 1890’s. But gold quickly brought adventurers of all descriptions and small cities and towns developed, mostly on rivers to which supplies could be shipped or in areas where gold was discovered. Many of the towns went from boom to bust in a matter of a couple years. Overnight, gold seekers would pull stakes and move on to more promising claims. But, in fact, some folks stayed and settled down and present day cities like Fairbanks, Skagway and Nome got their start. Other mineral discoveries such as copper and coal kept the extractive industries active if not thriving. Along with commercial salmon fishing, and the still present fur trade, this provided the “pioneers” with jobs. But growth, after the gold rush, remained modest till World War II….. The Japanese threat (Unalaska in the Aleutians was actually attacked by Japan) refocused attention on Alaska. The Alaskan/Canadian Highway was built in nine months in 1942 and provided the first land route from the U.S.to Alaska. The military also built a number of army (Ft. Richardson, Wainwright) and air bases (Elmendorf, Eielson) as well as Coast Guard facilities (Ambercrmbie on Kodiak). The U.S. government also provided homesteading incentives to draw farmers to the Mat-Su Valley to grow food for the troops. All this not only provided new transportation possibilities and jobs for the civilians, but, following the war, many veterans returned and settled in the land they had come to love…. By the late 1930’s, the possibility of oil in that there ice was beginning to draw the attention of both the major and independent oil companies. Visions of oil may have been the driving force behind statehood for Alaska (and the associated bureaucracy), which was finally achieved in 1959, but the oil industry really didn’t become paramount until the late 60’s or 70’s, and is primarily identified with the development of the oil pipeline from Seward ( an ice free port) to Prudhoe Bay. In some sense, oil continues king in Alaska and major skirmishes are taking place every day pitting the oil interests and job creation advocates against environmentalists and just plain folks who consider further oil exploration inimical to their Alaskan dreams, mostly owing to the idea that oil has put Alaskans on the “welfare dole” since most taxes are covered by oil royalties and each Alaskan resident receives an oil check annually. This year’s governor’s contest revolves mostly around oil issues, though the personal honesty of the incumbent is also a factor. (Something new, huh?)…. Over roughly the past thirty years, tourism has risen to it’s present position of eminence. Whole sectors of the state are almost entirely dependent upon tourists (and associated activities such as fishing, river rafting, museum going, kayaking, railroading, sea life cruises, gambling, theatre, restaurants, and on and on, right on down to bird watching— or for you birders, right on up….. This is just a thumbnail sketch, but there you have it: hunting/gathering, fur, gold, commercial fishing, extractive minerals, military, government, oil, and tourism….Alaskans feel that though the years they’ve been taken advantage of and have little to show for all that’s been removed from the state— and they certainly have a point. As a territory, they got few benefits from Washington, but Washington protected the companies that were extracting their resources. So what’s the point of all that I’ve written thus far? Simple. It’s payback time! That’s the reason all these tourists are being soaked!!!…. Charmi leaves tomorrow, so I’ll be a bit lonely for a while. To help me forget, I’m headed on an all day charter on a 44 foot Viking, shall we say, fishing boat or motor yacht. I hope to be back to you soon with some more fishing stories. I know you all just can’t wait!!!
