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ALASKA

Shane Mensforth describes what will probably be his last trip to his favourite overseas fishing location – the Alaskan wilderness.

Chris McIntire, from Oklahoma, puts the finishing touches to a big chum salmon

There’s no doubt I’ve been fortunate to have fished so many wonderful places, met so many wonderful people, and caught so many wonderful fish over the past half century. Having entered the national fishing media back in the period when magazine editors were handing out trips to exotic locations like lollies, I got to see a fair bit of the world for relatively little money. At the same time, tackle companies were falling over themselves to get their premium gear out for review and evaluation, the marine industry was keen to get suitably credentialled reporters into their boats, and the emerging fishing/travel companies were competing to send well known writers on expeditions to far-flung destinations in both hemispheres. It was indeed a heady time, and I know how lucky I was to be part of it all.

Prominent among the complimentary overseas fishing trips I was fortunate enough to be offered in the ‘good old days’ was a week-long expedition to Alaska. This came through my good mate, Garry Barmby, who at the time operated Angling Adventures – a fishing/travel company that specialised in organising interstate and overseas trips for the Aussie market. Garry was a true pioneer who built a strong business in a surprisingly short time, and like countless others, I was devastated when he died prematurely a couple of years ago, leaving an enormous void that has yet to be filled. Garry and I used to speak regularly about places we would love to visit, and ended up fishing together in New Zealand, New Guinea, Fiji, Tonga, Vanuatu and, finally, Alaska.

I had always been fascinated by the Alaskan salmon story, watching every documentary I could get my hands on, reading magazine features by American and Canadian outdoor writers, and generally soaking up as much info’ as I could find. I was aware that Alaskan wilderness fishing would be expensive, most likely out of my reach, and had never really considered it a possibility – until that one phone call from Garry Barmby which essentially changed my fishing life forever.

Arctic grayling are easy to find in Alaskan streams

Apparently, the owner of a fishing lodge on one of Alaska’s most remote rivers had discovered Angling Adventures on the internet, and sent a random email to see if Garry’s company was interested in becoming his Australian agent. Undoubtedly the most significant part of that original email was the offer of a free week-long stay at the lodge, and when Garry called to ask if I’d like to join him and write a feature story on the trip, I all but fell off my chair. I would have to pay for flights and accommodation en route, but once we hit the ground in Alaska, all else would be covered, and my answer was a foregone conclusion.

That was back in 2012, and I can vividly recall the first morning of that maiden visit. Standing knee-deep in a fast-flowing river, surrounded by snow-capped mountains and with literally thousands of salmon swimming past me on their trek upstream, I had to pinch myself to make sure the whole scenario was, indeed, real. I had already seen a couple of big grizzly bears having a fight on an exposed gravel bar, witnessed a moose and her calf crossing the river just 100m away, and watched a beaver enter and exit its bankside lodge. I could well have been standing right in the middle of a David Attenborough wildlife documentary – but I wasn’t. This was real!

Garry and I caught so many salmon on that trip, it was difficult to comprehend and fully appreciate. My 42 pound chinook, taken on a 8wt fly rod on the fourth day, was (and still is) my biggest ever salmon, and truly a capture I’ll never forget. I’d rate it up there in the top three fish of my life, and especially so as I caught it with one of my best mates before he left us.

So taken was I with the entire Alaska experience, heading back again was almost a no-brainer. Subsequent visits in 2014 and 2016 brought more spectacular fishing and wildlife viewing, and on these occasions I was accompanied by several close mates, many of whom, like me, fell in love with the place and have since made return trips. It’s simply that sort of place; once it’s in your blood, it’s there for life.

Pacific salmon are truly unique fish, spawned in a freshwater stream, spending most of their lives in the sea, and eventually returning to their precise point of origin to reproduce and ultimately die. There are five varieties, four of which return annually during the Alaskan summer, and one – the pink salmon – that returns on the even years only. The pinks are the smallest, averaging 3-4 pounds, then come the sockeyes that are usually in the 3-8 pound range. The silver (or coho) salmon generally run from 4-10 pounds, the chums vary between 4-18 pounds, and the big guys – the chinooks or kings – can occasionally top 60 pounds, but are most often caught between 10-30.

