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ALASKA

SPORTING JOURNAL Volume 6 • Issue 1 www.aksportingjournal.com PUBLISHER James R. Baker ASSOCIATE PUBLISHER Dick Openshaw EXECUTIVE EDITOR Andy Walgamott EDITOR Chris Cocoles ASSOCIATE EDITOR Tom Reale WRITERS Paul D. Atkins, Christine Cunningham, Louis A. Cusack, Scott Haugen, Tiffany Haugen, Jeff Lund, Bixler McClure, Krystin McClure, Steve Meyer, Dennis Musgraves, Tom Reale SALES MANAGER Katie Higgins ACCOUNT EXECUTIVES Becca Ellingsworth, Mamie Griffin, Steve Joseph, Garn Kennedy, Mike Smith, Paul Yarnold DESIGNERS Beth Harrison, Sonjia Kells, Sam Rockwell, Liz Weickum PRODUCTION MANAGER John Rusnak WEB DEVELOPMENT/INBOUND MARKETING Jon Hines PRODUCTION ASSISTANT Kelly Baker CIRCULATION MANAGER Heidi Belew DISTRIBUTION Tony Sorrentino, Gary Bickford OFFICE MANAGER / ACCOUNTS Audra Higgins ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT Katie Sauro INFORMATION SERVICES MANAGER Lois Sanborn ADVERTISING INQUIRIES ads@nwsportsmanmag.com ON THE COVER Freddy Harteis, Pennsylvania-born but now living in the confines of not-so-hunting-friendly Los Angeles, is the weekly host of a Sportsman Channel TV series, the Hollywood Hunter. He fulfilled a spot on his bucket list by successfully hunting brown and black bears on his first trip to Alaska.

(HOLLYWOOD HUNTER)

MEDIA INDEX PUBLISHING GROUP WASHINGTON OFFICE 14240 Interurban Ave South • Suite 190 Tukwila, WA 98168 OREGON OFFICE 8116 SW Durham Rd • Tigard, OR 97224 (800) 332-1 736 • Fax (206) 382-9437 media@media-inc.com • www.media-inc.com

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CONTENTS

VOLUME 6 • ISSUE 1

SLAMMIN’ SALMON

103

ALSO IN THIS ISSUE 43 70 78 88 97 125 129 133 139

A moose hunting tradition begins, part I of III – the new guy’s first float Father’s Day memories: Hunts with Dad made move to Alaska special The Alcan Highway, part I of IV – onward to the Yukon!

Feeder king salmon fishing out of Homer A “dinghy” proposition – how to fish for Seward halibut from a sailboat Bristol Bay fish run timing Kenai Peninsula fish run timing Three phases of a Southeast Alaska fly fisherman’s weekend Book excerpt: California was fun, but Panhandle’s home for Ketchikan teacher

DEPARTMENTS/COLUMNS 13 41

Summer’s here in Alaska, and that means that fishing on the state’s myriad coastal bays and coves takes center stage. Join Alaskan Salmon Slayers Paul Ferreira (above), Chris Cox and our intrepid writer Dennis Musgraves as they work the waters of Resurrection Bay near Seward to load the fish box full of coho, yelloweye and rockfish! (DENNIS MUSGRAVES)

The Editor’s Note Protecting Wild Alaska: Relocating an Anchorage family of black bears 77 No Sympathy, with Steve Meyer: Protecting the peoples’ lands 142 Loose Ends, with Christine Cunningham: The coffee conundrum

FEATURES 15

SAFETY FIRST Imagine you’re enjoying your first backcountry trip in the Alaskan bush when someone in your party slips on a rock and hits his or head. What do you do next? Our associate editor Tom Reale, a veteran hunter and angler who loves to venture away from his Anchorage home to remote locations, participated in a Wilderness First Responder class to learn how to be prepared for the unexpected. This is Alaska, after all, accidents do happen – and help can be a very long way away.

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ALASKA’S BIG 10 BY BOW No other state in the country offers the number of big game species available for hunting that Alaska does, and our man in Kotzebue knows them all. In the first of a two-part series on bowhunting basics, Paul Atkins provides everything you need to know about the Last Frontier’s iconic critters, from denizens of the tundra such as caribou and muskox, to those holed up in the willows, including moose and bears, to those dwellers on high, Dall’s sheep and mountain goats, and more!

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A BEAR OF AN ADVENTURE FOR DAD Freddy Harteis, aka the Hollywood Hunter of the Sportsman Channel, always dreamed of following his late father’s odyssey of hunting giant bears in Alaska. Finally Harteis made it and endured a painful knee injury and some anxious moments of terror while hunting black and brown bruins. Fred Harteis would have been proud of his son’s persistence.

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RED ALERT! Our Field to Fire correspondent Scott Haugen heads for the Kvichak River to take on its sockeye. Strip 6 to 10 feet of line off your reel, flip your presentation upstream and you might just bring home enough salmon to prepare the yummy crunchy recipes Scott’s wife and fellow angler Tiffany Haugen prepares in her half of their column.

Alaska Sporting Journal is published monthly. Call Media Inc. Publishing Group for a current rate card. Discounts for frequency advertising. All submitted materials become the property of Media Inc. Publishing Group and will not be returned. Annual subscriptions are $29.95 (12 issues) or $39.95 (24 issues). Send check or money order to Media Inc. Publishing Group, 14240 Interurban Ave South, Suite 190, Tukwila, WA 98168 or call (206) 382-9220 with VISA or M/C. Back issues may be ordered at Media Inc. Publishing Group, subject to availability, at the cost of $5 plus shipping. Copyright © 2015 Media Inc. Publishing Group. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be copied by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording by any information storage or retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher. Printed in U.S.A.

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EDITOR’S NOTE

Freddy Harteis (left) was inspired by his late dad Fred’s previous bear hunting trips to Alaska. They hunted often together, even up until Fred’s death in 2013. (HOLLYWOOD HUNTER)

W

ith Father’s Day coming up June 21 we salute dads in this month’s issue. Two of our stories celebrate the outdoors relationship between a dad and his son.

Cover subject Freddy Harteis, whose Sportsman Channel series, the Hollywood Hunter, chronicles a Pennsylvania native’s new life as a big game hunter living in Los Angeles with a makeup artist and daytime talk show host wife. But in his heart, Harteis will always be the Harrisburg “country boy” who used to hunt the fields of around his farm with his late father, businessman Fred Harteis.

Harteis hunted for the first time in Alaska last year, after his dad made three trips to the Last Frontier in search of a brown bear.

“My father and I were very different people,” Freddy Harteis told me. “We’re both driven, but where we bonded and connected were the (hunting) memories that we had. The majority of things I learned from him were through the outdoors.”

Correspondent Steve Meyer wrote about his early days in Alaska after a new job prompted his father to move the family from the Lower 48. Hunting was always a big part of this father-son relationship, but it became even more special when the Last Frontier became their personal playground.

“At age 78, Dad still hunts or fishes every day that weather doesn’t preclude it, and he is still an inspiration and a figure to model oneself after,” Meyer said. “Sharing the outdoors, promoting the upcoming generations to a life of honest relationship with nature and trying to fill the big footsteps left in his wake are the best ways I have of honoring the man who made me who I am.”

I think we’re all guilty at times of not cherishing the moments we spend with our fathers while enjoying the outdoors, if not taking those memories for granted. This Father’s Day, if you and your pop have a chance to wet a fishing line together, thank him for all those outings together. –Chris Cocoles

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M E OUTDOOR I C (TOM REALE, ALL)

WILDERNESS FIRST RESPONDER TRAINING: HOW PREPARED ARE YOU?

BY TOM REALE

W

hy would anyone subject him- or herself to a 70- to 80-hour workweek of learning anatomy, physiology and other aspects of backcountry medicine when all you really need when you get in trouble in the wilderness is a cellphone?

Let’s suppose you’ve flown into a remote location, the plane dropped you off a couple of days ago and isn’t due back for a week. Your buddy falls and hits his head, bleeds quite a bit, but you get it stopped and he seems OK. He didn’t lose consciousness, and remembers what happened but has a slight headache.

Is this a big deal, meaning you get on the satphone and request pickup, or is this a little deal, meaning you give him some Tylenol and continue on?

How about if the same thing happens, but he loses consciousness for

five minutes, throws up several times, and can’t seem to reorient himself mentally? Now what?

You’re deep in the backcountry; your partner has an abscessed tooth and starts to run a fever. Do you give him some aspirin, tell him to suck it up and continue on, or call in the chopper?

Situations like these occur countless times every year in remote areas, and most of the time, they’re not critical. But for the times that it is a big deal, it can be a very big deal indeed, and if you’re not equipped to know the difference, it JUNE 2015

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can literally be a life-or-death decision on whether or not you seek help.

UNDERSTANDING YOUR ENVIRONMENT Many of us, especially those of us in Alaska, routinely travel to places where cell coverage is either very limited or nonexistent. We all know the best hunting, fishing and hiking spots are the places that are the hardest to access.

Up north, that usually means getting well off the beaten path, either by walking in a long way or traveling by boat, plane or ATV/snowmachine to get away from the crowds. And in nearly all cases, remote equals bad/no cell coverage.

Well then, how about satphones, SPOT, or PLB usage? Can’t I just summon a helicopter any time I’ve got a problem and they’ll come and whisk me away to the nearest ER? And won’t my insurance pay for this? Maybe yes, maybe no. Calling for rescue just because you think you’ve got a serious problem brings up other issues.

For one thing, given the quirky nature of our weather, even the most sophisticated avionics can’t always enable rescue aircraft to fly wherever you may happen to be. “Stuff” happens, and severe weather can keep you stranded and isolated for quite some time. Also, calling for rescue involves significant risk to everyone involved.

We’ve had two fatal helicopter crashes up here in the last few years where crews and victims were killed, and subjecting rescue personnel to unnecessary risk is a very bad idea.

Add to that the fact that the times when we are busy pursuing our outdoor interests are also the times when rescue assets are most likely to be needed.

Tying up those resources unnecessarily could mean that someone else in real need is kept waiting – bummer for them, to say the least.

GET EDUCATED The very best way to prepare for backcountry medical emergencies is to sign up for a Wilderness First Responder class. The classroom work, hands-on exercises and simulated emergency scenarios will prepare you to deal with 16 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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Deb Ajango (far right) instructs students in splint application as part of a Wilderness First Responder course that could help save a life, or at least soothe the pain of an accident in the field far from medical help. (TOM REALE)

just about any medical issue that can arise when you’re far from definitive hospital care.

The course material is presented by lectures, supplemented with PowerPoint slides and anecdotes, and by hands-on workshops to give students practice at fashioning and applying splints, treating wounds and burns, packaging patients for transport, giving injections, etc.

Interspersed through the course are quizzes and realistic rescue scenarios where the instructor uses students as patients and conducts realistic drills.

Responding students have to work through the scenario and evaluate the situation, interview and assess patients, then treat and document them, all under the watchful eye of an instructor armed with a video camera.

Afterward, there’s a postmortem on the scenario when student responses are evaluated with video accompaniment, and mistakes and good practic-

es are pointed out for the class. As the class progresses, your skills and knowledge base increase, and the videos documenting your work on the rescue scenarios get less and less embarrassing.

Looking at the amount of material presented and the long list of skills you’re required to master can be intimidating, especially for those of us with no medical background.

A DAY IN SCHOOL When I took my initial class, we had our first rescue scenario after about day three. I was soon completely overwhelmed – the scene was chaotic and I had two patients, one of whom was dead. My helper had vanished, only to be “vomited” on by another patient; it was dark and cold, there was smoke and a blaring car horn, and a belligerent drunk was wandering around adding to the confusion.

I managed to do almost nothing

A TYPICAL COURSE A Wilderness First Responder class, which generally takes five to nine days, covers various topics, including:

The principles of wilderness medicine and patient assessment Critical systems and life support, including circulatory, nervous and respiratory systems Trauma Environmental medicine, including heat and cold issues Altitude illness, submersion and drowning, toxins, etc.

Backcountry medicine CPR and how to use an AED (Automated External Defibrillator). –TR

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right. I was convinced that there was no way I’d be able to get through the rest of the class and was doomed to failure. Fortunately, my wife talked me off the ledge and I was able to complete the class successfully. While it’s by no means a cakewalk, it is doable if you take the class seriously, do the work, and have a good instructor.

Before making the commitment to take the full WFR (generally referred to as a “Woofer”) class, many outdoor enthusiasts ease into the subject with the much shorter Wilderness First Aid class.

This is usually a two-day, 16- to 20-hour course that covers the basics of the most common medical problems encountered in the backcountry – wound care, burns, care of fractured limbs, heat and cold injuries, etc. It’s a good way to introduce the idea of wilderness medicine and teaches skills that we should all have before venturing too far off the pavement.

“But,” you’re saying, “someone I know is an EMT and goes along with us; isn’t that good enough?” Be advised that the WFR training differs considerably from EMT training. EMTs are trained for mostly urban situations where they have a truck full of technology, and they assist paramedics in packaging and transporting patients from their homes or from accident scenes to the hospital.

They have access to blood pressure cuffs, backboards, traction devices, oxygen tanks, immediate communications with the hospital, etc. Their objective is to stabilize the patients and whisk them off to definitive medical care asap.

By contrast, a Wilderness First Responder is trained to anticipate problems and to rely on the materials at hand to deal with medical emergencies. Available technology is almost nonexistent unless you count ski poles, bandannas and parachute cord as technology. EMTs, paramedics and even ER docs take the course to learn how to deal with medical issues when all of their impressive technology is miles away and unavailable.

NOT THE SAME TREATMENT In addition, EMTs and WFRs tend to deal with very different patient popu18 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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TEACHING SAFETY Deb Ajango owns and operates a company called SafetyEd (907-696-3490; safetyed.net) out of Eagle River, Alaska, and teaches Wilderness First Responder and Wilderness First Aid classes. She was first exposed to the WFR program over 20 years ago when she took a course as a guide on Denali.

Back then, the program was in its infancy and little known outside mountaineering circles. Since then, she has seen the nearly exponential growth of the program’s use and acceptance by organizations that place their personnel into remote locations. This includes backcountry lodges, government agencies, oil companies, youth groups and hunting guides, among others. With our society becoming ever more litigious, many such groups see requiring WFR certification of their people as a necessary safety issue and as a cost-effective hedge against liability problems.

This growth of the program has not been without its problems, though. In the past, there were only a few certifying agencies in the WFR industry, but that’s now changed.

“There might be 20 of them now, including a lot of upstarts. The best known are Wilderness Medical Associates (WMA), Wilderness Medical Institute (WMI), which operates under the NOLS program, and SOLO, which is primarily an East Coast outfit,” Ajango says. “People need to know that not all of them qualify as true WFRs, and if you take a course with one of the smaller outfits, you might not be able to recertify with one of the ‘name brand’ agencies.”

Prospective students often come to the program with misconceptions about what the class really is.

“Some people think it’s a survival class of some kind, like we’re going to be building shelters, eating weeds and learning how to gut a squirrel. They soon learn that it’s a lot of physiology and chemistry, and you learn how to assess the human body,” she says.

When asked about what kinds of people take her course, Ajango says it varies.

“In the Lower 48, the classes consist of lots of college kids, while up here I probably have more purely recreational users than anyone else in the country. We have a lot of people who are older and have been out enough to have seen bad stuff happen or are aware that stuff can happen and take the class for their own benefit.”

A side benefit of the knowledge learned in the class is that if something serious happens to you, you can evaluate the care you’re receiving.

“I’ve had people tell me, ‘I got hurt and while the paramedics evaluated me, they didn’t talk to me or communicate what they were doing, and if I hadn’t known what they were doing, I’d have been really frightened,’” Ajango says. “‘But since I’d taken the course and knew that it wasn’t a life threat, I was relaxed, and it really calmed me down.’” –TR lations. Urban responders see the very young, the very old, and the very sick, as well as accident victims. In a backcountry environment, however, patients tend to be between 18 and 70 or so, and by virtue of being in the wilderness, tend to be in better physical shape. And where EMTs deal with people suffering from heart conditions, obesity, diabetes and other chronic illnesses, WFRs have more contact with patients who have burns, severe cuts, broken limbs, etc.

Also, WFR practitioners are certified to perform several wilderness protocols

that are outside of the practices allowed for EMTs. These include administering epinephrine for anaphylaxis and for asthma attacks, treating high-risk wounds and removing impaled objects, stopping CPR after 30 minutes for an unresponsive patient, assessing and clearing spinal injuries, and reducing certain joint dislocations.

One of the first things you learn in the training is that if you’re in the backcountry and you’ve got a medical emergency, you don’t go for help – you are the help. Even under ideal conditions,

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where you’ve got good cell or satphone coverage and you’re able to get through to emergency responders, and the weather and your location are good for aircraft or other motorized access, it’s still going to be quite a while before transport or advanced life support can get to you. In the meantime, if you have the necessary information to keep yourself or your patient alive and comfortable, your chances of making it out of a sticky situation are vastly improved.

One of the reasons for the growth in companies teaching WFR courses is the recognition of the usefulness of the course, and the increase in backcountry recreation. Certification has now become the standard of the industry, and while in most cases it’s not a legal requirement, it has become the community standard for many land managers.

If you’re sending clients into the backcountry and don’t require your guides to have advanced first aid or WFR certification and someone has a problem, you could find yourself having to an-

swer some very tough questions in a liability situation.

