2MoreMiles…

As with all good things, they must come to an end…or at least be put on pause, until the next opportunity to engage in said good thing.  On our last day of fishing we awoke to heavy rainfall. At least the boat would be naturally cleansed of slime and fish blood splatter from konking the fish on the head, once FINALLY in the boat.  We took a leisurely approach to the morning.  Seeing that we had planned appropriately for such an occurrence, our rain gear was strategically stowed on the boat at the dock.  We considered sitting it out, as we had already acquired nearly 200lbs of delectable fish, but then what kind of fishermen would we be if we let a little weather dissuade us from our “man” vs. wild quest for dominance over a pea brained (yet crafty) cold blooded vertebrate.  
Once down at the boat, the rain has lifted to a tender misting and we shove off into remarkably placid seas.  The bite is mediocre, but it does not disappoint as we still manage to land 3 good sized Silvers and 2 equally nice Rockfish.  

A pod of Orca traverse the waterway and porpoise on the surface near our boat.  Another sight and experience worth its weight in gold.  Suddenly, the seas turn rough, and short intervaled and choppy waves toss our toy sized boat.  Yup, time to call it.  Without a doubt this has been a memorable adventure, with the chance to share it with my son, priceless.  We are thankful for this opportunity and are extremely appreciative of the kindness and welcome we have felt in Angoon.  The amenities and the hospitality of John and Kathy, soldiers in the Salvation Army, who operate the Eagle’s Wings Inn Bed and Breakfast(formally the Favorite Bay Inn), was superb.  The cookie jar was always full, fresh blueberry muffins and homemade donuts would magically appear, and there was an endless bowl of freshly picked blueberries to gorge upon our entire stay.  

Our dinners were spent at the Whaler’s Cove Lodge, whose ambiance and 5 star cuisine is worthy of its own show (I’m told they are currently filming for a show called, ‘The Lodge’ for the World Fishing Network.  Whaler’s Cove Lodge is also featured on Alaska’s Fishing Paradise series on the Sportsman Channel.) Anyhoo, each evening they would send a skiff over from the island, to the ferry dock, pick us and our days catch up and then motor us back (at our leisure) after having gorged ourselves at that evenings specially prepared dinner.

(Here they would clean and process our fish for eventual transport home at $3/lb)

Each night there would be a new spread of appetizers (bacon wrapped dates, salmon cakes, spinach dip, chilli, clam chowder, fresh hummus, stuffed mushrooms…the list goes on and was different each night), fresh tossed salad bar and a main course that would always include a meat (lamb, beef brisket, prime rib, steak) and/or seafood (variously fashioned halibut, crab or salmon) entree complimented with side vegetable, and rice or potato; only to be followed by a decadent desert.  I am looking forward to beginning our 500 mile walk in two weeks, if only to walk off this weeks’ indulgent caloric intake.  I fear if we were actual guests at the lodge, I would eventually pop like a rock fish (having been quickly horsed to the surface), as I imagine that breakfast and lunch are no less divine. Whaler’s Cove is located on Killisnoo Island, on the site of a once a thriving herring canning operation that employed nearly 1500 people.  In fact, Angoon – a Tlingit (pronounced “clink-it”) Indian village, in the early 1900’s was once home to nearly 2500 people during the heyday of the canning and whaling era.  They say at one time, the herring were so thick you could literally rake them up from shore after a tidal change.  But as the world’s population has grown from 1 billion in the 1800’s to currently upwards of 7.3 billion it is only natural that our draw on our fisheries would be eventually and permanently impacted.

Our initial travel home took a surreptitious route back to Juneau.  From Angoon we traveled the narrows to Sitka, where we picked up the Sitka travelers, and then traversed back through the picturesque narrows and up the Chatham Strait to Juneau.  An 8 hour journey in total, morphed into 10 (they lost an engine).  

