Alaskan Adventures Fall 2023

Alaskan Adventures Issue #09 FALL 2023

ADVENTURES

ALASKAN

READY T

TO FISH

MERIDIANFLYREELS.COM

WANNA GO TO ALASKA? By: Cindy Criswell Lorem Ever experience one of those vacations that changes your life? The kind that gives you a whole new perspective on life and situations and relationships? They're rare, but they're out there. The trip my husband and I took to Alaskan-Adventures on the Holitna River is one of the special ones.

"Wanna go to Alaska?" were the first words I heard when my husband returned one evening from his volunteer job with the NRA at the Great American Outdoor Show in Harrisburg, waving a postcard at me.

Not really, I thought...but I asked: "Where?

What's it cost? What's included? When?"

When those questions were answered, I checked out the postcard that served as a brochure. On my bucket list for a long time was a fishing trip for BIG pike and there -- on the postcard -- was a huge northern pike.

OK...I was sort of interested...

So I agreed to go to Alaska with him. After all, I had my own selfish motive: I wanted to catch one of those big pike. Beyond that, I was not looking forward to it.

We booked the trip the following week and then the real doubts began to creep in because I'm a worrier. Was I too old to do this? What if something happened? After all, this place was absolutely in the middle of nowhere, far from civilization and medical care. Would I physically be able to make all the casts I imagined would be required to catch one of those big pike? What would it be like to fish with a guide all day long? How would I go to the bathroom stuck on a boat all day? What would the accommodations be like? What kind of food would they serve? What would we DO every evening after dinner?

While planning our trip, the smallest things completely frustrated me: our incompetent travel agent, deciding what clothing to take, searching for slippers to wear in the lodge, picking carry-on luggage to meet the airlines' size restrictions (since we didn't plan on checking anything), finding waterproof boots that suited me, and much more. Many times over the months preceding our departure I asked myself: Why in the world were we doing this? Would it be worth all the money we were laying out? Should we even have booked this trip in the first place?

And, most important, could I survive being stuck in the wilderness in close quarters, 24/7, with my husband of 50 years? Could we be civil and tolerate each other all that time?

Not that there was no love there, but after 50 years we had grown apart and our relationship had become stale. Our marriage was in danger of disintegrating. Our daughters had a 50th anniversary celebration planned for us in a few months and I believed we'd be lucky if we made it to that date. But I was determined to stick it out until the party -- and then we'd re-evaluate things. We felt like roommates, sharing a house and an address, not a married couple who had spent the past 50 years together. More often than not, we were impatient and snapped at each other instead of holding civil conversations. We both did our own thing with separate friends.

“ Our trip to Alaskan-Adventures can be summed up in one short statement — it saved our marriage.”

He spent a lot of time in his basement workshop and I stayed in my sewing room most of the time. We rarely went anywhere together, not even out to dinner. Why pay for a meal just to sit there in silence when we could do the same at home for a lot less cash.

There was just nothing to say. Whole days went by with an absolute minimum of conversation. And physically we weren't close either -- 'nuff said about that.

In June of 2022, we left Pennsylvania and made our way to Anchorage -- then things started to change for me. The real magic began when that Cessna 206 left Merrill Field and headed for the lodge. At that point, I had no expectations. I figured I'd take whatever came my way. There was no turning back once those wheels left the ground and we headed across the Alaska Range into the unknown. I realized I had to trust others more than I trusted myself and give up all my fears and doubts. And that realization formed the pathway I needed to open communication with the person I was married to and still loved.

Our trip to Alaskan-Adventures can be summed up in one short statement -- it saved our marriage. How? We were offered soul-refreshing, mind-clearing beauty on the Holitna River. We had the rare opportunity to spend all our days with zero responsibilities beyond getting out of bed, putting on clothes and showing up for meals on time. In other words, we could be kids again, fishing and having fun with no worries.

That fun, that complete relaxation, the absolute beauty of the landscape, the river, the wildlife, spending days with patient and kind guides, and being treated like family by everybody at the lodge allowed us both to totally relax and enjoy being with each other again in a way that had been missing for a long time in our marriage.