JOINING THE RANKS Other government agencies are following suit for personnel that they place in remote locations. John Jangala is an archeologist for the Bureau of Land Management in Glennallen, Alaska, and has been WFR-certified for about nine years.

When he first took the course, it wasn’t a requirement for his job, but he says, “I took it on the recommendation of my coworkers because of the time we spend in the backcountry. I work with crews, and their safety is important. Now it’s a requirement that at least one crew member be WFR- or Wilderness First Aid-certified.”

Jangala adds, “The most important part of the course for me was in knowing the amount of preparation that’s necessary to be able to handle a wilderness emergency. I’ve had more than 20 years of first aid training, but the WFR was a great step up for me in terms of

capabilities. I encourage coworkers to take the course, and everyone who has taken the classes has said they’ve been real eye-openers in comparison to the basic first aid we’ve been taught.”

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ventures lodge and guiding service (907-240-4868; bearfootadventures. net) and has been certified since 2008.

Since he operates in a federal preserve, the land managers have made it a requirement that he have a WFR-trained guide on staff.

“All of my guides have it; if I get knocked in the head they can take care of me. The biggest value for me has been to keep my mind in prevention mode,” Benson says.

“I watch the food and water intake of my hunters, and I watch their fatigue level since most accidents occur when you’re wiped out. It also prepares you to know what to look for. Now I know that if someone falls and hits their torso, I know that volume shock might be a problem. I’m watching for specific things, monitoring vitals, looking for mental status changes, etc. Everyone who can dial a satphone and is old enough to take the course can benefit from it. Even if they’re not going to pull off a miraculous save, they can look at

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a situation and say, ‘Man, this doesn’t look right, I need to get on the horn and get some help here.’”

Deb Ajango created a realistic touch for a serious wound and how to treat such an injury for hunters and anglers. (TOM REALE)

OTHER BENEFITS In addition to learning emergency first aid, the course teaches additional important information, such as hygiene protocols for outdoors recreationists. It’s surprising how many people neglect basic camp cleanliness and disease prevention. In a world where alcohol wipes are

available at many store entrances and Purell is sold by the gallon, many people seem to unlearn all that they know when they get into the backcountry.

Showing basic medical skills to others in your group and knowing what medical gear to carry on your trip based on its details is crucial. You don’t carry the same first aid kit on a day hike that you will on a multiday fly-in expedition.

There is also communication in the event of an emergency – who to call and how best to convey your situation in an efficient and complete manner. Knowing how to assess and triage injuries in case of an evacuation with multiple patients is good information to know.

Even if you don’t plan on leading groups of people into the wilderness, a WFR class can be of enormous benefit to you and the people you travel with. It’s well worth the time, effort and cost involved, and you’ll be able to venture away from civilization with the knowledge that you can anticipate medical issues and meet challenges if and when they arise. ASJ

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OUTDOOR CALENDAR

r day Fo Call To ional Addit turer c Manufatives! n e Inc

For upcoming events on the Kenai Peninsula and Bristol Bay, see pages 129 and 125.

Now-Sept. 7

Homer Jackpot Halibut Derby (homeralaska.org/visit-homer/ events-homer/homer-jackpot-halibut-derby) Now-Aug. 1 Kodiak Association of Charterboat Operators King Salmon Derby (kodiakaco.com) Now-June 7 Wrangell King Salmon Derby (wrangellchamber.org) Now-June 6 Valdez Halibut Derby (valdezfishderbies.com) June 6-7 Ketchikan CHARR King Salmon Derby (ketchikankingsalmonderby.com) June 1-30 Seward Halibut Derby (seward.com) June 12-21 Anchorage Downtown Soup Kitchen Slam’n Salm’n Derby (shipcreeksalmonderby.com) July 4 Mt. Marathon Race (mmr.seward.com) July 15-Aug. 15 Hope Pink Salmon Derby (907-782-3268) July 18-Sept. 6 Valdez Silver Salmon Derby (valdezfishderbies.com) July 18 Valdez Kids Pink Salmon Derby (valdezfishderbies.com) Aug. 8 Valdez Women’s Silver Salmon Derby (valdezfishderbies.com) Aug. 8-16 Seward Silver Salmon Derby (seward.com) Aug. 14-16 Golden North Salmon Derby, Juneau (goldennorthsalmonderby.org)

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Freddy Harteis is originally from Harrisburg, Pa., but now lives in Los Angeles. He hunted brown and black bears in Alaska as part of his Sportsman Channel television program, the Hollywood Hunter. (SPORTSMAN CHANNEL/HOLLYWOOD HUNTER)

WHEN TINSELTOWN MEETS THE LAST FRONTIER ‘HOLLYWOOD HUNTER’ TV HOST CHASES ALASKAN BROWN, BLACK BEARS

BY CHRIS COCOLES

F

reddy Harteis, big game hunter with central Pennsylvania roots, couldn’t be more of a fish out of water than in his home base of Los Angeles, which is, as his hunting show states, “a place that isn’t too kind to hunters … Hollywood may not like what he does, but they will respect him.”

Harteis was more in his element when he filmed an episode of his Sportsman Channel TV show hunting bears in Southwest Alaska. But the California lifestyle is what Harteis chose after marrying Jeannie Mai, a Golden State native, makeup artist, fashion expert and cohost of a talk show targeted towards young women, The Real. The couple has settled in with the (mostly)

gun-abhorring Los Angelinos.

His series, the cleverly titled Hollywood Hunter, chronicles his global adventures of chasing big game and depicts his conservation views. He assures the audience that just about all the meat from his harvested animals gets distributed to those in need.

“It’s not so much hunting, but the conservation behind it or the good behind it,” Harteis says of his fish-outwater existence in famously anti-hunting Hollywood.

He’s become a voice for hunting and conservation in his adopted hometown.

“L.A. is all about going organic. But most of them believe when you walk into a grocery store meat just comes from a grocery store … Believe it or not, a few generations ago everyone did

Harteis understands not everyone in famously anti-hunting, anti-gun, Hollywood will get what he does, but he hopes his views on conservation and donating much of the meat he harvests to charitable causes has provided detractors with education about his sport. (SPORTSMAN CHANNEL/ HOLLYWOOD HUNTER) JUNE 2015

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what we are doing. So get off your high horse and accept the reality that this is the world we’ve come from.”

He fit right in when he went to Alaska and filled tags for black and brown bears.

“You hear a lot of places around the country and the world that they say are ‘God’s country.’ Well, I believe (Alaska’s) the ultimate,” says Harteis, who has hunted in Africa and throughout North America. “Just the freedom of wide-open space – and you have some of the biggest mountains in the world there. You see the eagles flying so free everywhere. And so much wildlife beyond belief – I couldn’t believe how many animals we saw in five days of hunting. Just an incredible place.”

AN ALASKA HUNT has always been on Harteis’ bucket list. He grew up in Harrisburg, Pa. His father, businessman Fred Harteis, was a also a hunter who made three bear pilgrimages to Alaska, finally harvesting a brown bear on his last trip (Fred passed away in June 2013). Freddy listened intently.

“He told me many, many stories about the terrain, the intensity, the wide-open wilderness. And really, specifically, he told me about brown bears,” Harteis says. “As I saw him go up to Alaska and hunt Kodiak Island and many other places, he would come back unsuccessful, yet so thrilled and excited to be out there in the middle of it.”

What really stuck out for an adrenaline-chaser like the younger Harteis was Dad’s tales of charging bears racing through the brush and how to stay safe in such a frantic scenario.

The thought of such a visual – dangerous and all – was mesmerizing, so Hollywood’s hunter was obsessed with making it to Alaska.

An old high school buddy from Pennsylvania, Dave Kiser, moved to Alaska in 2005. He and his wife, Joni Kiser, own Full Curl Archery in Anchorage (907-344-2697; fullcurlarchery.com).

“They started talking to me about coming up there. As we started dis28 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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“We had similar goals and we were driven and had come from completely different worlds, which made it very interesting,” Harteis says of his wife, Jeannie Mai, who cohosts a syndicated talk show for women, The Real. “People don’t think we’d ever be together, but when they do see us together, they wouldn’t see it any other way.” (FREDDY HARTEIS)

cussing the idea, I got more and more excited because, No. 1, I could connect with old-time friends; and No. 2, I knew I would be in good hands,” Harteis says.

The trio hunted with two guides in a secret location about an hour’s flight from Anchorage. Nonresidents were allowed to hunt brown bears in that zone for the first time, so it was a completely new experience for the guides, for Harteis and for the crew shooting footage for his show.

And given the setting and the unpredictable nature of bears in Alaska, it was a humbling experience.

“I think if we’re honest with ourselves, there is always fear and in the back of our minds the what-ifs?”

Harteis says. “But as I prepare for trips that are very intense and dangerous, I try to prepare in a fashion that becomes instinct – to be able to shoot on instinct

and think on instinct. To do the things so repetitively before I get there, the odds are in our favor to do the right things.

But it’s healthy and good to have a little fear, because it’s a respect; fear keeps you on your toes.”

FRED HARTEIS TAUGHT Freddy a lot about hunting, dating back to their roots in rural Pennsylvania. The area around Harrisburg is full of outdoors enthusiasts, and as a boy Freddy carried a BB gun around the property and hunted plenty of deer and birds with his dad.

The two made their first big trip to British Columbia when Freddy was 12, and after he graduated from Pennsylvania’s Clarion University, father and son went on a safari hunt to Africa. Harteis knew he wanted to be a professional hunter even with his business degree in hand and after starting his own networking

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Harteis with a black bear he successfully hunted, though it came at the cost of an injured knee during a harrowing few moments. (SPORTSMAN CHANNEL/ HOLLYWOOD HUNTER)

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business in Colorado.

When he met his future wife and eventually moved with Jeannie to Southern California, in 2007, it was time for a change.

“I realized if I was going to live in the city as a country boy who’s not belonging, then I was going to have to get back to doing something that I was passionate about,” Harteis says.

“One of the greatest things I’ve been taught is to chase my passion and not my pension. I thought this was the chance to build something and stand out in a culture and a city that doesn’t get it, and I’m tired of it not getting it.

And I didn’t care if they were with me or not, but they’re going to have to respect the fact that I was going to stand out, which was kind of the vision for Hollywood Hunter.”

The show has taken him to various points on the map, and he spends whatever free time he can at Harteis Ranch (harteisranch.com), a lush forested Colorado property that hosts big game

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WRAPPED UP WITH A BOW Freddy Harteis has developed a love for shooting with a bow and arrow as his hunting career has evolved.

“I grew up with rifle hunting and enjoyed it tremendously. And just recently I got back into a lot of rifle shooting through centerfires with Legendary Arms,” Harteis says.

But from around the age of 12, he started hunting with a bow and has been “fanatical” about it ever since.

“To me, when you have a bow and arrow in your hand, you have to outsmart that animal,” says Harteis. “Not only do you have to deal with all the elements, but all the things that can possibly go wrong to do it in such a close proximity and with equipment you have to understand. It’s taken the thrill to a whole another level.”

Harteis has one piece of advice for all hunters out there: learn to shoot a bow and arrow, and when ready, “go

out and hunt something dangerous with it.” The challenge of keeping your emotions in check and having the physical skills and mental demeanor to make an accurate and, more importantly, ethical shot is part of the challenge Harteis craves.

One of his biggest sponsors is Bear Archery (1-800-6949494; beararchery.com), and Harteis is very dedicated to getting aspiring sportsmen and –women involved in the sport.

“It’s exciting to see hundreds of people who are now shooting archery because I wanted to teach a bunch of people how to do it. And to see people out here now part of hunting clubs growing in Los Angeles and the new ones going out into the woods. It’s just the ability

“I’m on this kick right now of hunting dangerous game with a bow and arrow,” Harteis says of his successful Alaska bruin hunt. “To be able to go up there and do that it had been on my bucket list for many years.” (SPORTSMAN CHANNEL/HOLLYWOOD HUNTER)

to affect the next generation,” he says.

“I have 10 nieces and nephews between my two sisters, and I’m getting them involved. I have five of them going hunting this year. I have an (archery) event that I do in Ohio every year, the Deerasic Classic (740-435-9500; deerassic.com), and to me I’m as passionate about that as I am about any of this. I don’t have the high of being on TV the way I do about seeing other people excited about what we do.” –CC

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hunts for bull elk and mule deer.

Arriving in Alaska and embarking on a similar brown bear to his father’s adventure was an experience dripping with nostalgia. And the stories he’d heard were about to come in handy.

“One thing that (Fred) said rung in my head every day I was in Alaska: ‘One grizzly, one bear; one wounded grizzly, 10 bears.’ It was just the idea of being extra cautious,” says Harteis, who has tried to push the envelope when it comes to the hunts that appear on his program.

This excursion, hunting with guides who were more experienced chasing black bears and opting to use bows rather than high-powered rifles, was sure to test everyone’s skills and nerves.

“We knew it would be a challenge,” Harteis says. “We knew it would be intense; and we knew we would be up against elements that we’d never experienced.”

THE EPISODE PROFILING the hunt will air in the third week of July, and it was highlighted by what everyone who hunts or fishes tends to experience: expecting the unexpected.

Without spoiling too much, the black bear portion of the trip was particularly harrowing for Harteis, who injured his knee in a confrontation with a black bear that was more aggressive than anticipated. The pain has lingered to the point where Harteis will probably eventually go under the knife to fix the problem.

“I realized I let my guard down too much; I’ve hunted black bears a lot and have always thought they’re pretty docile and you can chase them away,” he says. “To see the one time that did not happen, I didn’t respect the intensity of a black bear and what it could be in its personality. So definitely the black bear encounter was one of the most memorable pieces of that hunt.”

It’s safe to say the overall experience and brush with the bruin – watch the episode when it airs for more details – “will probably save my life in 34 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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the future, as I run into black bears,” Harteis says with a laugh.

Another lasting memory he’ll have is his persistence. The long hours of daylight allowed for long stretches waiting for bears to come within range of his bow. Toward the end of the hunt, someone wasn’t ready to go back yet with the brown bear tag remaining unfilled.

“At midnight, we had sat there for 12 hours, and my cameraman, ‘Thunderpants,’ and the guides were getting anxious,” Harteis says. “So I called him off and said, ‘Hey, boys, go ahead and leave the gun. I’ll stay and I’ll be here until tomorrow noon. Pick me up, because the floatplane is coming in at 1. My deal is, I can’t kill that bear if I’m not out here. So I need to maximize that opportunity,” he says. “They said, ‘You know what? You’re crazy, but we’ll stay.’ And about a half-hour later, that (brown) bear was standing beneath our tree.”

At that point in the trip, Harteis was tired, ailing from his knee injury, wondering if, like Dad, his elusive brown bear harvest wasn’t destined to happen on his first trip to Alaska.

More than once during his journeys around the globe, Harteis has been called obsessed with the sport he loves. Perhaps that’s the secret to his success.

“It almost gets personal to where I have to figure this out. It’s one of those things where you want it so bad and when your mind’s telling you no, you find it and stay anyway. It’s kind of in my DNA and one of those things that I grew up with,” he says.

“I didn’t realize as a hunter how it would have come full-circle and be a big part of why I do succeed in the field.”

With the clock ticking and his knee aching Harteis was in his tree stand, waiting for the brown bear it took Fred so much patience to finally put down; so Freddy turned spiritual.

“I said a little prayer to my dad and said, ‘Dad, if you could send a brown bear … I don’t need to kill it; just prove to me you’re listening.”

Fred Harteis would have been

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proud of Freddy’s big brown he bagged, despite some distressing moments.

“It definitely goes down as one of the top hunts that I’ll forever cherish,” he says. “And that’s because Alaska is so unique to its own. When you go to Alaska it’s not only views and not only wildlife; it’s just wild. It’s so free and untamed and uncharted. You just feel so small and so insignificant against such a massive wilderness.”

THERE ARE MYRIAD lands on earth Freddy Harteis hopes to hunt on someday. For a future episode of Hollywood Hunter that will be filmed later this year, he’ll head to South Africa to pursue lions. On the 2016 docket is water buffalo safari to Australia.

He wants to go back to Alaska and bring Jeannie along to share the Last Frontier with his wife. But any to-do list will be difficult to top this Alaska bear adventure, if for no other reason than it fulfilled Harteis’ dream of matching what it took Fred so long to accomplish: the conquest of a brown bear.

Hunting Alaskan bears for the first time won’t soon leave the memory banks.

“One thing I learned from this hunt that I have not learned from any other hunt is that if you pay attention to other people’s stories,” Harteis says, surely thinking back to Fred’s tales of disappointment before finally metaphorically sipping from a Stanley Cuplike trophy brown bear victory.

“You take your life experiences alongside of others. You can walk into situations of hunting animals that you’d never hunted, and figure it out yourself. To see it all kind of work when things were not working, that’s rewarding.” ASJ Editor’s note: New episodes of Hollywood Hunter will air later this summer on the Sportsman Channel on Sundays at 7 p.m. Pacific, Mondays at 1 p.m. and Saturdays at 12 a.m. Check out hollywoodhunter.com and follow Freddy Harteis on Twitter (@FreddyHarteis) and at Facebook.com/hollywoodhunter1.