Shortly after we boarded in Angoon, the morning’s dense fog lifted and we were once again graced with blue skies and glassy water.  True to my theory of Humpy behavior, the glassy water invites them to frolic once again, and they do so with reckless abandon as our ferry wound its way carefully through the narrows dotted with trawlers casting their nets for fish to market to the masses, namely those residing in the lower 48 who most likely will never witness nor appreciate the effort it takes to provide them with riches from the sea.  Occasionally I spot a cinnamon colored deer grazing on limited space near the water’s edge of the steep tree choked land masses.  From a distance you see where areas had once been logged of their old growth spruce, pine and cedar, and have now been filled in with newer growth racing to catch up with the old.  The growth covers the steep sharp hills like a rich green fur standing at attention like freshly raked shag carpet from days gone by.  Once at Juneau, we take the courtesy shuttle to our hotel, store our 4 boxes of fish and sneak a peak at the Mendenhall Glacier as the sun is setting before we retire for the evening.

 The following morning we load our 200 lbs of fish (100 – Salmon @ $18.95/lb, 100-Halibit @ $25.99/lb) which on the open market is near $4500, so paying the extra baggage fee is not that bad.  Again, seeing we have cashed in our accumulated miles, we are treated to another long and arguous day of travel.  First stop is an over 2 hour layover in Sitka.  We land in Sitka, and head out to grab a cab.  The plan is to ask a local, “If you had 2 hours to kill in Sitka, what would you make sure you do?”  Not surprising, the downtown bars are recommended.  We try and share a cab with two ladies that are trying to kill time as well, but the cab driver is less than pleasant at that prospect, telling us with somewhat of a snarl, “It will still be seperate fares”.  Well nevermind then, bad vibe dude.  We call for another cab from the ones listed on the wall outside the airport doors.  I would however like to thank “bad vibe dude” as the next cab that arrives having dropped off its fare at the airport, was awesome.  When we asked the cabbie, Christina, (of Cummins Taxi) what she would see/do in Sitka if she had 2 hours, she gave us wonderful options and none of them involved a bar. She recommended the “Fortress of the Bear”, a non-profit bear rescue and rehab center (Fortressofthebear.org). As she drove us through town to the outskirts of where this refuge was located, she narrated our travel and upon request, recited her story of how she ended up in Sitka Alaska from the lower 48. It was a great story that involved wanderlust adventure, a backpack and trust in humanity as she hitchhiked her way from Colorado after college. She landed in Sitka, worked on a fishing boat. Bought a fishing boat, and now drives a cab for extra income. She had great insight and knowledge of the area. It was like having our own personal guided tour.


The Fortress of the Bear was interesting in that they have repurposed two wood pulp storage silos from the now closed pulp factory.

The refuge currently houses 5 young Grizzly bears and 3 young black bears. The grizzlies, although around 3 years old are massive and quite entertaining. The operators of the facility try to encourage foraging behaviors and have stocked the ponds with live salmon. The bears are fed at random times, thus unlike a zoo setting are quite active as they are on the hunt for a snack. Luckily we are safely poised high above them from an observation deck of sorts.

They appeared to be just as aware and amused by us as we were of them.

From the Fortress we went to the Totem Park (a National Park)where we were dropped off to walk a trail that led to a bridge that stretched across a fairly narrow river filled with Pink salmon (Humpy), shoulder to shoulder (if you will) waiting for the “green light” to spawn. The trail finished at the visitor’s center with a nicely done installation of native Alaskan history and artifacts to include painstakingly restored Totem poles. From there Christina picked us up in-between another of her fares and dropped us off at the airport. We thanked her for her tour and made our way to the TSA screening for our flight to rainy Seattle (surprise) and then onto Orange County. Once off the plane at the John Wayne airport, reality hit like a suffocating moist blanket. Ah, yes…it’s still summer, and in SoCal it is triple digits. Load the fish, head for home. In a little over two weeks we head out for our next adventure, The Camino de Santiago. Better get to walking.