It’s possible to catch all five salmon varieties on fly or conventional spin tackle, and although I’ve used both, I definitely prefer to hook them on a fly rod. This isn’t because I’m an expert fly fisher – far from it, in fact – but using a direct drive reel just seems to inject more of a challenge into the whole process. It’s difficult to explain, I guess, until you’ve tried it, but hooking a metre-long salmon in fast water on an 8wt fly rod is about as much fun as you could hope for in any fishing situation. It’s knock down/drag out stuff, and I love it!

I had been working stealthily on organising a fourth Alaskan visit back in 2020, but when COVID reared its ugly head, all international travel naturally found its way onto the back burner. I’d kept all this covert planning well away from my eternally patient wife, as I knew yet another high-end/high-cost overseas trip would stretch the friendship to its absolute limit. I did drop the occasional hint that I’d really love one more expedition to Alaska before putting it away for good, but the blow-back was as foreboding as I’d imagined. She intercepted a couple of emails between me and Alaska Trophy Adventures Lodge owner, Wayne McGee, and immediately threatened with divorce if I proceeded. And if that doesn’t qualify as ‘foreboding blowback’, I don’t know what does!

Slowly, but surely, however, I chipped away at Alaska trip number four. I tentatively booked the week I wanted, then spoke to a few mates who I knew were keen to go. Because I had already built a strong relationship with Wayne and his team at the Alaska Trophy Adventures Lodge, he allowed me to hold the booking for longer than normal without handing over deposit money. This was fraught with uncertainty, of course, and the last thing I wanted to do was stuff him around with an unconfirmed reservation during the peak of his annual 14-week fishing season. This is a high demand fishing lodge with clientele from all over the world, and essentially I had no right to block out a week when others would have been keen to jump on it.

Somehow, by employing a blend of skullduggery, gentle persistence, subtle coercion and inherent charm, over time I managed to get the Alaska trip up again into the realm of discussion. I knew there was still a lot of work to be done to get it over the line, but at least it wasn’t dead in the water and I slowly, but surely began to firm up the planning. A couple of good mates from SA, Steve Lane and Steve Forstner, were as keen as mustard to be in it, as were a few from Queensland and the Northern Territory. All I needed was the green light at home and Alaska visit number four was a goer.

I’d expected it would be a lot more expensive to travel overseas in 2024 than it had been on my last expedition back in 2016, but was more than a little shocked when I started delving into airfares and accommodation in the US. Getting to the Alaska Trophy Adventures Lodge from Adelaide involves five flights and two stop-overs in both directions, which worked out to be more than double the figure I’d paid before. This was certain to be a major snag in convincing Merrilyn that I really did need one final Alaska trip, particularly as she had been talking about visiting the UK for some time. I was going to have to do some pretty fancy manoeuvring to achieve a favourable outcome on this one!

It turned out to be a gradual, gentle, low-key process, but eventually she relented and agreed to let me have my way. I’m sure there are plenty of fishaholics out there who can identify with all of this, and I’m certain that the mere mention of an Alaska number five at any time in the future would end in disaster!

My travel itinerary was soon organised and was set to look something like this: just under two hours from Adelaide to Sydney, then 14 hours in the air from Sydney to Los Angeles for a seven hour lay-over. Next up, a five-hour flight from LA to Anchorage, where I would overnight and attempt to grab some much needed sleep. Next morning it would be a two-hour flight from Anchorage to the outpost township of King Salmon for yet another overnighter. The final leg would be a 40 minute light plane flight from King Salmon out to the lodge, set deep in the Alaskan wilderness. That’s about 24 hours in the air all up and, of course a similar figure on the return trip – a lot of flying time in anyone’s language.

Apart from spending a night on a park bench in Anchorage due to a delayed, post-midnight flight arrival and subsequent cocked up hotel booking, the trans-global epic went off as well as could be expected. Despite having done a lot of overseas travel, I still get a little nervous flying alone, and missed having Garry Barmby at my side. Coming from a travel agent background, Garry knew all the tricks and all the pitfalls with American airports, taxis, hotels, gratuities and other potential hazards, and was always reassuring to travel with.

The Alaska Trophy Adventures Lodge is situated on an escarpment overlooking the Alagnak River, roughly 300 miles south-west of Anchorage on the Alaskan Peninsula. It’s about as remote as you can get in this part of the world, with no other way in but via light plane or float plane. The lodge has its own airstrip these days and Jacob McGee, son of Wayne and a commercial pilot, is responsible for organising flights in and out.