July 26, 2006
Monday morning, or more accurately, Sunday night, I rolled out of the sack at 3:00 AM, quickly washed, dressed to the nines in my finest, and driest, saltwater gear, and began the 78 mile drive in a light drizzle to Homer, “the halibut capital of the world,” for the long awaited halibut/ silver salmon fishing trip. As soon as I stumbled out the trailer door, I realized the trip might be in jeopardy as the wind was gusting around 20 to 25 miles per hour. This is fairly unusual here. Though there has been almost constant cloudiness, there hasn’t been much wind. As we began the drive, I waited for the cell phone to ring with notification that the trip had been canceled. It doesn’t happen, and in fact, the winds seemed lighter the further south we drove on the Kenai Peninsula, though since the trees available to gauge the strength of the wind were often stunted black spruce, appearances may have been deceptive…. We reached Homer with plenty of time to spare for our 6:00 AM rendezvous with Captain Bryan Bandioli and the Ashtikan, a 44 foot sport fishing boat, so we grabbed a cuppa before hiking out to the slip, where our fellow ship mates were already waiting. They were two couples from Florida who have fished repeatedly with Bryan, and were effusive in his praise. But Bryan and the “Ashtikan” were late arriving. Small talk ensues. It turns out that both of the Florida guys own boats, a 34 foot Luhrs (Hewett would approve of that) and a 26 foot Sea Cat (what I always wanted!) and are veteran saltwater big game fishermen targeting primarily marlin and sailfish though they admit to chasing kings and just about anything else that swims…..Bryan finally arrived with the boat about 6:30. Immediately, I liked the cut of his jib. He just had winning personality and looked like he belonged on the water. When you’re picking guides out of a brochure, no matter how many e-mails and phone calls are made, you still feel like it’s a crap shoot. Without much ado, we were off. One thing I did notice as we boarded, however, was that the canvas flying bridge in the brochure photo had been replaced by a new and totally enclosed rigid cabin. I’d soon figure out why….Bryan made a quick vow to put us on fish and scrambled up to the wheelhouse. We steamed southwest out of Kachemak Bay and past the protection of the east end of the Kenai Peninsula, which was affording some protection from the wind. In fact, in the Homer harbor the waves were about a foot at most, then in Katchemak Bay the seas were no more than two to three feet, but after we cleared the last of the land past Port Graham and Nanwalek—surprise, surprise— we were rocking and rolling in eight foot stuff. The Floridians proved their mettle, and trust in Bryan, by sleeping through the whole trip out, a total run of about two hours…. Now many of us who fish have been in eight foot seas, but traveling through them, not trying to stand at a rail of a 44 footer and fish. But the time had come to fish, and I found myself lunging about the cabin for a handhold, stumbling from the cabin into the cockpit by grabbing the flybridge ladder, and then sliding into place along the non-padded coaming at t the stern without falling (barely) into the icy Gulf of Alaska, or wherever the hell we were. The low stern was better suited to a fighting chair than stand-up jigging with, get this, six pounds of lead at the end of the line. But the lead got us down the 170 necessary feet, though Bryan commented that the terminal tackle was at least a hundred yards behind the boat and I was soon to believe him. It only took about five or six minutes before John, of the Luhrs, hooked up, and about two minutes later while he was still in the beginning stages of his wrestling match, I hooked up. I was honest-to-God confused for a while as to whether my primary objective should be to land the fish or stay in the boat. It seemed impossible to do both as we pitched and rolled and I tried to press my knees and thighs into the non-existent stern, at least non-existent at the level of my knees. Folks, halibut fishing is just like they say, “hauling up the anchor.” You feel the head-jerk that you get with fluke, but otherwise it’s just dead weight, though very occasionally you feel some resistance as they make what vaguely might be called a run. I saw none jump. While I was deciding whether to pitch the rod overboard, hand it off to the mate, or continue my inglorious ballet aimed mostly at survival, though I did crank the reel a bit, John landed our first halibut of the day. According to the mate, it probably weighed in around 25 pounds, a mere “chicken” in the parlance. At the other extreme is a “shooter,” a fish over a hundred pounds that’s plugged with a pistol before hauling it over the gunnels so noone gets hurt by the thrashing fish. Some “shooters ‘ go two or three hundred pounds and are referred to as “barn doors,” the appellation needing no explanation but I would add that barn doors I’ve handled are a lot lighter than these halibut. Anyway, I’m making progress slower than I probably should with my shiny Penn International, designed to whip swords, sharks, and marlin. By now, I wished I was wearing a fighting belt like the one women who was fishing and also one of the guys, neither of whom looked like they missed too many meals, though both were big rather than obese.