The Kings Are In

A topside view of the toxic Indian Hellebore (Veratrum viride)

Thursday (July 3^rd)

This blog note won’t be split up into separate daily entries—due to a busy schedule and a wandering mind, I haven’t gotten around to writing before tonight. So this is coming to you in a lump sum.

Two Wednesdays ago, June 18^th, while parked by the Susitna River for lunch, the Nancy Lake Trail Crew witnessed a spectacular sight: as I was preparing to take the first tasty bite of my peanut butter and raisin sandwich (thank you, volunteer wages), Jacob pointed to the opposite shore and I saw a mother moose walking with her calf along the water. Though moose are a common sighting here, I still get excited when I spot one of these massive cervines. So imagine my awe when the pair entered the water and began to swim across the Su! With her calf trailing behind, the cow braved the fast current and swam the width of the river, about 250 feet, beaching right in front of our truck and leaving us with baited breath. The calf, maybe one week old, stood shakily as its mother scouted her surroundings. Sensing no threat, she took her young one and began to check out the vegetation about 15 feet to the left of the truck, then sauntered in front of us and went off into the woods of Willow Creek. It was an unforgettable experience.

The following Tuesday morning, June 24^th, Chris, Jacob and I set out for a brief canoe trip. Our mission was to repair the portage between the Little Susitna River and Skeetna Lake, which rests at the southern boundary of the park. We hooked up the canoe trailer, loaded our gear into the truck and traveled the long dirt road to Lynx Lake Creek, where we put in for a long paddle to Butterfly Lake, where we would be staying.

On the way to work

Passing through Lynx, Candlestick, beautiful Buckley and other waters, we worked on the portages along the way and didn’t arrive at the Butterfly cabin until around 5pm. Glad to rest our arms for the night, we unloaded the canoe and walked up to our temporary abode, whereupon we beheld an unnerving sight: the entryway lay open, the hasp lock which usually secured it hanging stripped from its rightful place on the side of the door. Easing our way cautiously inside, bear spray at the ready, we found no intruders but quite a mess: white rice splayed across the entire floor. But the culinary coating proved itself useful in determining the culprit of this heinous crime.

Cleaning up, we found rice in the chairs and even in the downstairs bed; our friend must have made himself comfortable. What drew the bear in can’t be ascertained beyond a doubt, but our theory is that the pilot light of the propane stove heated up some old grease or food remnants on the stovetop, and with a sense of smell seven times greater than that of a bloodhound, the black bear headed for the delicious aroma and didn’t let anything stop him. The propane should have been off during the vacancy of the cabin (thereby extinguishing the pilot light), and the tank valve was turned to the closed position, but some debris preventing the shutoff valve of the tank from closing completely kept gas flowing through the line and the light burning. (Don’t worry, we fixed it.)

After a refreshing night’s sleep, we headed out to Skeetna Lake, where we tidied up the small group of campsites there and proceeded to the Little Su portage.

My morning commute

The portage crosses many low, wet areas, so Parks has built small boardwalks (found along most portages here) to ease the traveler’s traversal. Over the years, the boards split, the nails come out and the supports drop, giving the trail crew a constant supply of work.

Constructing a spruce log bridge

The day was spent repairing the walks and clearing the trail of downed trees and overhanging limbs, all accomplished with one hand, while the other kept a close beat around our heads, swatting the hordes of biting flies.

Returning that night, Chris and I swapped harmonica licks around the campfire (with Jacob a forgiving audience), and the next morning we headed out, making sure to drop our lines in Lynx Lake, where I caught a nice pike for dinner. A splendid trip.

This past weekend I joined the masses and headed to Willow Creek to fish for King (Chinook) Salmon (Oncorhynchus tshawytscha). After purchasing my 3-day King fishing license, I headed to the Susitna River Friday night to await the stroke of 12, when fishing would open, with the river closing to fishing at midnight the following Monday. (To ensure enough of the fish make it upriver to spawn, Fish & Game enforces strict limits on when, where and how one can fish for Kings.) With wild yells and the simultaneous casting of over a hundred rods, the battle began.

