Three clearwater braids forked from the main channel, dissecting an extended gravel plateau left uncovered after the spring's higher flows. Upstream, on the farthest bank, just beyond a sweeping outside bend, a young brown-bear boar rooted around the alder in the search for something to eat. Downstream, the forks converged and the river once again steamed its way towards the coast. But here in the braids, a moderated flow prevailed, and several long pools sparkled in the day's brilliant sunlight.

I was fishing with a group from Rainbow King Lodge in Iliamna country, who had flown through the pass to enjoy a day's outing along the west coast of Cook Inlet. The group had already feasted on the sockeye fishing below the Newhalen Gorge and had chased trout everywhere from the small streams of Iliamna to the Katmai tributaries of the upper Alagnak system. It's not often, this early in the year, that anglers willingly give up the trout of Bristol Bay, and so I was enticed to come along and see what the fuss was all about.

With my first cast I hooked and landed a nice, three-pound Dolly with ginger-colored fins and lips. With my second, a four-pounder.

For no reason other than habit, I took two steps downstream and threw down three more drifts, all of which ended with another robust coastal Dolly.

I was fishing an olive and white Conehead Zuddler, and on the swing, each take was strong and snappish. It's the type of angling I prefer: down-and-across, tight line, solid hit; but after going five-for-five, even I figured a change was in order. I thusly tied on a Kiwi Muddler with a gold underbody. The results, for anyone who's had the good fortune to visit the coastal rivers of Katmai when the fishing is on, were predictable. Three fish in seven casts.

The olive Double Bunny: two-for-four.

Beaded Crystal Bugger: three-for-five.

Olive Matuka: two-for-ten and back into the box.

Now, I'm as partial to rainbow trout as anyone I've encountered, but if I absolutely have to forgo a day chasing redsides, this will do nicely.

While the fly-in lodges, the gravel-bottomed tundra streams, the bears, and the iconic rainbows of Katmai National Park and Preserve draw most of the acclaim, there is another side to the park-literally.

Separated from the rest of Katmai by the Aleutian Range, the park's eastern coast extends from the mouth of the Kamishak River in Kamishak Bay to Cape Kubugakli in Shelikof Strait. It represents a spectacular wilderness region, featuring everything from long, narrow fjords and U-shaped valleys to broad coastal flats, and a host of swiftly-flowing streams that-when in season-can offer some of the state's most explosive angling for both silver salmon and Dolly Varden char.

And actually, Katmai bear viewers will already know the coast well, as it's a regular fly-in destination for travelers wishing to watch and photograph the park's famous bruins at work. Some areas like the McNeil River-and unfortunately, Kaflia Bay-are world famous.

During early summer, the bears spend much of their time foraging on the coastal sedge flats at Swikshak, Chiniak, Hallo and Kukak bays. Once the salmon begin running, they'll then move to the streams and rivers to catch the abundant fish, and anglers will almost certainly find encounters commonplace. Bears are also known to clam along the tidal flats of the Katmai coast.

It's for the fantastic fishing, though, that I've always visited pockets of this 497-mile coastline, either departing from Homer or Kenai along the Southcentral road system, or like in the instance above, flying out for a day's diversion with the lodges of the Iliamna or Katmai regions.

Most of the angling effort expended along the coast centers on the coho fishing, which for fly fishers especially, far outpaces most silver opportunities available on the other side of the range. The Kamishak River probably represents the most notable coastal Katmai fishery, with a run that supports regular attention from the lodge crowd, including a few seasonal camps.

Rising from the coastal mountains of the park, the Kamishak flows northeast through a series of deep valleys and picks up water from a number of clearwater tributaries like the Little Kamishak and Strike Creek, becoming a fair-sized river before spilling onto the mudflats of Akumwarvik Bay. Access to much of the water, including the braided middle portions, is gained by jetboats stationed by the lodges and fly-out services in the lower reaches of the river. The coho fishing typically picks up in early August, while the Dollies are strong in both early season and late.

For us on this excursion, there was only the latter, though late in the day, moving back downriver in anticipation of our floatplane pickup, we stalled in a few of the slower moving tidal channels and there I was able to break out the Spey rod and wear out my arms casting to several held-over pods of chum salmon. The sun was still out, Mount Augustine lorded over the distant horizon and three different Katmai brown bears visited our gravel bars to check out the action.

It wasn't trout fishing, but it was still Katmai-and typical in both the fishing and the scenery, as well as in the fact that I wanted to return almost as soon as I left.