2000 Trip Reports

Ever imagined looking down into the sea to watch or cast to a fish that looks like it's swallowed yellow, blue, and green neon lights? Well, that is exactly how dorado appear when they're chasing bait fish or our flies.

We had literally hundreds of opportunities to observe this very special fish known as "Baja gold" this year. Each of the three groups caught more dorado than we've ever seen in one place at one time. Our nine and ten-weight rods were constantly bent fighting this incredible fish.

We'd head out at 7:00 a.m. each morning to where the fish had been hanging out the previous day, and troll until we located them. Then, someone would hook-up and the fun would begin. We'd wait until our captain or deck-hand would holler "more dorado, more dorado!" and then we'd toss a few small bait fish out to attract them. Very often a small school would accompany the hooked fish right up to the boat, giving us a chance to cast to them.

It's not that easy to hook-up a dorado when casting. They're used to their food moving at top speed, and we often just can't strip fast enough to fool them. Both boat fishing and surf fishing require everyone to master the two-handed strip in order to really move the fly. Even so, dorado won't always take. Just when we are getting frustrated, however, we're often surprised by a take that occurs right at the boat when the fly is just hanging in the water.

But we also caught fish from the beach. Baja On The Fly's faithful 4-wheelers took us to an area known as Punta Pescadero several times. On one occasion we caught cabrillo, bonito, skipjack tuna, and even a fish with pursed little lips that looks like it swallowed a dinner plate. That's a member of the pampano family knows as the Mexican look-down fish.

The third group also caught the elusive lady fish right off the beach in front of the hotel. Lady fish are so famous for getting themselves un-hooked that was quite an accomplishment.

Because we had some high winds this year, a couple of the groups found themselves with a day when it was simply impossible to fish anywhere. So, we went adventuring on the 4-wheelers to some natural springs in the mountains above the village. The cactus were just beginning to bloom and we found some incredible stands of elephant trees along the way. One of the springs trickled out from solid rock. Another was exactly like you'd picture an oasis in the desert. In fact, we met up with a group of workers cutting palm fronds with which to make roofs for houses or the cone-shaped palapas that shade patios and beach-fronts.

Boy, was it ever hard to come home. But, before we left we set our dates for 2001. And, five people are already booked! If you'd like to make sure you don't miss out, just get in touch with Baja On The Fly at 800-919-2252. The 2001 dates are March 8-14th or March 15-21st. Cost will be $1,350 for six nights hotel, all meals, three days on the boats and two half-days on the beach plus rd trip transfers from Cabo San Lucas airport.

We pushed off with as little disturbance as possible and then paddled over to start at another gravely spot in order to give that first group of fish time to settle down. "Boy, I can see them right here too," Ellen announced as her polaroid glasses did their work. Just a few casts right into the pod of dark shapes and we had the first of many hook-ups. The fish were concentrating more on courting than eating, but they didn't hesitate long before taking our gold-ribbed hare's ears or bead-head lake leeches.

Some fish lept into the air spraying water all around, some just hunkered down for a battle of the wills, and some literally pulled the tube around as we played them, but none came in easily. Gorgeously colored with carmine gill plates and lateral lines, these fish were in their prime. Most measured from eighteen to twenty inches before their careful release.

Catch and release is a bit different from a float tube, and Judy and Ellen carefully revived their fish while turning the tube to create a current. These fish were strong and feisty, and most didn't require much time before hightailing it back to their friends.

As everyone gained confidence, they were ready to try using the net to land their own fish. "This isn't easy. The fish really feels heavy when I'm holding it with only one hand," Glenda called as she deftly used her other hand to slide a gorgeous, twenty-one incher head-first into the net.

Even though the wind worked diligently to keep us pinned down to one or two sheltered spots, we didn't let that deter us. It was hard paddling at times, but boy, was it ever worth it! We've got more exciting tubing coming up this summer. Come on along!

The water churned and frothed, and turned black with wave after wave of fish entering the River from Naknek Lake. Almost every cast produced a hook-up. Whether we presented our brightly colored ice-chenille fish candy flies or an orange or green florescent hook decorated with glow in the dark flashabou they took it. Rigged correctly with a short leader and a split shot or two, we "caught fish until our arms were tired."

