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I don't know why it takes so much prodding
to wrangle certain fishing buddies away from the rivers and persuade them to
follow me into area lakes. One of those buddies was Richard Kelso.
Originally from Ireland, Richard had made his way to the Kenai Peninsula via
Australia. At the time I met him, he was completely caught up in river
fishing-understandable, considering he and his wife Kelly had spent the past
several years Down Under, where there's a preoccupation with sight-fishing
for large rainbow and brown trout. Still, every time I accompanied Richard
to a river, I tried to entice him into the Swan Lake/Swanson River Canoe
trails, my backyard playground and a fisherman's paradise encompassing two
river systems and over 70 lakes. I had tried everything to get him to come
along, coaxing him with tales of 30 to 40 fish afternoons and stories of
20-inch lunkers casually sipping dry flies off the open plains of still
water.
Perhaps he grew tired of my prodding, but I
prefer to think he noticed the deep sense of satisfaction that accompanied
me home from each of these trips. For whatever reason, he finally agreed to
join me. After clearing a couple of days on his calendar, we set out to
portage and paddle our way to one of my favorite lakes. With the heightened
sense of expectation, I could only hope that fishing would be half as good
as I had promised.
Almost immediately upon hitting the trails, we were taken
by the solitude and renewal these lakes offer. A feeling of wonder seized us
as the remnants of early morning fog skirted a skyline of treetops and
snow-capped peaks, the spell cast complete with the distant shrill of
coyotes and the haunting echo of the Arctic loon. And beneath the heavy veil
of the canoe, the smell of leaves scattered over the portage trail conjured
up some faint trace of the past. Something pervasive and nostalgic.
Something that reminded me of the decades-old smell of my grandfather's
cigar. That stifling odor of old reel oil and moldering hackle feathers.
That sweet unbridled bliss, the almost unbearable anticipation of an opening
day long ago.
That reverie, however, was broken as we began to pass
piles of fresh bear scat, nature's calling card welcoming us deeper into the
wildlife refuge. As always, carrying the canoe over my head, I wondered what
I'd do if a bear followed. Would I drop the boat and find a tree to climb,
or would I drop and hide beneath the canoe like a turtle in a Kevlar shell?
Fortunately, bear encounters are relatively rare here and in the past have
always ended quickly. I don't think these bruins want anything to do with
the strange, amphibious creatures, the canoe-heads, that descend upon their
trails every summer.
With the portages flat and the paddling easy, we made it
to our lake in near record time-not even the slightest breeze impeding our
progress. After making camp on the lake's lone island and sharing a late
lunch (or perhaps an early dinner), we set out. So far luck had been with
us. There had been trips in which the weather had pinned me down, the wind
making it difficult to hold a canoe in place let alone cast a line, long
hours spent curled up in the sleeping bag, reading about fishing rather than
actually doing it. But on this day there was nothing but wisps of quiet
sunshine and a pale blue, uncluttered sky for as far as the eye could see.
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It was difficult to contain my excitement as we pushed
off, so calm I felt somehow guilty at the intrusion of my paddle into the
stillness of the lake. Yet there was a warmth to life on this particular
afternoon, a wealth of enchantment cast with each stroke as we made our way
to the far end of the lake, to one of the many "weed forests" that exist a
few feet below its surface.
Richard, unable to resist trying a dry fly, tied on an
attractor-a Royal Wulff-despite the seeming lack of flying insects. I
decided to dip below the surface with the tried-and-true: a small green lake
leech. I cast out as far as I could and tried to be patient, waiting for the
fly to sink. But being a bit too patient, I snagged. Then, just as I
loosened my fly and began to bring it home, I was startled by a sharp howl
of delight, a howl accompanied by the sound of Richard's line snapping to
attention.
Unable for a moment to respect the stillness of the
setting, I let out a cry of my own-in jubilation but also relief; relief
that we were into our first fish, an omen that bid well for the rest of the
afternoon.
