North to Alaska... An Angler’s Diary, Part 2

We left off last month as we were winging over Cook Inlet headed to Big River Lakes. The Beaver made a perfect landing in typical Alaskan weather for early September; foggy drizzle with a 50% chance of heavy stuff, the mercury had settled to a numbing 48 degrees. The ceiling was probably less than 1000 feet break out the breathable waders and slicker jackets. Fingerless fishing gloves are a good idea too.

We taxied across the lake and deplaned onto a small makeshift dock. Through rain spattered binoculars we could make out another boat working a marshy shoreline with four anglers aboard. Two of them were battling heavy fish. I think the weatherman should have gone ahead and said 100% chance; the heavens opened like a waterfall as we were unloading our gear.

Despite the downpour and less than balmy temperatures, we eagerly stowed gear in the aluminum boat and took a seat while our guide cranked the outboard and headed us toward something I wasn't expecting. The main lake he told us was nearly twenty feet deep as we skimmed over the emerald green surface, but the cove he motored into became very shallow and gin clear. Cutting the motor he poled us toward a streak of colored water that was roiled by wakes we would associate with redfish in Texas.

Firing a fluorescent pink Vibrax spinner a yard in front of a wake brought an instant thump Fish On!

Now an eight pound redfish can put up a dandy fight on light tackle; no doubt about it. But let me tell you; a twelve-pound male silver gives the whole shallow water angling experience another meaning. These guys are bad to the bone and we wrestled them until our arms ached!

The area was filled with standing grass and choked with reeds and other aquatic growth; perfect spawning grounds, and nearly impossible to thread a bucking salmon through. The fish were plentiful and the hookups frequent; break-offs and straightened hooks, though, were our nemesis. Landing every third or fourth one is a decent average.

The really unique thing about this fishery is that the fish we were hooking, despite their violent strikes, were not feeding. Salmon, at this stage of their spawning process, have already given up eating as they are preparing to die soon after they lay their eggs. The strikes, we learned, were instinctive. Buzzing and ripping the spinners right at the surface was the key, it seemed the disturbance was what set them off. You have no idea how badly I wished I'd brought a She Dog or a Super Spook. If that little spinner could get them going, just imagine what a big obnoxious topwater might have done.

After two hours of near non-stop mayhem, our guide suggested we might want to try the other end of the lake. "A clear stream runs in through a huge gravel deposit and the fish just love it there. You can watch them whack the lure right under the boat in eight feet of water," he urged. Leaving this spot seemed ridiculous and I couldn't help but think he was embellishing the story because he was either running out of spinners or tired of tying knots. But hey, you have to trust your guide.

The guide was right, we soon had fish in threes and fours following our lures from behind boulders and rising from tangles of sunken logs. After landing at least a dozen apiece we leaned our rods on the gunwale and opened a Thermos of black coffee and dunked oatmeal raisin cookies while our companions for the day continued the battle. Pam used the package the cookies came in to keep the rain off her camera. Even in the cold rain I felt a snooze coming on. Alaska is indeed a fisherman's dream come true.

A ruckus in the boat jarred me from my drowsiness; a large black bear had wandered out of the woods and decided he too wanted to do some fishing. His fishing spot was less than 20-yards from where our boat rested against an old spruce snag. Don't you know the memory stick would be full? By the time we got it swapped and wiped the raindrops from the lens, he had his fish and was headed back to wherever bears relax and eat. Too bad, he was a good specimen, and the salmon flopping in his jaws would have made an awesome photograph.

Sleep came early and day four dawned much clearer but not one degree warmer. The plan for the day was motorboat fishing on the middle section of the Kenai River. We were happy to see the sun and we actually fished the better part of the day in fleece jackets and then shirt sleeves, but the early boat ride was the type that makes you sit backwards, snuggled into your jacket. Even the memory of it makes me shiver.