Besides correct rigging, however, flyfishers also need to master the technique of "feeling the fish." Having been plankton eaters all their lives, sockeye do not strike at a fly. Instead, they simply take it into their mouth. The angler must learn to sense when that has occurred and set the hook.

Candace "got it" almost right away as she'd been coho fishing with us last year. And it didn't take Carol much longer. They had so many doubles I lost count. "Mend to keep the slack out of your line ," I told Ellen and Anne as they, too, mastered the technique of perceiving the take. "These fish just don't give up," Ellen said as she landed her eighth fish of the morning. "I get tired before he does. I think I'm going to have to go take a nap."

Pound for pound, red salmon are favored by many as one of the universe's finest fish on a fly rod. They launch themselves into the air in repeated jumps and run out more times than the angler can believe. At Brooks, it becomes a challenge to land them quickly before a bear comes on the scene. It is crucial that bears not learn to associate fish and people, so the Park Service rangers stationed at Brooks provide an "early warning system" advise us when we must break off a fish because of an approaching bear. It makes for some heart-pounding experiences.

Because there were so many fish, there were lots and lots of bears this year. We watched a sow teaching her twins to fish and cheered when a large dark bear, badly injured in a fight, still managed to leap into the fray and emerge with a fish in his jaws. Then there was the teenage bear, recently evicted by his mom, that tried to swat the seagulls, chased the baby ducks, ran around in circles and still managed to catch fish. We heard the growls of bears mating in the woods and arguing over fish in the middle of the River. Some bears have learned to herd fish into a larger mass to facilitate their catch, and some have learned to just come along behind the biggest bears and clean up their leavings.

It's quite a show. You'll just have to see it for yourself.

"They're taking both dries and nymphs out of the same stretch of water," Ann marveled as she landed a graceful 12 inch fish on an elk hair caddis. Simultaneously, Cathy was playing her fish on a size ten pheasant tail nymph. Even though one was drifting a dry fly to the fish and the other was presenting a nymph, they were both taking fish after fish. The hatch was on, and they could hardly miss.

Like many late mornings on the Tangle River, there was a profusion of caddis flies and the fish knew it. So did we. The group had mastered the techniques of the drag free drift earlier in the trip on a stretch of quiet water, and now was applying them to some pretty riffles and runs in another area. The sun was out after a soaking rain, the biting bugs weren't too bad thanks to a light breeze, and the fish were hitting. All was right with the world.

Ellen and her husband Ron worked a different stretch of water nearby with the same success. One fished a caddis fly and the other a humpy, but it didn't seem to matter to the fish. After nine or ten fish, Ellen decided to also try the nymph and selected a yellow soft hackle and went to work. She added a small split shot to her leader to get her fly down farther toward the bottom. Suddenly she was landing fish after fish in the 14 inch range. "Guess the larger fish are on the bottom," she said, and she was right.

The next day, on a nearby creek where the water is deeper and faster, they all wisely chose to fish with nymphs in the cool gray morning devoid of any hatch. "Ellen was right," Anne commented as she displayed a 15 inch fish with flared dorsal fin, "the bigger fish are on the bottom." But that was true only until the caddis hatch began. Then Cathy had similar success just down-stream of Anne's special spot.

We wandered the braided channels and waded little side channels all filled with fish and populated with a variety of birds and ducks. Around one bend we spooked a mother duck who frantically attempted to lead us away from her babies with flapping wings and water-running tactics. But the highlight of the trip was the sighting of a great-horned owl in a stubby-topped willow that had been browsed almost level by the area moose. He watched us warily as we approached but didn't fly until we were amazingly close.

And, as usual, the wildflowers were blooming in abundance. Some flourished along the road in the shadows of the mountains and glaciers that delight the eye or along the trail or marshy areas near the water. Many hid out under the nearly impenetrable scrub willow that covers the area and revealed themselves only to the very observant. We had plenty of opportunity to see them all.

Late in the afternoons the mayflies made an appearance, and we generally switched to size 12 or 14 Adams even though the grayling would continue to take our pheasant tail nymphs. As we carefully released the last fish of the trip, Susan commented that, "this area's got it all, fish, flowers, and birds." She's right. How about joining us next year to see for yourself?