Another rainy morning, but we head out all the same.  Ya never really know what it’s goining to be like till you get out there.  We reach the mouth of the bay and find a fleet of boats jigging for bait.  At least we didn’t have to hunt for them for the most part.  We figured they had already located them.  We fill our bucket and get to fish’n.  Today we have grapes on the boat, to which my son remarked this morning…”You got grapes, good!”  The bait fish are thick as molasses and the depth finder thinks it’s found bottom at 20’…it’s well over a 100′. We have one hook up after another.  The bite, for the most part, is on.  The only problem is the bastards won’t cooperate and get in the darn boat.  I had at least 6 that shook themselves off just as we lowered the net, ARRRGH!  Both Trevor and I got stripped a dozen times, and he lost a few as well.  It’s hard to manuever the fish to the side of the boat with low gunnels, two outboard motors, and cramped slick deck space.  We are not as skilled and practiced as my father, so our learning curve is high. I’m not sure if my father finds our ineptitude endearing or frustrating. I suspect frustrating with a pinch of entertainment.  Earlier in the week when we first arrived and hopped on the boat, Trevor surveyed the vessel, shook his head and remarked, “I remember this being bigger”.  Yes when you were little it certainly was.  Seeing that our first two days on the water were smooth as butter, it is only natural and fair to the fish to significantly up the degree of difficulty with a touch of foul weather, and a nearly perfected art of “catch and release”, (or maybe to be PC, we’ll call it “Compassionate Release”) which is funny now, but not funny whilst in the moment.  There is no doubt, however, that the grapes worked their magic, and yet again had it not been for our superior release techniques, we would have limited in two hours or less.  

Trevor was however, King for the day.  He caught his first King salmon, which gave him a hearty fight.  He had another that required acrobatics on our part, as the fish nearly swam around the entire boat trying to get away.  A little after 1pm we pulled in our lines, as we were wet, a little cold, and for the most part, out of bait.  We would have jigged for more but a pod of humpback whales were bogarting the bait.  Several times they came in real close to us, which is both cool and terrifying.  They would circle the massive ball of bait, dive deep, continue to circle, (evidenced by the large ring of bubbles) and surface mouths agape feasting on herring.    While you can, and we have, seen this on TV, it is jaw dropping amazing to witness it in 5D.  What were the chances that on such a grey, wet and choppy day we would be treated to such an experience.  What made it even better was to share it with my father and son.  We motored in, satisfied with our catch, 6 Silvers and Trevor’s King.  Up to 1.5 boxes of silver salmon now.  We want to bring home two boxes of salmon…at least.  Tonight we feast on all you can eat fresh crab at the Whaler’s Cove Lodge, where we have been dinning each night and I dare say have gained a few pounds with their 5 star meals.

I awake to the sound of a dog’s raspy bark that is quickly replaced by the soft and constant patter of rainfall on the surface of water outside my window. The sun has not risen, but the sky is far from dark.  It is 4am.  We don’t head out till 6am.  I pull my eye shade back over my eyes and quickly return to slumberland.  Rainfall has a way of doing that.  The forecast today is rain and more rain, to be followed by rain into the evening.  It is not cold or even dreary.  It is calm and soothing, yet there is a small craft advisory in effect.  3-4 ft seas are on the menu for the Chatham Strait.  We however, will peak our collective heads out of the mouth of Mitchell’s Bay to see if it’s something we want to, or can fish in.  It will be the three amigos, as Jill has wisely decided to stay inside and hold down the fort.  She’s done the fowl weather fishing and frankly knows better.  We on the other hand have to give it a go, just because…it’s fishing, and it’s Alaska darnit.  By the time we head out the door from the wonderful Bed and Breakfast place, called Eagle’s Wing Inn (operated by John and Kathy of the Salvation Army), the rain has stopped.  The air is sweet smelling and rich with moisture.  We walk down to the docks and prep the White Whale.  As it appears to be “clearing”, I decline to don my rain gear.  This proves to be folly in that no sooner than we push away from the dock, the rain begins again.  Thank you Mr. Murphy.  I can not say how much I admire your consistency and attention to detail on our every adventure.  No, really.  I truly can’t say.  Luckily it was a light rain, and gave me enough time to pull on my rain gear.  And of course, no sooner had I water-proofed myself, the rain stopped.  I give up.  We peaked our nose out of the mouth of the bay and found it not too bad.  It was a little choppy, but not scary for the size of our boat.  In no time we had a bucket full of herring and the hunt was on.  Unfortunately I forgot my grapes, so it took us awhile to land a fish…any fish.  In some ways, however, our day started out like an episode of the Three Stooges.  We jig for bait, and because of the initial choppiness of the seas, a good portion of the herring we snag never make it into the boat.  Hmmm, wise guys!  When they do, they “rain” all over my father (“Moe”) who is trying to deftly shake them off the tiny hooks and into a five gallon bucket that shifts with the seas.  It didn’t help either that we would both swing our herring laden lines into him at the same time.  

