The Northern California Fly Fishing Board

10:05 AM, Thursday 9 August 2007

 

float plane made a ‘hard landing’ on Kisaralik Lake, and it may be ours! 

That was our introduction to the Transportation Gremlin that was going to bite us from time to time on this trip.

Sanger Dave, Flyaway Frank and I (Ed K) were sitting outside the gear tent. GM was in the office, and had just come bearing bad news. Road Dog and Pappy were on the Beaver, accompanying the first load of three rafts, fresh food, and all their personal gear.

The news sure put a damper on the friendly banter and chat, and may have encouraged a prayer or two.

They had promised to get the rafts set up and blown up before the third load arrived AND before they started fishing. After the usual scatological “Oh $h|#” were over, we pressed GM for more details. He had none. Steve and Robin (our hosts) had none. The news sure put a damper on the friendly banter and chat, and may have encouraged a prayer or two.

After a while, Steve hustled out, and jumped in the other float plane, which promptly took off. I guess Robin came out and told us that it was our plane, and that everyone was “Okay” and that Steve had gone to the lake.

The next few hours were like a lot of other things – lots of wondering and hypothesizing and “What if”ing, but very little info. Somewhere in there we learned that Pappy and the Dog were at the temporary mining camp across the lake, and were really okay.

Then around 1700, Robin came busting out of the office and told us that Road Dog and Pappy REALLY wanted to continue the trip, and were ready to go, and we should get one load and our sorry butts into the truck, cause another float plane was going to haul us in to Kisaralik Lake. We passed off the Pizza we were saving for the swimmers to the next group out, and Greg and Frank loaded up. SD and I were to be last. After Greg and Frank got gone we loaded the rest of the gear into another truck, and hauled it out to a float plane anchorage, where we (mostly the young woman who was helping out for the summer) loaded two more rafts, gasoline, and as much cargo as they could take on two smaller float planes, then settled down to wait for the return of the Big Red Float Plane.



We got floats up just about 2030, so we had almost three hours of light left. Will, the pilot, is a float plane IP, and made us put on our inflatable PFDs before we got in the plane, and made sure we knew how to use them, and how to get out of the plane. Seems everyone’s consciousness had been raised a little by the morning’s events. We arrived to find that Pappy and Road Dog had been slackin’ all day. The rafts not only weren’t inflated, they weren’t even assembled. You can bet that was the first thing I told them about after I said I was glad they were alive. By this time the plane had been towed to a cove on the southwest corner of the lake and secured.

The evening was spent setting up a short term camp, talking about the day at great length. I think there may have been some booze consumed. I know we were up late.

Friday morning, some folks slept in a bit. They may have gotten some bad ice the night before… no wait a minute, there was no ice. Must have been that bag of spicy cashews that SD brought along. Regardless, it was almost noon by the time everyone got moving. There was a minor effort going on to assemble and blow up the rafts, but it wasn’t too urgent, because we were not leaving until Steve got to the site to try to recover some more of RD and Pappy’s stuff, notably a large handgun, and a Pelican case full of reels. Clothes you can do without…

Steve and one of the summer helpers, Aaron showed up about 12:30, and did some free diving into the cockpit of the plane, and recovered the important bits. I was pursuing a medium size fish that was patrolling the shore, trying to get it to take a nymph. SD went out and gave a streamer a few casts as well, but neither of us got anything.



By the time the gear had been recovered, we had camp broken, and had decided that we would ‘help Steve out’ by giving him one less raft to haul back to Bethel. W took three rafts. Raft 1, the Lo Holers, was Pappy and SD; raft 2 the Photography Raft, was GM and RD, the last raft, with Frank and me was the Slow Holers. I think we were last in the procession for more than ninety percent of the trip. The relatively few and short times that Frank actually LET me row, I know we were last… but even Frank admitted I had clearly rowed at least once before.

The row across the lake was close to a mile, and the following breeze was very light. We got to the outlet from the lake a little after 1500, and started the float. We stopped at about 1505 to fish the little riffle just below the outlet, where Pappy and SD each got fish. I think Pappy got 2 and SD got one. I gave it a few shots, but by then the fish had wised up a bit.



