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Kenai River Alaska Fly Fishing Guides
Fish Tales
Guide Stories from Mystic Waters

 Men and fish are alike. They both get into trouble when they open their mouths.
~Author Unknown

Troutitude...


Nearing the end of our float on a midsummer day, we found a pod of rainbows on a ferocious bite in one hole. Fish launched like missiles every time a good drift reached the bite zone. Stacy was working his drift boat nearby and we began alternating passes through the feeding lane and chasing after hot fish.

On one pass-through, an angler hooked the fish-of-the-day. The resulting battle was brief and shocking. The rainbow shot straight toward his would-be captor, crashing into his chest on the third leap, before flopping into the middle of the drift boat. My guest was stunned.  I quickly scooped the twisting fish and freed it over the side. I was concerned about its physical condition after slapping the angler and banging the bottom of my boat. Undaunted, the untamed rainbow sliced across the water pushing a v-wake like a torpedo. The wave splashed up with a bang on the side of Stacy's drift boat.

It was a brief encounter with a mad trout of approximately twenty-eight inches. While we got no glory photo of the fish, it surely burned its image on our memories. How many trout fisherman can claim to be gored by a rainbow? How many drift boats do crazed trout ram? That fish had serious troutitude.

Catching trophy trout is a big deal for most fly anglers and everyone wants to get a special photo with their biggest fish. As a guide, I typically do the holding for these photos. Big fish can be a bit of a challenge to pose and we never want to hurt them. I would like to think I have developed a special touch over the years to quickly and safely position a fish for the camera before release.

After a successful photo pose, I was leaning over the water to carefully release a particular fish. Mindful of his well being, I intended to hold the trout momentarily submerged to be sure he was ready to swim. Before reaching the water, he snapped his head back and bit my lip. While we generally do not worry too much about them, trout have teeth. This fish surely felt vindicated as he zoomed off and blood from my wounded lip dribbled down my chin. How was the bite that day? Well, I was bit in the lip. Some trout are not to be trifled with.

 




On Me, In Me, and In the Boat 

Published in Blood Knot Magazine September 13, 2010

Several years ago, I took a mother and daughter on a day trip down the Upper Kenai River. While it’s not unusual to take a couple of ladies fishing, this trip felt out of the ordinary right from the start. Originally the trip had been booked for three, but they apologized and said dad couldn’t make it. When I asked about their fly fishing background, they said they didn’t have much experience.  After putting rods in their hands, it was apparent the ladies weren’t just novices, but weren’t serious about fishing in general. But always up for a challenge, I started them at ground zero and did my best to get them into fish and interested in fly fishing.

Things went well throughout the day despite my odd feelings. The ladies listened, learned and caught fish—they enjoyed the river float and made for pleasant company. I provided lots of details on the local wildlife and natural history throughout the float, and I even pulled over to show them a bear trail and a few ripped up salmon carcasses from the preceding night. They seemed impressed, but didn’t want to stick around long.

For me, it was an ideal day. Two women are a sure bet for a great trip. They typically come to fly fishing with an open mind and an ease about the process that makes teaching them a pleasure.  Fly fishing requires attention to detail and women seem to absorb this quicker because they aren’t just thinking about the end game catching fish.  Success usually follows, and after eight hours they were content to call it a day.

I still had an odd feeling about the trip.  It was as if they were just going through the motions rather than trying to experience a lasting impression. But then as I readied the boat for our trip back across Skilak Lake to the landing, the ladies perked up. There was a steady wind blowing in our faces, and as we motored out into the lake, the ladies stood up in the bow and began throwing something into the wind. Suddenly, gritty powder was wafting back into my eyes and mouth. For a moment, I thought Mt. Redoubt was erupting again. I put up a hand and tried to duck as the wind carried the substance they were throwing straight into every crack, crevice and opening of my clothing and face. They were laughing, smiling, and filled with a strange joy. I had just met dad and he was stuck in my beard and teeth.

Apparently, dad had always wanted to go fishing in Alaska. After the fallout, the women explained that he had passed away late in the spring, and they had decided not to cancel his trip. Dad never got a chance to take his Alaska vacation in living form, but his girls decided some of his ashes should make the trip and become immersed in the environment he longed for. Having someone’s charred remains thrown into one’s face may seem reason for outcry, but I didn’t have the heart to tell them that most of dad ended up on me, in me, and in the boat. At least he’ll get to make more Alaska fishing trips. 

