Bob M
12-29-03, 03:53 PM
I have a small situation that has some opportunities. The usual crowd has had a number of cancellations for the '04 Alaska trip. Peculiar reasons all; Getting married and future wife mandates limited vacation will be used for honeymoon. Going to Canada with son on Boy Scout trip and wife won't permit two expeditions in the same month. Significant favorable non-cash taxable event, but IRS isn't civilized enough to wait for their share. etc. etc.
The long and the short of it is that I'm hunting for one or two more participants.
Here are the dates with the 'optional' Silver trip
8/11/04 Wednesday - Depart Atlanta and arrive in King Salmon, Alaska
8/12/04 Thursday - Fish for Silvers 'around town' with a local guide
8/13/04 Friday – float plane out for a week on the water
8/20/04 Friday - return to King Salmon
8/21/04 Saturday - fly home
The 'standard' trip would be to leave Atlanta 8/12. I like going a day early to fish for silvers (Coho) ‘around town’ and wind down.
This is our 4th trip to the Alagnak river. I’ll past in the last trip report at the end of the message. BTW some reports note that the ’03 salmon runs were better than ‘02’s. No telling what ’04 will bring but going a week later than usual will help a lot.
Let me know if you are interested or have any questions.
Cheers
Bob
----------------------------------
The trip report – by Chris
It's a week-long unguided raft trip, camping and fishing along the way. A few translations:
> King Ko – a hotel in King Salmon AK
> Rumor Bear - a campsite
> Perch - a campsite
> Mike - FairWeatherFisherman
----------
I promised I'd write the long version of this year's float, I guess everyone figures a guy with no job has the most time<g>. So, I’ll be very long-winded. Just cause I can.
First, the pure group stats, quite conservatively estimated:
- ~1500 rainbows from 4 inches to 6-7 pounds. There were times when, quite literally, it was a rainbow per cast (or in Marty's case, occasionally two rainbows per cast)
- Untold numbers of pinks, many hooked fairly in the mouth, many hooked in every other piece of anatomy. John seems to have a special knack for gaffing the big males right in the hump.
- Metric tons of chum. Some living, some approaching Cat food, some flat-out dead
- Lots of Grayling at Rumor Bear and below. Several amazing specimens.
- 20-30 Dollies/Char
- A couple dozen small-to-middling Kings. One XL one that was hooked once, then "re-hooked" an hour or so later via less-than-sporting (but no less funny on the telling) methods.
- 2 silvers
- One Green Fishing shirt and 205 pound Colorado fisherman (It took a number 2 Pixie from Mr. Werner as he tumbled out of a boat)
- no reds that I know of
- Assorted whitefish, salmon smolt of unknown species, rocks, caddis cases, trees (sunken and dry,) boats, oars, etc
On to the longer version:
I arrived in KS Friday afternoon after overnighting in Anchorage. Unusually hot, clear weather meant that on the descent over SE Alaska, you could see all of the miles and miles of fjords. Pretty neat. Welcomed to the King Ko by the ever-present clouds of gnats, made my way to the cabin and re-packed my mountain of gear for the river. Thought I had brought too many rods (5,) but only had 2 in working condition by trips end. I believe the final tally on broken rods was:
Chris - 3 (one on a trout, 2 for unknown reasons while performing reasonably normal tasks)
Lance - 2 (boat casualties)
Mike - 1 (Dinosaur-sized king. More on this later)
Mike and John happened by later in the afternoon. Lance, Marty, and Bob got back from their fishing about 6:00 or so. Sounded like an absolute blast getting into those fresh silvers. Everyone had a bite, repacked, tried to sleep, and then we were off to Brach River Air in what seemed like minutes. They took all of us in 2 Beavers this time. No aeerobatics or downward lunges at wildlife, just a pleasant flight over the tundra. Arrived at the lake, comforted by no sign of the two cubs that had taken up residence there 2 years prior and eaten the guided parties beer.
