An Alaskan Adventure – Part 4

Extraction day

I flip and flop like a fish in my sleeping bag, searching for any peace, as the rain continuously beats upon our fragile nylon fort. Glancing at my watch, and it showing 4:24am, doesn’t add to the mood.  “Damn, three more hours of this crap,” I snort.
“Yep,” chuckles Will. It seems he has already given in and is trying to find his own peace.

As much as I want out of this nightmare, I have no interest in exploring the cold, dark, and wet world, no matter how badly I have to go to the bathroom. I utter a few negative remarks, which do not fall on deaf ears, as Will rolls over for the hundredth time agreeing. The darkness holds firm to the night as the clouds continue to release moisture, prolonging a much-anticipated start to our day. James was first out of the tents and packing gear as the clouds drain the remainder of their moisture. Will and I crawl out of our sleeping bags to find a large puddle of water at our feet.

I half-heartedly mop the puddle with a hand towel, and soon give in to the rationale that we are flying out of here today, and everything else is wet. Just pack it up and worry about it later. After three days of this, I realize now the one item I regret not bringing (other than the mosquito mask on day one) was a better rain coat. I brought two light weight rain jackets thinking I could switch back and forth. I didn’t think about the part of trying to dry one out while wearing the other during a rain storm. So, with a slight breeze accompanied by occasional gusts, I take every opportunity to hang my wet jackets any place I can. Will managed to find something to eat while James was landing fish, so urgency seemed paramount. We are less than two miles from our 4:00 pm extraction point. What’s the rush? Oh yeah, not matter the time, conditions, or the mood you can always catch fish here. So as protocol dictates, and out of habit, our gear was stowed, and three lines were in the water before 9:00 am.

I step into a river that is quite different. It has widened, become more uniform, and seems to carry a bit more depth. The landscape is confusing, I know we are close to Karluk Lagoon which connects to the ocean, but I still cannot see beyond the next hill. The only comforting thing is the hundreds of seagulls and the faint whiff of saltwater. I cast my line with mixed emotions. I am wet and tired, and a bit hungry, but the previous three days have been so incredible that I deal with listening to my stomach growl in the rain. Plus, I haven’t seen a bear for quite some time now, so I’m sensing civilization.

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The skies are lifting and showing signs of favorable flying conditions. Our job is to be at the extraction point at 4:00 pm, the weather’s job is to allow our pilot to come get us. We have extra provisions and could camp at the lagoon, but only for so long. I keep peeking at the sky, and it’s hit and miss, so I go back to fishing. We start to feel the influence of Alaska’s historic tides, when the current started changing directions. This accompanied by the rain has caused a surge in the number of fish entering the river. We are getting close to the opening gates of nature, and there is nothing but squawking seagulls everywhere. 

I try to follow James’s lead in finding water to fish, and everywhere he stops, one of the three of us end up with a tight line. Beyond the next bend we see a small island dividing the river. 

“Hey, let’s pull over and grab a bite to eat,” yells James.

“Perfect, I gotta pee,” I mutter grabbing my oars to head over there. As the three of us cruise into the shore of this great picnic island, a huge male grizzly bolts out of the bush, runs across the channel looking back at us like we were aliens, which wasn’t that much of a stretch if you think about it. You can never let your guard down here. I had almost wiped the thought of bears out of my head. We sat and broke bread, swapped pictures, made fun of each other, and without knowing it, celebrated our week together. Amongst gathering our gear and looking toward extraction a few hours away, I noticed I had two freeze-dried dinners, a couple packs of oatmeal, and an apple. The skies seem in the mood for a plane to navigates its way to our rescue, but if we had to hold out for a few more nights, we could.

With the swell of the tide came more fish and more current, so we struggled against it trying to make ground, or try and fish. I was feeling angst. I didn’t want to wake from this dream, but the wet and cold have taken a grip, and now I’m fighting white caps as the tide is surging upriver.