Mystic Waters Fly Fishing is Fred’s guiding business which is based out of Cooper Landing, Alaska.  He operates a special use permit in the Kenai National Wildlife Refuge allowing him to offer trips in the limited commercial use area of the Upper Kenai River from Sportsman’s Landing to Skilak Lake.  This is the premier (drift only) portion of the Kenai River offering consistent, quality fishing and outstanding scenery.


No Bad Days...

My best friend and guiding partner Stacy Corbin is fond of the saying, “No Bad Days” when it comes to fishing.  He picked up a sticker with the quote down in Cabo. He has it on the back window of his van. It reminds him of sunrise on the beach and mornings spent chasing roosterfish in the warm surf. Not a bad image. While I generally agree that any day-spent fishing is a good day, I know of an angler who might have a different view.

I was guiding a party for sockeye from a Kenai riverbank one summer day. A man walked in from a trail across the river and started fishing.  We did not pay him much mind, because the guys were busy landing fish. Someone later noted that the fellow was having no action. Eventually, he did hook a fish and we all cheered him on during the battle. He chased his fish around the riffle and tried to lead it toward the bank. The salmon would have none of it and kept sprinting toward deeper water, sending up showers of spray. We all groaned as the man fell in and lost his fish.

Watching him crawl from the river, we saw a cow moose come charging up the bank.  I do not know if he heard our yelling or not, but the dripping wet man looked up to see the moose bearing down. With a lunge, he cleared the water and dashed into the bushes. Thankfully, the moose kept on going before turning into the trees.  The reason the moose was running was soon clear. The man stepped out to stare after the moose and walked right into the path of a charging brown bear.


Those of us spending time in bear country have heard repeatedly, never to run from a brown bear. It would take a rare individual not to act as this fellow did. He instantly spun and dashed back into the woods. In hot pursuit of the moose, the bear reacted to the movement of the man and followed him out of sight.

As you can imagine, we feared the worst. The outcome seemed inevitable. You could have cut the tension with a knife. Thankfully, within a second, the man appeared, followed by the bear, which turned down the bank pursuing the moose. Good thing the guy was wearing waders. No bad days? Well, it depends on how you look at it.  When it comes to sockeye fishing, it is important to have a sense of humor and be ready for anything.

 


Melt Down...

I probably should not go into this, but as a parent and fishing guide, I have noticed some striking similarities between kids and adult fly fishers. Sometimes well-educated, mature adults turn into little children when confronted by tricky fish. Take the guy from West Yellowstone many years ago. He seemed very eager to help mentor my other angler from Vermont.

Vermont was all decked out in new duds from Orvis. This was shortly after the movie (River Runs Through It). He admitted that he was not much of a fly fisherman, but just took a class and really wanted to try it. West Yellowstone was sporting well-worn waders and the cork on his fly rod looked like it was baked in an oven. The guy was clearly experienced and well traveled. He started the day by sharing his resume of fishing exploits while laying out perfect casts. Vermont was in awe.

If you have fished much from a drift boat, you know that there is really no reason for a long cast. If the guide is doing his job, he will put you close to the fish. I guess I was doing my job that day, because Vermont was hooking all the fish. His technique was to watch West Yellowstone cast and then wave his rod around while grunting and ultimately pile a cast into the water about ten feet from the boat, perfect.

I will not go into all the reasons as to why this was the more effective technique, but Vermont was hooking five-pound rainbows. This had an interesting effect on West Yellowstone, who had only landed a couple of dinks. His loops got tighter and his casts shot farther. It did not matter that we were mid-river; he was hitting the banks at will. He was pushing a strike indicator and split shot 70'.

I should mention that I had carefully approached the subject of getting a long natural drift near the boat to West Yellowstone. I had explained that the fish were deep and feeding on king salmon eggs, not taking hoppers near the banks. I repeated this advice more than once. Enough said.

Things got really out of hand when Vermont tried heroically to make a good cast toward the bank and somehow wrapped a loop of line around his neck. While he was engaged in untangling himself from the line, the fish-of-the-day took his fly. The big rainbow jumped two feet into the air in front of West Yellowstone and managed to stay hooked. By this time, Vermont was embarrassed by his success and began apologizing to West Yellowstone for his luck. This had an interesting effect on West Yellowstone. His face got dark red and I swear there was smoke coming out his ears. Suffice it to say, he came very close to breaking his rod and had to take a (“time out”) break from fishing.