"Are they always this hard to land?" she asked. "Nope," I replied, "but this is a large fish, so just hang in there. Walk toward him and reel, then palm the reel and back up the bank. That will ease him toward shore." Closer and closer he got until I could tail him. All the others were watching with anticipation.

"It's not a rainbow," someone remarked, "it's a pink salmon. No wonder you were having so much trouble landing it on your trout rod." Not only were they all amazed that Cara hadn't broken the rod, they were also impressed with her patience and persistence.

So as not to tire anyone's arm too much while they're learning, we typically fish for salmon half the day and then rainbows the other half. It's hard to get up when it's dark and cloudy, but the chance to catch a salmon usually motivates everyone. This group was no exception.

We lined up on the long gravel bar that is our usual spot for casting to the salmon, and several of the group had fish on almost immediately. "These sure are a lot bigger than the grayling we had yesterday," Sara commented. As each fish came to the bank, we had a lesson in fish identification until they all knew that if the fish had stripes down its side it was a chum salmon and if it had a white belly, it was a pink. But then Sally got a fish that was neither a pink nor a chum. Instead, it turned out to be a silver (coho) salmon and was she ever excited. She palmed the reel as we had practiced in order to slow the fish's runs and resisted the temptation to try to drag him in. "Let him play," we called to her as she took her time landing him. "Wow, he's gorgeous," she gushed.

"Actually, it's a she," I told them as we observed the fish's smaller, more rounded head. "Males have a large hooked jaw," I told them. "That's how you tell the difference."

And fish for them we did. With gusto! But besides everyone landing a coho, some also landed the beautiful sockeye (red) salmon as well. "Now you've seen four of the five species of Pacific salmon," I told them. And as we fished up-river in the afternoon, they also saw the huge, dark red shapes of king salmon spawning. "Now we've seen all five," Sue said.

The rainbows weren't as cooperative this year, but lots of dolly varden char were. In one great spot an egg fly drifted down a short run between overhanging bushes and a huge tree that had been deposited in the river by the spring floods brought strike after strike from the pink-spotted beauties.

Our evening dinners were as spectacular as ever. Robert's home-made dinner rolls and desserts accompanied a variety of his special dishes each night. We'd have seconds and even thirds of everything and had trouble deciding whether the chocolate cake or the apple struddle with almond cream were our favorite desserts.

Ute and Anna, our two students from Germany marveled continually at the numbers of fish as well as the food. Anna announced to the group that she wasn't really a fisher, but was there mostly to accompany Ute, who had been given the school as a birthday gift from her husband after I had met them in Ireland. Well, we soon learned differently as Anna hauled in fish after fish. "Well, that's seven fish in a row," she told us the last morning as we were heading for the lodge. "Maybe I am a flyfisher." Actually, they all were. The Tal had worked its magic again.

"I've never caught a fish before," Doris said as she set the hook on a bright, feisty silver salmon on her third cast. "This will be my first."

Well, not that fish but one about three hook-ups later turned out to actually be her first fish. Before she could land one, she had to master both setting the hook and letting the fish play. But, she was a serious student and learned both skills quickly hooking fish after fish as her confidence grew.

Mostly the chum and pink salmon took our flies that first day. Jane, Barbara, and Scott also got lots of hook-ups in spite of the fact that it was Doris' morning. The other silvers just weren't interested. But, with all the salmon in the river, we didn't lack for action.

By mid-afternoon we packed up our rods and headed north to the west end of the Denali Highway for some grayling fishing. We made it to the river-side campground in plenty of time to get a couple of choice campsites, and were enjoying a glass of wine and dinner before dusk.

Early the next morning we hit the river with dry flies and nymphs, and Scott had a fish right away on an elk hair caddis and so did Barbara. The dry fly action didn't last, however, and soon we reverted to nymphs and soft-hackle flies.

Our second night we spent at a beautiful lake-side campground near our float-tubing destination of the following morning. We enjoyed the fire until we were all nodding off and finally hit the sleeping bags.

Our last day was spent float tubing for rainbows on one of Southcentral Alaska's most productive lakes. We paddled around awhile looking for fish, and once we found them it was non-stop fun.

"The fish aren't really huge," Barbara observed, "but there's a million of them."

As we'd see a pod of fish jumping we'd corral them and cast away. Two, three, and even four hook-ups at a time occurred as we enjoyed the jumps and energetic runs of the twelve to fourteen inch rainbows that couldn't get enough of our size ten olive gold-ribbed-hare's ears.