(I never did put on the belt, though it was foolish conceit, as I went mano a mano a la Hemingway, though he committed suicide in Idaho, if I recall correctly). My sinewy forearms were already tiring and my bulging biceps were crying for steroids. Bryan was the epitome of patience, however, and when I dragged the “monster” close enough for the mate to gaff and swing over the rail, imagine my surprise to find the monster of the deep SMALLER than John’s I was too tired to ask how much it didn’t weigh. But with an air of practiced nonchalance, I slipped and slided and skidded and banged across the deck and tried to hide on the starboard livewell, which, positioned against the cabin, made a satisfactory seat, of sorts. I quickly fired up a cigarette before the ever attentive mate could re-bait the hook, though it was a close call given his eagerness. By now, all four of us who were fishing for halibut had at least hooked up one and landed, or were in the process of, landing it. Mistaking my momentary relief for enthusiasm, the mate soon had me back in the rotation, and damned if one of these nefarious halibut didn’t attach itself to the hook I was trying to make sure never reached the bottom, which is the only place they are supposed to be available for attachment. So I plastered a grin on my rapidly tiring face and worried if the muscle use would sap the little remaining strength in those no longer sinewy and muscular arms. My aching hands began to crank the reel, at least when I thought anyone was watching. In smiling agony, I whipped the brute in no more than five or ten or twelve interminable minutes. This time I had no energy for nonchalance so I simply crawled across the deck and collapsed in a steaming heap of sweat on my old friend the livewell. As if on cue, I heard Bryan sing out merrily, “We have six licenses on board so we can take eighteen halibut.” I figured maybe we had seven so far. As I glanced at the frothing waves and listened to the wind whistle through my sure-to-fail-shortly hearing aides, I saw the mate headed my way and I had barely put the match to my cigarette. Dutifully, I resumed the rotation, this time at the starboard position where there was a bit of knee grip available. However, the catching was picking up and I soon was back on the stern fearing for my life….. Things have been moving so fast I’ve not had time to fill you in on the intricacies of technique and proper pounds of lead with a hook below, and with a stinky sardine impaled thereupon, to the bottom, which you’ll swear is somewhere south of China. So you try to cheat and let the whole rig go whammo at the bottom, but the ever vigilant mate is lurking there to remind you that with the braided Kevlar line you might damage the equipment or commit other forms of anti-social behavior if you fail to follow the prescribed course of torture. Anyway, when you get it to the bottom, sometime around the sixth inning, there’s no seventh inning stretch on the horizon. You must immediately begin “jigging” this rig, which is something like bouncing a six pound yo-yo off the Fifth Avenue, or actually First Avenue, asphalt from the top of the Empire State building, cause the you-know-what ain’t any longer available for this simile. Of course, you’re doing this to attract the voracious halibut to your morsel of rotten sardine. Of course, by now you have come to the conclusion that a halibut can spot a morsel of sardine from two or three seas away and are faster than speeding seagulls in getting to the offal And again, and of course, retrospectively, I have to say that halibut make a bluefish feeding frenzy look like a sedate dining experience. So I am determined not to twitch a muscle never mind create a movement that might attract one of these devils of the deep. Already, I have slyly removed half the sardine from the hook as the mate begins to swing it over the side. A wave whacks the boat and I’m spun around. While trying to regain my footing as we wallow in a trough my eye is drawn to that fully enclose flying bridge that I now recognize as something akin to Ahab’s hidey hole. But there’s no time to ruminate as something tries to swipe the rod from my hand, and that something is you-know-who back for another sardine. By all that’s high and holy, I swear I don’t know how I’m gonna crank this one up. But crank it up I do…. Meanwhile, remember Kathleen Harris, folks, that classy Floridian that helped Dubya to the White House? Well, I’m at the rail rubbing biceps with her as she bellows out, “That’s four for me!” But quickly, I realize this can’t be Ms. Harris, as she makes Kathleen look like your high school sweetheart. Or maybe I’m being unfair, and just a teeny bit jealous, of her unflagging enthusiasm and inexhaustible supply of energy. But, man, this woman can fish. She got to four first, and to five first, but then retired to, yup, the livewell. On the matching opposite livewell, with a lighter weight rod, sat the second women, quietly and wisely fishing for silver salmon. The huge advantage here is you only have thirty or forty feet of line out and almost no weight attached. She is your high school sweetheart with a winning way of congratulating you each time the mate slides one of your halibut into the cockpit. She also has a winning way of nabbing silvers as when you ask how she’s doing, she says she thinks she has seven. My devious mind is conniving a way to wrest that rod from her hands, get a seat on that port livewell and take break from halibut cranking. I decide on a direct approach and ask if I can give it a try. Sweetly, she admits her arms are tired and surrenders the rod. Triumph, or so I think, until I fail to attract a silver in the next few minutes. But Bryan comes to the rescue, familiarizing me with another jigging technique, and adjusting the depth a bit and soon I’m fast to one. By now however, a silver feels as heavy as halibut-with-lead-attached though I do get it