Spring Leopard | Photo by J. Hasegawa
My first trout on the fly is a cherished memory. I was 12 years old. It was caught with a polar shrimp fly that I had found on the bank earlier that day. After eagerly casting my Dad’s 9 weight fly rod out into the blue-gray waters of the Kenai, I watched as it disappeared from my sight. The take was unexpected and sharp. For the first time, I felt the difference between fly-fishing for trout and fishing for salmon. A huge rush pulsed through me with each fresh run and jump of the trout. I was laughing out loud looking for my Dad. As I gained control and brought her in I took a glance around… no one, not a soul. The salmon fishing crowds were 100 yards downstream, packed shoulder-to-shoulder as far as the eye could see.
Time stopped for those few minutes as I carefully reeled in the beautiful rainbow. This one fish changed my fishing life. I remember holding it, looking at the beautiful coloration. The river sounded different from then on, more vivid and clear. It was and still is a great memory.
I first used my Dad’s heavy salmon fly rods for trout and then later saved up enough allowance for a real trout rod and reel. At 14, I bought my first fly rod; a 4 weight Sage with a Ross Cimarron reel. It was my most cherished possession. I would tag along on every one of my Dad’s, friend’s or relative’s fishing trips. Rarely fishing for salmon, I would trek off on my own to the upper Russian or to various parts of the Kenai away from the crowds.
26″ Local Dolly | Photo by J.Kim
The day after passing my driver’s test I drove to the Russian for a weekend of fly fishing with my longtime fishing buddy RP (The Big Pull). Dozens upon dozens of trips followed. During Summers we would go on a trip every week. During school, we would skip a Friday here or a Monday there to extend the weekend on the river. At 16 we became obsessed with floating the Kenai. At 17 we would hike into bear-infested streams on the Kenai Peninsula or off the Alaska Highway. On one memorable trip, we had a train drop us off near a stream in the heart of Alaska for a week of heaven, dry-flying for rainbows and trophy grayling that had never before seen a fly. On another trip, we hiked 10 miles through knee high soupy tundra to fish the northernmost point of wild rainbow trout in North America.
Speyground, April 2007
Our need for fishing more remote streams and catching never before caught trout expanded our sights to Southwestern Alaska. My first trip to Lake Illiamna and the Newhalen River signaled the beginning of my obsession for 30 inch trophies. The Newhalen is a beautiful river with picturesque gorges and deep holes stacked with fish. Its power comes from being nearly the same width as the Kenai while holding twice the volume of water.
A friend and I arrived in October and stayed at Illiamna Lake Resort. The picturesque resort was closed for the season. The caretaker, a family friend, gave us free reign on the leftover food, truck and jet boat. We fished for a week under lightly falling snow and sub-freezing temperatures. The constant ice in our guides, the numbness of our hands and legs are a distant memory to the rainbows, dollies and lake trout we had all to ourselves. The trout were girthy beyond recognition from all of the salmon eggs and flesh in the river. The fish of the trip was a 31 inch dolly so gorged with eggs it weighed in at close to 20 pounds. Sadly, it is this very water that will bear the brunt of irreversible toxic pollution if Northern Dynasty Minerals gains approval to build the world’s largest open pit mine and the world’s largest earthen dams to hold the toxic waste rock.
Worth Preserving | Photo courtesy of R. Peterson
After being lucky enough to fish the Illiamna drainages, I jumped at the chance to meet up with RP who was now a guide on the river N and other famed southwest Alaska waters. With rainbows larger than anywhere in the world, the N is THE river. Big water, big flies, and big trout. A testing ground for hardcore fly fishers.
Our first trip to the N was in late October. With winds and sleet greeting me as I exited the airport, R.P. was outside leaned up against our clunker rental, a pre 90’s Ford Escort. He was rolling up a cig with a big grin on his face. “Yo Tuber, ready to hit it?”. We headed straight for the jet boat. That afternoon at our first stop on the river, we each hooked into 27 inchers. At the next hole, R.P. hooked his first plus 30, a 31 inch buck. Just 15 minutes later on the same hole, I landed my dream fish, a 30 inch hen. The next 2 days, we caught a few more rainbows each but none bigger than 27″.
First 31" Buck.
During the last run before my flight out, I hooked into a rainbow that I still daydream about to this day. The take nearly ripped my 8 weight out of my frozen hands. In just seconds, I was into my backing. I started maneuvering my way downstream through the chest-deep water. I knew if I could hold him at the slow corner hole 150 yards below, I may have a chance. R.P. shouted from 100 yards upriver, “hold him” as he made his way towards me. I remember everything about that 5 minute battle along with it’s abrupt end. The screetching drag, the afterburn of flyline vs skin, the chill of freezing water spilling over my waders as I hopped downriver. The rainbow felt like a mid 30 incher, a monster hog, pushing near 20 pounds. The one and only jump out of water shortly before breaking off my tippet only confirmed my guess. It was truly a thing of beauty.
Two hours later packed and ready to head off back to Anchorage. I paid RP my half of the car rental and gas for the boat wearing the same big grin that he had on his face when I arrived. I’ve been going back almost every October since.
Tspey 