Northwest Reel Life April 2023 Volume 2 Issue 10 - Flipbook - Page 27
I had just never done it in a location
as remote as Bristol Bay. I read
somewhere once that people who
go to Alaska for work are either
running from something, looking
for something, or they are just too
stupid to get a job anywhere else. I
was all three. Maybe not too stupid
to work somewhere else, but I was
checking boxes on my resume. I
needed Alaska experience to go
where I really wanted to go. Trouble
was that I had inadvertently fallen
in love with Bristol Bay. She turned
out to be the dirtiest mistress a
fishing guide could have. The one
that I couldn’t walk away from. The
one that will kill you if you stay too
long and ruin you if you leave too
early. Bristol Bay has a way of doing
both, no matter what you do.
If someone wanted to know
exactly which part of Bristol Bay
kept me returning for almost two
decades, my answer would be “all
of it.” Alaska is, without a doubt,
the biggest adventure anyone
can have. I’m sure somewhere in
Siberia there is a bigger adventure
but none of us are going there
to do it any time soon. At least
in my lifetime it seems that will
be the case. Alaska has a certain
captivating quality which speaks
to those who are in fact, running,
looking, or lost. Fishing fixes most
everything and float planes fix
everything else. Alaska has that in
spades.
But honestly, as I sit here today
trying to find a way to put in words
that justly convey my experiences,
the one thing that keeps coming
to mind is the salmon migration. I
lived for the days of hunting fresh,
dime bright, chrome salmon
straight in from the bay. No matter
if I was up late studying weather
patterns and maps trying to find
a way to fly or if I was running a
jet boat 50 miles one way down
river to tidewater, it was the same
rush. The satisfaction of watching
waves of fish push a wake while
migrating upriver, just as they have
done for thousands of years. I lived
for it. Dreamed about it. It’s the only
thing I miss. This is the first summer
in so many years that I have not
been there for the migration. A
couple nights ago, I dreamed
about it. I was in the hip deep
tidewater of the lower Branch.
Fishing with my favorite 14’ spey
rod. Chrome kings were streaming
by, pushing wake. The tides were
right, the skies were overcast and
there was just enough wind to
keep the mosquitoes at bay. Life
was perfect.
In my dream, I just stood there
watching the wakes push upriver.
Not fishing, not casting. Just
puffing on a cigar and watching
the whole thing happen. The
dream was clearly a ridiculous
romanticized abomination.
Probably forced into my thoughts
subliminally by some social media
algorithm that doesn't really want
people to fish, only act like they
fish. Anyone that knows me knows
that I can't smoke. It makes me
deathly ill the next day. Worse than
a hangover. I wish I could smoke
cigars. It looks really cool. Most
importantly though, the same
people that know I can't smoke
also know that if I’m breathing
and capable of standing in the
lower Branch, there is absolutely
no chance I am not gonna swing
for kings on a fresh high tide. No
chance. Not now, not ever. It’s the
one thing that will bring me out of
retirement. Maybe next season..........
AUG 2023 | 27