Our guide was every bit the river man as Eric was the master of the sea up at Seward. Billy is barely old enough to order his own beer, but don't let that fool you. He grew up on the Kenai and cut his teeth fishing from the boats tied at his grandparent's dock. That's how he met the Bergs. Before they got their own place, Rod and Randy ran their charters from Billy's folk's camp. I got a kick out of his story- pestering them as a small boy to take him along as a deckhand on king and silver trips.

Billy was on his twenty-something day straight. He said he hadn't missed a day in nearly a month. The second silver run was fast approaching its climax and a river guide has to make his living while the fishing is good. His plan was to run every charter the Bergs could bring him before the fish played out. Then he'd get plenty time to rest up and maybe do a little sheep and moose hunting before winter set in; talk about a great life!

This kid was awesome. All those days in a row had filled his memory banks with the kind of stuff it takes to keep clients on fish. As soon as our rods stopped bending he'd move us. Every cove and every stretch of slack water he took us to was at least as good as the ones we'd already fished. His knowledge of the fish and what to throw at them was impressive. We landed dolly vardon, rainbows and heavy silvers from sunup until well into afternoon. We caught our best rainbow of our Alaskan adventure with Billy. We couldn't have asked for a better trip. And even though we'd landed a mountain of fish, he never once suggested we might want to call it a day. Finally, we cried uncle.

Back at camp, our neighbors were at it again, sitting in the moored boats and chunking baits into the current. Flashes of silver told of the thousands of fish making their way upriver. The action wasn't frantic, but steady enough that we fooled with them until it was almost dark and the fillets were simmering in the pit. There is nothing quite like a day on the Kenai followed by three glasses of merlot and a belly full of halibut and cobbler to get you sawing logs.

Day five dawned clear and what a plane ride we had. Our destination was Lost Lake for rainbows and a short hike over to Crescent Lake for grayling. Our pilot gave us more than our money's worth, circling and gliding above every jagged peak and talus slope along the way. At each bank of the Beaver we were greeted with Dall's sheep, mountain goats and black bears. We would have been happy to remain aloft all day, but we were in Alaska to fish.

These lakes are situated on a divide. The water from each goes its own direction and the fisheries are separate. There are no grayling in Lost Lake and there are no rainbows in Crescent. The bar our plane taxied to was awash in crystal water running down from the snow pack and the rainbows feeding there reminded me of a hatchery I visited as a boy, except these fish were wild.

Our guide set Pam and me up with light spinning gear and Berkley Gulp grubs on tiny jigs. I had no idea rainbows in Alaska had already learned about Gulp baits. The other couple who were along broke out their fly gear.

Pam and I took off wading down the bar, fishing and landing rainbows to three pounds like we'd been doing it all our lives. The fly guys got busy with their long rods and soon found the pattern the fish wanted. Everybody had a ball with them. The best of the day's catch taped an honest 24 inches and showed a feisty disposition.

Having worked our way at least a half-mile down the shore, and with our Gulp lures chewed until they wouldn't stay on the hooks, we were most pleased to find a spinner and small spoon some hapless angler had lost in a large overhanging bush. Happily re-armed, we fished on until our guide whistled us back to a shore lunch of smoked salmon and croissant rolls washed down with hot chocolate. Yeah, we had it tough up there!

The trek to Crescent Lake was pleasant. Hiking in our waders got the blood flowing back to our feet. Mountain lake water in Alaska is cold, even when you're wearing two layers of fleece and wool socks.

Grayling are a curious fish; at least they seemed so to us. They are hard-bodied compared to rainbow trout and feel very muscular, almost like a mullet in your hand. Grayling have the largest scales of anything we caught in Alaska. They have a huge dorsal fin and forked tail that no doubt contribute to their fighting ability and speed. Their small mouths reminded us of bonefish.

We spent nearly an hour without a bite until we worked into a small cove where a hatch was emerging. Dimples on the surface sent our fly-casting companions digging for large moth-like dries and we began shallow jigging our spinners, bringing them to the top and letting them flutter down only a foot or two before flicking them back to the surface Bingo, it was on!