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MARINA AIR, INC. As corny as it sounds, my enthusiasm for aviation began one summer evening walking out of the theater after watching the movie Top Gun. I had just finished my freshman year of college and was driving a tractor mower all day in the summer to fund my education. I knew there was a better way to make a living than cutting grass.

That next fall, I joined the Reserve Officer Training Corp at the college and began the journey of defying gravity. I earned my Air Force Wings in 1990 and was immediately engulfed in the most significant airlift operation since the Berlin Airlift— Operation Desert Shield—flying the C-141. For the next 10 years I flew in every major contingency the United States found itself in. In the spring of 2001, I left the regular Air Force and joined the Alaska Air National Guard (AKANG) flying KC-135s.

My first fishing trip in Alaska was via a bush plane. I was hooked. Flying “taildraggers” or floatplanes in the bush was the way I wanted to spend the rest of my flying career. I have over 27 years of aviation experience with the last 13 years in Alaska. I continue to serve in the AKANG when not flying clients out to the interior.

Alaska’s beauty is blessed and I am humbled to have the ability and opportunity to share it with others in such a unique way. (907) 479-5684. marinaairinc@gmail.com.

ACE AIR CARGO

Flying to 18 different communities daily takes commitment, and that’s what we have at ACE Air Cargo.

We started out as an all-cargo airline and have been crisscrossing Alaska since 1996, delivering your mail and freight from Ketchikan to St. Paul Island to Bethel.

People have come to rely upon ACE Air and ACE Air Cargo to get the job done. And as of Feb 6, 2012, we began offering scheduled passenger service to Dutch Harbor. We are very excited about this and want you to join us on our next scheduled flight. You can check us out at www.aceaircargo.com. For all your cargo, passenger charters or our new scheduled passenger service, ACE Air and ACE Air Cargo is truly your onestop shop in Alaska. We want your business and will work hard to keep it.

EVERTS AIR CARGO

BAY AIR, INC. Southwest Alaska and Bristol Bay has some of the best fishing and hunting opportunities anywhere in North America and we at Bay Air would like to help you with your trip there and back.

We specialize in unguided, drop-off fishing and hunting trips. We operate a DeHavilland Beaver on floats. It has six passenger seats and a 1,200-pound payload (clients and gear). We also offer raft rentals: we have 13-foot SOTAR rafts.

We look forward to talking with you about your Southwest Alaska fishing or hunting excursion! For more, email bayair@hughes.net, call (907) 842-2570 or log onto bayair-alaska.com.

Everts Air Cargo prides itself on being an Alaskan-owned and -operated company. To pay tribute to those cultural roots it has so firmly planted, Everts has several programs that help animals in rural communities, the elderly and Alaska’s environment itself.

The Everts Animal Care program (EAC) is designed to create an easier, more affordable way to get animals in the bush the proper care they need. Everts Air Cargo’s “Honor Our Elders” program was developed with the idea in mind that elders are respected, appreciated members of our community who have nurtured and raised those that they love. Through it, any individual over 65 receives a discount of 10 percent on all shipments. And to promote the preservation and beautification of Alaska, Everts’ Recycling Today for Tomorrow collects any old materials that could contaminate the ground, air, and water systems.

Looking towards the future of Alaska and the well being of its citizens, it is important to initiate positive changes and practices. For more on any these programs, contact Everts Air Cargo at (907) 243-0009 or visit www.evertsair.com.

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PROTECTING

WILD ALASKA

DON’T TRASH GARBAGE-SEEKING BEARS

BY CHRIS COCOLES

R

elocating bears that are a threat in Alaska cities doesn’t always guarantee a success story.

Last summer, a black bear sow that was killed rifling through garbage on the University of Alaska Anchorage campus had already been moved out of the city into a remote area before migrating back to town a year later with her cubs.

Five black bears going after garbage cans in Anchorage’s Government Hill neighborhood – near the forested area inside Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson – were originally sentenced to death. But kudos to Gov. Bill Walker who overruled the state Department of Fish and Game and the two parties agreeing to attempt relocation of the sow and her four cubs.

“As we’ve previously stated, relocation is a short-term solution to what the department views as a long-term bear problem in Anchorage,” Fish and Game commissioner Sam Cotten said in an ADFG press release. “However, we have heard from hundreds of good people who really do not want to see these bears killed.”

Indeed, it’s just hard to blame bears for wandering into a big city like Anchorage with so many potential food sources in the form of garbage cans, bird feeders and pet food bowls left outside. But it didn’t help that nosey residents armed with cameras reportedly got too close to the cubs and angered their mother.

“This was totally preventable,” a reasonable ADFG wildlife biologist Dave Saalfeld said. “Those bears were rewarded repeatedly with garbage, and they weren’t going to stop coming back. People weren’t respecting the bears’ space.

They were getting too close and forcing the issue.”

ADFG officials used a tranquilizer dart to secure the sow as the search continued for the rest of the family. They were eventually all successfully picked up, and the bears were sent to the Alas-

ka Zoo to be prepared for their relocation to more remote areas. As was the case of the bear that returned to the big city last year and paid the price for it, these bears may never be able to adapt to an area without garbage cans left outside.

But it sure seems like a waste to simply eliminate the bears without also finding a solution to a wider problem: garbage cans left out in areas bordering bruin habitat in spring when wild food has yet to grow back, an issue in Alaska as well as the Lower 48. ASJ JUNE 2015

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The guys revel in one fall’s moose harvests, which have become a part of their annual gathering in the Alaskan bush. (LOUIS A. CUSACK)

BIRTH OF A TRADITION THE AUTHOR WAS INVITED ON A MOOSE HUNTING TRIP ALMOST 15 YEARS AGO. IT’S SINCE BECOME AN ANNUAL RITE OF FALL - PART I OF III

BY LOUIS A. CUSACK

I

t all started back in July 2002, when my new boss Gary Herring invited me to join him on his annual Alaskan moose hunt. At the time I had no idea that I would be embarking on an adventure that would develop into a lifetime friendship and become our hunting tradition.

Hunting traditions are likely some of America’s oldest, and for many generations, friends and families have used hunting as a means of staying connected and joining together in celebration of the annual harvest. Legends are built and stories are told at these gatherings.

If yours is anything like ours, the antlers

“There will come a time when you believe everything LV ¿QLVKHG <HW WKDW ZLOO EH WKH EHJLQQLQJ ´ – Louis L’Amour just keep getting wider and the fish just keep getting longer.

These traditions are often built around the family farm or cabin, but some just happen by chance. This was certainly the case with ours, and sitting here and today preparing for our 13th moose hunt, I can’t remember when I

decided this would be our family tradition. I certainly didn’t pack my gear in 2002 thinking, “Heck, I’ll just go out and start a new tradition,” but that’s what happened.

Back then, I did not know anything about remote wilderness float hunting.

Hell, I’d only been on one moose hunt and had never floated a river while hunting. All I knew was that this was going to be a 15-day trip in one of Alaska’s premiere moose and caribou hunting areas, and that my total gear weight could only be 50 pounds. I remember asking Gary a million questions, but the answer was always the same: “Don’t worry, we got it!”

Now, I don’t know about you, and I JUNE 2015

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The author calls this valley “Moose Heaven”: “chock-full of river oxbows, willow patches and beaver ponds,” it offers perfect habitat for massive bulls.

(LOUIS A. CUSACK)

might not have ever float hunted, but I’d been on many sheep, goat and bear hunts. It’s been my experience that when folks keep telling you not to worry, buddy, it’s time to start worrying.

I didn’t know Gary all that well then, but there was just something about this scrappy engineer from North Texas that I trusted, and I would find out that for once, my instincts were right.

It seemed like a year before the eve of our departure finally came. We all met at Gary’s home to pack and weigh gear. By this time I had heard a lot of stories about this hunt and Mike, Gary’s best friend and longtime hunting buddy, so I was really looking forward to meeting everyone. There would be five of us going – myself, Gary, Mike Thorne, his brother James and a friend they called Doobie.

Gary and Mike had put together one heck of a hunt plan, and by the time the night ended I was getting pretty excited. By God, we were going hunting!

THE TEXAS RANGERS describe one another in a few simple words: El es muy bueno para cabalgar el rio. Translated: “He’ll do 44 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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to ride the river with.” In Texan, it means, “I’d trust him with my life,” per Charles Martin’s novel, Thunder and Rain.

We managed to get all of our gear to the river, inflate the rafts and load the gear. After floating a short distance we pulled up on a gravel bar that looked exactly like the last 15 to me, but Gary and Mike jumped out of the raft as though we were home sweet home.

They scrambled over to the edge of the willows and found the path into our base camp, which turned out to be a really nice little clearing with a stash of poles and logs. By this time it was dark, so we quickly went about using the poles to build an A-frame cover.

We set up our tents and built a really nice campfire, using the logs as seats around the fire. Pretty soon it did indeed feel like home, but by the time that day was over, I just wanted to crawl into my sleeping bag.

Well, I may have crawled into my sleeping bag late and slept like a rock, but I was up well before daylight stroking up the fire. I put on coffee and was really eager to get started. Gary rolled out of the bag and said, “Hold tight

there, big boy, no need to get excited.”

They had learned over the years that this area was a great corridor for rutting bulls. The moose tend to cruise the riverbank, often crossing right there at the confluence of No Name Creek.

Just before daylight, Mike rolled out and slipped down to the gravel bar, raking trees and making one heck of a bull grunt. After several hours of calling with no response, we headed up to the ridgeline to glass, but the sun set on day one without anyone finding a bull.

That evening, each person picked a camp chore and we fell into routines of gathering wood, hauling water, building fire and cooking food. We all pulled our weight and then gathered around the fire at night to tell stories and discuss the next day’s plan.

Around the fire, I learned more about how the hunt was conducted.

Each lookout point had a name, and “Wolf Point,” “Porcupine Ridge” and “No Name Creek” were all high points used for glassing.

The next morning, Mike spotted a big bull that was headed towards the river, and the stalk was on. I did my best

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HOW TO ACT IN CAMP You won’t find “Wolf Point,” “No Name Creek” and “Porcupine Ridge” in a cluster on any map, but follow the tips in this series and you might find the kind of country big bulls like. (LOUIS A. CUSACK)

to close the deal, but I lost him in a thick stand of willows. Gary and Doobie had also spotted him from Wolf Point. They saw him bed down and waited him out, hoping he would get back up. Doobie made a couple of bull grunts just before dark, and sure enough, that old bull came out looking for a fight.

Doobie placed a good shot on him and our first moose was on the ground, a great bull with a rack measuring 62 inches wide, with good brow tines and two huge drop points under his paddles. We grabbed gear and packs and headed to it for high-fives and pictures.

Once the moose was quartered, I grabbed my meat saw to trim the quarters at the hock to remove the hooves and extra weight. Mike looked over and said, “Hold on, Bordeaux (my new name), don’t cut that! We leave those on.” I looked at him like he’d had a few too many, but what the heck, it was their hunt, so we’d go by their rules.

Our first bull called for a celebration, which included a great meal of moose tenderloins and pan-fried potatoes!

Mmmmm, I can still taste them now.

AFTER HUNTING SEVERAL more days and seeing some decent bulls but nothing that we really wanted to shoot, we made the decision to head downriver.

Our second base camp was 7 miles as the crow flies and a 15-mile float down the low, slow-flowing river. If 46 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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the wind had come howling in from the north, you would have to spend more time walking and dragging than paddling and riding. Luckily, on this trip, we didn’t have the pleasure of that experience.

We were up and breaking camp at daylight the next morning when Doobie came running up.

“Moose on the bar, there’s a moose on the bar!” he yell-whispered to us.

My rifle was close to hand, so we hit the bar and saw the bull just across the river from us, grunting up a storm and tearing a willow tree to pieces.

When Mike started grunting, the bull bailed off into the river, walking toward us and spoiling for a fight. I could not believe it. We were standing in plain sight as the bull came at us.

I passed the opportunity to James, and he made a great shot, but the bull stepped toward the river within 10 yards of where another had floated away on a previous hunt, ending up almost a half-mile downriver.

On that hunt, Gary had to process the bull in some pretty deep water, and now he was not about to let that happen again. He put a shot into the bull to anchor him – to this day, I can still see the look on James’ face that said, “You shot my bull!”

James’s bull was a good typical moose, with a rack that was just a little over 53 inches wide. We managed to

It’s hard to describe what the first day of a remote hunting trip is like.

The logistics of flying commercial and floatplane flights; making numerous trips from the lake to the river with gear and rafts; then finally floating into base camp have to all come together just to get where the hunting starts. Maybe D-Day without the bullets or The Longest Yard without the football might come close.

Granted, I’m no expert, but I’ve learned a few things over the years, and there are a few rules that will always serve you well as a guest in someone else’s camp. First and foremost, respect the rules and the traditions of the camp. Do more than your fair share of the work.

Nothing beats a great meal in a cold camp. A special meal or dish will always be welcomed.

On this particular trip, I introduced my hunting partners to my free-weight concept of freezing gumbo into blocks and using it instead of ice. Once it melts, it becomes dinner; you just can’t beat a good hot bowl of gumbo after a cold day on the river!

The last and most important rule is to always respect the hunting location. It may be legal to tell your friends where you hunted, or to just show up there the next hunting season, but you might be in for a surprise if you think that’s good hunting ethics or any way to encourage others to invite you back.

These rules have always served me well, and while to date Gary and Mike have only been on three of the 12 trips I have made into this area, to me, this is still their area. I will always get the OK from them before I plan a hunt there. -LC

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This little inflatable raft came in handy for getting the author’s moose back to camp.

(LOUIS A. CUSACK)

get him back on the bar, where we all admired it and took pictures “Well, I guess we’re floating tomorrow,” I said.

“Oh, no, Bordeaux – we’re floating today!” Gary said.

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“Holy smokes,” I replied, “then we’d better get cracking.”

Loading gear, two moose and five hunters into two rafts for the float downriver was quite a chore. However, this was where Mike and Gary really shined, and soon we were heading downriver.

To this day I clearly remember floating away from that first camp, looking up at Wolf Point and thinking I’d be back there someday. That didn’t last long, though: before we reached the first bend in the river I was already looking forward to the next leg of our journey. We arrived at our second camp just in time to – you guessed it – set up camp in the dark!

By this time, Gary and I had a little ritual going. We were usually the first ones up in camp, stoking the fire and getting the coffee going. I love sitting around the fire before daylight, listening to the first sounds of the morning while having a cup of coffee. It’s just a great way to start the day.

This camp was on a long stretch

of river, with a big, clear creek flowing through a stand of spruce timber just upriver. There’s a high cut bank with a deep pool right in front of camp, which is chock-full of grayling.

Many of the fish ended up in our fryingpan, and to this ol’ Cajun, freshcaught grayling is about as good eating as any fish you will ever wrap your lips around.

Each morning, we’d start moose hunting by raking and calling from camp, which worked as well as any other type of game calling. In other words, it works well when it works, but nothing’s ever a sure thing. So we’d call for a couple of hours, and if nothing came in, we would divide up and head out to glass.

James, having already taken his bull, decided to stay in camp this day. His plan was to catch a few grayling and slow-cook a rack of moose ribs for dinner. Mike and I headed up the ridge, and when I reached the top, I was greeted with a breathtaking view.

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The area was chock-full of river oxbows, willow patches and beaver ponds. If you closed your eyes and pictured moose heaven, it would look much like the view from that ridge.

Mike knew this place like the back of his hand and he showed me where Gary and Doobie were set up on another ridge. It looked to me like they were getting slap-run over by caribou.

Group after group of bulls were walking by them, several of which I would have shot, but there were no shooters for these two seasoned caribou hunters.

Mike and I made it back to camp just before dark to find out that James had literally outdone himself. He had prepared a virtual feast of fried grayling and open fire-grilled moose ribs. We tore into it like a pack of wolves on a fresh kill. What a feast!

This was another late night of celebration, storytelling and, for me, anticipation of the next day’s hunt, for I was chosen to hunt the ridge where the caribou were crossing. I could barely sleep.

212 Seal Face Housing

Impeller Nut

THAT MORNING I was up and out of camp just before dawn, thinking that I would focus on caribou and wanting to be set up where they were crossing early. I was headed up the ridge to caribou alley when I spotted a decent bull moose slipping through the spruce trees on the edge of the creek drainage.

Having passed on several bulls already and nearing the end of the hunt, I made the decision to take him. I slid down the ridge, got set up for the shot and put my bull down around 300 yards from the creek and about three-quarters of a mile up the creek from camp.

As the old saying goes, now was when the work began. I was excited about taking a bull, but this would be the first moose we would actually have to pack. Being the new guy, I was a little concerned that I had broken a camp rule, but like the troopers they are, the guys were just excited to see me fill my tag.

It was right there where I received another lesson on how to hunt as a

team. Gary and Mike organized game bags, saws and packs. Heck, they even pulled out a little inflatable to float my bull back to camp. Skinning, quartering and packing out a moose can be a lot of work, but with five healthy guys working together at it, before we knew it, we were back in camp with my moose. I even had enough daylight left to head back up the ridge with Gary on my original mission for the day.

It wasn’t long before we were hunkered down on the ridge, watching little groups of caribou crossing the creek, filtering through the trees and climbing up the drainage we were sitting by.

