Back in the Saddle

Now that I've totally alienated my readership* by taking yet another prolonged hiatus, I figured it's well past time to get back on the blogging horse and provide some sort of update.  Things are starting to crank back up in Southcentral and it's already late May so I'll gloss past our epic snow year and stick to the fishing.

As I mentioned in my last post, this year was all about fishing--even in the dead of winter.  To that end, Sam and I kicked things off with some very early season fishing.

We turned down a powder day for this?

We both had hall passes from our familial obligations and met up with a bunch of friends the night before that had rented a house outside of town to catch a concert.  Suffice it to say that I can only pretend to party like I'm still 20 . . . and standing in 32-degrees water when it's snowing is a great hangover cure . . . even if the fish aren't cooperative.

* * *

Our first day out with the drift boat came sometime in April, and was a success.**  Grandma Jan was up visiting Mason and, once again, set the bar.  We ultimately tied into three fish that cold day, which was spectacular given the conditions and the short amount of time we were on the water, but only got one fish to the boat.

Jan, working on her grip-and-grin.

The Wife, taking advantage of Mason napping.

The Wife and I have been trying to think of a name for the drift boat.  Given the fact that Jan was about the only person on the entire river to catch a fish that day, and the success my mom had out of the boat last year when she came up to visit Mason, we might need to think about this developing trend as we consider our options.

* * *

Moving ahead in the calendar, not long ago I found myself down south a ways for work and had the opportunity to get out for the day.  It was classic Alaskana.  At various points we saw snow, rain and hail--and I still managed to get a mild sunburn.  We dodged humpbacks on the way out, chased steelhead in very skinny water all day, then had to evade a grizzly family on the way back.

Always fish the undercut bank.

* * *

The last real development is that I'm committing myself to spey casting for the next month or so.  I have a longer switch rod that I'll be using with the hopes of focusing on slightly different water than I usually fish.  It's early season, so you never know.

I've also been hitting the vise a fair amount this past week and tying up various tube flies, so we'll see how that turns out.  It's all new to me, but I came across this post and figured I'd give it a whirl.

Meet Mr. and Mrs. Sculpin.  The cones are separate from the rest of the fly.

* * *

So there you have it.  Now let's see, what got left out . . .

Well, for one thing, Mason now crawls and can't stay away from The Pooch's water bowl, which is constant entertainment--for Mason, at least.  I'm pretty sure he looked at me and said "dad" yesterday, but since he's only nine months old it was probably a coincidence. After all, "dad" sounds awfully similar to every other sound he makes.

I have a new job as of last week, which promises to be a significant upgrade as far as actually getting shit done.

And finally, The Blog is undergoing a bit of a revision.  Nothing formal, but if all things go according to plan you should notice a subtle change in content.  Although I take care not to specify where I fish, I'm a bit tired of providing the local fishing report so it's time to shake things up.  Stay tuned.
______________________

* Hi Mom.

** Hell, every day in the drift boat is a success--I could float circles in a mud puddle day after day and not get bored.

Jacks

I spent much of the past couple weeks in Southeast.  It was hard to be away from the kiddo, but it was good to get back to the real Alaska.  As I've said many times, Anchorage is an alright town . . . and its less than 30 minutes from Alaska.  But there's something special about Southeast.  Sure it's cold and it rains too damned much, but it feels as much like home as anywhere else I've been.

Your taxi has arrived.

While I would have loved to chase fish the whole time, I was on a work trip so much of my time was stuck in meetings.  Meetings about how to protect the Tongass and the incredible salmon runs it produces.  Meetings about how local communities might take advantage of burgeoning tourism and recreation to diversify and strengthen their local economies.  And meetings where I had to bite my tongue listening to people stuck in the past proposing yet another government handout in a region drowning in federal subsidies so the fortunate few can have a job clearcutting the last of our best national forest.  Oh, and in case it isn't obvious, your tax dollars (not mine, I'm an Alaskan*) would pay for all this.

While I could ride this soap box like it's a winning derby racer, this is a fishing blog so . . .

* * *

One of the great things about fishing--even when you're on water you've hit dozens or hundreds of times--is that you never really know what to expect.  Chase salmon in small or medium-sized streams and it gets even more unpredictable.  Add in the fact that I hadn't fished this water since 2005 (on my wedding day, no less) and I really didn't know what I'd find.

An old friend at low flows.

As expected, a little late for the pinks.

I only had a few hours after my meetings before it got dark.  While I figured most of the salmon runs were done, I held out hope that I might find decent flows and hook into a few dollies; if I was luckly, maybe I'd find a coho.

Pink redds exposed by low flows.

