Red Alaskan Sunsets and The Blue Flash

March-April, 2008 — One of the things I like about fishing out in the middle of the Gulf of Alaska is the isolation from the rest of the world. All we see in any direction is water — just open horizon; maybe we’ll see another boat on the horizon, but that is as close to civilization as we get out here.

Along with this isolation comes the cleansing feeling of being in a place where there is no pollution, just water, seagulls, and sky. The sunrises and sunsets have always been set apart from the ones I see in the Lower 48, which vary in color from deep red to light pink, with very few shades of yellow. In the gulf, the sunsets have lots of yellow because there is no pollution in the atmosphere to pink it up.

Another totally cool part about being out here is the blue flash. The blue (or green) flash is an optical phenomenon that occurs as the sun is setting over a clear ocean horizon with no land and no clouds or atmospheric interference between your eyeball and the sun. Something happens to the light as it travels through all that atmosphere, and the instant after the sun drops completely out of sight below the horizon, a cone of brilliant blue or green light shoots upward from where the sun has just disappeared.

I have seen the blue flash a number of times. The first time was in 2001, when I saw it on the sunrise, which is very rare because one does not know when and where to focus their gaze. It was a beautifully clear morning, and George and I were up in the wheelhouse watching the glorious shades of yellow intensify in the sky, when this crazy tower of green shot out from the horizon — an instant later the sun peeked up in its place.

Well, this season there were no yellow sunrises or sunsets, and there were definitely no blue or green flashes going on in the Gulf of Alaska. The sky was a deep pink at sunrise and sunset, and on the evenings when I had perfect conditions to view the illusive blue flash, I was duped every time. The sky was just too polluted to manufacture such a highly sensitive optical phenomenon.

Brett told me about a guy who asked him about the blue flash. When Brett told him he had seen it with his own eyes, the guy couldn’t believe it was real. He had tried to see it on the Oregon coast on many occasions. He determined it was all a big lie someone conjured up for some reason. I guess he was simply looking through a polluted atmosphere, just as I am doing this year in the Gulf of Alaska.

I wonder what has polluted this clear, pure sky? Could it have been all those forest fires we had this fall? But those were back in October, and over 3,000 miles away from here. Maybe a volcano erupted somewhere? Maybe it’s China and their new coal-powered industrial machine?

Whatever it is, I hope it’s temporary. If it’s getting to the point where our planet is so polluted that we can’t even take a clean breath in the middle of the open ocean, I think it really might be time to take a close look at where we are headed.

Air mask, anyone?

TO BE CONTINUED…

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The Bear Hunter

Sunday, July 29, 2007 — It was true — Derrick had gone missing. We sent a couple guys out to look for him, and at the same time we alerted the park ranger, which isn’t a bad thing to do when missing somebody in a bear-infested national park.

We hadn’t waited too long before we heard Derrick had been located; he was in the custody of the park rangers. He hadn’t been eaten by a bear, thank goodness (I guess), but apparently he was observed by a biologist — who was perched in a fir tree observing bears in their natural environment — wielding a large knife as he chased a bear through a stream. Derrick must have been bored with the ride, so he ventured out and violated every rule they taught us in bear school.

As Derrick was processed through the National Park Enforcement Department, we drifted around in Mike’s skiff and barbecued a few sockeye salmon we had caught right there on the spot. Derrick was still locked in the interrogation room after we finished our snack. There was an air of mystery surrounding his questioning, but we needed to head back to King Salmon before we were navigating the shallows of Naknek Lake in the dark.

After waiting a full two hours, the rangers finally released their prisoner. When Derrick was safely aboard the skiff, he told us his story. According to Derrick, as we were waiting for the unseen bears to clear the trial, he went off the trail — just to take a piss. He caught sight of the bear and brandished his knife. The bear turned tail and ran, but as the self-designated protector of the group, he chased the beast, selflessly defending the rest, stopping at nothing to be sure the bear would not threaten the others.