Once the bucket was full “enough” it was non-stop action, initially of the Humpy variety.  The Humpys are passive aggressive fish and would gladly allow us to net them (rather than shake themselves off or allow us the honors), and then do an alligator death roll in the net as one of us had another fish on and needed the net.  At one point we had landed a fish, had another on and realized no one was driving the boat in 3′ seas.  Ooops.  After a while we settled into a rhythm and functioned like a well oiled machine.  At the tidal change we found the bait and the the Silver bite was on.  I dare say however, we lost twice as many Silvers as we landed, and caught easily double that in good sized Pinks that we released.  Two King (Chinook) salmon found their way onto my line, but they were just shy of legal and had to be released.  My son had another hog of a Silver that again just didn’t want to get in the boat.  They say ‘three’s a charm’, so maybe tomorrow will be his lucky day.  

After a hard fought day, we called it quits with six Silvers in the box.  Not bad for amateurs.

Blessed with remarkable weather…for the Alaskan rain forest (Coastal Temperate Rain Forest– one of 6 or 7 in the world) we had no trouble our first venture out filling the cooler with, as we like to call them…Nice Fish.  Small boat, four people, two rods at a time made for a bit of a fire drill.  Luckily it was dead calm conditions.  

In no time we had our limit of halibut, and good sized ones at that.  My son, Trevor horsed in the biggest halibut at 48 lbs.  

Not bad for his first time in Alaska.  My dad doesn’t want to bring in anything bigger than that, as the bigger fish, the “barn door” sized ones, are recognized as the “breeders” and their steaks are pretty thick and frankly a little on the tough side when it comes to eating and prepping.  Trevor and I, however, would like to land a 100 lb plus halibut, just for the mere fact that it would be a challenge (and a great story) to get it into our 18′ boat.  My father on the other hand has already wrestled a 169 lb halibut into his boat (last season) and doesn’t want to re-live that again.  He said if we get one that size, we can take a picture in the water.  Now where’s the fun in that?  And, would we still get a hat?  (You get one from Whaler’s Cove Lodge if you bag an over 100 lb halibut).  Once done, we motored over to Whaler’s Cove where they hung our fish for our photo op, and then processed them for eventual transport back home.  

This days catch will net an easy two boxes (50lbs a piece) of fish.  