At the end of the day, Vermont was very excited. He went on and on about how thrilled he was at his success. He was pleasantly surprised at how easy fly-fishing from a driftboat was and that he could join a trip with a more experienced angler and still have fun. Somewhere in the middle of this oration, I heard gravel scatter from someone’s tires.

 


True Love (Or a fool)…

One of the things I love about guiding, are all the couples that come together to fish. What could be better than sharing a fun and exciting day on a beautiful river with your special partner? I really enjoy being a part of the fun and seeing the surprise and wonder that often accompanies landing big fish. Often, one of the partners has a little more experience then the other. I work especially hard to make sure that the more novice partner has a good time and lands some fish.

An important lesson I have learned while guiding is that guys usually know lots about fishing, without having actually learned anything. Gals usually know very little about fishing, but end up actually learning lots. This can create some interesting situations during the course of a guided trip.

One particular couple joined me on a beautiful June day. Ken was very proud of his angling skills and made it plain that he was going to show Barb how to catch fish. I was pretty much along to bear witness and provide the boat. It soon became apparent that Ken had some challenges to overcome, if he was going to land any fish. Barb on the other hand, was a natural. With some careful coaching that Ken chose not to pay any attention to, she began to catch some nice fish. You can see where this is going, but fortunately, it is not going to end with Ken having a melt down.

After catching several fish, Barb rather eased up on fishing without Ken noticing. She was very diplomatic (she whispered to me to make sure to give Ken the best chances). Finally, Ken hooked a nice fish from the boat. Boy was he excited. "Hey Baby, this is what it's all about!” he whooped as his fish took some line. While this was going on, I was distracted by a huge splash on the other side of the boat. I noticed that Barb was holding her rod down by the water and that her rod was bucking as a huge rainbow again broke water.

Just as I was filling up with exultant joy at the prospect of helping Barb land the epic fish of my guiding career, she lifted a finger to her lips. I was dumfounded. Her Grande rainbow got off and she handed me her rod. Then as my ears burned, she began to praise Ken for his spectacular catch. Ken was beaming and I was smiling back my tears.

 


Flying Rainbows...  

As an Alaskan guide, my time is largely spent sharing my favorite river, the “Upper Kenai” with others. However, the best thing about Alaska in mid-summer is that daylight extends beyond midnight. That means that on occasion, I can guide an entire day, take care of preparations for the next trip and still grab a few hours of fishing with a friend.

On one such summers evening, my friend Stacy Corbin and I were sight fishing to big trout in one of the Upper Kenai’s many eddies. We had spotted several large trout cruising around some sockeye carcasses lodged in a snag. I maneuvered the boat, while Stacy crouched low in the bow and cast carefully into the zone.  A trout slammed the fly and Stacy gave a powerful strip set as if he was intending to hook Troutzilla.

Instead of a huge rainbow straining for cover, a little 8” trout missile was flying straight at Stacy. For a moment, time was suspended. The tiny trout seemed to be swimming in air. Then, splat went the rainbow right in the crotch of his Simms waders. I had a brief moment to view the shocked look on Stacy’s face as he examined the slime spot. Then my eyes filled with tears of laughter as Stacy bent over and attempted to capture the hapless fish now flopping in the bottom of the drift boat. Even in Alaska, small fish happen.

 


 You have Company...

On a popular bank to sockeye fish, a little black bear took up a feeding lane. He would slink out of the woods and patrol the shoreline, looking for salmon carcasses or any unattended, freshly caught fish. The situation worked out pretty well for everyone. The anglers were always wading well out from the bank and the bear kept his distance. Those of us who knew about him, kept our fish on stringers, attached to our boats, anchored away from shore. Those that did not know about the bear were soon educated. More than one angler got a little upset about losing a prized fish or two. I am sure some folks must have believed their sockeye came back to life and flopped into the river. “Hey, where is my fish?” was a common phrase heard on that bank.

For about two weeks, I would say to my guests, “We’ll pull over here and fish with the bear.” This may not be the best way to approach a new day, but it always set a good adventurous tone to the trip. Then, we would have a little talk about proper etiquette around bears and after a few furtive glances into the woods; everyone would forget and go fishing. Eventually, our little buddy would show up and go about his business. That bear’s image filled many a camera and has been viewed around the world by now. He made many people smile as they experienced a little bit of wild Alaska.

One day, as I was drifting past, a guide friend was already on the spot working for sockeye. As we went past, I said, “Hey, you’ve got company!” He chuckled and said, “Yeah, I know about the little fella.” I said, “Maybe you do, but I wonder if he does.” Right behind everyone on the shore was a huge brown bear. As we drifted on, there appeared to be a rapid exodus to the guides boat.