While we were there, we had plenty of time to talk and laugh with each other about what we were experiencing. Then after we returned home, we flipped through our pictures often and talked with each other about all our amazing adventures on the Holitna River. We shared feelings, hopes and dreams, and enjoyed being together again...more than we had for years. Our trip to Alaska and Alaskan-Adventures gave us a focal point to start rebuilding the relationship that once existed. We realized that, with the help of many others, we had taken a trip out to the Alaskan bush and returned safely!

Not bad for a couple of old people, especially one who worries about everything!

Since then, when life gets very stressful and upsetting and I start to worry, I seem to always have the same wonderful reoccurring dream. In my dream, our favorite guide from Alaskan-Adventures shows up at my door in Pennsylvania. He gives me a big smile and a hug and says "Want to go fishing?" And through the magic of dreams, he and I are transported to a boat on the beautiful Holitna River.

We fish and talk, talk and fish, and when I awaken the next morning, I'm ready to tackle the situation that upset me the day before. I always share with my husband that I had "been fishing" overnight with our favorite guide and then we work on moving forward and figuring out a solution together!

We came home from the lodge on the Holitna River renewed and refreshed and ready to tackle the next 50 years...well, maybe not 50 years, but whatever the good Lord gives us...together.

Oh yeah, I did catch that BIG pike. In fact, we both caught many big pike! We returned to Alaskan-Adventures again this year and we've already booked for 2024. Because when you find the special trip that ends up changing your life, it's very difficult to let it go..

THE HANDS OF A GUIDE

BY DAN PAULL

At Alaskan Adventures lodge the role of a guide is probably a little different than you might think. Guiding and taking people fishing is a small percent of what the actual job is. Looking at the “Alaskan Adventures Guide Position” I would say that it encompasses a broad spectrum of titles enrolled into one. As a guide at our lodge, and many others, you are not just a guide. An ideal ‘guide’ is a carpenter, mechanic, chef, gardener, artist, housekeeper, psychologist, therapist, friend, fisherman knowing both fly gear and conventional gear, able to run a boat and overall able to adapt to anyone you might have on the boat. Just as in many roles in any career, your title might be one thing but include much more when help is needed in any other area. You might be asked to help out to ensure goals are met and the company drives forward.

As an example, I am currently at the lodge as I write this. It is May 12th, and we are not guiding guests out on the water and probably will not be taking fisherman out for close to a month. Until then we are here milling lumber to update cabins, fixing any damage caused by the harsh winters, changing oil in all boats and any machinery, preparing meals for staff as needed, planting the garden and flowers, cleaning cabins from top to bottom and so much more! So as a guide here at our lodge, before any guests show up there is a LOT that goes into preparing before any guiding can happen. Now once the guests show up, everyone will most likely be guiding daily; however, we will also all have chores to do on top of that. Chores might include mowing the lawn, weeding the garden, doing the dishes and laundry. Sometimes it may seem as if a guide’s job is never done. And in a lot of cases that is the truth, however if you look at it from the back seat, it is almost no different than if you were at home. For example, if you were to take four days off to go fishing yourself, you would have a lot of the same chores to complete once you got home. Sure, you are fishing during the day but at the end of the day you are still responsible for cooking your own food, cleaning your own house, taking out your trash and mowing your own lawn. Welcome to being a fishing guide!

As I look back at my whole day, previous days, past weeks, finished seasons and years guiding in Alaska, I am reminded constantly that guiding is not just guiding.

The title of “guide” is much more than a person that takes other people fishing. If you have never guided, you may think you are just going to be taking people fishing every day… then I think you need to read this. Now as the business owner, this article is going to be a little more than your average guide, but I think you will get the point, as most self-employed guides go through the same thing.

My day typically begins at five a.m., or at least that is when I roll over and get out of my bed. My dog, Matooka, wishes I would stay and keep him warm but NOPE…. GOTTA GO! The coffee is put on and my day is off to a start. This is the time I usually get to spend some uninterrupted time with the chef. At the Alaskan Adventures lodge, we have a chef that prepares unbelievable meals. And in the hour of five a.m. to six a.m. we discuss all the meals, inventory, and forecasting.

Mostly though, lots of coffee is consumed to prime the engine for the day.