Got rafts inflated, water pumped, tents up, and Deet on, and everyone dispersed in and around the outlet to get the fishing underway. I recall everyone had some manner of fish on within the first 20 minutes or so, which turned out in retrospect to be a nice portrayal of what was to come. There was one stretch of water that we fished on and off all day where a Beadhead of any persuasion trailing an egg or leech would draw a strike from 10-16 inch rainbows on pretty much every cast. Marty and I were down there for a while, and I looked up long enough to hear him yell "Hey!" (In the soft-spoken manner of Mississippians, “Hey” is a sonnet, whereas “Watch this sh*t” is both a forebodance of enormous danger and a veritable one-act play) and see that he was hoisting two fish out of the water at once. It stayed like that all day. Bob and I finally left it alone about 11:30 that night. There were quite literally hundreds of rainbows caught in that 100 yard stretch alone. The guys closer to the lake were getting a mish-mash of fish. Everyone was sweating their a**es off. It was like 80 up at the lake. The routine for a while was "cast, set hook, play, release rainbow, wipe sweat-bug soup off forehead, cast, set hook...." I think everyone was wondering about all the fleece and gore-tex if it was going to be this way for a while. Char, trout, pinks, the ever-present chum, and Mike insisted he was catching some kind of bright gold mystery fish. All of us offered some opinion or another as to it's species, consensus being that it was probably some kind of char color phase, but it was irksome. Couple that with the fact that no one actually saw him with one, and we thought maybe the Deet had gotten in his water or something.
Decided to make the lake a one day affair, and pushed on downriver. I was fishing from the boat, catching small 'bows all along the river. Saw the first pods of Kings, and, in lots of cases, very large trout hanging behind them. We stopped at the wide flat riffle that drops into pretty deep water (where we were interrupted by the bear in 98.) Again, everyone was into fish in short order. No ursine interruptions this time. Then the long float looking for an appropriate day two campsite. Stopped and gazed longingly at the flat, manicured tent pads and fire ring at the confluence, and pushed on. Then, the rain started. Not good old gully washers, but that insistent Alaskan mist that gets into every crevice of gear possible. We were attempting to make it to the infamous “Moons over the Alagnak” bathing site from 98, which we had marked on GPS, but that had been passed in 2000. However, With the rain and late hour, after a conference, we basically just piled onto the first semi-flat island we saw, which, of course, was covered in long grass and alder/willow. With that habitat, rain, and no wind, I don’t have to mention the absurd quantities of bugs that called that place home. I took my pants off for about 6 seconds to change to dry ones, and I’m still scratching the welts on my legs to this day.
A rapid exit from there in the morning, and we were headed down in the general direction of Rumor Bear, hoping to find good fishing and a decent campsite along the way. The fishing was very cooperative. We found the bath area and stopped for fishing and lunch. This is where Mr. Sandy, respected CIO, began to earn the name “Snagger.” Not that he wasn’t catching loads of fish in the mouth, but there seemed to be an abnormal amount of fish growing mouths in the backs, as well. After lending me his spinning outfit to re-live my Minnesota roots, I caught a small pink in short order (in the mouth,) then couldn’t make it work again, so handed it back to him. He proceeded to impale one in the rear, skid it to the bank, hand me the rig while he got the camera, then snapped a shot of me with a snagged pink. The gang at the flyshop will pay top dollar for that one. Again, it was not unusual to look up at any given moment and see someone with a fish on most of the day. We pulled into the first dry gravel bar we found, not as many bugs, but very ripe with decaying Chum. Boot-flushed them downriver for a while before someone invented the “Paddle Spatula” method. That was much more effective. With a 7 foot oar, you can launch a 10 pound dead chum about 20 feet out into the river. Great fun. Fishing here continued to be good. Saw a bear ambling across the river on the other side.
The next day was the short float to Rumor Bear. Jeff, there really is a ton of water around here. We didn’t touch it in 98. As Bob said, enough room to happily fish 10-15 guys all day long. Got camp up at a record hour and everyone dispersed to the various holes. I chose a couple of riffles off the main channel on river right of camp. I fished down to some mini-braids where it channelized again, was unhooking about my 25th rainbow, when I saw something a couple hundred yards down the main bank on the left. It was enormous and dark, but certainly too big for a bear. Had to be a big bull moose or a 200 year old deadfall. Then, it turned broadside, and mother-of-god was it ever a bear. Largest I’ve seen, living, dead, caged in a zoo, or otherwise. John and Marty were a little closer, and reported that when it picked up a 10 pound chum sideways in its mouth, there was still about half a foot of bear head on both sides of the fish. An honest 11 footer. Thankfully, no more signs of him the rest of the trip.