We made quite a good run that day, camped at a small site had a fire (Oh Joy, no rain…) and retired relatively early.

Saturday we were up and gone before 0900. We made the short remaining run to the Upper and Lower Falls, and had a very uneventful portage. It sure is simpler when the trail is dry and there are only six peoples gear to transport. Just like last time, at the bottom of Lower Falls there was a school of silvers, and some trout around the edges. I think SD was first in the water, but he was down low, looking for trout. As I recall he got one or more. Road Dog and Frank had still not caught a fish, so we stayed there a few minutes until they and I had each landed at least one fish, and then we headed downstream.



We made it to a bit above the S turns that evening before we called it quits. We decided that running S turns and Golden Gate was best done early in the day, when no one was tired. It was an early night, with a freeze dried dinner. We had some fresh frozen beef with us, but were saving it for a more relaxed camp.



Sunday we were up and gone by 0800. There seemed to be a terrible urgency about getting down stream where the big rainbows are alleged to live. We did S turns the same way we did last year – every one but the rowers walked. They said it was an E ticket ride, but not difficult. My camera ran out of battery at S turn, having used up two batteries on 132 pictures, What a PITA – Admittedly, I was taking a lot of pictures. By this time I was starting to catch some fish. I got a nice grayling and a nineteen inch dolly/char. I may as well cop right here to the fact that I thought all the square tails I was catching were Dolly Vardens until SD showed me the photo after we got back to the lodge. I now believe that most of the bigger ones (like over a foot) were probably Arctic Char. I wish I had known that. I’ve never eaten an Arctic char…. We camped at a nice site, back up off the river a bit, with a nice small side channel with some salmon lying in it. I fished that area between 2300 and 2345, and got a nice twenty two inch Cholly, and a six inch rainbow. I was laughing pretty hard as I unhooked him I hope he was okay. Given the fly he hit, I think he had mating in mind, not eating… We ate the first of our two beef meals that night, which turned out to be flanken steak, mashed potatoes with cheddar cheese and bacon and steamed cabbage. I mixed everything but the meat together, coming up with a close approximation of the Irish delicacy Colcannon, although the bacon keeps it from being kosher. It was delicious.



Monday I got up early, grabbed some cereal and coffee, and hit that side channel. There had been a lot of chat the day and night before about how when we got down to the good fishing we were gonna start making two night camps. I was deluded into thinking this was the first of them. I got a few fish in that side channel, including another twenty plus inch Cholly, and a four incher as well. I claimed the prize for the smallest fish landed, but I think that Frank may have beat me later. About 1130, I got a yell that everyone else was packed and we were going to move. I did make one more cast, but did not get a fish. I was not too happy about the situation, since I hate to keep the whole group waiting, and I am pretty sure I said so.

We camped that night on a nice gravel beach, and set up the bug tent with fly for the first time. It was threatening to rain. About 1700 it started, and it rained HARD until 2100. A few of the hard core went out and fished in it. I sat in the nice warm dry bug tent and drank coffee. We ate the second set of flanken steaks that night, again cooked over an open fire using a grate that SD brought. Again it was delicious. I supplemented my half pound or so of meat with a full-up Mac n Cheese from Mountain Home. No wonder I gained a pound on the trip. After dinner we settled in for some serious postprandial libations. A drunk front came through about 0300, blew over an occupied chair, caused a near face plant in the glowing embers, and put an end to a long and liquid drenched evening.



I arose the next morning at 1045, and was a long way from the last one up. We diddled around for a few hours, there was some desultory fishing, and then since we hadn’t moved yet that day, we moved.

We drifted a few miles, and then found a slough running into the river. There were silvers at the mouth of the slough, and for a hundred feet upstream. There were Chollies and Grayling and Rainbows in with them, eating eggs. We could see two nice braids upslough from the mouth. This turned out to be as close to Nirvana as SD is going to get in this life. We effed up the fish at the mouth real good, then we hauled the rafts up the slough a hundred yards or so to an obvious camping spot. WE got the tents and bug edifice set up in jig time, and then folks went off to fish. It was a heck of a spot. Everybody who fished caught lots of fish. There were even a lot of rainbows. WE all went to bed pretty happy, and some folks went to bed pretty early, for some reason. This was the only place on the trip where I had any luck with dry flies. I managed to catch three or four nice grayling on dark dries before supper. Pappy said that they were rising down at the mouth when he came up for supper, but by the time I finished up, they had stopped, and I was only able to get one more after dinner.