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 Every time I cast, my line travels upstream behind me, and looking downstream, I see two local residents taking advantage of the fish. The bears have almost become a second thought now. After four days and over forty bears I now consider myself a weekend expert on these creatures. We bark a few faint “Hey bear!” and they don’t care. Various size groups of birds extended their wings letting the wind lift them off the surface. As more and more groups elevated, the bears, annoyed by our intrusion, eased across the stream to the far bank.  

I followed James, watching him fish every square inch down to the last mile. We were actually making good time and the clouds were leaking pockets of blue, and I saw James tangling with an acrobatic silver and quickly maneuvered my way to assist. As I netted his beautiful Silver salmon, I didn’t want to let it go. I didn’t want to let any of this go, but we had to. Five minutes later, Will came to my rescue securing my best Dolly Varden of the trip. Alaska never seems to disappoint.

Releasing my last fish of the trip throws a magnificent spin to my week. The lagoon is there and our plane is in flight, and I am ready for a cheeseburger. Letting go of this fish reminds me of this incredible place I may never see again. We took pictures and reminisced forcing our way into the lagoon towards our extraction point. Will had contacted our pilot and confirmed he was in route to pick us up at 4:00 pm. 

I followed James into the only flat landscape we could find that wasn’t littered in dead salmon carcasses and beached our boats. My watch read 3:15 pm.

“Perfect fellas,” I said.
“We did it boys, halleluiah,” yelled James.
“This place is awesome. Look at the lagoon we are sitting next to,” I said exhaling.
“You see those two bears over there?” I commented.
“Oh yeah, next to the forest cabin?” Will asked.
“Yep,” I said, as if they were deer or something.

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By now, whether it was lying in rotting salmon, or not, the gear was processed and ready for flight without thinking. We hear the faint buzz of our pilot and see him crest the hill flying right over the top of us and circling the lagoon. It was exhilarating seeing our plane bank around the mountain and land in front of us, but there was a part of me that wanted to be left out here forever. 

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What a privilege it is for me to be standing here, where very few people have. This is a place that illustrates life for all of us. It’s a place that oozes peace and tranquility, teaching us the graciousness in life, and yet not afraid to punish you for ill thinking. 

It was comforting to see to our same pilot, and to feel the positive energy he departed the plane with. Equally as eager to see him, we chucked our salmon-soaked gear in the back of the plane, took a couple last photos, and played rock-paper-scissors for the front seat. It must be my week, because I was sitting next to the pilot trying to pay attention to the safety rules this time. He revs the engine, flips a few knobs, and jerks a lever or two until we slide across the glass surface. Picking up speed the plane quietly lifts, letting go of its runway and leaving trails of its existence floating in the wind. Instead of flying directly across Kodiak Island as in our entrance, our pilot swings us around and skirts the edge of one of the most volatile Islands on earth. 

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Again, the two plane rides gave me a wide scope of the absolute pure nature we were in, and the amazement that a true frontier still exists. Alaska is inspiring, the landscape is intimidating, the people are hard core, and this place is the real edge of it all. 

Greasy burgers and crazy stories carried us through dinner and into drying out everything. By now, the smell of fish has permeated everything and I don’t mind now that there aren’t any bears around. We enjoy modern conveniences, and appreciate getting out of the bush as the weather turns brutal. Another day, and they wouldn’t have been able to get us out. We were fortunate enough to purchase our room for another night as hurricane force winds shut down the airport leaving us stranded on an island. The extra time afforded us the luxury of relaxing and appreciating what we just accomplished. The weather and dust always clear, but between the storms are where memories are made. It’s always about the journey. From planning and packing, to seeing and achieving, the people you share these experiences with become family, and this was a true bucket list trip.

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Jeremie Loble is head of production Water Master Rafts in Stevensville, MT. He has been building rafts since 2000. He is a graduate from the University of Montana with a bachelor’s degree in Business Management. He divides his time between his addiction to fish, and raising his two daughters. Born and raised in Montana, Jeremie has devoted over forty years towards angling, hunting, and conservation. His goals each angling season include: fishing a new body of water, catching a new species, putting in more angling days than the previous year, and most importantly, go fishing with someone new.

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