We ended up staying three days at Rumor Bear. Untold numbers of fish were caught of every representative species. The deep runs across the big rip from camp were loaded with Kings. I had a 35+ on for a while before he was 100 yards down, and thus, a lost cause. Bob and Lance would disappear into the braids in that area for hours on end, and come back largely fly-less and grinning like schoolkids. I finally caught one of the “Golden Midas Fish” which turned out to be jack (one-year at sea) Kings. They really were bright gold, and Mike was exonerated. Snagger caught several million pinks, and, becoming bored with the relative ease of catching them on his Pixie, borrowed a few popsicles from moi and proceeded to catch another million thusly. All of us pretty much destroyed the rainbows from dawn to dusk. Anything remotely resembling an egg in color or configuration was eagerly inhaled by rainbows anywhere from 10” – 5 pounds. I got the rainbow of my trip in the run directly below the kitchen area. I was waving and hollering for someone to come take a picture, but the infamous Kentucky Mouthwash and Merlot served in the finest Lexan was already out for the evening, so no takers. I got a nice B&W shot of the pig which I’ll email when I get a chance.
After the three unreal days at Rumor Bear (I think that, in any one of those three days, we all caught more fish than the entire trip in 98 or 00,) it was time to push on. We found the big, channelized gravel flat from 98 in a couple hours, and everyone proceeded to further damage the mouths of fish. Since I had tripped and fallen in moments before, I was drying out and serving as cameraman to the Snagger. Several of his crowning moments were about to come. He had found one of the infamous “Black clouds” of Pinks holding just behind the beached rafts. Pretty much every cast drew a strike as one pink would peel off the school, follow the Pixie and nail it. After 4-5 fish, he gave me the rod, and in two casts, I had one. Then, after an unprecedented 6 casts in a row without a take, he proceeded to put on his Bill Dance UT hat, take back the rod, and start the lesson (Imagine Bill Dance speaking with a PA accent) “See, you just flip it out about 5 feet in front of the school, tighten the line, dance it a little bit, see, there’s one peeling off now, and he’ll follow for a couple of feet while it flutters, and there, see, he ate it.” Later, in the same spot, I had my 7 weight again, and once I found the right color (Pink), I proceeded to outfish him. He will argue the truthfulness of this, but I caught 3 fish in the mouth to his two. Yes, he gaffed 3 or 4 more in the back in that time, and I unsuccessfully argued that there is no mouth in the hump.
His shining moment was yet to come, though. Mike, fishing a deep rip, had previously hooked a mammoth King, fought him for several minutes before his Rod exploded (he was still grinning during lunch.) After lunch, John went down to the hole, caught some pinks, and then (And, bear in mind, I am never going to do this story justice. Snagger needs to record it and send the WAV file) snagged (true to form) some monofilament. Thinking he might at least get a spoon out of the deal, he pulled on it in one direction and got nothing, then pulled in the other, and (imagine PA accent rising in pitch and volume at this point) this “Gigantic **** Head the size of a ****’ manhole cover” came out of the water. Showing great initiative and dubious sportsmanship, he knotted the mono to his swivel, but realized the swivel would not go through the tip top. Somewhat dejected, he clipped it off, tossed the mono back into the river, and resumed slaughtering pinks. A few minutes later, the mono attached itself to his spoon again. This time, he clipped spoon and swivel, knotted the lines together, reared back and an antelope-sized fish (which is growing in memory by the day) took off for saltwater. A valiant struggle led to the eventual disengagement of man and fish, as the mono broke. Moral of the story? Mike should buy better line.
This brought us to the Perch, the final campsite. More fish were had here, including a hole full of rainbows, grayling and Dollies that were ravenous for Red and Yellow eggs. Lance and I caught two enormous grayling that night just below the camp kitchen. The last day brought one more bear sighting, bringing the confirmed total to 9, and about a million eagles, or so it seemed. Also, the density of the rare and coveted “Albino Beach Eagles” increased as we neared the Bay. In the rain, with rafts deflated, Mike and Bob couldn’t help but catch some more pinks (and a dandy silver) before departing for KS and what passes for civilization. Steaks were eaten, beer was consumed, and the “Tie-on King” grew larger in several re-tellings. I kept Snagger up in the bar until about 3:30am, just because that story was so good.