The lodge is configured around a central dining/recreation area connected to two wings of cabin accommodation. Most of the cabins have en suite bathrooms these days, as well as LPG heating. They are comfortable rather than luxurious, and are generally organised for twin share accommodation.

The usual fishing week at this lodge involves six days on the water, which kick off each morning at the civilised hour of nine o’clock and wind up at around 5pm.

It’s two anglers and a guide per boat and, as there is a massive amount of fishable river to cover, you generally get to see a lot of the place during your stay. Bears are common along the entire waterway; in fact, interacting with dozens of big grizzlies is the rule rather than the exception in such a remote environment. And while the bears are often portrayed as big, nasty and potentially dangerous monsters, their general demeanour suggests completely the opposite. Like visiting anglers, they are only on the river to catch fish, and as long as you respect their territory and maintain a sensible distance, they pose no threat at all. Having said that, the ATAL guides all carry capsicum-based bear spray and a fully licensed firearm – just in case.

When Alaska is mentioned, most would imagine a bleak, icy landscape with snow-laden mountains, leaden skies and gale-force winds. And while this is often the case during the height of winter, it’s far from reality for much of the Alaskan summer. During our visit in late July into early August, the temperatures varied from two or three degrees overnight up to around 18 for much of the day – pretty much the same as we had left behind in Adelaide. It’s light at around 5am and doesn’t get fully dark until midnight, which takes a bit of getting used to, but the climate is generally more tolerable at this time of year than you’d think.

There was excitement in the air as we gathered at the lodge dock in preparation for our first day on the water. With over 20 guests revved up and ready to go, anticipation levels were high all round. The two Aussie Steves – Lane and Forstner – would fish together, while I teamed up with Chris McIntire from Oklahoma. Sporting a magnificent beard and looking for all the world like Ned Kelly, Chris emerged from the outset as one of the nicest guys I’ve ever shared a boat with. Like most Americans, he was fascinated by Aussie slang, which he soon adopted like he’d been using it his whole life! Stuff like “fair dinkum”, “g’day mate” and even slightly more risque gems like “How they hangin’, cobber?” became standard vernacular over the course of our week together, which amused us all greatly.

Harking back to how I described typical Alaskan summer weather a few paragraphs ago, I have to tell you our first fishing day was about as miserable as I can recall. A cold front had rolled in overnight, bringing with it intermittent but serious rain squalls, plenty of southeasterly wind and heavy overcast. Although we were all fully kitted out with Gore-Tex jackets, fleecy vests, gloves and long underwear, by lunchtime we were pretty cold. The fishing had been tough, too, with only a handful of pink salmon landed between us. Casting was extremely difficult, and it wasn’t until conditions improved early in the afternoon that smiles returned to our faces.

We managed a few nice chum salmon as the day wore on, which are right up there with my favourites. Averaging 10 pounds and occasionally topping 15, these fish are berserk fighters on either fly or spin tackle. They run hard and long, jump frequently, and often take several minutes to subdue. Like all Pacific salmon, they return from the ocean wearing bright silver colouration, but gradually transition as they enter the fresh to take on a bizarre, but incredibly attractive mottling of purple, green, mauve and charcoal. The double page opening spread in this feature shows off these colours perfectly – chums really are an amazing fish!

Dinner time at the ATA Lodge is always a sumptuous affair; in fact, all meals are of restaurant quality. A qualified chef puts it all together, and the lodge staff are right up there with the best you’ll find in any wilderness fishing operation. It’s three courses served with Californian red or white wine, and I can guarantee even big eaters will be more than satisfied. You make your own lunch each morning from a selection of cold meat, cheeses, local produce and homemade bread.

A slight delay to boarding!

Alaskan sunrises and sunsets are always spectacular

The fleet, all primed and ready to fire up

A bright, shiny chum salmon, fresh from the sea

Happily, the weather prediction for day two was far more encouraging than it had been 24 hours earlier. Chris and I travelled upriver from the lodge with sockeye salmon the intended target species, while the others headed downstream in search of kings, chums and pinks. Sockeye are generally considered as the premiere salmon variety for the table, and are the only species allowed to be taken home if so desired. Naturally, taking home any fish was out of the question for we Aussies, but Chris McIntire was pretty keen to stack a few away for his family to try back in Oklahoma. It’s surprisingly inexpensive to have the lodge vacuum pack and freeze the take-home catch, then organise for it to be air-freighted to your destination of choice within the US.

