fishing for words

A quick trip to the cabin last weekend, cloaked in the smoke of the myriad fires, yielded a day of insane fishing catching.

The weekend didn’t turn out as long or relaxing as I had hoped. I had to wait at work for the phone guy to switch some lines, postponing my departure Friday afternoon until five-thirty. While traffic was relatively light, my arrival in Twain Harte was later than I would have liked. And five o’clock the next morning came awfully quick.

I was on Moccasin Creek by six-thirty but spinners were being flung and bait drowned in many of the prime locations. But having spent more hours that I’d care to count on this rivulet, I knew a few productive spots were blatantly ignored by the meat fishermen.

My first target was a relatively fast-flowing run — maybe about 20-feet long — where an indicator with a couple of beadhead nymphs can lure a few fish out of hiding. Sure enough, after no more than four casts it was “Fish on!” A nice brook trout to start the day. I proceeded to pull another five fish out — rainbows and brookies — before moving upstream to nice pool that is divided midway by a fallen tree. Fish stack up below the tree at the tail of this pool and above the tree in the cascades pouring into its head. After a bit of catching here, I continued moving up river.

As it neared eleven o’clock, when I was left alone after the fishermen with their limits had headed home or those without headed to lunch, I stopped counting the fish I brought to hand. No real reason to keep counting past forty, I figured.

After a lunch break I switched things up, challenging myself, by rigging up a dry fly with a dropper. (A floating fly with a sinking fly tied onto the hook.) I don’t usually use dry flies, but the trout seemed to be both slashing and slurping, indicating that they were both chasing insect nymphs rising to the surface and sucking in insects already floating on the surface.

I’ve yet to master the technique of setting a hook with a dry fly — one needs to pause just a bit to let the fish turn away, otherwise a set simply pulls the hook out of the fish’s mouth — but it was amazing to see a fish rise to my dry fly and take it. The ones I did manage to hook went wild!

I spent much of the afternoon using the dry/dropper combination. Sometimes targeting specific fish I could see. Such as a fish that would hug an undercut bank and zip out for an occasional snack, leaving me to plan my cast to place the flies in the fish’s feeding lane at the right time. Other times I’d target likely areas though I couldn’t see fish. And more than a couple of fisherman commented, as they waded past me, that I seemed to be hooked up every time they looked.

I ended the day, after more than ten hours on the water, going after a fish sticking close to underwater weeds in an area that would be called a “prime lie”: a place where a fish can get shelter as well as easy access to food floating by. It took good drifts to get this guy to even glance at my flies. Finally an excellent drift and the fight was one. And true to expectations, he was a big one, maybe fourteen inches of brook trout.

The best part of the day? Driving the other fishermen crazy with my constant catch and releasing numerous fish. Ha!

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We’re almost famous! Okay, not in “fifteen minutes of fame” kind of way, but we got our mugs, along with some fish, posted somewhere on the Internet other than my corner here at “fishing for words.” (Click on the link and look for June 15, 2008.)

Sure, I sent an e-mail to Melanie at Tower Rock Lodge bestowing praise on TRL’s facilities and food as well as hosts Mark and Mike, guides Rich and Greg, chef Tom, halibut boat Captain Daniel and First Mate Dylan, and TRL staffers Dave, Etta and Austin. And yes, I sent pictures. So yeah, I facilitated the process and tilted the table in our favor. At least we’re not almost famous in a Post Office wanted poster kind of way.

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For our last day at TRL we were teamed up with Bob from New Hampshire for a day on the Kenai River with guide Rich. Sun and blue sky emerged from behind the cloud early in the morning and the conversation — even the bantering between myself, my brother and dad, with Bob and Rich chiming in as well — was good.

Rich quickly began our earnest search for the mighty king. High tide wouldn’t bring fresh fish into the river until two o’clock, so we searched for any fish holding from the previous day. We drifted then ran upriver or to a new spot. Then we did it again. And again.