We weren’t there long before a decent caribou bull wandered through the trees, not far from where I had taken my moose, and the chase was on. He moved along the base of the ridge we were on, and as luck would have it, he turned back towards the river. I managed to take him just at the treeline along the river. I couldn’t believe that after a number of days of holding out, I

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had managed to take both a moose and caribou bull in the same day. It was the icing on the cake of what had already been an adventure of a lifetime.

That night we all agreed that with the load we had, it was time to pack gear and float to the takeout. We were up early the next morning stowing gear, meat and antlers on the rafts for the float downriver. Things were going smoothly when ol’ Mikey walked over to me and asked, “Hey, Bordeaux, where’s that meat saw?”

Our meat was all cut, packed and ready to load, so I was scratching my head, wondering why he wanted it.

But like a good trooper, I found my saw and asked him what he needed done.

“Cut those hindquarters at the hocks,” he said. Confused by his statement, I looked at him like he’d been a little too deep in the bottle, and said, “I thought you wanted to keep them on.”

Mike replied, “Oh, no, that’s just for the pictures; we have plenty of those.”

As I’d come to find out, we’d been

packing about 50 pounds of hooves and hocks just for the pictures. Keeping them on did make the meat easier to hang, and I have to admit the pictures turned out pretty cool, but dang, that’s a whole different concept than cutting my toothbrush in half to save weight on a Dall sheep hunt.

OUR FLOAT DOWNRIVER went pretty smoothly. We had to drag our big blue raft a few times, but that was just part of the adventure. We arrived at our takeout location a few days early, but I had brought my satellite phone, and with it we are able to get a call to our transporter for an early pickup.

The first two planes came in bright and early the next morning and picked up the first two of the five planeloads out. And because our pickup location was in the middle of the caribou migration route, Doobie managed to take one; we made pretty quick work of skinning and packing it between flights.

During the flight back we saw moose, caribou and rafts of trumpeter swans gathering for their winter migration. As I sat there looking at them and seeing all of the late fall colors, I knew that I just had to come back.

I remember thinking that I had done all I could do to open the door to another invitation. I had pulled, packed and paddled my share of the load, as well as found a couple of chores that I was good at. I had even cooked gumbo and made coffee every morning. Did I mention that I had brought Starbucks?

I hadn’t realized it at the time, but not only had I done enough to get another invitation, I had also found a place that I would fall in love with. It was this hunt that started a tradition that would last for many years. ASJ Editor’s note: Next month, the author will detail his “learning years” of floating, calling moose and the logistics of remote wilderness hunting.

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Alaska bowhunters have plenty of options to choose from. Taking a grizzly with a bow, or any weapon, is a dream for many, while searching a willow-choked river only to meet head on with one of these monster bull moose can be a life-affirming experience as well. With 32 herds in the state and close to a million animals, success rates are high no matter where you go for caribou. Hunting goats takes a lot planning and preparation that must start long before you attempt it.

(PAUL D. ATKINS)

AN ALASKAN ARCHERY OBSESSION BOWHUNTING IN THE LAST FRONTER, PART I OF II

BY PAUL D. ATKINS

Y

ou’re 30 yards from the biggest animal you have ever encountered. Your heartbeat seems like it’s in your ears and it took forever to get your release on the string.

The last six months and next five seconds will make all the difference in whether you’re successful or not. Hopefully all the planning will pay off.

Gearing up and traveling north to Alaska to hunt moose and caribou, or maybe fill that coveted sheep or bear tag, is a dream for most of us. There’s something very special about Alaska during the fall, almost mystic.

Whether it’s experiencing the cool, rainy weather while camped on the banks of a river surrounded by endless expanses of tundra or maybe observing one of the many caribou herds as they migrate along ancient trails, all are special, and as bowhunters we all long to participate in such events.

Needless to say, Alaska is a big state with endless hunting opportunities and adventure. It might be climbing a mountain looking for a goat or maybe a sheep; or it could be going south to hunt Alaska’s only deer species. Whatever target you pursue will be an adventure that you will not soon forget.

Like all great hunts, what you do

to get ready, where you decide to go and ultimately what you plan to hunt determine your success. All are important and sometimes expensive, so before you get on the big jet and head north, you need to make sure you’ve planned accordingly.

Just as important as planning gear, equipment, etc., bowhunters need to be knowledgeable about the animals they’ll be pursuing. In my opinion, this is one of the most overlooked variables of hunting today, and besides, it’s fun to learn.

KNOW YOUR WILDLIFE In this first of a two-part series on bowhunting basics, let’s first look at the big game Alaska has to offer. There are 10 species that you can pursue with a bow, JUNE 2015

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and with a little luck, all can be taken successfully. Let’s first talk about those with antlers:

CARIBOU

WHERE TO GO

These are on many want lists and rightly so. The central barren-ground varieties that are found in Alaska are

very unique. They live on tundra, migrate with a determination that can only be compared to the herds in Africa and have exceptional antler growth; no two bulls are alike. To see a herd and their sheer numbers is something truly to behold.

There are 32 herds in the state – a

total population close to 950,000 animals – but many are on the decline.

The Western Arctic herd, which once had close to half-million animals, has seen the most drastic change. Numbers have dwindled and now are closer to 300,000. Despite being smaller, they are still available to the bowhunt-

THE AUTHOR SHARES HIS TOP AREAS TO HUNT ALASKA’S “BIG TEN.” CARIBOU Living in the Northwest Arctic has spoiled me a bit. The Western Arctic herd (Game Management Unit 23) is still the largest in Alaska, even with the decline. Bowhunters placed in the right location can and will see a lot of bulls; however, with only one tag per hunter, you will need to be selective. License costs are still relatively cheap: $25 for a resident and $85 for a nonresident. Caribou tags cost $325 each. It’s cheap compared to most big game hunts, but for best success I encourage you to hire a transporter to get you in an area where the action is the hottest. It won’t be cheap, but it will be well worth it in the long run.

cial about hunting on mythical Kodiak. To take one of these monsters with a bow is an achievement of a lifetime.

SITKA BLACKTAIL Alaska’s only deer species is one of the state’s best-kept hunting secrets. A prime location is GMU 6 along Prince William Sound. With bag limits of three and sometimes four, it’s well worth the trip. My favorite destination, however, is the south end of Kodiak Island. Though it does take some extra effort with the logistics, the number of deer is amazing and the spot-and-stalk chances are endless.

DALL SHEEP

MOOSE Western Alaska (GMU 21) is a prime-time location for moose. If you’re looking for a true giant with a tremendous wingspan that can reach 70 inches, then somewhere near the Yukon River should be your destination. Moose tags, however, are getting tougher to get these days, primarily due to predation, which has created a decline in moose numbers for certain units. Both nonresidents and residents must apply for tags in some units, and the short time frame for the hunt (Sept. 1 to 20) can be tough, especially if the rut is running a bit late, as it sometimes does.

These coveted sheep are one of Alaska’s truly remarkable big game species. Chasing one with a bow is not for the physically challenged; if you plan to bow hunt a ram, you need to be in shape. There are several great units to choose from; GMUs 13 and 14 are my choices for bruiser rams.

MOUNTAIN GOAT Southeast harbors the highest density of goats in Alaska.

GMU 1 near Haines is my choice for this extremely tough and challenging hunt.

BLACK BEAR

MUSKOX

You really cannot go wrong here. Black bears can be found throughout the forested regions of the state. Southeast Alaska and Prince of Wales Island (GMUs 1 and 2) are your best bet for scoring a decent bruin.

The only choice for the nonresident is to apply for a permit on Nunivak Island (GMU 18). This tag is very difficult to get, and the logistics of getting there can be expensive, but the reward of hunting these nomadic creatures of the last ice age is priceless.

GRIZZLY BEAR Like black bears, grizzlies can be found just about anywhere in the state, and finding them isn’t that difficult.

GMU 22 near Nome is a great unit that produces some really good bears. Once you’ve arrived, certain areas are accessible by road. Tags are purchased over-the-counter, but nonresidents must have a guide.

BROWN BEAR If you’re lucky enough to draw the tag, or if you want to pay the big bucks, then Kodiak Island (GMU 8) is, in my opinion, the only choice here. There is something truly spe-

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ELK If you’re trying to complete the slam or just looking for a Roosevelt, then GMUs 3 and 8 represent your only options.

GMU 3 is near Petersburg; more specifically, Etolin Island.

It harbors some of Alaska’s bigger bulls, but traversing the terrain and finding one can be extremely tough.

GMU 8 on Kodiak, Afognak and Raspberry Islands, can be tough as well, but there are good numbers with a little more open space to pursue these herds. Some tags are over-the-counter, while others are draw only. -PA

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To travel to where caribou live and hunt them with a bow is about as adventurous as it gets. Hunting caribou is also relatively cheap compared to other North American big game hunts.

Tags are usually easy to get, and in some places you can take more than one. Caribou hunting is enjoyable and best experienced with friends or family. It can be tough at some times and easy at others, but the key is to have a plan and stick to it.

Taking this old caribou bull on open terrain was one of the most exciting experiences the author has ever had in Alaska.

Being in the right spot at the right time combined with a little luck was the key. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

MOOSE

er. This year, however, only one bull per customer is allowed.

Many people think that all caribou are created equal, but this is just not the case. Like hunting elk in the Lower 48, different units will contain bulls that

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vary greatly in size and trophy quality. For example, the Mulchanta herd, which is found close to Lake Iliamna, is much smaller in size compared to the Arctic herd, but the bulls have quite a bit bigger racks and bodies.

Alaskan moose are big and trophy bulls can be found throughout the state, especially in the western part. Big bulls produce trophy racks as early as 6 to 7 years old, but the monster racks belong to bulls that reach 10 to 12 years of age. To take a moose with a bow is about as grand an experience as I can think of, and itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s something you will not soon forget.

The toughest part of moose hunting is after the shot. While big bulls weigh

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close to a ton, getting all that meat from point A to point B is an experience in itself, but the reward is great.

If you plan to bowhunt moose, you will need to go where moose are. Most all willow-choked rivers throughout the state harbor moose, and in some instances they can be found on the open tundra or among the spruce trees. Unfortunately, tags are harder and harder to come by. Most are available on a draw-only basis, and with the ever-increasing wolf population, the numbers are dwindling. The season runs Sept.

1-20, and a legal bull must be at least 50 inches wide or have four brow tines.

The rut occurs around the middle of September; bull moose react to antler rattling and to calls – calling in a big bull is a life-changing experience!

ELK

SITKA BLACKTAIL Pursuing deer in Alaska is one of hunting’s best-kept secrets. These smaller-framed, stockier cousins of mule deer are numerous and can be found in

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most of Southeast Alaska, Prince William Sound and on Kodiak Island. When winters are mild, the deer population can and will increase dramatically, but the opposite can occur if the winter is severe. The season runs from August through December, with the rut happening in November. I personally have hunted each month of the season and have found November to be the best time. I also have found that bowhunting the south end of Kodiak will produce the biggest bucks. Blacktails, like whitetails, will respond to decoying and calls, so it might help to bring them along for added success. This hunt will involve a lot of planning and a good set of nerves.

Brown bears also like to hunt these unique deer.

JUNE 2015

Roosevelt elk were transplanted to Afognak Island in 1928 where they now exist in huntable numbers. They can also be found on Raspberry Island and near Petersburg in the Southeast. One

of three elk species recognized by Pope and Young, Roosevelt elk are not as big as their cousins to the south, but to take one with a bow is quite an accomplishment.

Bowhunters wanting a chance at an Alaska model must apply for a tag and then hopefully get drawn. Some game management units require successful applicants to have completed a bowhunter’s education course, so be sure to check before you apply. The season runs September through October; if you do get drawn, you will need to do quite a bit of research and legwork in setting up your hunt. Hunters also need to be prepared for a tough hunt, as the terrain can be extremely challenging.

BEARS Of all the big game species in Alaska, I consider bears my favorite to bowhunt. They’re numerous, can be found throughout the state and by population counts, are growing with ever increasing numbers. With a population estimated at 100,000, black bears are the most nu-

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merous and the most widely hunted, with harvests exceeding 3,000 each year.

Black bear hunting does not require a guide and in some units up to three bears can be harvested. They’re found from sea level to the high alpine fields, with the highest concentration found in forested areas.

Brown/grizzly bears are classified as the same species, but the term “brown bear” refers to those animals found in coastal areas while those found inland are called grizzlies. Kodiak bears are considered a subspecies, as they are genetically and physically isolated and can grow to be monsters.

With numbers exceeding 30,000, brown bears are the only big game species in which nonresident hunters harvest more than do state residents. Brown bear hunting does require a guide for the nonresident, and for good reason.

Whether the coastal kind or the inland variety, they can be aggressive. If you’re not experienced – most bowhunters or hunters in general have zero experience when it comes to bears – then the best

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With liberal tags in most units where hunters can take up to four blacktail deer, the fun never ends. The severity of the winter will dictate harvest numbers.

(PAUL D. ATKINS)

guide you can afford will be worth their weight in gold when it comes to successfully arrowing your bruin.

MUSKOX History tells us that the ancestors of all

North American native peoples, from Inupiaq Eskimos to Cherokee Indians, crossed the Bering Land Bridge from Russia thousands of years ago. If this is the case, I wonder if the muskox was one of the first animals they encoun-

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tered? Probably – along with a few saber-toothed tigers.

The big cats are gone, of course, and 100 years ago you could not find a wild muskox in Alaska either. The population was totally wiped out by man and predators. Since then muskox have been reintroduced to the state and are doing well.

For nonresidents hoping to arrow one of these prehistoric creatures, Nunivak and Nelson Islands are your best bet, but tags are hard to come by. Hunters must apply in December for one of these coveted permits.

DALL SHEEP These are probably the most popular big game animals Alaska has to offer, especially for nonresidents. Similar to goats, these all-white sheep are tough to take with a bow. Only the toughest and hardiest souls who are up to the challenge should pursue this adventure.

If you’re a nonresident, you must have a guide, but tags are pretty liberal and the chance at drawing a tag are pretty good.

Dall sheep are found in the high alpine regions of certain mountain ranges with the highest population found in Southcentral Alaska.

MOUNTAIN GOAT Considered by many the toughest hunt in the world (I can attest to this), pursuing a goat with a bow is the ultimate challenge.

They can be found in both Southcentral and Southeast, and have also been introduced to Kodiak Island.

The season runs relatively long, starting Aug. 1 and running through December in some units. Even though you can hunt these tough, formidable creatures throughout the fall, some hunters prefer to hunt them as late as possible. Early on, goats tend to stay high in the mountains where feed is best, but as late fall and winter approach, goats will migrate down to feed at the treeline or below.

Early in the season, hunters have to be in top physical shape and have the stamina and will to succeed. Finding a goat this time of year will require them to reach

the high alpine meadows that are very close to the peak of some mountains.

Winter hunters will need to brave the snowy conditions to reach the treeline for a possible shot.

Those nonresident bowhunters wanting to take the challenge will need to apply for a tag and also hire a guide who can get it done. This hunt is not for everybody and is something you should consider carefully long before you decide to take the plunge. All aspects should be researched carefully when it comes to this hunt. That said, best of luck whether you’re after goats or the other nine members of Alaska’s big ten by bow. ASJ Editor’s note: In next month’s second part of this series, the author will share gear and preparation tips for a bowhunt adventure.

Paul Atkins is an outdoor writer and author from Kotzebue, Alaska, and a contributing writer for Alaska Sporting Journal. He’s written hundreds of articles on big game hunting throughout North America and Africa. You can find him on Facebook.

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MAKING MEMORIES WITH POP MOVING TO ALASKA MADE FATHER-SON HUNTS SPECIAL

BY STEVE MEYER

I

“

’ll wake you up at 4:30 in the morning if you want to go,” my dad said one Saturday in the fall of 1965.

“What about Sunday school?” Mom asked. Dad replied, “He’ll learn more about being a decent person listening to the ducks and geese than he ever will in Sunday school.”

Of course, the prospect of finally be-

ing allowed to go hunting, even without a gun to carry, ensured there would be no need to wake me up; I could never sleep the night before.

It marked the start a lifelong need to be up before the sunrise, to listen to the world of wetlands, marshes, prairie grasslands and mountain lakes come to life. It also ensured my father, Allen,

The author (left) and his dad, Allen, reunited last year for a bird hunt in North Dakota, but their bond over hunting was solidified when the family moved to Alaska. (STEVE MEYER) 70 AL 70 ALASKA A ALA LASSK LA SKA KA K A SPORTING SSP PO ORT OR RT RTIIN ING NG N G JO JJOURNAL OU UR URN RN R NA AL L

JUNE JJUN JU UN U NE N E2 20 201 2015 01 0 15

would never need an alarm clock.

The first gun came from Dad in 1966 – a Winchester bolt-action .22 that came with a reaffirmation of safety rules that had already been instilled. A whole new world opened up for me with that gun; I was allowed to roam our farmland and neighboring lands, hunting rabbits and squirrels in winter, and gophers in summer.

The next year Dad brought home an H&R single-shot 20-gauge shotgun that would forever cement my love of wingshooting. I was included in all of the duck, goose and pheasant forays, and welcomed as an equal by my dad’s hunting buddies.

I CAN’T REMEMBER if the first bird I took on the wing was a duck, a goose or a pheasant. My memories are of the times afield, the frosty mornings, the cackle of roosters as they flush and the symphony of Canada geese announcing their intentions before lifting off the water to go to their feeding grounds.