After helping Richard net a sleek, 18-inch rainbow, I
quickly laid out a second cast. This time I began my retrieve earlier, an
excruciatingly slow return, with a slight wiggle of the fly here and there,
just enough to keep it undulating above the weed bed. It wasn't long this
time before a sharp jolt interrupted me, my own beautiful 'bow bounding out
of the water not 10 feet away. And this one, for the lakes, was a
monster-one of those rare 20-inch-plus behemoths, pirouetting wildly around
the boat.
While I certainly love all the rivers we have to choose
from in Alaska, there's something unique in this dance, something pure in
the way the rod bends, in feeling the full impact of a fish in still water.
Whether it's the fireworks of a silver-pleated rainbow tailwalking around
the boat or a Dolly dressed to the hilt in the red and gold of its spawning
colors, going on a magnificent deep-water run, it's an encounter that
borders on the sublime. It was an experience Richard and I would share
numerous times before the sunlight faded and drew its amber curtain over our
first afternoon-forcing us, rather reluctantly, to return to camp. And as we
went, I knew that next time I'd have no trouble convincing Richard to come
along. A convert, he was already planning a follow-up trip.
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Equipment and Tactics:
The Swan Lake/Swanson River Canoe System, part of the
Kenai National Wildlife Refuge, supports large populations of both rainbow
trout and Dolly Varden. It is connected to civilization by a narrow braid of
dirt road that begins at Mile 83.5 of the Sterling Highway. As a rule, the
further you venture from the road, the better the fishing, a fact that
provides plenty of incentive to take up the paddle and head into the system
for an extended stay. On any lake within this area, a canoe or float tube
makes fishing much easier, not only because of the thick brush that often
fringes the shoreline but because the weed beds where these fish dwell-and,
more importantly, feed-are not always found close to the shore. Often they
sprout well beyond casting range, near shoals, sometimes even in the middle
of a lake.
On unfamiliar lakes, it's a good idea to begin by
trolling, trailing a large weighted fly or a favorite spinner while scouting
out weed beds and looking for fish on the rise. Those not of the flyfishing
persuasion will want to tackle area lakes with an ultralight spinning
outfit, rigged with quality 6-pound test line. Any variety of small spinner
or spoon ( J to G-ounce) is effective: Krocodiles, Rooster Tails, Super
Dupers, Triple Teasers, and especially, the Mepp's Syclops in green or
silver. And just because you are using spinning gear, don't be adverse to
trying a large weighted fly, such as a Woolly Bugger or egg-sucking leech,
over the weed beds.
Fly fishermen will want a 3 or 4-weight rod with a
floating line and about 10 feet of tapered leader. If you only have one rod,
this allows you to easily switch from dry-fly fishing to wet with a
split-shot or the addition of a "lead head." However, as dry-fly fishing is
only an option about 10 percent of the time, you may want to carry a
sink-tip or (especially in deep lakes) a full sinking line, which is fished
with a much shorter leader of about 4 feet. This is where more than one rod
comes in handy. If one breaks, you are prepared, but it also allows you the
luxury of being able to fish either on or below the surface without the
rigamarole of changing lines.
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Favorite dry flies are the Adams, black gnat, and the
ever-present mosquito, in Nos. 10 to 18. It's also wise to carry mayflies as
well as midges and various sizes (8 to 18) of the Elk Hair Caddis. Whenever
you see beetles on the lily pads around these lakes, try a Crowe Beetle of
approximately the same size, often the food of choice for hungry rainbows.
If nothing is rising, go below the surface with your
favorite streamer, Wooly Bugger, or Wooly Worm. Try Nos. 14 through 20 in a
mosquito nymph or a Hare's Ear of the same size. But do not trek to one of
these lakes without a lake leech-a weighted leech pattern tied entirely with
black, green, or brown marabou, on a No. 6 to 10 hook. The only trouble with
these flies is that on certain lakes they're so effective it's difficult to
take them off in order to experiment with other patterns.
Whatever you do, get out on one of the many lakes that dot
the Alaska map. They are often accessible, and anyone with a little outdoor
savvy can get to them and fish without a guide-and in complete solitude.
They are truly the untapped gem of Alaska fishing and should not be
overlooked by serious anglers.
Dave Atcheson is a freelance writer from Sterling. His
book, Fishing Alaska's Kenai Peninsula, will be published by Countryman
Press later this year. |