Everyone said goodbyes in ANC, likely for a couple of years, and I’m pretty sure that everyone slept like babies on the redeyes back south.
Thanks to all for a great trip. Particularly to Bob for the lion’s share of the planning. Let’s hope it can be re-created.
CD
The long and the short of it is that I'm hunting for one or two more participants.
Here are the dates with the 'optional' Silver trip
8/11/04 Wednesday - Depart Atlanta and arrive in King Salmon, Alaska
8/12/04 Thursday - Fish for Silvers 'around town' with a local guide
8/13/04 Friday – float plane out for a week on the water
8/20/04 Friday - return to King Salmon
8/21/04 Saturday - fly home
The 'standard' trip would be to leave Atlanta 8/12. I like going a day early to fish for silvers (Coho) ‘around town’ and wind down.
This is our 4th trip to the Alagnak river. I’ll past in the last trip report at the end of the message. BTW some reports note that the ’03 salmon runs were better than ‘02’s. No telling what ’04 will bring but going a week later than usual will help a lot.
Let me know if you are interested or have any questions.
Cheers
Bob
----------------------------------
The trip report – by Chris
It's a week-long unguided raft trip, camping and fishing along the way. A few translations:
> King Ko – a hotel in King Salmon AK
> Rumor Bear - a campsite
> Perch - a campsite
> Mike - FairWeatherFisherman
----------
I promised I'd write the long version of this year's float, I guess everyone figures a guy with no job has the most time<g>. So, I’ll be very long-winded. Just cause I can.
First, the pure group stats, quite conservatively estimated:
- ~1500 rainbows from 4 inches to 6-7 pounds. There were times when, quite literally, it was a rainbow per cast (or in Marty's case, occasionally two rainbows per cast)
- Untold numbers of pinks, many hooked fairly in the mouth, many hooked in every other piece of anatomy. John seems to have a special knack for gaffing the big males right in the hump.
- Metric tons of chum. Some living, some approaching Cat food, some flat-out dead
- Lots of Grayling at Rumor Bear and below. Several amazing specimens.
- 20-30 Dollies/Char
- A couple dozen small-to-middling Kings. One XL one that was hooked once, then "re-hooked" an hour or so later via less-than-sporting (but no less funny on the telling) methods.
- 2 silvers
- One Green Fishing shirt and 205 pound Colorado fisherman (It took a number 2 Pixie from Mr. Werner as he tumbled out of a boat)
- no reds that I know of
- Assorted whitefish, salmon smolt of unknown species, rocks, caddis cases, trees (sunken and dry,) boats, oars, etc
On to the longer version:
I arrived in KS Friday afternoon after overnighting in Anchorage. Unusually hot, clear weather meant that on the descent over SE Alaska, you could see all of the miles and miles of fjords. Pretty neat. Welcomed to the King Ko by the ever-present clouds of gnats, made my way to the cabin and re-packed my mountain of gear for the river. Thought I had brought too many rods (5,) but only had 2 in working condition by trips end. I believe the final tally on broken rods was:
Chris - 3 (one on a trout, 2 for unknown reasons while performing reasonably normal tasks)
Lance - 2 (boat casualties)
Mike - 1 (Dinosaur-sized king. More on this later)
Mike and John happened by later in the afternoon. Lance, Marty, and Bob got back from their fishing about 6:00 or so. Sounded like an absolute blast getting into those fresh silvers. Everyone had a bite, repacked, tried to sleep, and then we were off to Brach River Air in what seemed like minutes. They took all of us in 2 Beavers this time. No aeerobatics or downward lunges at wildlife, just a pleasant flight over the tundra. Arrived at the lake, comforted by no sign of the two cubs that had taken up residence there 2 years prior and eaten the guided parties beer.