A personal bag limit of five sockeye salmon per angler per day is in force throughout Alaska, so between us Chris and I could knock over ten for him to take home. Catching sockeye is quite a bit different from the way you target the other varieties. They tend to lay up in big schools in deeper holes as they move upriver, often remaining in a specific location for extended periods to rest and recover. They don’t actively feed at all once they are in pre-spawning mode, but lay close together near the riverbed, making them an easy target.

Our guide handed Chris and me an 8wt fly rod each, rigged with a strong hook and a split shot crimped on the leader about 20cm above. The technique involves casting this rather cumbersome set-up well ahead of the resting sockeye, allowing it to touch bottom and then gradually moving through the densely packed salmon on its way back with the flow. The technique is often called ‘flossing’, and is regularly frowned upon by fly fishing purists, but I can tell you it’s downright deadly on the sockeye. Most of the fish we hooked were pinned squarely in the mouth, but ever y so often you’d snag one in the back or tail, and then all hell would break loose. Foul hooking an eight-pound buck sockeye in six knots of river current is akin to lighting a stick of dynamite; they are virtually impossible to stop, and both Chris and I found ourselves re-rigging several times when even 20 pound leader wasn’t enough to put the brakes on.

As the images hereabouts clearly show, the flesh of sockeye salmon is dense, rich and almost bright red in colour. These fish have spent most of their lives in the bountiful waters of the Bering Sea, putting on incredible condition before their final return journey to the Alagnak River. I had heard that their ripe roe can also make delicious caviar, so as our guide filleted the catch, I collected the massive egg sacks and loaded them into press-seal bags to try back at the lodge.

We went on to catch a mixture of pink salmon, Arctic char and grayling after completing the combined ten fish sockeye bag, rounding out a truly enjoyable day on the water. We had shared the river with several big male bears, a magnificent buck moose with antlers like those that trophy hunters strive to bag, and more bald eagles than I’d ever seen before in a single session.

Day three would see Chris and me revert to traditional fly fishing tackle, while the two Steves opted to stick to the spin rods they were more comfortable with. Our guide, Matt Duncan, was aware that we all had big chum salmon in mind as the preferred target species for the day, so both boats blasted off downstream to an area known as the ‘lower braids’. By way of background, the Alagnak is classified as a ‘braided’ river, which means certain parts of its course are interspersed with gravel banks and small islands that alter the water flow and create eddies, riffles and offshoots. It’s a complex stretch that requires expert navigation in many areas – and calls for outboards with jet drives rather than conventional propeller set-ups. Quite often you’re travelling at speed in less than 50cm of water over heavy gravel bottom – a recipe for disaster with traditional outboard legs and expensive prop’s!

It was still crisp, but the sky was clear and the wind was down as Chris and I picked up our fly rods to kick off the day’s fishing. Matt had pulled the boat onto a gravelly shore and instructed us to wade out and fan casts to cover a deep hole directly in front of us. The technique in locations like this involves making a longish cast upstream, allowing the streamer fly a few seconds to sink, and then watching the fly line as it swings down with the current. If nothing has grabbed it on the swing, the fly is then stripped back with a slow, erratic action. It’s then a matter of cast and repeat until a fish locks on or you move to a different location.

Chris was first cab off the rank on our third morning, with a monster chum salmon cartwheeling all over the river and his reel drag humming. These big chums are truly great sportfish, and I reckon Chris worked on this big buck for close to ten minutes before he eventually coaxed it out of the fast water into Matt’s waiting net. My second cast met with the same fate, and it was earto-ear grins all round.

“They’re hangin’ pretty good at the moment, cobber!” screamed my Oklahoman buddy as he held the salmon aloft for a quick picture prior to release. Naturally, this brought convulsive laughter from the three of us – even Chris’s Aussie accent was close to the money, which I thought was pretty damn impressive!