When November came around and deer season opened I was again a spectator. North Dakota did not allow big game hunting until one reached the age of 14, so I went along and Dad showed me the ways of deer and the care of them after the shot.

Every outing with my father grew a lifetime relationship with nature. Dad would take me on his trapline during the winter and show me how to make my own sets. He helped me lay out my first trapline at age 9. My catches were mostly muskrats and an occasional mink, but they kept me in .22 and shotgun shells.

Dad explained how an animal in a trap would get cold, might chew its own leg off to get free, and at the least, would be suffering to some degree. Thus, that’s why we would check the traps morning and night.

Getting up at 4 a.m. every day before school to walk my line in the dark left me with a love for being out before sunrise. I was a part of the natural world and the responsibilities that come with taking care of the world we live in. The trapline was also a post-secondary education in identifying tracks, animal movements and habits far beyond just the furbearers we sought.

IN THE FALL of 1970, Dad returned from an Alaskan moose hunt and announced that the family would be moving to the Last Frontier. I was 11 years old at the time and getting to the age when young boys might go astray.

Just before heading up the Alcan Highway he gave me a newspaper clipping. It described the things that could happen to you if you got in serious trouble. On the list was the promise of forever losing the right to have a firearm. I don’t remember any of the others, but Dad knew that one would get my attention and I never forgot it.

Alaska was a dream realized. Being a nonresident we couldn’t afford more than a moose tag for Dad that first year. But I was able to go along and learn the value of a weak mind and a strong back when it came to meatpacking.

Dad was working on an oil platform, a five-day-out, weekends-in job, and he and my uncle had flown in their Super Cub for a winter moose hunt to finish filling the freezer. After taking the moose late on Sunday, he had to return to work and I flew back with my uncle to pack the moose. It only had 52-inch antlers, but its body was huge. It was all I could do to remain upright with one of those hindquarters strapped to my back on the military boards we used in those days.

On our return, we took the meat to a local market and weighed the hindquarters; one set weighed 156 pounds and the other 161. I don’t know which one I packed, but either way, it was a great source of pride for a 12-year-old boy.

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if I thought I could do it, Dad encouraged it. The ďŹ rst summer in Alaska I spent cutting up spruce trees into ďŹ rewood and septic tank logs, and building the tanks for our family and other newcomers who we had befriended.

Dad trusted me to run the chainsaw, and at the end of the summer my reward from him was a Winchester M70 chambered in .300 Winchester Magnum.

The following spring, just after becoming residents for hunting license purposes, Dad and I went black bear hunting early one morning. There was a big grassy area we knew that black bears would come to

the edge of to feed.

As we watched the area, a black bear came out on the far side. I was in a good resting position â&#x20AC;&#x201C; my .300 zeroed for 300 yards â&#x20AC;&#x201C; when he told me, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s about 400 yards; hold just over his back.â&#x20AC;?

At the shot the bear dropped in its tracks. It wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t a big one â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 5½ feet â&#x20AC;&#x201C; and once we had it ďŹ eld-dressed, Dad picked it up, threw it across his shoulders and packed the carcass back to the truck. Still, it was a safe bet he was about as proud as I was.

These days, the distance between son and father â&#x20AC;&#x201C; one in Alaska, one in North Dakota â&#x20AC;&#x201C; makes the few chances to hunt together extra special. (STEVE MEYER)

AS THE YEARS ticked by, my father worked in the oilďŹ eld and I had school commitments, but we hunted together whenever we could. In 1979 I was out of school and working, and our patriarch was being transferred to Wyoming. Not knowing what the future would bring or when we would be able to hunt together again, we made time for a quick Mulchatna caribou hunt, which, as life progressed, would prove out to be our last Alaska big game adventure together.

Our ďŹ&#x201A;oatplane settled onto one of the regionâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s many gin-clear subalpine lakes â&#x20AC;&#x201C; we could see ďŹ sh in the lake from the airplane as we made the approach. After we set up camp, we assembled our light spinning rods and attached a couple of small Mepps spinners.

First casts for both of us were rewarded with nice Arctic char. We caught one after another and kept two for supper. As we sat around our small ďŹ re, a small band of caribou came by, suggesting promise for the next day.

We didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t talk much, both of us preferring the sounds of wild country to

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our own voices; it seems that sometimes more is said in silence than at any other time.

We both knew it might be a long time before we hunted together or even saw each other, and there seemed no point in the chatter that those times usually bring.

The morning broke clear, calm and cold, promising a rain-free day, but guaranteeing miserable swarms of insects. Hiking up the surrounding hills through knee-high scrub willow stirred the bugs up even before the sun produced much warmth. By 10 a.m., and even with copious doses of bug dope applied, the swarming made effective glassing difficult.

We had just about decided to head back to camp for lunch and hope for a bug-dispersing breeze in the afternoon when Dad nudged me and pointed to a draw some 150 yards below our position.

A very large set of caribou antlers slowly gained elevation – they seemed to float above the scrub brush – and turned into a big bull slowly moving right to left.

“Take him if you want him,” I was told,

but I whispered back, “I’ll have plenty of chances for a big bull later; you don’t know when you will.”

The blast of his .264 Win Magnum echoed through the mountains, and the big bull dropped in his tracks, never aware of our presence.

In those days a big rack still impressed me, and I had to check myself to keep from running to the big bull. Dad was never too excited about “trophies.”

A good-sized animal was simply more meat in the freezer, and it was a view that would take a few more years for me to grasp. The antlers, still wrapped in velvet, were high, wide, and sported the coveted double shovel; it was such a beautiful animal and still in memory, as if it were yesterday.

We stood and admired the big ‘bou for some time; when the flies, mosquitoes and yellow jackets began to swarm, it was time to get to work. We were bent over skinning him out when I happened to look up while brushing the yellow jackets away. A nice young bull caribou was standing 100 yards away,

seemingly mesmerized by our activity.

The shot from my .264 was bittersweet, ending the hunt successfully, but still ending the hunt.

WE PACKED THE bulls to the lakeshore, which took until dusk settled across the tundra. A small fire comforted our thoughts of past hunts and the hopes this would not be our last.

Many seasons have passed and we haven’t hunted big game together since.

Life, schedules and circumstances are what they are, but we still hunt together whenever I can get to Dad’s North Dakota home.

Granted, Father’s Day is special as the recognized time for celebrating the men who have shaped our lives. But for me, opening day of hunting season will always be the real Father’s Day. No other time better commemorates the shaping of my life, the relationship I have with nature and my lifelong love of the outdoors, and it comes from my father.

Thanks, Dad, see you in fall! ASJ

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NO SYMPATHY

KEEPING WHAT BELONGS TO US

BY STEVE MEYER

H

ere’s a good idea: let’s go ahead and turn the Western United States into the Eastern U.S. We can pave a bunch of stuff, put up lots of condos, lots of parking lots, and let industry run rampant and turn the rivers into sludge. It seems that’s where we are headed with yours and my senators’ recent passage of a bill that would allow federal lands to be transferred to individual states.

It seems the vast acreage of wildlands that cover the West, including Alaska, is underexploited and we better fix that real quick. National Forest, Bureau of Land Management, National Park Service and U.S. Fish and Wildlife Refuge lands could all end up on the auction block, lands that America’s citizens have long held in reverence – places that no matter what else might happen we would otherwise always have their wilderness to enjoy.

A few have suggested this would be beneficial for outdoor users in that the pesky federal regulations that govern activities on these public treasures would go away. Maybe, but when that land is sold off to corporate endeavors, which is the intent, you may never have access to it again. Or worse.

“The states will manage the land much better,” say proponents, mostly those with economic interests that have no interest in the concept of public trust land. Given that the states, all of them, are incapable of operating without federal assistance now and couldn’t possibly begin to manage more land, what

gives? Well, the land will be sold or leased to the highest bidder to be developed however they choose.

Two words should tell you everything you need to know about state wildland management: Pebble Mine. Maybe it’s just my rancid opinion, but the incompetence of the State of Alaska’s Department of Natural Resources in leasing the Bristol Bay region property for that purpose is astonishing.

I wonder how much it has cost the state, the federal government and the citizens of this country? To a moral degree of certainty, if we start attempting to sell off national treasures to the states, it will be a litigator’s paradise.

Want to cause an uprising in the outdoors community? Threaten access to hunting, fishing, camping, hiking, or any of the other innumerable things that outdoor folks do on public land. Since this debacle came to light, some 100-plus conservation organizations and outdoor industry companies have expressed opposition to the legislation. The list includes such notables as the Theodore Roosevelt Conservation Partnership, Dallas Safari Club International, Pheasants Forever, Trout Unlimited, Sage, Backcountry Hunters and Anglers, Sitka Gear and others.

Since coming to Alaska 44 years ago, about 95 percent of my outdoor activities – including hunting, fishing, trapping, hiking, photography and camping – have been on federal land. Sure, there have been, and no doubt will continue to be, times when I don’t agree with some policies placed by federal agency managers. I’ve been rather vocal about them and will continue to be, and in some cases that has made a difference. I’ll take that over not having the land or a voice every time. At least when it is public land we can effect changes; once it

is private, there is no recourse.

With the full understanding that if things had not happened the way they did I wouldn’t even exist, my heart has always gone out to the American Indian and what “we” did to them. They were displaced from the land that they never “owned,” but nevertheless lived as part of.

For the first time in my life I suddenly feel their plight as a participant rather than an observer, and it doesn’t feel very good. In one body blow of a moment, the places we’ve come to know, to roam freely on, to engage nature in its most basic and honest terms on, are being threatened at the whim of politicians.

Some critics have accused those who oppose the sale of our public land as being anti-business or anti-progress. I’ve never been either of those, so long as it was responsible and didn’t eliminate the wild places we still enjoy. Our public trust land held some measure of assurance that while business and development could go on around it, we would always have these sacred places. So, yeah, if your intent is to take them away, then I guess I am OK with being anti-business.

Contacting your representatives in Washington as well as at the state capital and voicing your opposition is a starting point to stop this debacle. Call, write, email – whatever works for you to make your voice heard.

Our biggest downfall in these modern times is our own apathy. With each new transgression by our own government, we tend to hang our head like sheep and accept it. We don’t have to do that; it is, after all, still our country, even though of late we haven’t acted much like it is.

There is a website you must check out: sportsmensaccess.org. For those opposed to the transfer of our federal lands it has a petition to sign. I hope you will all join me in at least doing that much to save our outdoor heritage. ASJ JUNE 2015

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ALCAN HIGHWAY TRAVEL GUIDE WHAT TO DO AND SEE ON THE 1,390-MILE JOURNEY FROM DAWSON CREEK, B.C., TO DELTA JUNCTION, ALASKA Part II of IV: The Yukon Territory border to Whitehorse “

L

arger than Life.” It’s all over signposts in the Yukon Territory. And for those who drive north on the Alcan (Alaska) Highway, there’s a lot more large than life.

The population of the Yukon (per 2013 calculations) is all of 36,700. That’s

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about 700 less than the capacity of Fenway Park in Boston, which baseball’s Red Sox fans fill each year. So in 81 games, the entire population of the territory that covers 186,272 square miles could fit comfortably into a ballpark with a playing surface of 100,000 square feet.

Not a people person? You’re in the right place. Like much of the Alaska Highway – a proposed journey we started last month and traveled the stretch of the road through British Columbia – you likely won’t be suffering from claustrophobia.

But like the rest of this 1,390-mile

You’ll know you’ve made it to Watson Lake, Yukon Territory, when you see the Sign Post Forest, which is just what it sounds like. Visitors walk through a myriad of signs indicating city limits, streets and miscellaneous messages from around the world.

There are roughly 72,000 signs in this tree-free forest.

(GOVERNMENT OF YUKON)

journey, you’re hoping to get away from the congested freeways, Starbucks and Twitter madness that we just can’t avoid.

Mile 612: Watson Lake and the Sign Post Forest One of the best set props on the 1970s and ’80s TV show M*A*S*H featured the signs depicting the 4077th’s distance

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Tlingit life is on display at the Tlingit Heritage Centre on Teslin Lake, between the Yukon towns of Watson Lake and Whitehorse.

About 300 members of the First Nations tribe live a subsistence existence in the tiny nearby village of Teslin.

(GOVERNMENT OF YUKON)

town sign of DANVILLE, ILLINOIS. Carl was known as the homesick, lonesome soldier and he was aware of the tradition that he started and what is now known as the Sign Post Forest.”

If you just happen to have that Main Street signpost you found at a junkyard hanging on your garage wall and want to find a new home for it, you’re welcome to add to the collection that is at around 72,000 and growing. Or you can buy a board and make your sign at the visitor’s center.

Mile 627: Nugget City As is the case throughout the Alcan, you’ll have a lot of stops clustered together, and then a whole lot of empty highway to simply take in the scenery (but paying attention to what’s in front of you when you are behind the wheel!).

Worth a stop – either for a meal or an overnight stay – a few miles out of Watson Lake is Nugget City (867-5362307; nuggetcity.com), an oasis with an RV park, complete with a laundromat, RV wash, wi-fi access and a gift shop.

Cabin rentals are also available, and there’s a restaurant and bakery on site called Wolf It Down that features freshly made pies, buffalo steaks and burgers and BBQ ribs. Done driving? Wash it down with a beer or glass of wine.

Speaking of wolfing it down, it wasn’t too far west of here that in 2013 a bicyclist had to pedal for his life for several miles to escape a hungry wolf. Eventually he leapt through the driver’s side window of an RV to escape the beast.

from various cities like Seoul, Tokyo, San Francisco and Cpl. Klinger’s hometown of Toledo, Ohio. Besides gassing up and stocking up on supplies in one of the bigger cities in the territory, Watson Lake (population 1,200), one of the most iconic stops on the Alcan is the “Sign Post Forest,” which pays homage to signs that welcome visitors to their cities, street names, license plates, and everything else striking their fancy.

Watson Lake’s tourism site (watsonlake.ca; 867-536-7649) provided a 82 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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history of this unique graveyard of road signs that dates back to the highway’s construction in 1942.

“While working on the Alcan Highway near Lower Post, BC, Private Carl K. Lindley from Company D, 341st Army of Engineers, was injured and taken to the Army Aid Station in Watson Lake to recuperate. During that time Carl’s commanding officer got him to repair and repaint the directional post,” the website says. “While Carl was carrying out this task he decided to add his home

Mile 804: Teslin and Tlingit Heritage Centre While driving west on the highway, you’ll skirt back into British Columbia for a stretch of road, head south for a time and then meander your way back up into the Yukon Territory (you’re still in Canada, so no worry about digging into your bag for your passport again).

Back in the Yukon, you’ll eventually pass through picturesque Teslin, a village of just 450 but a history that includes the Klondike Gold Rush. According to Teslin’s website (teslin.ca), during the 1898 rush, “the Teslin campsite boomed briefly as a stopover on

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The Alcan twists its way through the Yukon Territory, even shifting back to the south into British Columbia for a few miles before returning to the Yukon on the way to Alaska.

(GOVERNMENT OF YUKON)

the Canadian route to the Klondike. For the first time Teslin had permanent residents. The Hudson Bay Co. established a trading post for the villagers and those traveling the Klondike trail.”

The pace is a little slower these days.

But adjacent to the village is Teslin Lake, which is 78 miles long and 2 miles wide, reaching depths of 700 feet. Lake trout are plentiful here, and Chinook and chum salmon travel the Teslin River via the mighty Yukon River to spawn here in

late summer.

A must-stop in Teslin is to visit the Teslin Tlingit Heritage Centre (867390-2532, ext. 335; ttc-teslin.com/ heritage-centre.html). The Tlingit tribe came down to the Yukon from Southeast Alaska in the early 18th Century. They once lived a nomadic fishing, hunting and gathering subsistence lifestyle, but established a permanent settlement in Teslin due to the construction of the Alaska Highway in 1942.

Today, 300 of the Tlingit’s 800 members live in the Teslin area. Exhibits featuring arts and crafts, performances featuring Tlingit dancing and drumming and workshops displaying the Tlingit’s way of life are the highlights of the museum. There’s also a gift shop selling many of their arts and crafts.

As we continue on our journey north to Alaska, next up is the Yukon Territory’s “big” city, Whitehorse. We’ll pick up our journey there next month on our 1,390mile journey to Delta Junction. ASJ

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MAKING MEMORIES WITH POP FEED THE BEAST KACHEMAK BAY SALMON TROLLING TRIPS ARE SURE TO CATCH FEEDER KINGS

BY STEVE MEYER

F

our minutes into the troll, my rod slammed down, releasing the 14-pound downrigger ball and signifying that the fight was on.

The fish made one decent run and came to hand in the bobbing seas typical of lower Cook Inlet. Shane Blakely, of Driftwood Charters and the captain of the day, looked at my fish with a bit of a jaundiced eye and asked, “Do you want to keep it?”

By king salmon standards the fish would impress no one, and clearly there

were much bigger fish to be caught.

“Hell, yeah, I want to keep it” was my not so subtle response.

AT HOME IN HOMER Months before, my partner, Christine Cunningham, had told me that Ruth and Louis Cusack and Emily and Matt Shock wanted to book a trip to fish for feeder kings out of Homer. Groaning to myself I thought, “Great, another day of mindless trolling for fish with someone who doesn’t know how to catch them.”

So I replied, “I’ll go only if we book with Shane.”