The following day was just as nice, but dare I say a little slow for us and the entire fleet of boats out of Whaler’s Cove.  The morning started with a hunt for herring to use as bait for todays’ search for Coho (Silvers).  We start by looking for boiling bait balls of herring and jig until we get what we think will be enough bait for the day.  If only snagging salmon was as easy…once you find them of course.  The Silvers proved quite allusive for most of the day, while the Pink (Humpy) where jumpng everywhere. And I mean EVERYWHERE…non-stop!  The theory being that they jump out of the water (to me it seems more like they are skipping) to either get their bearing/location, or they are trying to wash of the lice.  Maybe they are just simply frolicing…because they can.  The Humpys weren’t the only things jumping, as we were treated to a Sea World worthy whale show for most of the day.  This becomes all the more exciting, in a small boat.  As they surfaced, they would exhale loudly shooting tall blasts of misting water that would hang in the air long after they had slipped below the water’s surface.  Occassionally they would leap out of the water and land with an impressive and explosive crash, like the “fat kid” doing a cannonball off the high dive.  For most of the day however, the Silvers alluded us and the rest of the fleet for that matter.   After a while the fleet dispersed in a divide and conquer mentality to search for where the Silvers were hiding out and to hunt and land other edible fish. We stayed put, off Danger Point.  In addition to the whale show, we got front row seats to raptors fishing.  Bald eagles are a plenty up here and they are amazing fishermen.  They float overhead and then drop sharply, snag a fish with their outstretched talons and continue on either flying it back to their nest or to the shore and feast on their catch.  We watched as one “hooked” a fish much larger than his flight to weight ratio.  While surprised, the eagle was unfazed and just simply used its wings to stroke to shore.  Take that NatGeo!  We continued our search for Silvers.  My dad was convinced they were still in the area.  At least they were, in mass, last week.  The mystery now was at what depth.  After trolling on the “surface” and mooching for the shiny buggers for a bulk of the morning, we had one small Silver and three Humpys.  Just after 1pm we (as in the Captain) decided it was time to get serious.  Out comes the down-rigger, and Wa-La.  Fish on!  In a matter of less than two hours we had five in the box and about twice as many to lament about, one of which was a hog of a Silver, whose loss we captured on video. (If I could figure out how to post it, I would)  Now this could have, and dare I say, would have happened sooner if ol’ Major General of Fishlandia would have heeded his crew, of which he taught how to fish in the first place, and thus read the conditions. My theory was that it has been so hot and sunny that the salmon (the Coho variety) being a cold water fish, have gone to deeper depths to feed and meander about.  In any event, Silver are crafty fish, if fish can be crafty with a brain the size of a pea.  They like to tease…incessantly. In fact, they are assholes, which makes them all the more fun to land.  They bump your bait.  Maybe nibble it a bit.  Bump it again.  Wait for you to get excited and pre-maturely yank your line off the down-rigger, and usually out of their mouth. But, unlike Humpys, when they do hit, they hit hard and you know it.  This is when the reel(real) fun begins.  When you think you hooked them good they swim at you and make you think you’ve lost them tricking you to slow your pace or pause in your reeling to check your line which allows them to spit out the hook or shake it off.  Worse yet they surface and thrash about, turning sharply away from your net as you attempt to capture them…and then shake themselves off.  Or better yet, they will surface, run towards the boat and your waiting net and dive sharply toward the bottom.  They mess with you… get you flustered. As we trolled, I found myself talking to them…’Come on ya bastard, commit already…Come on. Come on. Commit. Do it! Do it!’.  All the while, thinking, ‘If only I brought some grapes’.  My kids when they were little and fishing with Grandpa and his fishing buddy, used to throw grapes in the water, probably out of boredom, and often almost immediatley the bite would be on.  His fishing buddy told them it was because of the grapes.  Thus the logic of grapes = fish.  I plan on bringing grapes tomorrow.  It can’t hurt.

The getting to Alaska is quite a feat, and basically takes an entire day of travel, especiall when you “cash-in” airline miles.  I should have known better, but I’m cheap so what can I say.  It’s kind of a pisser when you go to use your airline miles.  They seem to purposely limit your available times of travel and routes.  Direct they are NOT.  Orange County to Seattle.  Seattle to Anchorage.  Anchorage to Juneau, with anywhere from 1- 3 hours of layover.  What was interesting for me was flying over the route we walked on the PCT.  

As I pointed out to my son, from this vantage point it really strikes you as a daunting feat both in distance and terrain to have walked all that way.  It didn’t seem like that while we were actually walking it (besides the fatigue and sore feet) as the view of your surroundings is relatively limited.  As we leave the lower 48 from Seattle, I can’t help but notice a striking difference in the terrain.  Compared to the lower 48, whose hills and mountains are made up of a patchwork tapestry of tempered greens and browns, Alaska’s craggy mountains and carved valleys are seamlessly covered with a lush and endless sheet of deep green crushed velvet, while its’ glacial spread of ice and snow tenatively retreats in the seemingly forever daylight, that is summer.  

 As we fly overhead towards Anchorage, forests are replaced with glaciers that stretch like frozen lakes and fjords leaving mountainous islands frozen in time stretching to the sea.  

 In areas where they have receded, deep scars like tire treads streak the landscape.  A hard landing shakes us out of our dreamlike state. The last time I had such a hard and bouncing landing I was on a bush plane, and I expected that.  We have now landed in Alaska proper, however we are not “there” just yet.  In Anchorage we will have what proves to be a 3 hour layover, as the airplane we are to fly into Juneau on has a flat tire, of which I am not surprised based on the hard landing we had on our touchdown in Anchorage.  
 Here we see our first moose, and the bulk of our layover is (not surprisingy) spent in a bar that exclusively serves the local brew.  (And very fine brew I might add at 8.6 Abv).  

After a hard banking hairpin left turn over sheet glass water and marshy lagoons, we land in Juneau as the sun sets and the evening morphs into twighlight that lasts until morning.  Alaskan time is an hour behind from home, which explains the heaviness of our eyelids.  Sleep falls over us effortlessly.