The drone of our taxi climbing through the mountains and skiing toward us brought an end to the action. We were anxious to get airborne and back to the cabin for another fine meal and our beds. We dined on pan sautéd rainbow and grayling along with stir-fried veggies and garlic toast. A couple cognacs and it was lights out at Bergs Landing.

Our final day was spent in a drift boat on the Upper Kenai. The drive to Cooper Landing takes about 40 minutes. Drift boats, if you've never seen one, are not ordinary craft. Both the bow and the stern are pointed and turn upward; kind of reminding you of an El Pescador, like we see around here; except on both ends. I would have to assume these river drifters learned long ago that both ends have to capable of slicing through choppy rapids, as even skilled oarsmen get twisted around at times.

The Upper Kenai is an incredible fishery, known for all the species that come up from the ocean to spawn, as well as those that call the river home. Our targets for the day were rainbows, dollies and silvers. Our tackle was light spinning gear. Spinners work well here, as do small spoons and some twitch baits. Many of the salmon have already spawned and when their eggs are drifting in the current, a glass bead rigged above a tiny egg hook is a killer. The trick is to sort through your colors until you find the one they like. The eggs, depending how long they've been adrift, lighten in color, from dark red to pale orange. You can throw the wrong one all day and never get a bite. Our guide held the first rainbow we caught head-down and massaged its stomach until it gave up a couple eggs it had recently swallowed. He dug around and matched the color and we soon found plenty bites.

The scenery along the Upper Kenai is nothing short of awe inspiring. It is sometimes difficult to put your camera down long enough to fish. We saw bald eagles soaring on the thermals and resting on rock outcrops and snaggly tree tops. There are lots of bears, and some are the dangerous brown kind Alaska is famous for. It is a good idea to carry binoculars and a telephoto lens to capture all there is to see. Dall's sheep can be spotted above the timber line on most every mountainside.

Our guide did a fine job of getting us safely downriver and we had another super day of catching. We did well on rainbows and dollies during the early part of our day and the silvers were plentiful near the landing where we took out. The Upper Kenai is definitely a "must do" if you want to experience everything this river has to offer.

Returning to our cabin and packing for our departure was one of those happy-sad things. For six days this had been our home; six days of having our senses and our imaginations fueled by the continuous wonderment of what we might encounter next. Maybe you are thinking we hit just right, but I don't believe that was the case. We endured some literally horrid weather to make the fishing happen. There had been too many good things strung together; nobody can be so constantly lucky. I'm chalking it up to being in an awesome place and in the care of a first-class outfitter and great guides. Fishing with Rod and Randy Berg's Rod-n-Real Alaskan Fishing Charters set us up for a trip of a lifetime.

When we were up at Seward to fish Resurrection Bay with Eric, Pam got the bright idea that we needed something to do Sunday morning as our flight did not depart Anchorage until late afternoon. Wandering through the town like true tourists we happened into the office of an outfit that takes people on nature and glacier tours.

Now I have to tell you, this was all her idea. She didn't exactly have to drag me screaming and kicking, so we'll just say it wasn't my first choice. Let me tell you I picked a winner with that redhead. We capped our Alaskan adventure with a glacier cruise aboard one of the Kenai Fjord Tour catamarans. You could never grasp the enormity and magnificence of a glacier until you are motored to within a couple hundred yards of one of these colossal beasts. I use the term beast because it is moving and it makes noise as if it were alive. Prior to this experience, I had heard people talk of the glaciers groaning and creaking as they slide ever-so-slowing into the sea, but what actually goes on across the face of a an ice field like the Aialik Glacier is just flat too much for words.

Should you decide to give Rod and Randy a call to schedule an Alaskan dream fishing adventure, save a day for the glaciers, even though it wasn't my first choice, it is the perfect finishing touch for your adventures in The Great Land!