The bear escaped before he could kill it, but Derrick was intercepted by the rangers before he made it back to the trail. He couldn’t believe they gave him a fine instead of a medal. He got off easy, as far as I can tell; perhaps that fifth of whiskey brought him a cheery disposition that earned leniency from the park rangers.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Bear Safari

Sunday, July 29, 2007 — Every season as the colossal run of Bristol Bay sockeye salmon surge up the rivers, bears come to feast on the salmon us gillnetters missed. Brooks Falls, which is a part of Katmai National Park, is a great place to watch the bears stalk salmon as they fight their way up a bit of rapids and a small waterfall (the falls). The National Park Service has accommodated human lookie-loos with a great bear-proof viewing platform. It is from this platform where photographers take the picture of a bear chomping a salmon out of mid-air as it is jumping up the falls.

On Sunday, July 29, in the leisurely post-season days of stripping nets and scrubbing the boat, we had the opportunity to head up to Brooks Lodge with Mike, the winter watchman’s son. All of my crew, including Bruce and Madeline, and Crosby and his crew, and Mike’s two young sons as well, all piled in my car and Mike’s truck, which was towing Mike’s setnet skiff, and headed for the boat ramp in King Salmon.

From there Mike would launch his skiff then run 40 minutes to the world-renowned Brooks Lodge — a $1,000 trip just for the cost of fines. Just as we were pulling out we were joined by a last-minute addition — Derrick, who fished with Murray for part of the season. There was room for one more so we welcomed him along.

On the way to the boat ramp, we stopped for snacks — mainly chips and beer by my observation, but I also observed Derrick buy a bottle of whiskey. I neglected to bring any spirits along, probably because I stopped drinking booze on nature walks not long after I graduated from high school, but nonetheless I thought a pull or two off the bottle might be nice on this high-spirited journey.

The skiff launching procedure was old hat to Mike, and he knew the run to Brooks like the back of his hand — he has snowmobiled with his buddies around here since he was a kid. In less than an hour we were standing on the shores of Brooks Camp, with pumice lapping the lakeside shoreline and petrified wood decorating the neighboring woods (they say this is the land where rocks float and wood sinks).

Before we were allowed to enter the trails, we had to go through bear school, so we knew how NOT to be mauled by a bear. The friendly park ranger told us the basics: Make noise, stay on the trails, don’t get between the mother bear and her cubs, and if confronted by a bear, don’t show aggression.

After bear school we headed out on the trail toward the viewing platform, but we were held up at the floating footbridge because there were a couple of bears on the other side. As we waited for the go-ahead to cross, I saw Derrick take the bottle from his back pocket and draw a healthy pull off his fifth of whiskey. I was surprised to see the bottle was over half consumed. He never offered me or anyone else a slug, so he must be working at a pretty fast gait if he had slurped down all that booze himself.

After we cleared the footbridge we had another bear delay as we trekked to the viewing platform, but it was a brief stop and we never actually saw the bear. At the platform we had the full show: bears hunting, bears catching fish, bears eating fish, bears looking at bears, bears looking at other bears eating, tourists looking at bears, tourists looking at tourists, etc.

If you’ve seen one bear (or tourist), you’ve seen ’em all, and bears in Naknek are like stray dogs anywhere else. We stayed at the platform for about 20 minutes then headed back to the skiff; I think this trip was really all about the ride. It wasn’t until we were walking down the beach with the skiff in sight when somebody asked the question, “Has anybody seen Derrick?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Maddy Goes on Board

July 18 to Season’s End, 2007 — In support of my ongoing effort to involve my family with my fishing operations, my daughter, Madeline, came up and fished the last few days of the season in Bristol Bay.

Since Madeline is only 11 years old, she traveled with Bruce, a family friend who happens to be her former second-grade teacher. Bruce wanted to come up to the bay and check it out, and there was nobody else we would want to chaperone our daughter on a trip to Alaska.

Bruce and Madeline arrived Naknek on Wednesday, July 18. I ran in after fishing the flood. I bucked the current all the way in, so by the time I reached the dock I had only a few minutes before the falling tide left me high and dry on the bottom. By the time Bruce and Madeline were all loaded up and I was done screwing around with my dock errands, there was no longer enough water to float my boat, so we had to stay on the beach for that tide. It was just as well since it was the end of a long day of traveling for the new crew.

We were back out and fishing on the next tide in the morning. I left two of my regular crew, Conor and Edward, on the beach to strip gear and just relax, and Anthony came out fishing with us to show the greenhorns the trade. Bruce had come fishing with me a few times in Puget Sound, but he couldn’t believe the difference in Bristol Bay. He finally understood why I call the Puget Sound fishery vacation fishing.