You see, we had been feeder king fishing on numerous occasions with several different boats and captains and, frankly, it sucked. True, the scenery in lower Cook Inlet is magnificent and, depending on weather, always a

Sunset on Kachemak Bay off the coast of Homer in Southeast Alaska means long days of slow trolling for king salmon. The author was leery about the idea of going, but catching a lot of fish made up for the tedious process. (STEVE MEYER) 88 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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bit different. But after about four hours of listening to the throb of the engines cruising at 2½ mph, the scenery ceases to be all that interesting, and could we please catch a damn fish now?

We had come to know Shane by way of a duck hunting buddy when Shane towed our boat across Kachemak Bay for sea duck hunting in December a couple years ago. Shane hunted with us for a while and then said he probably should go catch a couple kings and would be back for the return across the bay. Yeah, sure, whatever, we thought – until he came back an hour later with two very nice feeder kings.

The next week, the process was repeated, eliminating the chances it was a fluke. Since then, we have sort of kept track of Shane; inevitably, no matter the time of year, he was knocking them out.

WATER FIT FOR KINGS The feeder king fishery in Kachemak Bay (often referred to as winter kings, or blackmouth in the Pacific Northwest) was at one time primarily a winter event, with the Homer Winter King derby in March being the highlight. But the kings that come from California, Oregon, Washington and British Columbia are there year-round.

They feed and then leave when they are ready to make their spawning run.

Some of the kings caught in Kachemak are hatchery fish, as evidenced by their lack of an adipose fin. Some have tags (Shane caught some hundred or so of these last year) that can be sent in to various government agencies, which will return information about the fish. On our trip we caught several hatchery fish and two with tags.

A question that comes to mind is what effect our targeting these fish has on the other end where they spawn; it seems like none. The runs these fish

come from continue to increase, as do the numbers of feeder kings in Kachemak Bay. Of course, there are no hard and fast scientific numbers to support that, as no studies of the population in Kachemak Bay have been done. That is simply from observations of anglers who have fished them for a long time, and if anyone knows, it is them.

So with that in mind, we had no qualms about keeping them. One thing that has kept these kings targeted primarily in late winter and early spring is that anglers are not required to record them on the license until April 1. In years past, when kings were rather prolific and fishermen didn’t want to waste the precious slots available on a small king, it was understandable. Now that one is lucky to catch any returning king of any size, these smaller fish are gaining attention throughout the season.

SALMON FOR ALL With the first fish barely in the fish box,

THE FLAVOR IS THE FISH

Alaskan fish of all fins provide excellent table fare and, of course, king salmon is no exception. Feeder kings take that to the next level. These are young growing fish that run, by normal king salmon standards, small. Unless one happens to stray into a migrating spawner headed for rivers north don’t expect to catch fish much beyond 20 pounds. But that 20-pounder will provide several good meals of arguably the best-eating fish anywhere. Their flesh is typically a bit lighter pink in color than spawners, and it is very moist. Cooked any way you would normally cook fish, it is melt-in-your-mouth delicious. With each addition to the fish box that day, we just counted the meals.

On this trip our focus was feeder kings, but with those can come the incidental halibut, greenling, cod and black rockfish. Throughout the day, several small halibut – the kind that won’t tip a 10-pound scale, but are so good to eat you can’t help but keep them – joined the salmon in the fish box.

If one takes a combination trip in July when lingcod are legal to retain, it is possible to catch feeder kings, silver salmon, red salmon, chum salmon, pink salmon, halibut, yelloweye, black rockfish, lingcod, Pacific cod and pollock.

A combination trip for six people can and often does net over 1,000 pounds of fish in the box by day’s end. –SM

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it was Ruth’s turn, as her rod slammed down and she quickly had it to hand.

“Throw that little guy back,” Ruth said.

Ruth and Louis are consummate game and fish cooks and generously share with others, including the local homeless shelter in Anchorage, and they look for fish that will feed a family, not just themselves. “When the tide turns, the fish will get bigger,” said Shane, who is the most unobtrusive captain one could imagine.

They did. Looking for the secret formula for catching these kings, it quickly became evident there was no “secret.”

Using the standard set-up for trolling – a small bait herring that had been toughened with salt brine – there seemed to be no magic involved. During the course of the day there were other boats near our boat, and each time a fish would come to hand the radio would announce some good-natured ribbing about catching all the fish.

As the sun rose over the Southeastern peaks, the fish continued to snatch the preferred herring presented, and

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Capt. Shane Blakely of Driftwood Charters helps pull in one of Cook Inlet’s plentiful king salmon. Blakely is one of Homer’s most successful charter skippers. (STEVE MEYER)

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tain goat summer sausage, waterfowl pepperoni and various Cajun concoctions that Louis dreams up, which never disappoint. Well-fed anglers are happy anglers.

PROS OUTWEIGH CONS Saltwater fishing always comes accompanied with weather – good, bad, and sometimes ugly. No matter how good the weather is, there are always ground swells that may get to those who are prone to succumb to seasickness. Preparing for the worst is a constant in Alaska. Raingear, warm layers of clothing, rubber boots, a knit cap of some sort and wool gloves or ones that equally stay warm when wet should be the bare minimum. Typically, charter boats have some sort of heated cabin, but if you are going to catch a fish sooner or later, you have to get out in the elements.

There are never any guarantees in fishing, but it is a near mortal certainty that you’ll be coming home with fish, assuming you keep them with the in-

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A box full of king salmon –not to mention some incidental halibut, rockfish or even lingcod – makes a day of trolling worthwhile for the author. (STEVE MEYER)

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Matt Shock wasn’t just satisfied with keeping any king he caught. He was determined to make the most of his second of two fish and scored a beauty at the end of the day. (STEVE MEYER)

tent to eat. The fish will be filleted and placed in plastic bags for you.

To preserve the fish in the best possible way until they are processed, you’ll want to have a decent-sized cooler for the trip from the dock to where will be processed.

You don’t want to have the good fortune of a really nice summer day and have to throw your fish in the back of a hot vehicle. Your charter operator can direct you to local fish processors who will often accommodate vacationers and those in a time crunch.

Nearing the end of the day, we had a boatload of kings, small halibut and some other odds and ends in the fish box. I still hadn’t figured out what Shane does that makes him so successful, but we had brought some 20-odd kings to hand during the course of the day, a remarkable achievement by anyone’s measure in the feeder king arena.

Matt was the holdout of the group; he had one king and was saving his remaining tag for a chance at a bigger fish. Shane took us to a spot just off the Homer Spit, where our lovely deckhand would fillet the fish while Matt continued to troll for his big kings.

Patience rewards, it seems, as Matt finally hooked the king he was hoping for and finished off the day in the best possible way. ASJ Editor’s note: For more information on Shane Blakely’s Driftwood Charters, call (907) 235-8019 or go to driftwoodcharters.com.

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A chance anchorage near the port of Seward led to this 65-inch halibut for Bixler McClure. The chart at right shows that a flattie that large weighs 141 pounds and yields 106 pounds of meat. (KRYSTIN MCCLURE)

BIG ‘BUTS IN THE BAY WHILE MANY OF THE LARGER HALIBUT ARE CAUGHT WELL OFFSHORE OF SEWARD, AN OCCASIONAL TROPHY LURKS NEAR PORT

BY KRYSTIN MCCLURE AND BIXLER MCCLURE

J

une is the month for halibut fishing out of Seward, with the annual Seward Halibut Derby as the headliner.

Every June, the harbor swells with anglers heading out in search of giant flatties. It is a well-known fact that the biggest halibut come from far-off reefs, some over 50 nautical miles away. We too dream of catching big fish in the hallowed halibut fields far off of Seward, but as owners of a sailboat that makes a whopping 6 knots max, we’ve settled on the smaller “chicken-sized” fish from closer spots, as traveling those distances would be a multiday event. A 20-pounder is usually a good haul for us, but last June, at the cusp of the solstice, we got lucky.

THE DAY BEFORE summer started, with 20-plus hours of sunlight, we took Carpe Ventos to nearby Day Harbor to fish for smaller halibut in our usual size range. But what was supposed to be a pleasant weekend in a cove just east of the long point of land that juts south from Seward turned into a stormy one.

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The authors made the decision to move their prized sailboat, Carpe Ventos, from some rough waters in Day Harbor to anchor up closer to Seward in Resurrection Bay. What happened while jigging for smaller halibut became something more exciting.

(BIXLER MCCLURE)

night and I made the executive decision to return to the safety of Seward’s Resurrection Bay under the cover of the short hours of darkness.

The intense night of motoring into large swells and the return to waters closer to port set the tone for the next day. Neither one of us was happy with the situation. A 34-foot sailboat can be a small place for two people to have a disagreement, so we mutually instituted a period of silence about the previous night.

With our plan to explore the relatively remote Day Harbor over the solstice giving way to sitting along the stream of boat traffic coming in and out of Seward, I decided to move and anchor up in a favorite cove. Bixler agreed, but only if we could do so in a spot to fish as well.

We dropped anchor near our final destination. Bixler rigged up the soaking gear for halibut, using some salmon heads from our successful sockeye 98 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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fishing season. A friend of ours who worked in the charter fleet had suggested the idea. Bixler threaded the salmon head on a C-hook and plopped the gear in the water, along with a large lead weight to carry the bait to the bottom. In the meantime, he grabbed a salmon rod, tied a tiny leadhead twister tail on the line, and started jigging.

The weather started to clear and I went down inside the boat to make some lunch. Bixler sat on the deck jigging, all the while complaining about how we should have been over in Day Harbor instead.

As I started to assemble a complicated lunch, I heard Bixler scream. Line was peeling off his salmon rod. I ran up to the deck as he grabbed a knife to cut the line. A large fish had grabbed his tiny leadhead jig, but his salmon pole was too small to control the fish.

“I think there is a big halibut down there!” Bixler whispered, as if the fish could hear him.

“This close to Seward?” I said skeptically. “I’m going to finish making lunch.”

I WENT BACK to the galley and started to cook and assemble a dish from our fresh red salmon. Bixler sat on the deck with a book, but stared at the lines intently. One of the poles began to dip.

Then the reel began to click.

“Honey, come up here!” Bixler yelled.

I dropped what I was doing and ran up on deck. Bixler stood there with the rod in his hands. The tip was bouncing wildly. He asked about what our friend in the charter fleet had advised doing in this situation, and I replied: “You need to slowly set the drag once the fish takes the bait.”

As soon as l told Bixler that critical piece of information, line began to whirl off the reel. Slowly, he tightened the drag. The rod bent down wildly as he fought the fish. In the distance,

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boats blasted by on the way out to catch giant fish at reefs afar, as we were fighting one close to Seward!

Bixler started to reel the fish closer to the surface, letting it take line as needed. He barked out orders: “Grab the gaff; grab the gun; clear the deck!”

I complied, pausing to shut down my lunch-making operation, and then stood alongside Bixler with the gaff ready.

Peering down into the milky-blue ocean water, the first thing we saw float upwards was the salmon head, which confused us. But then, coming out of the depths was the distinct mouth of a halibut – a big halibut!

Bixler and I screamed with joy. He handed off the rod and reminded me to keep the fish in the water. The halibut was tired, but a fish of this size could easily throw the hook and disappear into the deep. Bixler ran inside the boat and grabbed my Walther .380 out of the chart table. He loaded the gun and returned up to the deck.

“Bring the fish closer to the surface,” he said calmly. I tried to lift the rod and could tell it was a big fish. The halibut had hit my TigerLite rod, which is designed for smaller fish. Using both of my arms, I pulled the fish up, telling Bixler to hurry since I was about to lose it. The halibut started to flinch. He unloaded an entire clip of .380 bullets into the gill plate, and the fish died on the hook.

We jumped up and down with joy, then stopped to consider the logistics.

How were we going to get a halibut of this size up on the sailboat?!? We tried to use the boom with the main halyard, but realized it would be fruitless.

There was another option: We had been towing our 7-foot dinghy, so I suggested why not pull the fish into it?

Bixler hopped in the dinghy, and after I handed him the rod, he pulled the catch aboard. The halibut filled the entire dinghy. Our jaws dropped. The fish was so large that there was barely room for him to sit.

We pulled anchor and dropped near shore. Grabbing our filleting gear, we headed to the beach to cut up the halibut. I had grabbed the tape mea100 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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How in the heck do you lift a 141-pound halibut aboard a sailboat? You don’t – at least whole. Bixler ended up launching their dinghy, dragging the fish into the small boat and going ashore to fillet it.

sure and the tide book with length-toweight conversions for halibut. At 65 inches, the biggest fish caught aboard Carpe Ventos weighed in at an estimated 141 pounds!

Bixler butchered the fish and posed with the carcass, since the halibut itself was too big to lift. We bumped up our lunch (which was now dinner) with scraps from the fillets.

When we returned to Seward the next day, we realized that had we entered the June halibut derby, we would have finished in 11th place that year.

“You know, I’m glad you made the decision to leave Day Harbor in the middle of the night,” Bixler said, half-jokingly, as we spent the evening vacuum-packing the enormous amount of fillets from the fish at home.

“Yes, I wanted to motor through huge swells, because I knew we’d stumble upon a big halibut,” I replied.

“I call it women’s intuition.” ASJ Editor’s note: For more on the authors, check out their website, alaskagraphy.com.

(KRYSTIN MCCLURE)

A GIANT FISH FRY Have you ever wanted to make those crispy, restaurant-quality fish and chips?

Here’s a simple recipe you can pair with French fries or a whole host of friendly goodies. Halibut makes the best fried fish and is great to share with friends and family – that is, if you are willing to share your catch!

INGREDIENTS Oil for frying All-purpose flour Panko bread crumbs Egg Your favorite beer DIRECTIONS The key to great fried halibut is hot oil and a proper breading station. Oil should be hot, but not smoking or boiling. A temperature-regulated deep fryer is the best way to go, but you can also heat the oil in a pot or deep skillet.

For the breading station, start with three bowls. In the first bowl, place enough flour to cover the halibut. In the second, mix one or two eggs with equal parts beer, and then whisk the mixture with a fork until blended. Place panko crumbs in the third bowl.

First cover the halibut in the flour, then place it into the egg mixture. Cover with egg, then roll it in panko. Repeat with all the halibut pieces.

Fry in oil until golden brown. Enjoy with your favorite dipping sauces and a slice of lemon! –BM

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FROM SNAGS TO SALMON A TRIP TO RESURRECTION BAY TAKES A TURN FOR THE BETTER AFTER LOST LURES

A heavy-action halibut stick sits in the rodholder during a “power jigging” session for bottomfish in Resurrection Bay. (DENNIS MUSGRAVES)

BY DENNIS MUSGRAVES

W

e cruised slowly out of the Seward small boat harbor for an overnight fishing trip on Resurrection Bay, and every angler on board the Bessie Doo was anxious.

Our mid-afternoon launch was not ideal, but the weather was perfect.

Sunshine beamed down through a partly cloudy sky and calm water awaited us just outside the harbor. I was eager to drop a fishing line and catch something big and wild.

I was fortunate to be going with a skilled boat captain. Eric Kjelland and I have known each other since we served together in the U.S. Army during the late 1980s at Fort Richardson, near Anchorage. So my longtime friend had invited Chris Cox and I for a self-guided fishing adventure on his 23-foot Glasply cabin cruiser.

Eric’s 20 years of knowledge about the sportfishing out of Seward would give us a great advantage over the fish.

The multispecies fishing, which included rockfish and salmon, had been talked about for months, and now the time fi-

nally had arrived to go to sea.

Going fishing on a private boat has certain advantages over a charter trip.

Eric’s boat would provide the freedom to explore and fish at our own discretion and locations without time restrictions.

This was unlike the restraints of a typical six-pac charter.

Best of all, the DIY trip would include the benefit of fellowship between old friends.

GETTING TO IT Wasting further daylight would not put fish on the deck, so as soon as we

cleared the harbor’s no-wake zone, Eric throttled up the inboard 350 Chevy and powered us off.

Alaska’s Resurrection Bay is thriving with fish. You can catch a variety of targets within a short ride from Seward’s boat harbor. Those willing to venture farther outside the confines of the large bay into the open ocean will find even better opportunities. Lingcod, Pacific halibut, salmon, and several types of rockfish are the primary targets for most anglers, and the fish can get big.

Eric has caught barn door-sized halibut that reach close to 200 pounds, and the local halibut derby held every summer has recorded even heavier fish. Yet halibut are not the only big fish caught by fishermen – after all, I caught my personal-best black rockfish out of Seward.

My nephew and I took a half-day fishing excursion and each of us managed a full limit of halibut and black rockfish, which included my stout 12-pounder.

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A view of Resurrection Bay from Eric Kjelland’s boat. While there are plenty of charter boats for hire in the area, having a friend with a private boat can provide a lot of flexibility for anglers. (DENNIS MUSGRAVES)

While the author was losing expensive jigs to the bottom, Chris Cox got the last laugh by catching this bright orange yelloweye.

(DENNIS MUSGRAVES)

PORPOISE AHOY!

Besides great fishing, Resurrection Bay teems with ocean wildlife. Odds are you’ll see puffins, sea otters and Orca whales in a single outing. We were able to see large groups of sea lions basking on rock formations, a few sea otters floating on their backs and a lot of different sea birds flying about and perched on the shorelines’ steep cliffs.