Coho are amazing fish.  Generally, they hatch in spring, spend a year-and-a-half or so in fresh water, migrate out to the ocean for a year or two, then return to their natal stream to spawn.  However, like many salmon, a very small portion of coho salmon (usually males) may never go out to the ocean or may only spend a very brief period in salt water before spawning.  Usually, these younger spawners, sometimes called jacks, only account for a very small fraction (maybe 1% or less) of the total spawning population.  I had seen a handful of Chinook and steelhead jacks during my prior work, but never seen a coho jack.  Somehow I found the mother lode.

A chrome coho about 14 inches long caught swinging an FMF.

Pulled out from right on top of the last one.

Another, for scale

While I would have loved to hook into one of their older (and larger) brethren, I managed to grab onto four of these mini coho and a couple coastal cutthroat.  It certainly wasn't what I expected, especially considering the odds, but a pretty good time nonetheless.

I went to bed that night excited for the next evening when I had a little more time to get out after my meetings.  Of course, it rained like it only can in Southeast and when I went to the river the next day the water had raised about three feet.  Standing ankle deep in the river but ten feet back into the woods, I made a dozen or so halfhearted casts into the milky-mud flow before turning back and calling it a day.

With any luck, the people who want to privatize the Tongass and turn it into a stump farm won't get their way and, when I return next time, the flows will be perfect and every coho will have spent at least two years in the ocean.

* Yes, I too pay federal taxes.  But the state pays me and this too often is the mentality up here.

Out of the office

I've been traveling a ton over the past few weeks--Juneau three weeks ago, Seattle last week, and now back to southeast.  Of course, not all work travel is bad:

A workshop for practicioners

I spent today--from 8:30 this morning until roughly 9:00 tonight--in day one of a two-and-a-half day climate change litigation workshop.  In reflecting back on the day, I'm not sure if I should dedicate my life to fighting climate change or move farther inland, build a bunker and stockpile supplies.  Between government programs to fight climate change that do so little to solve the problem they're hardly worth doing, corporate subversion of the public interest, and a carbon emission trajectory that puts us well beyond levels that any sane person could consider safe, it's all too easy to conclude the problem is insurmountable and head for the hills.

I heard a notable climate scientist today explain in one breath that 350 ppm should be our target, then in his next breath describe how increasingly difficult it would be to obtain even a "conservative"--his word--goal of 450 ppm.  If it's "conservative" to contemplate a goal that all but ensures a fundamental and unpredictable change in the ability of our planet to sustain life, we're screwed. 

* * *

I've read of soldiers, hunkered down on the beaches of Normandy, forcing themselves to move onward up the beachhead only after realizing that staying put meant certain death.  Yeah, the incoming barrage of bombs and bullets may have made hiding behind a chunk of debris or in a crater the safest place on D-Day, but stay put too long and you're dead.

War analogies may grow tired and certainly are overused, but become completely appropriate where the ability of the earth to sustain life is concerned.  At some point, we must recognize that business as usual is certain death--if not for you or me, for many others--and push on up that beachhead.

Tomorrow morning, I'll venture back to the conference room, load up on coffee, consider the fact that my home is barely above sea level, and brainstorm what the hell to do about it.  Do I charge up that beachhead or seek shelter?  Dedicate myself to the cause or head to the hills? 

In truth, I think I'll do a bit of both--and I suggest you do the same.

Put this in the "The Wife's job is better than mine" category

While I was slaving away this past week behind a desk, The Wife was posing as a client for the Bristol Bay Fly Fishing Academy.

She calls this "work."  And while that's debatable, the Academy is a pretty cool program that helps young locals learn the tools of the guiding trade and (hopefully) find work with local lodges and outfitters.  They needed someone to act as a client for the guides-in-training, which is where The Wife comes in.

From the Bristol Bay Fly Fishing Academy website:

Most people who visit Bristol Bay want to fish. And most of them want to fish with a local, home-grown guide who knows the waters, the wildlife, the people and the way of life here. That’s why we’re training the region’s young people to explore careers as guides – so they might stay in the region, earn a prosperous living, advocate for the health of the watershed and offer visitors an authentic experience of one of our country’s most special natural places.

Of course, if they're gainfully employed in the sport fishing industry, they're less likely to advocate for the development of a huge copper mine that would destroy local sport fishing.

A gluttonous tragedy

I first ventured to Alaska in earnest in 2003, well after the heyday, to work a seasonal fisheries job for the U.S. Forest Service in southeast Alaska.  I had just been accepted to law school and was looking for one last epic opportunity to chase fish. 

You really ought to click that picture and make it a bit bigger.