All too soon it was time to head for home. Once again, the Smorgasbord trip provided some eager flyfishers with the chance to try out salmon, grayling and rainbow fishing as well as float tubing all in one trip. Mission accomplished.

It was almost as though the huge arctic grayling tried to make it all up to us by hitting our egg-imitation flies almost as fast as we could start them drifting in the gin clear water. It wasn't five minute after we'd stepped out of the boat when the first fish was on Dave's line. "This isn't like any grayling I've ever caught before," Dave said, as the tape measured the gleaming fish's 20-inch length and 11-inch girth. "Boy, I sure do hope they're all like this one."

"Well, here's another one just like yours," Nancy called out five minutes later as she held up the immense sail-like dorsal fin of another fish as large as the first. And Sandie, who'd had to tie on a new tippet before she could wet a line, almost simultaneously produced another. "You're all going to be so spoiled," I told them. "You may never be able to fish grayling anywhere else ever again."

Given that grayling are the slowest growing of Alaska's sport fish (a 16-inch fish is considered a trophy), it was absolutely unbelievable how many of the breathtakingly beautiful prizes we landed that day and for the entire rest of the trip. Some were "only" nineteen inches in length and a few went up to 21 inches, but each displayed the florescent striped or tipped dorsal and caudal fins that characterize their species. Some even had the split dorsal that develops in very large fish.

The only time we weren't catching these incredible fish was when we were eating, sleeping, or fishing for silver salmon. Part of each day we'd get out the 8-wts and play awhile with the cohos. After last year's poor run, we were lucky that there were lots of silvers in the river this year.

We all got some 'tomatoes' but we also got lots of bright, fresh fish, some still sporting sea lice. In fact, Sandie got three bright ones in a row within a fifteen minute period. We kept a few for the freezer, but sent the rest back to the job they were on their way to do.

But, it was always back to the extraordinary grayling that we'd go. We just couldn't wait to see what the next one would look like. Dave got a beauty with only half a tail and I caught one with only half a dorsal fin. Such battle scars didn't affect their willingness to take a fly or to do battle with us. John Elmore of Camp Bendeleben, our headquarters for the trip, was absolutely unerring in taking us right to the fish although he acknowledged that it wasn't too difficult because of the huge numbers of grayling in the river.

We couldn't bear to leave them, but finally it really was the "last cast" and we put the rods away. But you can join us in 2001 to see why it really is true that "there's no place like Nome."

The first fish of the trip turned out to be arctic grayling, however. On cast after cast, they made eager grabs for the tiny egg-imitation flies we were using in our favorite run just below the lodge. The rainbows we hooked were just to acrobatic and managed to disengage from the hooks before we could get them to the bank.

Because there was still some daylight left after one of Robert's legendary dinners, we decided to try for the silver salmon we'd seen clustered together in a long dark line along a river bend near the mouth. They were anxious to play. After shortening our leader so as to be able to drift our weighted flies right in front of their noses, we just picked out a specific fish and cast. A mend or two later, it seemed, we'd hook up. We'd set the hook a couple of times and the fun would begin. Palm the reel when the fish ran and reel when he rested. It was classic salmon fishing.

Carolyn, whose had experience catching salmon, pike, and even sheefish with us, had fish after fish on. It took Rita, a beginner, just a bit longer to get the routine down. Then she too was holding a rod bent double with the weight of a thirteen pound silver, and then others in the ten and twelve pound category.

The next day we headed out early to take advantage of the dawn light that silvers love so well, and had our limits in the boat before breakfast. The rest of the day we devoted to wading the gin-clear water prospecting for rainbows. Carolyn hooked one only to lose him as I was trying to remove the hook, but then she finally achieved her goal and landed a lovely hen fish with rosy cheeks and lateral line gleaming in the sun.

As usual, we fished until the very last minute and then reluctantly hoped in the boat for the ride to the plane. The late afternoon sun on the fall colors was particularly dramatic from the air. One small grove of cottonwood even blazed a bright orange near a lake occupied by migrating swans. What a fitting farewell to the Tal for the year 2000.

Good fishing, and remember to wade safely in the rising waters of fall!