Just as we reached Cheval Island, near the entrance to the bay, our skipper Eric Kjelland suddenly sped up the Bessie Doo and began steering us into a wide banking turn. He had noticed something following the boat. With one hand on the wheel and the other hand aggressively pointing towards the aft of the boat, he yelled at Chris and I, “Did you see them?”

Wildlife lovers will enjoy the fauna in ResurrecThe puzzled expression on my tion Bay, which can include sea lions resting on face must have been a dead the rocky shoreline. (DENNIS MUSGRAVES) giveaway that I had no clue, so Eric quickly followed up with a more direct attention getter – “Porpoise!”

As I turned to face the rear of the boat for a good look, I spotted two of the sleek mammals jump out of the water, breaching the surface only two arm’s lengths away. It was a pod of Dall’s porpoises, and they were racing right beside the boat. I was both surprised and excited to see them in action so close, and I let the others know it – “Yeah, I see them!”

The porpoise pod continued to put on a show, leaping and racing beside us for the next few minutes before they swam off to play elsewhere. I was lucky to capture some of their performance on video. Encountering the porpoises was unique and something I won’t soon forget.

The area provides breathtaking scenery, an opportunity for world-class saltwater fishing and, if you’re lucky, you may even get to race a porpoise pod. –DM

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Chris was no stranger to Seward either. He had fished Resurrection Bay for salmon a few times and targeted salmon from both shore and a boat. Once, while trolling the bay, he caught a pink salmon that had to have gone close to 8 or 9 pounds. The jumbo-sized fish matched or exceeded the dimensions of every silver salmon brought on deck during his outing.

HEADING SOUTH Our route would take us due south, traveling the length of Resurrection Bay – close to the western side of the bay – passing near Caines Head State Recreation Area to our west, and then a chain of several islands toward the east.

We had some great wildlife viewing opportunities (see sidebar), but we also had fishing to accomplish and a fish box to fill. So we continued towards some promising pinnacles.

Our exit out of Resurrection Bay into the open ocean meant a significant change in boating conditions. The swells dramatically increased in size, and the wind picked up. The waves were rolling at 1 to 3 feet and quickly changed; they were now rolling up to 5 feet high. Navigating the Bessie Doo close to the rock outcroppings and underwater pinnacles to target rockfish near the shoreline would be challenging. But our captain was confident we were going to at least give it an attempt.

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Eric was focused on maneuvering near the jagged rocks. He watched his depthfinder and sonar monitor intently, avoiding the underlying hazards. He was trying to get close to the small exposed rock islands to implement a technique he called “power jigging.”

Fish hung close to the underwater rock columns in order to hide from predators, and at the same time they provided cover for ambushing baitfish.

Dropping a heavy jig over the side of the boat in a controlled free-spool and simultaneously pow-

ering the boat away from the structure allows the bait to bounce down the rocks, covering the uneven steep grade both vertically and horizontally. Anglers need to remain active and keep their jig bouncing during descent, which prevents hanging up in the rocks.

Chris and I each took up a position on opposing corners of the small

It wasn’t all snagged gear for the author on this trip.

Here, he happily shows off a bright coho caught during an evening of trolling. (DENNIS MUSGRAVES)

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Chris reeled in this nice silver trolling in Agnes Cove.

(DENNIS MUSGRAVES)

open ďŹ shing deck towards the stern with our short heavy-action halibut rods. Eric put us in a good position and announced the signal when he was ready. â&#x20AC;&#x153;OK, drop â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;em,â&#x20AC;? he said.

I released the spool latch on my reel and immediately started dropping my jig, controlling the rate of speed with

my thumb and trying to maintain my balance in the rocking boat. As the craft surged forward, I could feel every rock my lure was bouncing against, and then it suddenly stopped.

I tried to pull up, but the hook was dug in solid and not budging. â&#x20AC;&#x153;I got hung up on something!â&#x20AC;? I yelled out and let

Eric know to let off the throttle. Our skipper let off the gas, while I continued to struggle with my rod and attempted to free the $20 jig.

Meanwhile, just on the other side of the boat, Chris managed to set the hook on a big bite: â&#x20AC;&#x153;Fish on!â&#x20AC;?

As Eric put the boat in neutral, Chris reeled up a nice lingcod. But it was all for nothing, as Eric quickly announced, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Got to let that one go.â&#x20AC;? The ďŹ sh actually did not meet the minimum length requirement for harvesting. Talk about adding insult to injury â&#x20AC;&#x201C; not only did Chris have to release his ďŹ sh, but the friction from my ďŹ shing line rubbing against the rough rocks eventually cut through, causing me to lose an expensive ďŹ shing rig. In addition, during our ďŹ rst power jigging stop, the wind began picking up. The ocean mocked us with waves building larger by the minute and heeling the boat heavily.

A NEW COURSE Intuition was telling me Eric was getting nervous about the rolling sets of waves

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getting bigger (at least I was). Motoring close to the rocks and having one rogue wave would be a recipe for disaster. But he spoke up with certain confidence.

“OK, let’s try it again.”

He positioned us back at the starting point near the protruding rocks, and just like before, Chris and I stood ready in our corners.

“You already lost $20 worth of fishing gear; don’t lose any more,” Eric poked at me before I dropped my jig.

He grinned at me and then gave the order, “OK, drop ‘em!”

On command, Chris and I released our reels and sent our baits back down, as Eric began to power the boat forward.

My jig bounced identically as before, but this time I tried to give it more action to avoid another snag. Unfortunately, it did not work and I got hung up again.

Letting out a barrage of expletives was about all I could do.

Chris, of course, started laughing and let out a huge “Fish on!” This time he reeled up a keeper, a gorgeous, fat, bright-orange yelloweye.

I was again cut off, donating another twenty bucks to the bottom of the ocean.

I began thinking that at this rate I would be out a couple hundred dollars in fishing tackle before the day was over.

However, the wind and large waves saved me. Eric made a prudent decision to tuck back inside the safety of Resurrection Bay after only two power runs at the pinnacles.

“At least we have dinner tonight,” said Chris, trying to put a positive spin on the situation. I did not know whether to feel dejected from having such a short opportunity or elated at knowing I would be soon eating a meal of delicious rockfish, courtesy of Chris.

CHASING SILVERS Changing plans was easy for Eric. He knew that silvers had been moving into Resurrection Bay, and that nearby Agnes Cove would be a good place to have success. So we headed in the direction of the protected cove with a plan to finish out the evening trolling for salmon.

The calm waters of the cove were a relief from the angry rolling waters out110 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

JUNE 2015

side the bay. The landscape provided a natural barrier against the wind, which gave the water inside the cove almost a flat appearance.

The tranquil conditions made it easy to quickly spot several jumping salmon, so we anxiously prepared the boat and fishing rods for trolling the cove. It didn’t take long to get bait in the water and have aggressive silvers bending our rods.

Fishing for coho in Agnes Cove was very productive; we were able to fill the fish box with everyone’s limit of shiny silvers in a few short hours. Trolling for feisty salmon was exactly what I needed after having laid a goose egg on the ocean as

well as lost a small fortune in lures.

Our quick retreat from the rough open ocean turned out to be a very wise choice. From my perspective, it also saved me from further embarrassment and prevented me from losing any more expensive gear while power jigging for my nemesis, rockfish.

Although I missed out on catching an elusive yelloweye during the trip, I look forward to my next time fishing out of Seward. ASJ Editor’s note: For more on the author’s Last Frontier fishing adventures, check out alaskansalmonslayers.com.

IF YOU GO LOCATION

The coastal city of Seward, Alaska, rests on the Kenai Peninsula’s southern shore, at the head of Resurrection Bay. Breathtaking views of steep, snowcapped mountains and dense green alpine forest surround the small seaside community.

Visitors can reach the destination by train, plane, automobile or cruise ship.

Most travelers go by car using the Seward Highway, which is designated by the U.S. Forest Service as a scenic byway. The 125-mile roadway runs from Anchorage through Turnagain Arm, Chugach National Forest, Kenai Peninsula and the Kenai Mountains before ending in Seward.

Although sportfishing is the most popular attraction to the area, Seward provides a variety of things to see and experience. For instance, Alaska Sea-Life Center (800-224-2525; alaskasealife.org), the state’s only public aquarium and ocean wildlife rescue center, generates thousands of visitors every month during the summer. Established to execute a mission of sea life research, animal rehabilitation, and promoting Alaska’s marine ecosystem; it’s a must-see for anyone visiting.

Another main attraction is the Kenai Fjords National Park. The Harding Icefield is the park’s main attraction with over 40 glaciers. A small portion of the park is accessible by vehicle, but boat tours offer the best way to view the beautiful landscape, tidewater glaciers and marine wildlife.

There is plenty of outdoor action after touring the ASLC and Kenai Fjords, including adventure ocean kayaking, bicycling the pathways, or hiking the numerous wilderness trails around Seward, just to name a few.

FISHING OPTIONS Resurrection Bay is a sport angler’s paradise. Varieties of rockfish, Pacific halibut, lingcod and salmon can all be found in good numbers. Many fishermen enjoy participating in the annual Seward Halibut Tournament (June) and Silver Salmon Derby (August). The contests offer cash prizes for both tagged and biggest fish caught.

A number of charter boat fishing services are available without a private boat. Gear and bait for fishing is normally inclusive in the cost of the outfitter.

Advance reservations are recommended.

Depending on trip timing, shore fishing can also be productive for different types of salmon. –DM

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1. AMERICAN TACTICAL RUKX GEAR 1 DAY BACK PACK

J

une is welcomed in the Last Frontier. The long hard winter is finally a distant memory, replaced by long days of sunshine and warmer temperatures. We have all your needs covered with this selection of gear every sportsman or –woman should pack around to whatever destination you’re heading to this month. Get it on Alaska’s celebration for the coming of summer. -ASJ

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From

SOCK IT TO THE REDS FIELD FIRE To

SUMMER IN ALASKA MEANS PREMIER SOCKEYE FISHING

BY SCOTT HAUGEN

S

ummer in Alaska is a time of intense fishing for multiple species.

Many anglers will wet lines in secluded settings, enjoying long days and watching bears. Others travel the road system, sight-seeing along the way.

Perhaps the most famous scene this time of year is the shoulder-to-shoulder angling experience where the Russian River joins the Kenai River. It is here that local, Lower 48 and non-US-resident anglers gather en masse to test their skills on sockeye, or red salmon.

A-LIST SPECIES The sockeye is one of Alaska’s most important game fish, be it for subsistence, sportfishing or on the commercial market. They range throughout rivers on the Kenai Peninsula, while several streams in the Bristol Bay region yield astounding numbers. The Kvichak River likely hosts the largest run of reds in the world.

From a sportfishing perspective, the beauty of the salmon are their abundance and accessibility. The annual runs of these fish are measured in the millions, and the fact that you can rent a car, drive a couple hours and soon be battling wave upon wave of sockeye makes them extremely popular.

Because the fish don’t actively feed in rivers, many anglers believe the fly pattern you select makes little difference. Others are convinced red salmon do bite, and have good success with specific colors and patterns at various times of the day.

Personally, I’ve experienced the best success on purple and brown coho patterns, though combinations of these patterns in red/white, purple/ white and green/white have also yielded many fish. The key is getting the fly down quickly to where the salmon hug the bottom while traveling.

The author battles a hard-fighting red on a fly. Sockeye are considered by many to be Alaska’s most tasty salmon. (SCOTT HAUGEN)

For fly anglers, a 2- to 3-foot leader often suffices (read the regulations for leader-length restrictions in the waters you fish). Using a sink-tip line on a 7- to 8-weight fly rod, or a floating line with weight placed on the leader, is essential. For gear anglers, tying a fly to the mainline with a split-shot sinker a couple feet above is all that’s needed.

These fish are not leader-shy.

HAVE SOME RANGE Because migrating red salmon hug the

shore when traveling upstream, long casts are seldom necessary. Rather, 6 to 10 feet of line is stripped off the reel and flipped upstream. At the end of the brief drift, simply lift the rod tip, pull in the line with your other hand and repeat the flip; you won’t even need to flip the bail or reel in line. Fishing this way will result in several “casts” per minute, increasing your odds of hooking fish as they move through in immense schools.

The take typically comes at the lower end of the drift, and though you’re not JUNE 2015

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you fish.

If you’re looking to catch sockeye, the best advice is to follow the crowds.

These fish move en masse, and if you find large groups of people, chances are the fish are nearby. Many prime places exist along the Kenai River, where concrete fishing platforms have been put in place specifically for sockeye fishermen.

These platforms can be found along the highway, adjacent to park and recreation areas and near boat launches.

Sockeye are one of Alaska’s most valuable and prized natural resources. Half of the world’s harvest is said to come from the Bristol Bay region. (SCOTT HAUGEN)

GET AWAY FROM IT ALL

actually casting, make sure to have that drag properly set. If red salmon were as big as kings, it would be tough landing them. Their tenacity and aerial acrobatics make them what many avid anglers believe to be, pound-for-pound, the hardest fighters among all salmon.

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Polarized glasses are one of the red salmon angler’s most valuable tools.

Once fish are spotted moving, many anglers are shocked at how close to shore – and in how shallow of water – these salmon actually move. Being cognizant of these factors will dictate how and where

If, however, the secluded sockeye experience is what you desire, it may be attained by way of fly-out trips or hooking up with geographically specific lodges. The two best I’ve personally fished with are Tom Baumgartner’s Rainbow Bend Lodges (rainbowbendlodges.com, 503-7052273), located on the Naknek River, and Brian Kraft’s Alaska Sportsman’s Lodge (fishasl.com/kvichak, 888-826-7376), situated smack on the famed Kvichak.

Both lodges are minutes away from

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From

FIELD ADD SOME CRUNCH FIRE TO YOUR MUNCH To

of orange.

TROPICAL CRUSTED SALMON Four to six 8-ounce salmon or steelhead fillets with skin off ½ cup macadamia and/or pistachio nuts, chopped ¼ cup flaked coconut ¼ cup bread crumbs 1 egg, beaten ¼ cup flour 1 teaspoon salt ¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper

Two, 8-ounce salmon or steelhead fillets, skin off ½ cup raw hazelnuts, finely ground 1 to 2 tablespoons mayonnaise ½ orange, sliced in four wedges

In a shallow dish mix flour, salt and cayenne pepper. In another shallow dish, beat egg until frothy. In a food processor or mini-chopper, finely grind nuts, coconut and bread crumbs. Coat fish with seasoned flour, dip in egg and then coat with nut mixture, pressing into fish. Place on a nonstick or greased baking sheet. Bake at 375 degrees for 15 to 25 minutes, or until fish reaches an internal temperature of 135 degrees.

Fish can also be grilled in a foil pouch.

Leave the top open for a crunchy texture.

Place hazelnuts in a shallow pan.

Squeeze one orange wedge over each piece of fish. Place a thin coating of mayonnaise on both sides. Coat fish with hazelnuts on both sides. Place on a nonstick or greased baking sheet. Bake at 375 degrees, 15 to 20 minutes, or until fish reaches an internal temperature of 135 degrees. Fish can also be grilled in a foil pouch. Leave the top open for a crunchy texture. Serve with a wedge

Editor’s note: For personally signed copies of Tiffany Haugen’s popular book, Cooking Salmon & Steelhead, send a check for $25 (includes S&H) to P.O. Box 275, Walterville, OR 97489, or visit tiffanyhaugen .com. This book contains over 130 unique, yet simple-to-follow recipes. Tiffany is a full-time author and part of the new online series, Cook With Cabela’s. Also, watch for her on The Sporting Chef, on the Sportsman Channel.

(TIFFANY HAUGEN)

BY TIFFANY HAUGEN

is a winning combination for everyone.

W

ant to add a crunch to your salmon without the use of unhealthy, deep-frying oils? If so, these two recipes are keepers. They also taste great on steelhead.

Orange hazelnut salmon takes about two minutes to prepare; tropical crusted salmon takes a little more time, but is well worth the effort. Almost any nuts can be interchanged in these recipes to add even more variety to the dishes.

Sour cream or plain yogurt can be substituted for the mayonnaise; just add a dash of salt.

Healthy fats found in wild salmon and nutrient-rich nuts benefit our hearts, brains, lungs, nerves and immune systems. Pairing these tasty foods

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ORANGE HAZELNUT SALMON

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glasses and you’re set. You’ll also want a ThermaCell bug repellent unit to keep the mosquitoes, white socks and nosee-ums away.

Get the holster, along with the unit, so it can be clipped to a vest or pack; it’s one of the best investments you can make when fishing in Alaska this time of year.

Many folks rate sockeye as the most tasty of the salmon species. With their aggressive nature and the beauty that this time of year offers, it’s no wonder they’re one of Alaska’s most coveted game fish. Don’t worry about the crowds; instead, get out and mingle with fellow anglers, have fun and enjoy what this unique fishery is all about. ASJ

world-class sockeye fishing, and you often have prime holes all to yourself, or at least with plenty of elbow room.

On the Naknek, it’s worth noting that commercial netting is impacting the run of sockeye, so contact Baumgartner for updates.

“One of the most frustrating things about sockeye fishing can be watching fellow anglers hammer the fish, without you getting a strike,” says Baumgartner.