At six a.m. we turn the generators on and get the camp going. Guests’ coffee is made, lunches are packed in to-go lunch containers and breakfast is served. Now, as a guide, you might think that you would have no part in that... At Alaskan Adventures we are ALL responsible for ALL of that! Teamwork makes the dream work, and it really takes a team to make sure everything is getting done, with a smile on your face as well. At times the team needs a pep talk and some coaching in these early hours, but they really are a great group of guys to work with. Mornings are always best for pep talks, coaching, and coffee

As a “guide” our guiding day starts by leaving the dock at eight a.m. In most cases our boat ride is anywhere from ten minutes to two hours. Once we are at the desired fishing location your gear needs to be in tip-top working order because the clients are ready to catch the fish of a lifetime. This is where the actual “guiding” starts to take place.

However, in most cases, friendships are also being built here - I have many former clients that have become friends over the years and have either come back time and time again or have fished with me in other locations - While guiding, it is important to remember to take the guiding hat off and listen to build on these friendships. I am not exactly sure why, but more than you think, some folks feel safe enough to chat about ALL the problems in their lives. I think maybe they feel comfortable enough to believe that what happens on the guide boat, stays on the guide boat. And I would agree to those terms. I could tell you about MANY stories on the ups and downs of my new friends’ lives, but I will not for now.

For this read, just know that the comfortability over the years has amazed me.

As a “guide” I’m completely okay with however someone wants to spend their time out on the boat and if they wish to just sit for hours and talk well, I am all ears.

Furthermore, our day on the water ends around four p.m. and it is back to the lodge for the guests to enjoy appetizers. As a guide we still need to clean, gas, and grease our boats to get them ready for the following day. If we have fish to clean, then it is time to take the knife to the fish and get them put up for the guests.

If not, then it is time to get to the lodge and help with dinner. This entails setting tables with silverware and plates, filling waters, and assisting the chef with serving. All guides have a hand in helping with that at some point in time or another.

Once dinner is complete it is time to clean up and do the dishes. Yes, we all help, even me! I look at it as doing dishes helps keep my hands soft and clean… Ya right! They are still dried and cracked! Anyway, we all have a hand in helping in the kitchen and cleaning up after meals. Including sweeping and moping the floors. After all, maintenance is the key to upkeep at the lodge.

Usually, the workday ends at about 9 p.m.

Now if we are not guiding, for whatever reason, we still have plenty of work to be done including carpentry jobs, fixing boat motors, mowing the lawn, weeding the garden, doing laundry etc. It almost never ends, at least until September 24th when the season is over, and it is time to close the lodge for the winter ahead. Usually by this time I am sitting on the plane, and I look down at my tattered, torn, dried, cracked and cut hands and think of everything we accomplished over the season. Great things were accomplished when the burdens of all are lightened by the eager working hands of many. All anxiously entwined in a common cause. I ponder everything that we did not accomplish, everything we still need to accomplish and the plan of attack for next year. It is usually this time I look at my hands and think “WOW… we did it again”, and it was so much better than the year before.

The old man zipped his hunting jacket up tight. The evening chill started to set in and he was no longer immune to it like he had been in his younger days. In those days, he would have charged right up to the top of the mountain and hunted the more secluded areas on the back side. He never even considered the steepness of the terrain or the difficulty that might be encountered getting a deer back to his truck. Now, at the age of seventy-eight, everything was a consideration. His eye sight had grown considerably worse over the years but that was of little concern to him now. Just three weeks ago the doctor made him sit down for the diagnosis. He heard the words clearly, “stage four” followed by “lung cancer”. There was a brief discussion about treatment options and a quick decision on his part that no treatment was the route he would take. Odd how his initial thought was “I guess that means one more hunting season.”

He had struggled mightily just to climb to the first bench on the mountain in the two hours preceding sunset. He settled in next to a giant oak, carefully kicking all the dried leaves away at its base. He did this so that if a deer did show up to feed on the freshly fallen acorns, the noise of shifting leaves wouldn’t betray him as he lined up for a shot. There was a voice within him that said he was a damn fool for venturing here in his condition and another voice that was full of defiance. It was the second voice he heard the loudest and it told him clearly to savor every remaining breath. He had never been a religious man but he was a spiritual one.

He had always felt a strong connection to this mountain. He had traveled and hunted widely but there was something about this rugged area that always pulled him back.