Having, to that point, been almost exclusively a catch-and-release angler who valued fish first and foremost for their intrinsic and sporting value, I was disgusted to see people with readily-available alternative food sources setting gill nets across entire stream widths that effectively blocked entire salmon runs, dipnetting more than they possibly could consume in a single year, and generally killing everything in sight in an orgy of overabundance and shortsightedness.  Yeah, your freezer might be full this winter, but what about the winter a few years from now?

I was disappointed, but not surprised, to later learn that one of the most prolific sockeye fisheries in that area had been closed.  From a 2008 news release:

The weir count to date is 90 sockeye. The weir count in 2007, as of the same date, was 2765 . . .

***

As I eluded to in my last post, The Wife and I spent the Fourth of July weekend fishing and camping.  I had pulled an all-nighter on Thursday in order to meet a work deadline and was in no condition to go anywhere after work on Friday but bed.  It had been a rough week.

Come Saturday morning, we geared up and headed north with our good friends Sam and Liz.  Because King Season was in full swing, we had planned to avoid the combat-fishing crowds and target areas farther up stream for rainbows.  Seemed to make sense at the time since few things repulse me more than rubbing shoulders on the stream bank with people too self interested to see beyond the tip of their fishing rod. 

From some exploring I had done last year, I had some ideas about where to go.  We drove down a too-narrow-for-my-truck two-track road to the river with hopes that we might have the place to ourselves.  Of course, we did not:

The first day only afforded us an afternoon on the water before calling it and heading back to the rig to set up camp and cook some grub.  Of course, the camera wasn't around when I hooked into my best fish--a feisty rainbow around 20" that almost got away from me down a side channel on the far side of the river.  By the time the camera came back, all I had to show for my efforts was this stick, broken roughly to the proper length and every bit as exciting to Karta as the real thing:

With the camera back in tow, Liz grabbed a hold of this guy:

 Got's to put forth the effort (there's a dog in there too):

Of course, it rained all night and by morning the too-narrow-for-my-truck two-track road turned into a too-muddy-for-my-truck two-track road:

Yeehaw!  With much coercion, we forced things along and made it back to pavement after only an hour or two delay.

While neither The Wife nor I managed to take a single picture for the remainder of Sunday the Fourth, we worked our way north, exploring new streams before ultimately enjoying beers in Talkeetna, then turning back to a nearly vacant campground that allowed us to stretch our legs a bit.  We definitely saw more people on the water than I cared to see, but I can't complain about the crowds where we chose to camp.

Having fished hard for two days with very limited success (no fish were caught on Sunday), we headed back to a familiar stream hoping to up our catch rate.  Sam found some Chinook schooling up in this big bend:

And soon thereafter we started hooking fish:

And the rainbow version:

The Wife sending it:

After all was said and done, we had had a great weekend.  We fished hard, ripped a little lip, shotgunned a couple PBRs, and generally had a great time--but something was missing.  Something was off.  For the peak of Chinook season, we only saw a handful of salmon.  There might have been more people on some of these creeks than salmon.

Little did I know, since we were planning to chase rainbows all along, but the Chinook fishery was in such dire straights that it had been closed.  This is Alaska folks.  What the hell?

Thinking back to my days in southeast Alaska, I couldn't help but wonder about the individual and collective greed that likely led to these low salmon abundance numbers.  Apparently, I'm not the only one with these thoughts.  In more eloquent words that I might provide, you really ought to give this opinion piece by a Mr. Wittshirk a read.  It's better fare than anything the ADN typically provides.

Since it's late, I'll leave you to come to your own conclusions here . . . but I can't help but look for some sort of lesson.  With our ridiculous history of overfishing and short-term fisheries management--in southeast Alaska, here locally, and in nearly every other fishery in the world--perhaps . . .

Heading out the door

There is something quite satisfying about calling opposing counsel at 4:00 p.m. on the Friday before the Fourth of July weekend and informing her that, because of the mess her client created, you are in the process of filing an emergency temporary restraining order that she only has five days to respond to . . . then walking out the door to a weekend of fishing.

Some people call this fishing

We took the interns* to float the upper Kenai on Thursday from Cooper Landing to Jim's Landing.

One of the most ridiculous things about the Kenai is the combat fishing at the Russian.  [As always, click to enlarge].

It was like this for almost two miles on both banks.  Unbelievable.

This is more my speed:

* Karta is not an intern.

This is just too ripe to pass on

*UPDATE - The Kenai Peninsula Borough Assembly failed to adopt the resolution opposing the Grant Lake project by a vote of 6-2.