“Should this happen, simply make some basic adjustments in your terminal gear by adding more weight and/or adjusting the leader length to fit the conditions and situation being fished. You might also want to change your position on the bank, thereby allowing you to better control the swing of a presentation as you near the sweet spot where fish are moving through.”

SIMPLE TOOLS ONLY When it comes to sockeye fishing, lots of gear isn’t necessary. Grab some flies, small sinkers, pliers, a stringer and sun-

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Anglers travel from around the globe for a taste of Alaska’s red salmon fishing.

Here, Tom Baumgartner of Rainbow Bend Lodges admires three hefty socks from the Naknek River. (SCOTT HAUGEN)

Editor’s note: Signed copies of Scott Haugen’s popular book, A Flyfisher’s Guide To Alaska, can be obtained by sending $38 (includes S&H) to Haugen Enterprises, P.O. Box 275, Walterville, OR 97489. The 455-page work is one of the most complete travel guides ever written for anglers heading to Alaska. It can also be ordered at scotthaugen.com.

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fishing

BRISTOL BAY

Sunset on Lake Aleknagik in the Bristol Bay watershed makes for quite the gorgeous setting for the center of Alaska’s salmon-fishing universe. (MARK TITUS/THE BREACH FILM)

Though most famous for its large run of sockeye salmon – this year’s is forecast to be a record – kings like this beauty caught on the Nushagak are still royalty for anglers heading to Bristol Bay’s rivers. (BRIAN LULL)

Fish-run Timing Bristol Bay’s maze of tributaries include the Nushagak, Togiak, Egegik, Kvichak, Naknek and Ugashik Rivers. The following table lists general salmon-run timing for the Bristol Bay region as a whole, as well as prime months for nonocean-migrating species.

There’s no guarantee you’ll limit, of course, but follow these guidelines for the best opportunity to catch your Alaskan trophy.

Huge Sockeye Salmon Run Expected

FISHING CALENDAR

The Alaska Department of Fish and Game has forecasted a massive 2015 summer salmon run to Bristol Bay. A record total of 53.98 million sockeye are expected, with roughly 14.39 million of those predicted to escape commercial fishing harvest and head upriver to spawn throughout the pristine watershed.

“This prediction is 40 percent greater than the previous 10-year mean of total runs, and 51 percent greater than the long-term mean of 32.43 million,” ADFG said in its projection report for 2015. “All systems are expected to meet their spawning escapement goals.”

King salmon

Brought To You By:

Lake trout

June

July

Aug.

Sept.

Oct.

Nov.

Dec.

Sockeye salmon Coho salmon Pink salmon Chum salmon Dolly Varden/Arctic char Steelhead Rainbow trout

Northern pike Burbot Grayling

- Fishing peak

- Fish present

Whitefish

JUNE 2015

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fishing

KENAI PENINSULA

Halibut derbies this month in Homer and June in Seward mean potential big paydays if you catch a tagged fish.

(BIXLER MCCLURE)

When To Catch ’Em On The Kenai Peninsula From its rivers and lakes to the seaports on Cook Inlet and the Gulf of Alaska, the Kenai Peninsula offers great access to lots of finny species. Of course, catching one is never a guarantee, but this chart provides a glimpse at the best months on salt- and freshwaters:

FISHING CALENDAR

June

July

Aug.

Sept.

Oct.

King salmon Sockeye salmon The Kenai River’s run of silver salmon is traditionally strongest in August and September.

Silver salmon Halibut Rainbow trout

(STEVE MEYER)

Upcoming Kenai Peninsula Events June 1-30

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NOT FAZED BY BY BAD PHASES

Phases one and two of his weekendlong plan to fish low-flowing Southeast Alaska waters didn’t go so well, but phase three saved the day. (JEFF LUND)

TEN HOURS OF FISHING FRUSTRATION GOES AWAY IN 10 MINUTES OF JOY

BY JEFF LUND

I

had a plan.

OK, everyone does, but since I’ve stated above, I can almost hear the collective, “oh, boy,” either because you think it ended terribly, or that I am about to bore you with a tale of how great an outdoorsman I am.

You know how it goes, though. It’s not an embarrassment to have a plan that doesn’t work out, but it is embarrassingly suspect to say everything went smoothly. Not even the A-Team

could perfectly execute a fishing trip.

Maybe a fish, but not an entire trip.

I divided my master plan into three phases over two days for one weekend of fly fishing madness. It was to be a fish bonanza to welcome the coming of spring, which in Alaska happens somewhere between April and August.

Of course, some people just say that’s summer and that spring doesn’t exist.

Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that by dividing the weekend into three parts, I was properly prepared for some level of disaster.

PHASE I: THE LOST CAUSE Southeast Alaska’s waters were low, the weather warm and clear, but it was under almost identical conditions that last June I nailed a huge rainbow on a dry fly at the river to which I was driving. When I arrived, enough anglers to make the river the second largest community in the area greeted me.

Phase one: horribly ruined.

However, I wasn’t too distraught at this point, because 66 percent of my plan remained. I moved down my list of secondary options before moving to JUNE 2015

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water representing phase two. I arrived at one hole that can be great for rainbows and cutthroats on dry flies, and steelhead so big they look like they’ll get stuck between the banks.

It was late for a steelie, but not too late, and I knew there was a good chance a pair of them would be holding in the tail end of a short run. It’s the type of delicate water you wouldn’t expect to see big steelhead, but I knew better. This is my country – my territory.

I sent my fly toward the tail, let it swing and came up with nothing. Then, in a moment of absolute, impatient idiocy, I walked down the rocks – and watched a 3-foot steelhead shoot past me. Busted.

In three more casts I would have been swinging my fly right where that fish had been, but maybe part of me bought into the lie that this clear, low, small water was not the water for steelhead. But it was! And I knew it! Sucker!

There was no hope at that point.

The fish nosed up to the base of a small log that broke up the top of the run and sulked.

I tried a couple smaller, inconspicuous patterns, but just ended up catching a trio of steelhead smolt, all about 5 inches.

Phase one: Completely obliterated.

PHASE II: BIGGER WATER The next part of my plan involved my WaterMaster raft and a wide, deep section of a river with plenty of anything I could want to catch – including steelhead.

The whole inflatable operation weighs 47 pounds, including dry bag with straps, so it’s easy to carry and doesn’t count as oversized baggage when checked. I packed it a quarter-mile down a trail to the river, inflated it and started downstream.

I rowed out to some submerged logs and waited to pull something huge from the depths. One of the great things about the raft I affectionately call “The Yacht” is that it combines the best of a float tube with the best of a pack raft.

It’s small and light, yet sturdy and balanced. It gets you from one point to another, but it’s also meant for fishing.

For a dude like myself who needs to 134 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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Phase two of the author’s fishing plan called for launching his WaterMaster raft to access a river’s deeper water where a late-season steelhead might be waiting for a fly. Instead, he watched another angler score. (JEFF LUND)

move his legs, adjust, turn and generally squirm, it’s perfect. The seat is adjustable, the oars locked in and all my gear fits easily on the back.

All I needed was a fish, but all I managed was a couple Dolly Varden, none of which were worth bragging about. As I was coming to a sweet spot, I saw a guy chucking with a spey rod. He was good. I dropped my feet to slow my progress and watched. He was only about an inch tall, but when he hooked up on the swing, I heard the commotion. The splashing easily ran upriver through the calm.

If it was a steelhead, it was small, but it was better than the shakers I was getting. He worked it to the shore and released it. Then he disappeared to walk a trail not many people know, back to his truck.

I floated through that spot, pausing to make casts on both sides of me, and stripped in almost to the raft. Fish dart-

ed around, trying to decide whether or not this pink thing needed to be bitten.

One may have been a small steelhead, but I’ll never know because it didn’t bite.

I reached the extraction point.

Phase two: fun for sure, but largely fruitless.

PHASE III: THE LONG SHOT The next morning, I was up later than I wanted to be. Two buddies came over the night before and we discussed the beginning of the guiding season for ocean fishing and the end of the steelhead-guiding season. We lobbed golf balls at a life ring floating in the ocean in front of my house.

It was almost 9 by the time I was fishing phase three.

The river moved at a painfully slow pace, but there were plenty of steelhead stacked up in a pool that was pinched by lazy, slow riffles. I figured a nymphing rig was as good as anything, so I

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used the smallest indicator I had and hoped the fish wouldn’t mind. They did.

I saw them dart past me heading upriver as if I had just thrown a fly the size of a flamingo under a buoy meant for crab pots. There were quite a few fish in there, though, so I stayed with it and slowly worked my way downriver. The drifts were quiet and slow. At one point I set my rod down and watered the bushes behind me while looking over my shoulder at the floating ball that didn’t need mending.

As I reached a deeper trough, a torpedo shot out, took the fly, turned its head and hooked itself. I don’t usually like watching this process, because my reaction is usually the wrong one. I see a white mouth emerging from the depths to take my fly on the surface, and I set before it strikes. Or I set upriver and pull the hook from its mouth. Or I panic in some other way, like it’s my first day fishing or something.

But this time the steelhead did everything for me.

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Now that’s more like it! After a long day of a whole lot of nothing, patience finally paid off. (JEFF LUND)

When I held it in my hands, I felt a little bad. It was pretty bright but had suffered. Part of its dorsal fin was missing and some of its cheek was too.

Boy, my life is good. I use hyperbole to describe minute setbacks which, in the grand scheme of things, are hardly worth mentioning.

In my hands was a fish damaged by life and stuck in a pool by low water. In a fit of rage it had lashed out at something pink, and concealing a sharp hook. Here’s to being on the right end of the food chain, I guess, and to 10 minutes that made up for the previous 10 hours. I love it when a plan comes together. ASJ

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The fishing’s different now that he’s back teaching in Southeast Alaska after a stint in California, but author Jeff Lund is most at home in the panhandle chasing trout and steelhead with his fly rod. (JEFF LUND)

THE LONG TRIP NORTH AN ALASKAN IS TORN AS HE LEAVES CALIFORNIA TO RETURN HOME By Jeff Lund Edito note: The following is an excerpt from Alaska Sporting Journal corresponEditor’s dent Jeff Lund’s book, Going Home. The book, Jeff’s first, will be released this summer. mer Visit jlundoutdoors.com to order.

W

e weren’t in much of a hurry the Saturday before I moved back to Alaska, so we stood at the tailgate of Nate’s truck and retold the highlights of seven years’ worth of fly fishing trips.

Whenever we’ve been together lately it’s been like this. Our memories are told with increased vigor and embellishment as my move nears. Thousands to of days (and dollars) ago, we enhanced the off-the-clock part of our lives by becoming consistent fly fishermen. b It might seem funny that our stories rarely involve fish, but while that is a g good part of the point, the good stories require more chaos than catch. Good sstories need things like goose attacks. Good stories require forgetting sleepiing bags, fly reels, fly boxes, nets, tent poles, or food. Good stories need a tattooed dude freshly released from prison wanting to learn how to fish, t tthen waiting by the only exit from the otherwise empty campground for you to drive by because he wants a ride into town to get money. Good stories need face plants, broken rods, holes in waders, broken waders, flooded waders, JUNE 2015

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exploding chili cans, exploding apples, raccoons stealing marshmallows, sudden and dramatic bowel movements, shellfish food poisoning, and obnoxious songs on repeat. Good stories require Jeeps to be head-butted.

“It makes little sense, in a society that values and provides security, to leave for bigger rivers with more fish,” Lund writes, “but so much less of what contemporary society deems comfortable.” (JEFF LUND)

I SOMETIMES TAKE notes about river flows, time of day and patterns used on my trips, but I can’t tell you how many fish I’ve caught or how big all of them

pallets, old papers, garbage and other accumulation that didn’t make the cut for Alaska. We told more stories, good ones that made my cheeks hurt. After that day, there would be more fish, but I would have to find new people with which to make stories …

The author, who wo teacher in Californ rked as a Valley, wasn’t sure ia’s Central about leaving friends, better weath some fantastic fly fis er and Golden State behin hing in the of Alaskan steelhead, but the lure easier decision to god made it an back home.

(JEFF LUND)

were. Sure, there have been some monster California browns and rainbows, but really, who cares? After close to an hour of rigging and retelling, the three of us finally went to the water. There used to be a little brown trout that lived behind a rock by our favorite spot, but one opening day, it was gone. Maybe thin water forced it to relocate. Maybe big water flushed it downriver. Maybe it got too big for that spot and moved.

That was years ago, and that spot hasn’t really fished well lately anyway, so we walked upriver instead.

Since Nate and Brad were nymphing, they split our new favorite spot and 140 ALASKA SPORTING JOURNAL

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WHAT IF I didn’t live right when I was in

I threw dry flies on the opposite side. A few minutes in, I hooked a decent rainbow just as the fly started to swing. I brought it in, held it up and took a picture that made it look like the trout was going to eat Nate. I released it, rinsed my hands and in the true fashion of an over-thinker, realized I was living my last story on the Stanislaus River.

You don’t think about these things ordinarily, because we aren’t always provided opportunities to assign weight to moments as they are happening. That night, Nate, Brad and a couple other friends came over for a bonfire of broken

California? You know? What if it was my fault that my life outside of work wasn’t what I expected it to be? I couldn’t move the rivers closer, renegotiate my contract so I could make more money and thus get to the wild more frequently. But I could have made normal days better, I guess.

When I went back in March I had a great time with friends because we made time. Of course that was because I had left, and you only think about people in these terms once you miss them.

We want people, we need people to help us define ourselves or attach ourselves to words, names or ways of life.

Sometimes societal norms help us; other times they hinder. There are times I wish I was brave enough to take on a norm I know isn’t normal at all, it’s oppressive.

Other times it’s easy.

It makes little sense, in a society that values and provides security, to leave for bigger rivers with more fish, but so much less of what contemporary society deems comfortable. To leave what is good and solid and sturdy for the unknown. You make that sort of risk at 18, not at 31. I didn’t have a choice, but I really did. No one would have blamed me if I stayed. But no one thinks I did the wrong thing. ASJ

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GET ME MY MOCHA, STAT

A

friend once told me that she never wanted to live a life where she couldn’t have a mocha every day. This would limit her in several ways, I thought.

She’d either be forced to live in areas populated enough to support an espresso culture, or she would have to invest in a professional-grade machine that could exert enough pressure to yield an ounce of liquid in 18 to 26 seconds. If she wanted to be entirely self-sustaining, she’d have to get a cow.

As she sat sipping her mocha out of a paper cup, I guessed it was the former of the two options.

“I think,” I said, “I could go without a mocha for a few days.”

“How many days?” she asked.

The thought of not having a mocha every day was a bit frightening to my then-19-year-old mind – especially since I worked at a coffee shop and required seven shots of espresso to achieve a baseline. I pondered her question before eventually saying, “I guess two days. A week at the most.”

This answer only applied to professionally crafted mochas by certified baristas. If I had to get a cow so that I could have a mocha, I wanted the opportunity to change my answer.

Over a decade later I found myself sitting inside a tent on the edge of a river in remote Western Alaska. I’d come down a creek that dropped 18 feet per mile out of a canyon, and was completely soaked from rain and invol-

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untary submerging. I was still 35 river miles away from the Bering Sea – and 100 air miles away from the nearest organic coffee bean.

My fishing partner offered me some “cowboy coffee,” which I drank with the realization that I was not a cowboy. True to my post-adolescent foreshadowing, I had never gone more than a week without a mocha.

I downed a couple of Excedrin with a gulp of cowboy coffee – the backwoods equivalent of what Alaska calls a “sludge cup” (drip coffee fortified with a shot of espresso). It was then that I realized that my friend’s question had actually been one of those quiz-type, personality-revealing questions, like when you’re asked who you would choose to be stuck on a deserted desert island with and the answer reveals with whom you’d like to spend the rest of your life. When she asked me how many days I could go without a mocha, she was really asking me how long I’d survive in the wilderness.

I wanted to be stuck on an island with MacGyver (so he could get me off the island) because I could only survive for two days without a mocha.

The difference between the outdoors and the great outdoors exists somewhere between a weekend trip and a trip that never ends. The difference between the weekend warrior and the true outdoorsman is a set of skills I did not learn as a Boy Scout, nor in my barista certification course work.

I’d only experienced the greatness of the outdoors on short visits. Although

BY CHRISTINE CUNNINGHAM

some of these trips had been over a week, a vehicle was always waiting for me in a parking lot somewhere. Home was always a walk, drive or short flight away, or I had a nice duck shanty or otherwise nicely outfitted camp in the vicinity.

Sitting in the tent and suffering my first brush with hypothermia, I thought about my predicament. I could not hit the proverbial escape button. Even if I could call for help using the latest in technology (satphones or a SPOT device), the people who might save me were as far away as the people who might make me a mocha. I had never really let go of a connection to the civilized world until that moment. It was as though I had been slave to the most benign of addictions – safety and comfort.

And the symbol of that addiction was an adult version of a hot chocolate.

I’d like to say that when I got back home from the adventure of a lifetime, I realized that I no longer required a mocha – or two – a day. Yet the next morning when the barista asked, “The usual?” I was helpless to refuse. I had pulled up to the coffee cart, after all.

There are those amongst us who go out into the woods and never come back – they have the fortitude to endure an intensity of life that I can only withstand in time that is measured in days and weeks, not seasons. They are the ones who can live off the land, survive the conditions of life, reach nirvana and stare into the sun.

Someday, I think, I’ll do something like that. Along with my cow. ASJ

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