| I took a quick inventory of the passengers as we cut through the savage chop at Eldorado Narrows on the way around Cape Resurrection. The size of the waves was visibly on the increase, and Captain Will took moment to pause. Years spent patrolling the waters from the port of Seward—the seemingly endless bays, passages and capes—had built a fish-hardened and skilled fisherman, someone who relishes the challenge of seeking and conquering anything with fins. Taking a mental snapshot of our mixed crew, he appeared to be on the brink between calling off the day or challenging nature to unlock its larders one more time, despite adverse conditions. I posed the question to those still awake, and with a twinkle in Will’s eye, we headed for silver salmon.
Seventy-two hours earlier, I picked up a 30-foot Class C motorhome from Great Alaska Holidays and headed home to load up for three days of camping and fishing on the Kenai Peninsula. Mom was visiting from Virginia Beach and wife Ana and son Charlie joined in for the adventure. Aunt Melissa and Uncle Wayne came down with their truck and camper, too. We’d start by fishing for pinks in Hope, a little primer for the fishing to come, and loads of fun for kids of all ages. It’s here that we broke-in Charlie’s Spiderman pole and Ana and Mom took turns casting spinners and landing salmon. Melissa and Wayne took pictures, unhooked fish, and chased Charlie around.
The following morning put us at the boat launch at Sportsman’s Landing on the upper Kenai, ready to float in the Clackacraft drift boat from Sportsman’s to Jim’s Landing. The sockeye run was in progress, and despite high-water conditions, expectations were good for fresh reds. The first run, mainly Russian River-bound fish, was as productive as we had ever experienced. Large numbers of 7- to 9-pound sockeye had found their way to the end of our lines, and broken leaders, bruised knuckles and lots of succulent sockeye fillets had occupied our time three weeks earlier.
Despite best efforts, fishing was slow. A few sockeye were landed, but it required effort and some walking and stalking. I found it best to walk the high bank and spot for fish before entering the water and casting to small pods. The high water seemed to have moved the fish all over, and we spent most of the day in casting practice.
Later that evening we arrived in Seward and were met by John Norris, Wayne’s father, and Monica McCoy, admin extraordinaire from the Fish Alaska Anchorage headquarters. Conditions were rough and the driving rain and gusting wind foretold a cancelled trip for the following day. But as any eternally optimistic group of fishermen will do, we woke at dawn and headed to the harbor to meet Will aboard Glacier Fishing Charter’s Noble Eagle. Surprisingly the weather had cleared and we were able to get out.
Upon arriving in Johnstone Bay, lines were lowered to mooch for silvers. Banana weights above cut-plug herring allowed anglers to experience the whole process—from finding the zone where the silvers hovered to feeling the bite on the way up or down and then, of course, to hooking the coho. According to Will, when the bite is on, it’s ON. We drifted over a school of silvers and immediately began fighting fish. We’d hoped to get out of the wind, and thus the majority of the chop, but the weather was not cooperating and the bite was slow. Nevertheless, the beginning of a limit of silvers took shape in the fish hold, and Will made the intelligent decision to go find a more protected cove to fish for bottomfish. We’d come back and fish for silvers later.
Upon entering protected water, the weather began to cooperate. The waves flattened out and sun began to emerge. After anchoring, lines baited with herring and salmon heads were sent to the bottom to begin to call halibut. Fish arrived steadily and hit the decks. We found ourselves with an ample amount of perfect-sized eating fish—25- to 40-pounders. Occasionally something of greater size would come nibbling, but the two big ones that pulled rod tips to the water level did not stay hooked. Upon rounding out a 12-fish limit, Will set course for lingcod and rockfish territory.
No sooner had the jigging began when multiple rods bent under the weight of the denizens of the deep. Multiple 15-pound yelloweye arrived at the surface at about the same time, when one of the reels began peeling off line. Clearly this was a bigger fish and after a short, but hard-fought battle, we all gathered at the stern to watch a 50-pound lingcod break the surface. Anglers had stripped down to short sleeves under blue skies and almost non-existent winds.
We returned to the silver salmon grounds and began to waylay fish at an impressive rate. Thirty minutes transpired and we’d limited the boat on coho. What had started as a near cancellation had turned into a wonderful day spent catching fish and enjoying one another’s company. And this is the moral of the story: you can’t control the fish and the weather, but you can control your own attitude and expectations. On this day, a group of optimistic, realistic and thankful anglers were rewarded for their efforts. That and when you are in Seward, go out with Captain Will—you’ll catch fish.
—Marcus Weiner
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