Fishing was pretty slow, but we managed to scrape up a few decent sets. Madeline liked to ride up on the flying bridge with me as we tooled around the bay. She came to Alaska as a spectator, so I suppose she picked a great spot for spectating. I enjoyed her company as she soaked up the scene. I was a bit concerned about all the foul language she was soaking up while listening to me talk on the radio. There is no “off” switch for my habit of a foul mouth when fishing; I could only hope she wouldn’t bring it home to her mother.

After a full day out Anthony and Bruce bailed off the boat, and Conor and his brother Devin hopped aboard on Friday, July 20. Conor was excited to come out and do some home-pack high grading for himself and the rest of the crew, and he was definitely the right man for the job. The way he looked at every one of them before he tossed it into the brailer — like he wanted to take a picture, frame it, and then eat it — was almost scary. He was so serious about packing fish, I thought he might eat me if I couldn’t catch enough fish to satisfy his appetite.

Fishing was real slow, but fortunately we were catching enough to keep Conor satisfied. It really started blowing toward the top of the tide and I was concerned Madeline was not going to like the weather, but she hung in there like a veteran. She did take a nap during the height of the storm, but since her commission aboard began she had been living quite the life of leisure, so it very well could have coincided with her beauty sleep.

When Conor had enough, we called it quits for the tide, and for the day, and for the season. This sockeye run was done, and now it was time to hit the beach and pack the Sunlight III up for the long, cold winter.

We may have been done catching the fish, but we certainly weren’t done messing with them. Conor had organized a fish processing assembly line with people filleting, vacuum packing, loading the freezer, and tending the smoker. There were so many fish, the packing went on for days, and the tribal-like feeling created by their large-scale effort of preserving of the seasons bounty was a great way to sign off on for the season.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Good Fishing; Big Problems, Part II

July 10, 2007 — With my net aboard I dropped the anchor and set to work on getting out of this mess. Some of the guys in the radio group were sort of close, but I never like taking anybody away from fishing unless it is a life-or-death situation, especially if it is for a bonehead reason like running out of fuel. We cleared the net from the back deck, pulled my spare fuel out from the lazarette, and dumped it into the tank. I tried to roll the engine over, but there just wasn’t life in those abused batteries.

I stared over the white-capped seas, and wondered what to do. Then in the distance I saw the Raven, the tender that had my new batteries aboard, pulling into the anchorage at Johnson Hill. I grabbed my radio and called Chuck, the Raven’s skipper, praying there was enough battery power left to broadcast.

I had never been so happy as when Chuck came back to my call. I asked him if he could run out and pass off those batteries; he agreed. There was light at the end of this dark tunnel.

Chuck had a hell of a time locating me because my anchor had dragged and we drifted almost a couple miles out of the district while we were messing with the nets and fuel. As he ran my direction I added an extension to the anchor line so it would hold, and soon we were fast to the bottom with 2 knots of current coursing under the boat.

When Chuck arrived, he was a bit wary of the situation. The fact I was anchored to the bottom really complicated things because the wind bucking the current and the resulting steep swell made it way too difficult for the 100-foot tender to simply pull alongside and drop the batteries aboard my boat.

But Chuck was undaunted, and ran the Raven up from behind me, making about 4 knots through the water so he had steering maneuverability. He was bucking the current so he actually made only 2 knots in relation to my boat, which was anchored.

Chuck had to run the Raven pretty close to the Sunlight III in order for the crane to reach. As he closed in, my little boat rocked around like a cork, shifting in the wind in a random fashion. I imagined the Raven smashing through the stern of the Sunlight III as it swung wildly in front of Chuck’s bow at the last second, or my boat lifting up very quickly on a big swell and forcing the heavy batteries right through the deck.

When Chuck made the pass, it happened real quick. The Raven came right in close as the Sunlight III was rocking like a crazed minion. The crane extended over the rail with my batteries hanging by a strap, snugged right up close to the cranehead.

The guy driving the crane was an ace, and just as the Sunlight III fell beneath the shadow of the Raven, he swung the crane down over my boat and winched all 200 pounds of those batteries down full speed, but pulled back at the last second for a soft landing. My guys unhooked the crane and the Raven sailed on! Those guys were my heroes!