in up in a respectable minute or two. “Hey, Carl,” I hear the merry mate calling my name as he thrusts a halibut rod at me. So I’m back in the rotation. At this point, Bryan sidles up to me and quietly asks if I mind if we cut the trip short and he returns a few bucks to my badly depleted supply of greenbacks. I drop the rod on the deck and kiss him fully on the lips! Not really, but I’m willing to turn over my future state pension if he’d call a chopper and get me out of this halibut hell and back on to terra firma. He says everyone else has agreed, so I feign disappointment but acquiesce. He says only four more and we’ll have our halibut limit, and I stifle an audible groan….. I won’t bore you with the details of the apprehension and capture of the final four Osama Bin Halibuts, only to say that the Sunshine State folks graciously agree that I should catch number 18. I do, somehow, though it all seems blurry now….. At 10:20 AM we have completed our mission more or less. It has taken four of us about one hour and forty minutes to catch 18 halibut and, with the assistance of a fifth (person), nine silvers. Unbelievably, my contribution has been five halibut and one silver into the fishbox. Now comes picture time. I’d rather skip it and start homeward, but most of the halibut and a couple salmon are laid out on the cockpit deck and we sit tight on the gunnels as the mate climbs to the flybidge for a fine photo op. He promptly drops one camera, but miraculously it proves to be a Timex and keeps on clicking. A second camera won’t work and precious moments are lost as the wallowing of our good ship “Ashtikan” causes the line up to begin a maximum randomness experiment. But the mate keeps clicking away and the Kodak moment is soon over. It takes a couple hours to slosh our way back to port, but the seas lie down a bit as we begin to gain the lee cover of land. At the dock, we learn that only four boats from a fleet of something-zillion made it out to the Gulf of Alaska grounds this morning. Proudly, we all say goodbye and stagger up the dock to the Coal Point Fish Company where our catch has quickly been spirited. We keep a couple for dinner and to smoke, then agree to have the rest shipped home, thereby transferring the halibut problem to someone else— but shipping costs more than negate the rebate from Bryan, who, by the way is a great guy to book a trip with if you’re ever up this way….So there you have it, the halibut trip from hell, or, rather, Homer: “a quaint little drinking village with a big fishing problem.” For the record, we’re not going to win the Homer Halibut Tournament. Currently atop the leader board is a three hundred pounder. The biggest we managed weighed around 55 to 60 pounds, but that fish was in a class of it’s own. Most were in the 20 to 30 pound range with two about 40. I doubt that any I caught were over 30, thank heaven!…. I have a tiny Calvinist streak in me that whispers “work is good.” But if I had to work hauling up halibut every day, I swear I’d be down at the unemployment office in a flash!…. In August, I have two so-called friends, Dave Friez and Paul Glinski (impartial alphabetical order), flying up to join me on a halibut trip out of Seward. The water in Resurrection Bay should be a lot quieter, and the six pound weights replaced by sixteen ounces or maybe twenty four, but the principles will remain the same. My cogent advice to them is start working out! My left forearm and right bicep are still aching thirty six hours later…..While we were out on the halibut trip, the ADF&G closed the sockeye salmon fishing “temporarily,” so there’s no bank fishing at the RV park. On Thursday, though, Dave and I head out on a trip for kings on the lower Kenai River. Stay tuned for more spectacular action!!! But the halibut haunt me. I can’t wait to go again…..
July 30, 2006
Soldotna had a population of 0 in 1946. Yup, zero, an untouched forest of sorts, or at least unpeopled and unnamed, since the Dena’ina natives had vacated a century or more before, for whatever reason, but probably because they were tired of eating salmon. But then someone though a highway was needed to link the various unnamed and unpeopled areas of the Kenai Peninsula and so the bulldozers started their march from Cooper Landing, where the road had previously dead ended, around in a big crescent and on down to Homer, roughly 150 miles away but where 300 people did reside. The highway construction coincided with a homesteading act that allowed WWII vets, and then a few months later, most anyone, a chance to claim 160 acres by simply building a “house” and staying in it for seven months a year. Of course, there was no big land rush, but a few folks found their way and began to erect log slab cabins, standard size about 16′ x 20′. There was no electricity, and for years gasoline, for instance, because there were cars, was pumped by hand. There were no phones (though now it seems that every damn resident owns at least two of the cell variety). The phone didn’t arrive till the mid-50’s about the same time (1956) that electricity came to some parts of the berg. As far as I can tell, most of the residents, after they got their cabins erected, sat around arguing whether they lived in “SoldOtna or “SoldAtna.” The former triumphed in 1985, only under pressure from the feds who were felt the debate was getting a bit tiresome and wanted to put a name on the post office. This, despite the fact that oil was almost discovered, but natural gas really was, in 1957. Still, the town didn’t exactly boom, though the first bank arrived in 1959, and even a newspaper in 1960. But don’t let this fool you, a