So you know that death march I went on a bit ago?  Yeah, that's right, the one with all the devil's club, downfall and bitchen falls at the end: 

Well, as it turns out, I'm not the only one who enjoys seeking out interesting spots on the map.  You see, our good friends at the Homer Electric Association think that damming and diverting this falls is a great idea--never mind the fact that it is a prime salmon-producing tributary of Kenai River.

Those bastards.

And just what makes this so timely, you might ask?  Well, at tonight's Kenai Peninsula Borough meeting, Mayor Carey and Assembly Member McClure are introducing a resolution to formalize the Borough's opposition to the project.  Additionally, the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission is soliciting scoping comments on the project, which are due July 6.

I haven't spent too much time looking at this, but I did notice that the Alaska Department of Fish and Game's Anadromous Fish Catalog lists coho as present up to the falls, but not beyond--something that was updated just this year.

I'm thinking a coho salmon can get past.  What say you?  Any interest in repeating the death march this September to find out?  It's a little beyond the scope of my typical work project, but I just might have to weigh in on this one.

Above the Arctic Circle

Work had me in Anaktuvuk Pass last night to attend an Alaska DNR public hearing on some proposed coal prospecting permits.  Anaktuvuk Pass is a Nunamiut village of about 300 people that lies on the northern foothills of the Brooks Range, just north of the Arctic Circle within Gates of the Arctic National Park.  While there's regular air taxi service and a few non-native people living in Anaktuvuk Pass, a significant portion of the population speaks Eskimo as their primary language.  A few individuals know no English.

Historically, Nunamiut people were somewhat nomadic, relying on the large caribou herds, abundant dolly varden and whitefish populations, and plentiful berries to sustain them throughout the years.  While people in Anaktuvuk Pass no longer are nomadic, subsistence hunting and fishing, berry picking, and many of the traditional values remain.  Of course, the DNR's proposed coal prospecting permits would be the first step in developing a coal mine right on top of important caribou habitat, something the locals want nothing to do with.

On to the pictures . . .

The flight up from Fairbanks was pretty awesome.  Here's the Alaska Pipeline:

And the Yukon River:

The Brooks Range:

A herd of caribou bedded down in the snow (click to make larger):

And the bustling metropolis of Anaktuvuk Pass:

It was around 5-10 degrees below zero when we landed.  We were met at the airport by Chief Cooper, local fire chief and tour guide extraordinaire.  As one of the few non-native individuals in town, Cooper insists on using the moniker "Chief" and seems to take a special interest in out-of-towners.  My boss, Vicki, is on the left; Chief Cooper is in the middle; and Emily, who works on coal issues for one of our partner organizations, is on the right.

A newly-built experimental arctic home (notice the wind and solar power generation and sod roof) which, when combined with the dump, formed two the biggest highlights on the Chief Cooper tour:

Here's a more typical Anaktuvuk Pass home (notice the inspirational dumpster on the right):

Since we were so far north and the skies were so clear, we decided to venture out late and look for the northern lights.  However, temperatures around -25 F and cutting wind made sure we didn't stay out long.  If the northern lights came out, we didn't see them.

And finally, in case you were wondering, here's what $225 per night gets you in Anaktuvuk Pass:

Getting ready for Oregon

Work is taking me to Oregon at the end of this month and, since The Wife and I haven't visited my family in what seems like an eternity, we'll be spending a few days down in Medford visiting the folks.  With the Rogue so close and my dad's drift boat spending far too much time out of the water, I plan to chase steelhead at least a couple days. 

My best days on the Rogue have always been in the fall so I'm not sure what to expect on the fishing front.  However, I'm doing my best to load the fly boxes and it'd be a shame not to get on the water.  After all, it's hard to beat a float even if the fishing's slow.

In other news, backcountry skiing is shut down.  It's raining at lower elevations and the warm weather and new snow/rain has made backcountry skiing on anything but the flattest slopes dicy, at best.  The slope I skied in the prior post has slid and three people (two snowmobilers and a skier) died in avalanches on Saturday.  All the reason I need to stay home and tie flies.

An open letter to those seeking an internship at a public interest law firm

Dear Applicants,

As the attorney responsible for hiring next summer's crop of interns, let me be the first to thank you for your interest and enthusiasm.  Since I know job searches can be very stressful, I have compiled a few observations and tips that may be of some help.

First, make sure your cover letter is addressed to the right party.  Reading that you are very excited about the prospect of working in Utah does not make me want to hire you for a job in Alaska. 

If the job announcement asks applicants to submit a cover letter, resume, writing sample, transcript and references, do so.  Two sentences in an email full of attachments does not constitute a cover letter.  Likewise, stating that "references are available upon request" is a mistake--I requested your references already.