I’ll TELL you how good the fishing was…the next day NO ONE suggested that we move.

There were so many rainbows in that area that most of them did not have sore mouths yet, despite very persistent efforts.

We fished the mouth of the slough, and up and down the braids, and even I caught some nice fish. After dinner, despite the fact that we had been flogging the fish all day, Pappy and Frank decided to go mousing, and I tagged along. There were so many rainbows in that area that most of them did not have sore mouths yet, despite very persistent efforts. Pappy and Frank both got nice bows on their mouses. I got three blowups, but did not hook a fish. I found out later that Pappy and Frank were dead drifting their mouse, and I was stripping mine a little. I was likely taking it out of the fishes’ mouth. It was still a hoot.















While reaching for a Nalgene bottle of some distilled beverage that night, I managed to break one arm on my lawn chair. I was going to just fold it up and trash it when we got back, but Frank had red duct tape, and convinced me that we could fix it. I used about a half roll of tape, but the patch held for the rest of the trip.




The next day was Thursday, and Wanderlust struck again. We still had Blind Pig Hole and Red Rocks, to fish, plus all the water below there, so we moved. Blind Pig Hole was so named in 05 cause even a Blind Pig (me) could catch fish there. This year the structure was not even there, that we could see, and we did have it GPS way pointed. Red Rocks was better than 05. By the time Frank and I got there, pappy and SD had each caught twenty or thirty fish, which only left a few thousand for the rest of us.




Every body caught fish, and some folks were woggin at the mouth, and getting rainbows to come up and hit a pink pollywog fly. I tried that myself, right at the end, and again, had some blow ups, but no fish landed. When these fish take a top water fly like a pollywog, they do NOT sip it. They come roaring up out of the depths like Jaws, mouth open and SMASH the fly. Sometimes you hook ‘em but it’s always exciting. After a couple of hours, we had to leave.

A few miles later, we were approaching a waypoint called Clay Banks, and we took the wrong channel, according to our original instructions. We had two copies of some amended instructions, but they were packed away, so we stopped, scouted around for a bit and said HMMMM. Then SD, Pappy and I decided to walk the quarter mile or so back up a braid to Clay Banks and see if we could get back up there. The braid petered out about ninety percent of the way up, but we kept going to scout it out. At the bottom of the run was a big bend with a log jam in it. We had out rods, although someone had to remind me to bring mine. SD cast in and got a fish right away. Then another. I cast upstream a bit, and got a very nice fish. Pappy also got a few good ones out of that hole. I suppose we got a dozen fish there in about ten minutes. We finally headed back to the rafts. The new list was dug out, and sure enough, we had accidentally done exactly what we were supposed to do. I wonder if they were trying to keep us out of that Clay banks hole. Nahhh….



We camped that night eleven linear miles from the takeout point, with three full days of fishing left. This time we were on a modest gravel island (bars don’t have bushes and trees) with running water all around us. GM pulled an ‘Ed K’ by walking the raft thru about seven feet of water while wearing four foot high waders.

The fishing at this site was also amazing. There was a riffle and run right at the point where we were camped, a nice shallow run just below the camp, a good size island to fish around, and some obvious braids off to the south. There were a bunch of fish caught before dinner, including a silver and a grayling that were cooked on the fire and eaten. They were pretty fresh…. I went out to the camp site riffle after dinner to try and pull something up with a dry, but got no serious interest.

The next morning, after breakfast, I wandered over to the campsite riffle, and cast a dry a few times. I could see quite a few fish. Again, I got no looks even. I switched and dropped an egg into the top of the riffle. I had a Dolly almost at once. I released it, and tried again, and got another one. Again. Now I hear some subdued chuckling, and look around. Some unnamed miscreant was standing about thirty feet upstream, tossing eggs from the night before salmon into the stream. There must have been fifteen or twenty fish lined up for breakfast. I caught a few more (I am shameless) for Road Dog to photograph, then I hooked a grayling so deep in the gills he was not going to live. I killed it and went and drank coffee for a bit.