lot of those pioneers were still living in those slab log cabins, heating with wood and eating by kerosene lanterns and cursing the “O” in Soldotna. There’s a story, definitely not apocryphal, told one about one of the first pioneers to settle here that’s related in hushed and reverential tones. It seems that one Mac McGuire, formerly of County Donegal, had a serious type problem with a bear stealing his bacon from the cache outside his cabin. Other efforts failing, Mac got a slab of bacon, rind still on, and secured the bacon with several neat wraps of one end of a half inch rope. Then, he threaded the rope through window (no doubt he busted out a pane as I’ve seen Mac’s shack and the windows aren’t exactly double hung), across the room, and tied it to his ankle before retiring for the night. Sure enough, the bear stopped for his midnight sack, flitched the bacon, and started to run off. Said bear dragged Mac out of bed, across the room, thereby smashing an orange crate recliner, and slammed him into the wall beneath the window before Mac was able to break loose. So, keep in mind the type of individual who settled here as we fast forward to 2006. Now 3,700 gentle souls inhabit this small city that features a bridge crossing the mighty Kenai River. Yeah, it’s got government, and a McDonalds, and strip mall upon strip mall, and very good schools, but there’s only one real reason the place exists: SALMON— and mostly of the king and sockeye varieties. Anglers pilgramage from all over the world to cast a line and catch a king, or to cast many, many lines and catch a slew of sockeyes. No salmon, no town. It’s about that simple…..And that’s why I’m here, to catch a king, aka “jack.” So last Saturday, I spent untold dollars and nine glorious hours on the mighty Kenai with two attorneys from Frankfurt, Germany who had come here to catch a king they could mount. Under the expensive and able tutelage of a Kenai River Association Guide, we flailed away in the midst of four or five hundred other boats all stem to stern, gunnel to gunnel, and each loaded with three, or more often, four anglers. Only about 800 to 1,000 kings parade through these waters on any given day, and sometimes far fewer than that, so you don’t have to be a math whiz, or even a profound thinker like Mac, to see where I’m going with this. And so what did the three of us end up with at the end of nine hours? Nothing! But the big one got away, truly. Both of the other guys hooked up. In one instance we lost the king a distance from the boat. But just before closing time, Hans had one boatside three times, maybe just a tad too far for the guide to net, and then it wiggled and giggled and slipped off the hook. Absolute heartbreak! The poor guy was visibly upset till we got back to the dock an hour or so later. This is his second trip from Frankfurt to Soldotna, and the second time he’s flown home in disgrace. As he left, he vowed to the guide that he’d be back. Kings can do that to you!…. Now I’ve got a bit of Mac, and Hans, in me, so on Thursday, for only two thirds of the money I hired a guide for one half of the time of last Saturday and set out on my quest again. This time I was joined by Dave and a couple, Bonnie and Bob, from Minnesota. Our guide, pretty much a stand up comedienne, was aptly named Jeff King. And so it came to be. First Bonnie, then Dave, and finally me. It was only Bob for whom the lightening didn’t strike. But Bob is a veteran musky and walleye fisherman and he swallowed his disappointment with grace. The kings weren’t huge, the biggest being something under fifty pounds, but each gave a decent account of herself, eliciting joy and relief from all of us. I released mine but we brought Dave’s home and smoked part and have been eating suppers from the remainder since….. Meanwhile, back at the campground, the red, or sockeye, salmon is usually king, but not for the last nine days. A good part of Soldotna is given over to motels, campgrounds and RV parks. There are probably more people here— and they number in the thousands— seeking red salmon for the freezer than seeking the trophy king. As the sockeyes swim close to the river banks, they are relatively easy to catch, and unlike the kings and silvers a boat isn’t really necessary. This places a premium on river bank access The RV park where we’re staying, in addition to charging usurious rates, borders the river with a 900 foot boardwalk from which sockeye are usually harvested by the bushel roughly from mid July through late August. Not this year. The run of reds has been abysmal, so poor, in fact that a week ago last Friday the Alaska Department of Fish and Game banned fishing for reds in the hope that enough will escape upriver to spawn to avoid a total collapse of the fishery in future years. This ban has left the town brimming with unhappy people, many of whom journey here every year from far-flung corners of the States to do nothing but catch reds. With a bit of cooperation from the salmon, who finally seem to be returning in respectable numbers the last four or five days, the ban may be lifted early this week. As of a week ago, the run was only 20% of average, so a few anglers try to be understanding, though all are chomping at the bit, or more likely sharpening hooks, as there isn’t a whole lot else to do in Soldotna but fish. So that’s Soldotna, the “salmon Capital of the World.”….We’re here till Thursday morning so maybe we’ll get some sockeye fishing in yet. But on Wednesday, I venture forth with a guide and my flyrod to seek the elusive silver salmon. For those who just can’t live without another fish story, you don’t have long to wait….