Make good use of your cover letter; it will get read multiple times before I ever make an offer and is the starting point in my review of your application.  Introduce yourself, tell me why you are excited about the work my firm does (without sounding like you are trying to pick me up at a bar), discuss the most relevant portions of your experience or education, and tell me that you are available to discuss your qualifications in greater detail at my convenience.  If this is your top choice of all the prospective jobs you have applied for or have some special connection to my firm, say so.

Since you are applying to a public interest law firm, you need to show some minimum level of dedication to the principles embodied by the firm's mission.  Your past work at a for-profit law firm that represent interests in opposition to our organization must be explained if you want me to take your application seriously.

If you get an interview, read our website, spend 5-10 minutes internet stalking me, do a Google News search of our organization, and be confident about your accomplishments.  If your interview is on the day after we file a ground-breaking law suit or have some other significant court victory, showing your familiarity with this matter will go a long ways.

When submitting an application via email, give your attachments names that tell me what the file is and who submitted it.  While we're on the topic, make everything a PDF.

Lastly, please understand that sending rejection letters sucks nearly as much as receiving them.  I know, hard to believe.

Sincerely,
Your local friendly hiring attorney.

One year, four months and five days

Sitting here with a BL smoothie in hand getting ready to write up a blog post, I decided to look back in the archives to figure out when I need to start preparing for the blog's one-year anniversary.  Come to find out, I'm four months and five days past the one-year.  Since it's never too late to celebrate, happy birthday blog!

Now, on to business . . .

I ended up in Cooper Landing this past week for a work get-together.  Since I've heard there's good fishing around there, The Wife and I made plans with a coworker of mine, Emily, and her husband, Derek, to rent a cabin for a couple days and fish some of the tourist holes along the Kenai.  Normally, I refrain from actually mentioning the locations that I write about--in fact, this is the first time I've done so--but if you've never heard of the Kenai, you need the tip more than I need the place to myself.

The Russian is a too popular tributary of the Kenai, flowing in from the south and providing convenient access for hoards of tourists and over-zealous Anchoragites.  (Hmmm.  Anchoragite.  Is that even a word?)

Normally, it's exactly the type of place that I avoid.  Combat fishing has never been my forte.  However, since the tourists are gone and the locals are light weights in the cooler fall weather, we were one of three vehicles in the parking lot.  A boardwalk down to the river (complete with signs about fishing techniques that reduce stream bank erosion and monofilament waste baskets) reminded us of where we were.  All in all, it wasn't too crowded this past weekend; but I'd hate to be there in peak season.

Despite the industrial nature of the place, things were looking up.  We began to spread out and, as usual, I immediately began wading farther than necessary.  There's nothing like taking that extra step out into fast water to make you think you have the edge. 

I was fishing a deep riffle just above an island--the sort of place you envision monster trout lurking.  Unfortunately, after fishing for a little while and hooking into a very strong coho, the location also proved to be the sort of place where a fish could turn away from you, work it's way around the point of the island and into the main current, and out-muscle a stiff 8-weight without much effort.  I thought about giving it the Paul Maclean treatment, but declined.

Realizing I'd been whipped, I returned to the group to see how everyone else was faring.

As a greenhorn of sorts, Emily is just starting her fly fishing conquests.  Of course, she landed the first fish. 

I'm not sure this was Emily's first rodeo, but she hadn't caught many fish on a fly rod.  It doesn't get much better than hooking a fish when you have no idea what to do next.  I couldn't figure out who had a better time of it--Emily certainly enjoyed things, but I might give Derek the edge.  He could have blown a gasket watching his wife bring in a fish.

Although the fishing was a bit difficult, we caught fish.  Beads and flesh flies are the standard around here, but I had most of my success on the same streamers I'd been fishing all fall.

After spending most of the day on the water, by late afternoon we were ready to return to the cabin and refuel.  Who says dogs aren't allowed on the furniture?

Our second day on the water was fairly brief.  I did manage to get a really nice rainbow (around 20-22 inches) which I, of course, have no photographic evidence of.  This time, after fishing the local beads with little more than a handful of rejections, I turned to one of my trusty pheasant tails.  Nothing like bucking the norm and going with what you're comfortable with.

In the end, we managed to fish a classic stream--one which normally is overrun with meat fishers and hardware chuckers--and nearly had the place to ourselves.   It doesn't get much better than fishing good water over big fish with your dog by your side--even if the fish are making you work.

Sockeye!

Living in Alaska isn't all bad, especially when your clients are set net fishermen and the sockeye are in.