His thoughts traveled back to his first trip to hunt caribou in Quebec some fifty years ago. His Cree Indian guide was there beside him kneeling in the lichen covered tundra, searching for blood. The spots in the vegetation were small at first but grew larger the longer they were on the trail. He wasn’t sure why the animal hadn’t fallen at the report of the rifle. The shot was unobstructed and he had used a cedar tree to steady his aim. “Do not worry” the guide said. “This is good sign. We will recover your bull” he continued. “Let us sit here and offer a prayer to both the tracker and the hunted. Sometimes, time is best”

The guide looked thoughtfully at his hunter. “You know death is the best tracker. It takes up the trail when you enter this world and it is relentless in its pursuit. It never loses the trail and it never wavers. It does, however, wait from time to time. You can never be sure how far behind you it is.” At that, they each smoked a cigarette and shared some coffee from a metal thermos. They sat in silence for about twenty minutes and then followed the blood down into a small valley. From fifty-yards away they could see the belly of the fallen animal and the guide slapped the man on the back in congratulations. He felt so young and alive then.

The sound of shuffling leaves brought the old man back to the present moment. A yearling doe was feeding in his direction. Even after all these years, he felt that old familiar surge of adrenaline and excitement. Carefully, he thumbed the safety off and slowly raised the gun. The deer caught the movement and lifted its head, staring intently in his direction. Quickly, he found the deer in the scope but he was having great difficulty steadying his sight picture. Just as it was beginning to bolt, he held his breath and squeezed the trigger. The boom of the rifle echoed off the side of the mountain and suddenly all was still. Immediately, he doubted the shot and the voice that told him he was a fool entered his mind. “Better hope you didn’t cripple it or send it off to die somewhere that you can’t recover it” the voice said in a harsh tone. He slowly and deliberately made his way over to where the deer had stood and began to look for sign. He wasn’t even sure he was looking in the right location. So many things were so much more difficult now just due to age. His sickness served to magnify those difficulties. He went into a dizzying coughing spell and leaned against a tree to remain upright. After catching his breath, he noticed the leaves kicked up where the doe had charged out the bench. Following this, he soon came to a splash of color on the ground. Doubting it was blood, he knelt and ran his fingers across it. The wetness and stickiness of it told him it was indeed blood and that he was now bound to this deer and its trail, wherever it might lead. An anxiousness arose and then completely enveloped him. In half an hour, all would be dark and he could ill afford to be too far from the truck, or worse yet, turned around. The defiant voice rose this time to drown out the critical one. “To hell with it. What’s the worst thing that could happen? What will happen soon anyway?

The trail was hard to follow and he marked each blood splatter with a piece of white paper towel. Not only did it help him see the deer’s line of travel but it could help him retrace his steps later.

There was a time when he would have considered it impossible to get lost on this mountain. That time was long ago. In the darkness now everything seemed unfamiliar. He thought to himself, even in the light of day all that used to seem familiar no longer was. He estimated the deer had traveled close to a hundred yards and he cursed himself for not eating before the hunt. Truth was, he didn’t have much of an appetite anymore. If he recovered this deer, his remaining meals would be venison. The wildness of it he always relished. Eating a deer that was connected to the land and the trees around him connected him to those things.

He could physically feel the connection. It was right and it was natural and it was something someone who had never done it would never understand.

The blood was getting harder to follow and the glow of the flashlight on the forest floor played tricks on old eyes and made it hard to focus. This is a good place to stop he figured. A place to offer up a prayer to the tracker and the hunted. He turned out the flashlight, leaned into a tree, and rested his tired eyes.

Sometime later, he jerked awake and for a moment was completely unaware of where he was or how he got there. The fogginess of slumber quickly evaporated and he looked at his watch. Almost eleven. He shivered as the temperature had dropped again and he noticed he could now see his breath, however shallow it might be.

He was once again fully aware of the task in front of him. Looking to the sky, he saw that the clouds had shifted away and the nearly full moon now helped illuminate the late autumn woods.

At one point, he lost the blood completely and tried walking in ever widening circles. Just as all hope was fading, he found another spot about the size of a quarter. From there, the trail took him through a miserable tangle of green brier and he felt one of the thorns tear at his left cheek, as others raked at his bare hands. When he emerged on the other side of the growth, again a coughing spasm came. He felt that heavy metallic taste in his mouth and spit a large quantity on the ground next to him. Hitting it with the beam of the flashlight, he saw the bright blood mixed in with the spittle. The irony was not lost on him that even as he tracked the deer, there was a tracker on his trail too. “I’m not leaving any shortage of sign for you, am I you bastard?” he said aloud.

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