Then, sometime during the mid morning and after we had been lulled into inattention, dad’s rod tip quivered. Rich shouted, “Jerry, set it.” Dad pulled the rod out of the holder. At the same time, the rest of us began to reel in line to avoid tangling. Rich positioned the boat to keep the fish from running to far. Soon enough, probably no more than ten minutes, we had a smallish, eight to ten pound king alongside the boat. The decision to keep or release was given over to dad. (Regulations allow keeping one king a day…once you do, you’re done fishing for the day.) The decision was to release the fish. Thanks to this king, I think optimism was fanned in each of us.

After lunch we began to experience what is called “the cheeseburger drop.” Hearty cheeseburgers and homemade chips tend to bring on an urge to sleep, and a warm sun didn’t help. Mark’s head began to bob. Dad’s a bit more practiced at napping in a sitting position, but his eyelids gave him away. I couldn’t see Bob, but I am sure he struggled as I did to keep attention on his rod tip.

With no indication that fresh kings had pushed up with the incoming tide, Rich told us to reel ‘em up as we were heading upstream. We passed the TRL docks and passed around a sweeping bend, then settle in a bit further upriver. Told to “drop ‘em,” we were fishing again. After an initial drift through this run, we motored back up to the top. We had about two hours left to fish.

About a third of the way through the run, Rich was on his cell phone and all was quiet. I stared at my rod tip, in disbelief, as it began to bounce towards the stern. “Um, Rich?” I asked. “Strike it!” was the answer. I yanked the rod out of the holder and drew back the rod. The tip plunged toward the river. I reeled for all I was worth through the line seemed to be slack, wondering it whatever was on the end of my line might be running toward our Willie boat.

Sure enough, in a flash of silver the fish turned and began to head around the bow. Rich motored the boat forward to keep up with the king, then drifted as the fish turned downstream. Taking me all the way around the boat, the fish began to tire as I stood at the stern. Three times we tried to get the fish to the net and three times it veered away from the boat. But with Rich’s expert instruction I was able to lead it forward, raise my pole over Rich’s head, then pull down to lift the fish’s head, allowing Rich to get it into the net. My first Kenai king, which ended up measuring 44 inches and about 38 pounds! What a way to end the trip. Since the regulations dictate taking only one king a day from the Kenai, I was done fishing for the day.

After settling down and getting my king into the box, we ran up to the top of the run for another drive. We had 90 minutes left to fish.

We had drifted a short distance when dad’s pole tip began to dance. Again Rich called for a strike. Dad lifted the pole out of the hold and heaved back. The pole almost doubled over. Then the line went slack. Bob, Rich and I told dad to keep reeling, knowing that kings often head towards the boat, giving the illusion that there’s nothing on the line. Sure enough, dad’s line began moving away from the boat and in no time was 150 feet out. The king headed to the rear of the boat and rolled, showing a rosy side and giving us a glimpse of its huge size.

This tug of war would play out for almost twenty minutes, with much excitement. I prayed that this fish could be landed as it would be a great way to cap off a “trip of a lifetime” for dad. Again Rich coached the fish into the net and we all were amazed at its size. Fifty inches and an estimated fifty-five to sixty pounds. That king is still in the river…unfortunately it fit nearly smack dab in the middle of the slot limit (forty-six to fifty-five inches). Near as we could determine, it was the biggest fish caught the week of our stay at TRL.

That would be the last fish we hooked this trip. Exhausted and exhilarated we headed back to the lodge for a celebratory beer with Bob and Rich, followed by a nice seafood dinner. A surprise cake for Bob’s anniversary and champagne ended up as our dessert.

Good weather, amazing scenery, big fish. What an amazing trip!

I’ll be watching for my next opportunity to return…

Gallery of day five photos from our Kenai fishing trip:

Mark, Dad and Pat’s excellent Kenai adventure:
day one | day two | day three | day four | day five
The Alaska Fishing 2008 Photo Album

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