Got rafts inflated, water pumped, tents up, and Deet on, and everyone dispersed in and around the outlet to get the fishing underway. I recall everyone had some manner of fish on within the first 20 minutes or so, which turned out in retrospect to be a nice portrayal of what was to come. There was one stretch of water that we fished on and off all day where a Beadhead of any persuasion trailing an egg or leech would draw a strike from 10-16 inch rainbows on pretty much every cast. Marty and I were down there for a while, and I looked up long enough to hear him yell "Hey!" (In the soft-spoken manner of Mississippians, “Hey” is a sonnet, whereas “Watch this sh*t” is both a forebodance of enormous danger and a veritable one-act play) and see that he was hoisting two fish out of the water at once. It stayed like that all day. Bob and I finally left it alone about 11:30 that night. There were quite literally hundreds of rainbows caught in that 100 yard stretch alone. The guys closer to the lake were getting a mish-mash of fish. Everyone was sweating their a**es off. It was like 80 up at the lake. The routine for a while was "cast, set hook, play, release rainbow, wipe sweat-bug soup off forehead, cast, set hook...." I think everyone was wondering about all the fleece and gore-tex if it was going to be this way for a while. Char, trout, pinks, the ever-present chum, and Mike insisted he was catching some kind of bright gold mystery fish. All of us offered some opinion or another as to it's species, consensus being that it was probably some kind of char color phase, but it was irksome. Couple that with the fact that no one actually saw him with one, and we thought maybe the Deet had gotten in his water or something.
Decided to make the lake a one day affair, and pushed on downriver. I was fishing from the boat, catching small 'bows all along the river. Saw the first pods of Kings, and, in lots of cases, very large trout hanging behind them. We stopped at the wide flat riffle that drops into pretty deep water (where we were interrupted by the bear in 98.) Again, everyone was into fish in short order. No ursine interruptions this time. Then the long float looking for an appropriate day two campsite. Stopped and gazed longingly at the flat, manicured tent pads and fire ring at the confluence, and pushed on. Then, the rain started. Not good old gully washers, but that insistent Alaskan mist that gets into every crevice of gear possible. We were attempting to make it to the infamous “Moons over the Alagnak” bathing site from 98, which we had marked on GPS, but that had been passed in 2000. However, With the rain and late hour, after a conference, we basically just piled onto the first semi-flat island we saw, which, of course, was covered in long grass and alder/willow. With that habitat, rain, and no wind, I don’t have to mention the absurd quantities of bugs that called that place home. I took my pants off for about 6 seconds to change to dry ones, and I’m still scratching the welts on my legs to this day.
A rapid exit from there in the morning, and we were headed down in the general direction of Rumor Bear, hoping to find good fishing and a decent campsite along the way. The fishing was very cooperative. We found the bath area and stopped for fishing and lunch. This is where Mr. Sandy, respected CIO, began to earn the name “Snagger.” Not that he wasn’t catching loads of fish in the mouth, but there seemed to be an abnormal amount of fish growing mouths in the backs, as well. After lending me his spinning outfit to re-live my Minnesota roots, I caught a small pink in short order (in the mouth,) then couldn’t make it work again, so handed it back to him. He proceeded to impale one in the rear, skid it to the bank, hand me the rig while he got the camera, then snapped a shot of me with a snagged pink. The gang at the flyshop will pay top dollar for that one. Again, it was not unusual to look up at any given moment and see someone with a fish on most of the day. We pulled into the first dry gravel bar we found, not as many bugs, but very ripe with decaying Chum. Boot-flushed them downriver for a while before someone invented the “Paddle Spatula” method. That was much more effective. With a 7 foot oar, you can launch a 10 pound dead chum about 20 feet out into the river. Great fun. Fishing here continued to be good. Saw a bear ambling across the river on the other side.
The next day was the short float to Rumor Bear. Jeff, there really is a ton of water around here. We didn’t touch it in 98. As Bob said, enough room to happily fish 10-15 guys all day long. Got camp up at a record hour and everyone dispersed to the various holes. I chose a couple of riffles off the main channel on river right of camp. I fished down to some mini-braids where it channelized again, was unhooking about my 25th rainbow, when I saw something a couple hundred yards down the main bank on the left. It was enormous and dark, but certainly too big for a bear. Had to be a big bull moose or a 200 year old deadfall. Then, it turned broadside, and mother-of-god was it ever a bear. Largest I’ve seen, living, dead, caged in a zoo, or otherwise. John and Marty were a little closer, and reported that when it picked up a 10 pound chum sideways in its mouth, there was still about half a foot of bear head on both sides of the fish. An honest 11 footer. Thankfully, no more signs of him the rest of the trip.