We moved on to an island fishing site.  Shortly after getting started, a brown bear from the opposite shore decided to visit. Since our local brown bears are unpredictable, I recommended we hop in the boat and give up the spot. About half way across the river, the bear changed his mind and floated on around the bend. We went back to fishing. After working the water for about twenty minutes, we drifted on. As we rounded the bend, another guided party was pulled over to the bank.  They were standing around a woman curled up on the shore. I asked the guide if she was ok and he said yes, but a little shaken up. She had waded out and was focused on fishing when the bear drifted right past her. She apparently did not see the bruin until it was right in front of her rod. The bear enjoyed a nice swim, but she was quite unnerved and will never forget her day on the Upper Kenai.

 


It Would Not Go Away...

Late one fall, after my guiding season had ended, Stacy and I decided to explore a side channel. We had been eyeing it all season. The river had been cutting into it steadily for several years. It looked like prime habitat was waiting. Now, with low water and a full day on our hands, it was time for a long explore. We fished our way down from the top, noting some major bear sign. The reason was soon clear. More sockeye remained spawning here than anywhere else on the main river. As we had hoped, the trout knew about it.

They were wild fish. Not expecting capture and feeling exposed in some of the shallower riffles, they took flight. Sometimes we landed them and sometimes they found sanctuary in the logjams and sweepers. It was my favorite kind of fishing; exploration, success and fun in a new place. The desire to know what was next, kept us going farther and farther into the maze. Before long, we could not wade the channel because of logjams and deep holes. I took to the woods and followed the bears' trails. At one point, as I was reaching for a handhold to cross a fallen log, I put my hand in something.

I tried to wash it in the river, I tried to scrub it in sand and mud and leaves. When we got back in the boat and continued our float down the main river, Stacy noticed it. My hand was fouled. It was bad. I showered as soon as I got back to the cabin. I scrubbed my hand with antibacterial soap and a brush until the skin was raw. Feeling purified, I dressed and met Stacy for dinner at the Kenai Grill. The scent came back. It was in my skin like a tattoo. The bears left me a reminder that the channel was theirs, wild and a little bit grubby. I cannot wait to go back.

 


 
Fishing Under Watchful Eyes...

Snow crunched loudly underfoot. Even at noon, the light of day was only a pale reminder that the sun was somewhere south of the horizon. An icy fog enshrouded the river. Thick hoar frost coated every surface within one hundred feet of the water. Approaching the river edge, I viewed a miraculous sight. In the surface of the snow was a perfect impression of an eagle’s wings. Even the flight feathers were perfectly etched by the frost crystals. Astonished at the sight, I crouched before the impression and spread my arms. My fingertips could not reach the wing tips of the giant bird.

Gazing aloft into the trees, I spied three ghostly sentries. The eagles had been still long enough for their feathers to frost white. How long had they been staring into the river, waiting for an opportunity to snatch a meal? Which one had left its signature upon the snow? Out in the jade colored current, a back bulged through the smooth flow. Silver salmon finned beneath the waters of mid-river. The eagles looked down as I worked out my fly-line and placed a cast above the target zone. I imagined their envy as my fly was quickly intercepted and a silver missile erupted below their post.

Despite the cold water, the salmon put up an impressive struggle. After three jumps, several reel screeching runs and the classic silver twist, it was time to recover my fly. The big male was striking. His flanks were barely starting to tint with the spawning blush soon to blossom into brilliant maroon color. His back was green, his eyes were wild and his kyped nose was extraordinary.

After penetrating the icy waters, I held his tail for a brief moment. The cold water was a shock even to chilled fingers. I removed the fly from his jaw and the big buck silver darted back toward mid-river, sending a freezing spray toward my face. Tiny droplets froze to my glasses and my wet gloves hardened in the frigid air. I sat in the snow knowing I could easily catch another salmon. All I needed to do was break the ice from my rod guides and warm my fingers in spare mittens. The frosty eagles were looking on. The silvers were in the river waiting. The scene was perfect. I savored the moment.

Back at the cabin, I picked up a chilled homebrew off the porch. The wood stove was crackling when I entered, sending a wave of welcome warmth my way. My wife looked up, somewhat surprised by my quick return. “Are they biting today Daddy?” said my young daughter. “Yes they are.” I replied. “ I caught a big one on my first cast, but it just didn’t seem fair to catch more salmon in front of the frosted eagles.”

 

 

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