It was a gorgeous day. Pappy and SD went off to the braids, GM and I fished around the island. The fishing out in the main current was pretty thin, but may have already been picked over. I did get one nice grayling on a black crystal woolly bugger. I guess I must have been out of Bow River Buggers. I know I was out of pink and white Clousers.

After lunch, Pappy and SD told us where they had been that morning, so GM, Frank and I headed out to the braids. There were lots of fish. I had one of those days. I hooked a bunch of rainbows, but could NOT land one. It was very frustrating. I hooked and landed Chollys, Silvers, Chums, and even mouth hooked and landed a sockeye, but I could NOT land a rainbow.





I ate the Grayling for supper, with a package of Pad Thai. Interesting combination. I like shrimp with my Pad Thai better. I got one Cholly after supper, probably on an egg.

We didn’t move on Friday, so of course we HAD to move on Saturday. We pushed off about 10, heading down towards Spruce Gap. In 2005, we had to take a cut over to the Kasigluk River there, because the Kisaralik was totally blocked by sweepers. That jam got blown open in 2006, so this year we had a few miles of completely new water for us. I fished as we drifted, and missed a few fish before I landed a Cholly. We made a decent camp on an island with a few holes nearby. I went down to the smaller one before dinner, and hooked up a couple of nice looking rainbows, but could not land them. I did manage to land two Chum salmon, but by then I was getting fixated on Non-salmon. I wandered down to the Low Hole after the others left for supper, and fished for awhile. I hooked several silvers, and again could not land one. I was in a bit of a puzzled and probably grumpy mood when I headed back for supper sometime after 9 PM. We had a little rain that evening, and I did not go back out. I acted like Achilles at Troy.

Sunday was our day to drift to the take out. Based on the 2007 last day, I, at least was pretty well set on not much in the way of fishing. The Kisaralik continued to surprise me. We found several silver holes, and everybody caught fish. Then SD and pappy figured out that those torpedoes chasing their flies were Northern Pike. Since SD had just been up in northern Canada Pike fishing, I think he figured it out right away.

This was both a real bonus and a real puzzle. The heaviest tippet that any of us had (that I know about) was a spool of well buried 15 lb test Maxima in one of my waterproof bags. We had been fishing 12 lb test for several days. So began our contributions to the Northern Pike Education Fund. It took Frank and I a few minutes to find a grassy slough of our own, and then we started contributing flies to the Pike. After a few flies, Frank remembered that he had some small swivels, so we tried putting a couple of those ahead of the fly to try to keep the pike teeth off the line. After we lost all the swivels, we went back to 12 lb test and donating flies.

It took a bunch of flies, but Frank and I each caught a Pike. Frank caught the bigger one. Actually, I think we each caught two, but Frank had the big one.




Pike Picz

I noticed that SD had kept a couple of pike. I had never tried to eat one, but had always been told that they were like eating bony overcooked grits. I asked him why he had kept them and he told me he was going to eat them. I told him I didn’t think they were fit to eat. He challenged me to try some if he cooked it, and I said I would. One mouthful couldn’t hurt, could it?

By now we were getting pretty close to the take out point. Again, there was a bit of fuzziness about whether the coordinates we had were the take out or just up stream from the take out. Regardless, we finally got to the point where we had twice gotten (GPS wise) to within a tenth of a mile of the coordinates, and then started moving away again. There was enough concern about whether we had missed it, that I was directed to walk downstream to the next bend and see what was there. As soon as I started walking the distance started going up, but in a few hundred feet, it started down again. By the time I had walked down to the bend (shouting “Hey Bear, Ho Bear. Berry Berry Bear!!” as I walked in the twenty feet of bank between the trees and the river) the distance was down to about .05 miles. I couldn’t see around the bend, but we were getting closer, so I walked back. We drifted around the bend, to a nice gravel beach, distance to the waypoint went to fifty feet or so, and we made camp.