We ended up staying three days at Rumor Bear. Untold numbers of fish were caught of every representative species. The deep runs across the big rip from camp were loaded with Kings. I had a 35+ on for a while before he was 100 yards down, and thus, a lost cause. Bob and Lance would disappear into the braids in that area for hours on end, and come back largely fly-less and grinning like schoolkids. I finally caught one of the “Golden Midas Fish” which turned out to be jack (one-year at sea) Kings. They really were bright gold, and Mike was exonerated. Snagger caught several million pinks, and, becoming bored with the relative ease of catching them on his Pixie, borrowed a few popsicles from moi and proceeded to catch another million thusly. All of us pretty much destroyed the rainbows from dawn to dusk. Anything remotely resembling an egg in color or configuration was eagerly inhaled by rainbows anywhere from 10” – 5 pounds. I got the rainbow of my trip in the run directly below the kitchen area. I was waving and hollering for someone to come take a picture, but the infamous Kentucky Mouthwash and Merlot served in the finest Lexan was already out for the evening, so no takers. I got a nice B&W shot of the pig which I’ll email when I get a chance.
After the three unreal days at Rumor Bear (I think that, in any one of those three days, we all caught more fish than the entire trip in 98 or 00,) it was time to push on. We found the big, channelized gravel flat from 98 in a couple hours, and everyone proceeded to further damage the mouths of fish. Since I had tripped and fallen in moments before, I was drying out and serving as cameraman to the Snagger. Several of his crowning moments were about to come. He had found one of the infamous “Black clouds” of Pinks holding just behind the beached rafts. Pretty much every cast drew a strike as one pink would peel off the school, follow the Pixie and nail it. After 4-5 fish, he gave me the rod, and in two casts, I had one. Then, after an unprecedented 6 casts in a row without a take, he proceeded to put on his Bill Dance UT hat, take back the rod, and start the lesson (Imagine Bill Dance speaking with a PA accent) “See, you just flip it out about 5 feet in front of the school, tighten the line, dance it a little bit, see, there’s one peeling off now, and he’ll follow for a couple of feet while it flutters, and there, see, he ate it.” Later, in the same spot, I had my 7 weight again, and once I found the right color (Pink), I proceeded to outfish him. He will argue the truthfulness of this, but I caught 3 fish in the mouth to his two. Yes, he gaffed 3 or 4 more in the back in that time, and I unsuccessfully argued that there is no mouth in the hump.
His shining moment was yet to come, though. Mike, fishing a deep rip, had previously hooked a mammoth King, fought him for several minutes before his Rod exploded (he was still grinning during lunch.) After lunch, John went down to the hole, caught some pinks, and then (And, bear in mind, I am never going to do this story justice. Snagger needs to record it and send the WAV file) snagged (true to form) some monofilament. Thinking he might at least get a spoon out of the deal, he pulled on it in one direction and got nothing, then pulled in the other, and (imagine PA accent rising in pitch and volume at this point) this “Gigantic **** Head the size of a ****’ manhole cover” came out of the water. Showing great initiative and dubious sportsmanship, he knotted the mono to his swivel, but realized the swivel would not go through the tip top. Somewhat dejected, he clipped it off, tossed the mono back into the river, and resumed slaughtering pinks. A few minutes later, the mono attached itself to his spoon again. This time, he clipped spoon and swivel, knotted the lines together, reared back and an antelope-sized fish (which is growing in memory by the day) took off for saltwater. A valiant struggle led to the eventual disengagement of man and fish, as the mono broke. Moral of the story? Mike should buy better line.
This brought us to the Perch, the final campsite. More fish were had here, including a hole full of rainbows, grayling and Dollies that were ravenous for Red and Yellow eggs. Lance and I caught two enormous grayling that night just below the camp kitchen. The last day brought one more bear sighting, bringing the confirmed total to 9, and about a million eagles, or so it seemed. Also, the density of the rare and coveted “Albino Beach Eagles” increased as we neared the Bay. In the rain, with rafts deflated, Mike and Bob couldn’t help but catch some more pinks (and a dandy silver) before departing for KS and what passes for civilization. Steaks were eaten, beer was consumed, and the “Tie-on King” grew larger in several re-tellings. I kept Snagger up in the bar until about 3:30am, just because that story was so good.
Everyone said goodbyes in ANC, likely for a couple of years, and I’m pretty sure that everyone slept like babies on the redeyes back south.
Thanks to all for a great trip. Particularly to Bob for the lion’s share of the planning. Let’s hope it can be re-created.
CD