We arrived in Cordova in beautiful weather, picked up the rental car, and headed out to see the glaciers and the Million Dollar Bridge. Childs Glacier, one of Alaska's most accessible, jutted into the azure sky right from the banks of the Copper River. But, because it had turned cold the night before, there wasn't much calving. The grinding noise that signals the movement of the ice kept us alert, nevertheless, as we hiked around viewing the displays and the interpretive signs. Then it was on to a hike over the million dollar bridge and its span that was damaged by the 1964 Good Friday earthquake. Icebergs from Miles Glacier, silhouetted on the horizon, floated under the bridge as we watched. We gave up on a hike to the glacial moraine on the newly completed trail because recent heavy rains had washed out the access.

On day two we were off on the boat into Prince William Sound with Jim and T.J. of Prince William Sound Experience Charters. Sea otters played beside the boat and sea lions roared their welcome from the safety of a buoy in the harbor. A breathtakingly beautiful ride took us right to lots of silvers holding in a gorgeous pool shaded by hemlock, spruce, and alder and protected from the wind that came up later in the afternoon.

Carolyn was the first to set the hook firmly enough to keep her fish on and get it to the bank. But she wasn't the last. "Golly, the fish took the fly right in front of me," Tracy said and she landed her first fish on a bright orange bead-head streamer. "Well, I can't see them, but I know they're there," Alison added, "because I've just had a hit too." And, just about that time Kathy's rod bent as well. For awhile the water frothed with running, splashing fish. The bite was on!

But, then, for awhile, the bite was off. But, since it was lunch time, we headed back to the boat for one of T.J.'s famous grilled salmon lunches. There really isn't anything better than fresh salmon by the river.

The next day we piled in the plane with Gayle Ranney, Alaska's most famous woman bush pilot, for a spectacular ride over water, mountains, glaciers and beaches to a lovely small creek draining into a crescent bay anchored at each end by steep cliffs. Gayle's beach landing was absolutely perfect.

We hiked up-river to the series of tea-colored pools to find cutthroat trout as well as silver salmon awaiting us. It was great to be entertained by both. Around the corner we found evidence of recent bear activity, but we weren't bothered. In fact, in mid-afternoon, a sand-hill crane took flight from that very spot and treated us to a close-up view of his great wings.

On day three the monsoon arrived. Instead of fishing we spent our time tying flies, practicing our knots, wandering around Cordova, and watching some spin anglers fish unsuccessfully from a jetty in town in the pouring rain.

The new lodge rooms and the great food made this year's trip even better than last year's. We'll definitely be going back next year. It's a rare opportunity to salmon fish and see some of Alaska's most celebrated scenery all at the same time. We'll be waiting to take you along.

Even though we could see a few fish in some deep holes on a couple of the rivers, neither we nor anyone else was having any luck catching them. Spin anglers, bait anglers, and fly anglers alike were frustrated by the total lack of cooperation of the fish. Biologist attributed this behavior to lots of angling pressure as well as to the warm temperature of the water.

So, like many others, we headed to the river mouths to try our luck. One river was so low that the water flow was not enough to keep the surf from completely closing up the mouth with sand. Another river had absolutely no activity at all, and, except for the dead pink and chum salmon lying on the banks, was completely devoid of fish. At two others we at least saw silvers in the surf. So, that's where we fished.

Most of Kodiak's river mouths are shallow and they spread out over quite a distance. Unless the winds are high, that makes it easy to position yourself along the main river channel to intercept fish and deal with the surf. Like everyone else, we rigged our rods with floating lines, and bright florescent green or fuscia flies and got busy.

Finally, it began to rain, but there was not nearly enough accumulation while we were there to bring the water up to levels that were acceptable to the fish. We were a persistent lot, however, and just kept trying. As a result we caught pink and chum salmon, but not the silvers we were after. And, since the silvers weren't coming in, neither were the dolly varden that we can usually fish for even when salmon fishing isn't great.

In spite of everything the fall colors were absolutely incredible this year. As rays of light would penetrate the clouds, entire hillsides and the little valleys filled with golden trees absolutely took our breath away.

If only we lived on Kodiak Island then we'd be able to be there when the rivers finally rise to the level that the fish find acceptable. Surely when that happens the fishing will be spectacular. But as long as enough fish spawn to ensure that the runs continue, I'll be satisfied.