We went on to catch around 30 salmon between us for the day. They were a mixture of pinks and chums, with a couple of nice rainbow trout thrown in for variety. We knocked off at around 4pm, thoroughly chuffed with the day’s action and pretty tired from casting non-stop for over six hours. By 5pm we were back at the lodge, and half an hour later were showered and looking forward to pre-dinner drinks, some sockeye roe caviar, and an array of delectable appetisers.

Steve Forstner, from Port Lincoln, with a superb chum

Arctic char are truly beautiful fish

The author with a superbly coloured male chum salmon

Most of those in other boats had done equally well, and it was an animated crew swapping fish stories as dinner was served. The majority of guests were from various parts of the US, ranging from grandpas and their grandsons to workmates and groups of fishing buddies on their annual trip away. It was a nice, friendly group who all seemed to enjoy each other’s company and generally got on like a house on fire.

By this stage the two Steves and I had worked on Chris to the point where he could almost qualify as an honorary Aussie. He had the accent sorted, he had a list of colloquialisms (including several of our more popular swear words) entrenched in his vocabulary, and he had even done some on-line research on Ned Kelly. From the photo’s he’d managed to dig up, Chris totally agreed that he and Ned could have been brothers!

It was inevitable that at some stage there would be a competition of some sort between boats, and when the two Steve’s challenged Chris and me to a total fish count tournament on day four, we couldn’t accept the invitation quickly enough. They would use their spin gear while we fished fly, sharing the same stretch of water. Pink salmon would be worth one point each, chums would be worth 1.5 and chinooks (if anyone managed to catch one) would be worth five points. There would be designated rest periods throughout the day, and our guides, Matt Duncan and Brent Bauer, would do all the fish netting, keep official scores and act as a disputes committee if required. The gauntlet had been thrown down, and it was certain to be a no-holds-barred fishing day. It would also be interesting to see how fly compared to spin.

Our ‘beat’ for the day took us way downstream to within just a few miles of the Alagnak mouth – so close, in fact, that the Bering Sea tide could be seen pushing up well into the river. This is where we were likely to find fresh salmon that had just entered from the salt water – silvery fish that were muscled up and well prepared for the imposing upstream swim ahead of them to the spawning grounds.

Almost unbelievably, Chris and I hooked up to big, powerful chum salmon on our first casts with the fly rods. These were totally crazy fish, stripping off an amazing volume of line on the first big run and leaping wildly to dislodge the fly. Several times I found myself with the entire fly line off the reel and into the backing, which isn’t a normal occurrence on chums. Both fish turned out to be genuine 15 pounders, built like tanks and more than ready to be part of the chum salmon spawning biomass. From that point the bite was consistent for much of the morning. Chris and I did manage to keep just ahead of the spin twins, but there was scarcely a minute that at least one of us wasn’t leaning back on a bent rod. Several times all four of us were hooked up together, causing plenty of goodnatured cheering and jeering, and most of the chums were big, fit and about as feisty as any salmon I’ve ever caught. We called it quits at around 3pm, all totally spent from non-stop casting and fighting these magnificent fish.

Sharing the river with bears is a daily occurrence

Bald eagles are everywhere, and they are magnificent birds

Sockeye salmon flesh is bright red

Lodge owner, Wayne McGee, with a solid rainbow trout

Our final two days of fishing went much the same way, with a couple of short sessions thrown in to target Arctic grayling on dry flies. We also managed a few char, lake trout and rainbows for variety, covering just about all possibilities – except the chinook salmon, which were conspicuous by their absence. Populations of these mighty fish have dropped away alarmingly in recent years in most Alaska rivers, due most likely to overfishing by commercial netters in the Bering Sea. It’s a situation that has alarmed fisheries managers, and measures are currently being formulated to arrest the decline. Let’s hope it’s not too late.

Jet lagged, generally exhausted, and with my right (casting) shoulder in need of a cortisone injection for pain relief, I lobbed back in Adelaide with an SD card loaded with spectacular images and plenty of new Alaskan memories. The reality is that visit number four will be my last, but I know Brett is champing at the bit to head up there in the not too distant future, so SA Angler’s association with the Alaska Trophy Adventures Lodge might not be over just yet. We are even talking with our sister publication, Western Angler magazine, about the possibility of organising a combined trip for our readers and theirs. Keep an eye on this space for future developments!