As we made camp, there was a pretty little fox across the river, apparently hunting. We all stopped and watched for a bit, until s/he disappeared. There wasn’t a lot of beach, and for the first time, we had a hard time getting enough wood for a decent fire. There was enough time for SD to cook up the pike though. I had to admit it was pretty darn good, even though I had to eat a good bit of crow with it. It was not a late night. The booze was mostly gone, I think. I know mine had disappeared the night I broke my chair. Coincidence, I am sure. We did hear a beaver tail-slapping several times at night. If you don’t know what that is, it can be right startling!

Monday we were up at 8, rolling rafts and eating breakfast. We were set and ready to go at 0955 for a 10 AM pickup. No sense being too early. The boat showed at 1030, and we were loaded and gone by 11. There were two boats. One had most of the gear, the other had a few small items, one raft, and the six of us. The boat captain was John Mac Donald, the same guy who picked us up in 2005. We were chatting about fishing, the river, 49ers football (he’s a season ticket holder) and so on, when the radio squawked. It was Pete, the gear boat driver. He reported to John that he was having some trouble with his steering.

“What is it doing” John inquired.

“Nothing at all!!” Pete replied.

So we turned around, noting that the transport gremlin was still around. WE drove back up river about fifteen minutes, found Pete and the boat, nose in on the shore. They tied up the gear boat, Pete jumped on the PAX boat, and we headed down river, leaving several grand worth of gear tied to a tree in the middle of nowhere. The frontier IS a great place.

It turned out that the cable from the steering wheel to the motor had broken, so John and Pete took us back to PaPa Bears for showers, while they went and bought parts, found a mechanic, and went back and fixed the boat, and brought it home. We were back at the Lodge by 1:30, and I was out of the shower (second) by 2. Our gear arrived at about 6 PM, along with a case of some stuff that Pete had found along the road someplace. We had a good night.

Next morning we were up in time for an 0615 breakfast – another one of Robin’s French Toast Casseroles with Bacon – 500 calories per bite, and damn well worth it. Everyone was packed up, except that guy GM, who was going back out the next day on another float trip. Some folks…..

The other five of us went to the airport and checked in. And the gremlin struck again!! At 0730, the plane was overhead and circling. Visibility was a quarter mile, but the Captain was kinda new and she wanted a half mile. I was a little put out, but Road Dog and Pappy weren’t complaining a BIT about the extra safety consciousness. About 9 AM, the airline folks reported that the plane had gone back to Anchorage, and we should all get on stand-by for the 1 PM flight and then go away. It was a bit of a decision process, because all we could get on the 1 PM was standby, while if we waited until 8:30 PM, we would be confirmed. I think we all went standby at 1.

We headed back to the Lodge, and sat around and drank coffee, ate the rest of the breakfast, and talked to the folks who were supposed to go out that day – except a couple of their members were on the flight that didn’t land. They were a pretty interesting group, mostly scientists, who had known each other for a long time and did these kind of trips every year. They were kinda fly fishers, I think they had a 5 weight and a 6 weight along for the three or four that were going to fish. That’s ONE 5 weight and ONE 6 weight, and maybe two dozen flies. When we were packing up rod cases their eyes were practically popping out of their heads. Several of us gave them some flies, and I gave them some 12 lb Maxima – I think they had one spool of 4X. Yipes!!

At noon, Robin hauled us all back to the airport, said Good bye (with hope in her voice) and we went in and checked in as standbys. It was a near thing, but we all got on that flight. Flyaway Frank got the very last seat.

The flight was uneventful, and we got to Anchorage a bit after 2 PM. SD immediately ran off and talked a gate agent into getting him on a flight that was closing its doors. The rest of us had flights departing at 11 PM or later. Hungry for some regular food, we all took a cab down to a restaurant called the Peanut Farm, and had a great dinner. After dinner we walked across the street to a (coincidentally) nearby place called the Great Alaskan Bush Company but that is a story for another campfire. Needless to say it was amusing for an old guy like me.

When the young’uns couldn’t stand the Great Alaska Bush Company any longer (maybe an hour, maybe less: ) we caught a cab back to the airport, and just hung around. Flyaway Frank’s flight was at 11:30, and at 11 PM he headed for his gate. Road Dog and Pappy headed for theirs, and the Fellowship of the Kisaralik was finally sundered.