Combat fishing begins

King fishing is in a class of its own: with most fishing you are trying to entice your prey to strike a lure they perceive as a meal, requiring the fisherman to retrieve his line in various ways mimicking natural bait, whether jigging, retrieving steadily, twitching, etc. Though I admit any success in fishing always involves a significant amount of luck, correct retrievals (along with the correct lure, location, and other factors) have great effect on one’s cast-to-catch ratio and make angling an interesting challenge (though worm and bobber fishing is fun, too). However, I have to say that fishing for King Salmon has to be the most monotonous fishing I’ve ever done. Because the salmon during their spawning run are not interested in eating, any strike on your hook comes from simply lucking out and casting your line near enough to a fish to trigger an instinct bite out of annoyance. The method as I’ve learned it is as follows:

1. Walk up and down the shore of the river, keeping a sharp eye out for any empty spaces larger than five feet. None? Try four feet. No luck? Then finally settle on a good looking spot about three feet wide.
2. DON’T LEAVE THAT SPOT! I don’t care what kind of emergency arises, it’s not worth the risk of losing your precious square of shoreline.
3. Cast out at about the 1 o’clock position, reel in a few turns, and follow your line with your pole as it drifts downriver, setting your hook with a big sweep at any semblance of a bite.
4. If you hear “Fish on!,” “Fish comin’ down!,” “Fish comin’ up!” or any other hint that someone has hooked a salmon, quickly reel in your line, lest you become tangled with the line which has a fish on one end and a perspiring, yelling and highly volatile human on the other. If this sad situation does occur, then you will certainly be subject to a violent bombardment of derogatory slurs and rude accusations, forcing you to call upon that inner reserve of pride to stop yourself from leaving the beach an ashamed and inept fisherman.
5. Around the 11 o’clock position, reel in your line. But be prepared: I’ve calculated that about one in every four casts results in a tangling of your line with some other fellow’s. Proper etiquette requires the angler closest to the intersection of the two lines to undo them—beware, they can be nasty.
6. Repeat steps 3-5 as many times as you can handle. (I figured I averaged one cast per minute, and I fished for 22 hours during the weekend, so that’s 1,320 casts with a heavy rod and reel. You’ve heard of tennis elbow? I had a bad case of salmon wrist.)

You’ll notice a blatantly absent piece of information in these instructions: how to bring in a King once you have him on your hook. Alas, during the span of three days and 22 hours of fishing, I failed to catch one of these marine behemoths (the average caught that weekend was about 30 pounds; world record is 97 lbs 4 oz, caught on the Kenai River here in AK). I did hook one on Saturday, but after a brief struggle I had to follow my quickly (and proudly) announced “Fish on!” with a much quieter mumbling of “Fish off.” Oh well, the silvers should be coming in soon.

(While fishing Monday afternoon I learned I had been the subject of much discussion on the shores of the Susitna that weekend—it seems someone spotted me arriving in the State truck, but instead of assuming I was a government worker sneaking off to fish, a conjecture I feared might be made (don’t worry, I fished on my days off), I was labeled as an undercover agent for the Alaska Department of Fish & Game. No wonder I got those evil looks and a slightly wider fishing berth.)

A female Northern Pintail (Anas acuta) with her chicks on the Susitna River

On Wednesday we headed up to the recently opened Hatcher Pass Road (it’s only accessible for two months due to snow) to deliver some items to the trail crew stationed at the State Rec Area there.

You can see why this road is closed for ten months

Jacob snapped this photo when we stopped at Summit Lake on the way up
The tiny beige line in the middle of the right half of the photo is Hatcher Pass Rd

This road through the mountains offers spectacular, sweeping views, but I can’t give due photographic justice to this magnificent area without returning when I have more time to shoot, so you’ll have to take my word for now.

This morning the trail crew had an exciting encounter with a young black bear, probably two years old. After delivering firewood to the South Rolly Campground, we were riding on the Nancy Lake Parkway when we spotted the bear near Bald Lake, munching on dandelions by the asphalt. We slowed to take some pictures, but this bear proved even more curious than we were. (Play the video below to see what I mean. And yes, my window was open.)