With a couple fresh batteries that literally fell from the sky (but with a soft landing) I had all I needed to get me going. The batteries went into place, my boat started, and after a huge battle with the extension line I put on the anchor, we winched the anchor aboard and headed for the Johnson Hill anchorage to get some fuel and get back into the action.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Good Fishing; Big Problems

July 10, 2007 — On Tuesday, July 10, fishing was pretty good. I was fishing the first part of the ebb out by the Johnson Hill buoy. There was lots of room because everyone had run up a few miles to make a longer set before the current carried them back down to the line. The weather was clear, sunny, and a bit rough with a 25-knot wind from the south.

I felt fortunate just to be out fishing because my alternator was legally dead, and I was living on borrowed time until its replacement could be flown in. If I shut my engine off there wouldn’t be enough battery power to restart it, so it had been running nonstop for 24 hours. I charged my batteries at the tender during the closures in order to keep the batteries up enough to run my radios.

At night I fished in darkness with no deck lights, but just the draw of the running lights, along with the necessary electronics that run all day, would drain my batteries to the point that eventually my radio wouldn’t work and the cabin lights offered only a dim glow. All this charging and draining stressed my batteries so much that they hardly held a charge, so I had a fresh set coming out on a tender.

I was making quick ebb sets, running back a mile from the line and drifting out in the clear water amongst a foamy tiderip. There were fish in the clear water, but they wouldn’t hit the net unless I ran them in with the boat, which is a very common practice in Bristol Bay. So I let go of the net and ran right along the corkline the entire length of the net. Big schools of salmon that were lying against the net all pushed in at once, pulling the corks down then powering up all together as they fought against the net.

Even though I’ve done it a million times, I am always a bit wary of running the net when making an ebb set. The current is moving toward the line, and if some unforeseen difficulty befalls me while running the net, like getting the net wrapped up in the propeller, there would be no way to clear it before I drifted over the line.

In this instance, running the net was the only way to catch these fish, so run it I did. I let go the end of the net and ran the Sunlight III along the corkline, close enough to scare lots of fish in, but with enough distance so there was no way I could catch my net in the prop.

Then, halfway down my net as I ran full-speed ahead, my engine suddenly died. I knew what it was right away, because I had done it before. And I knew how to fix it, because after this happened the first time I prepared for it, although it should never happen in the first place… I had run my boat out of fuel.

The solution is simple: Pull out my spare fuel jugs and add my emergency fuel to the tank. The problem I faced was that my batteries were so low I knew they wouldn’t start my boat. But that was the least of my concerns at the moment because I wasn’t even attached to my net! If I didn’t act quickly my boat would drift helplessly away with no way of restarting. I pictured us drifting over the line and into the custody of the Alaskan State Troopers.

Thankfully the wind was blowing my dead boat toward my net instead of away. I put my crew on point, and set it in their minds to grab that corkline at all costs when we drifted over it. With just a small bit of drama we got a hold of the net, pulled it around and through the stern roller, and started pulling.

First we pulled the shorter end aboard, which extended out about 40 fathoms. It was all twisted up under and around the boat so it came up in a big twisted pile of net and fish. Next we pulled the remaining 110 fathoms aboard, which was no small task, pulling against a steady 25-knot wind with no hydraulics or propulsion to ease the burden.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Alternator Woes, Part II

July 10-11, 2007 — By the end of Tuesday, July 10, there was scarcely a current to be had; one by one everything started fading out, especially after it got dark because I ran my deck lights. First the cell phone went, then the radios. Every light was dim, even after I quit running the deck lights; the cabin lights were less than the glow of a match. When the GPS faded away, I knew it was time to do something about this situation.

I quit fishing while it was still flooding, this time not even close to catching the limit. I put fresh batteries into my handheld GPS so I could still navigate into the river, and ran for camp. I arrived at high water and grabbed two new batteries out of the parts room. I also grabbed the battery tester, and fed upon the battery boneyard like a vulture, finding batteries with signs of life and bringing the three best along for the ride as sacrifices to the battery gods. I headed back into the night with all lights out to conserve the juice.

While fishing the flood on the next opening on Wednesday, July 11, I got word my alternator had arrived and was heading out on a tender. I hooked up with the tender that evening, just as my supply of sacrificial batteries was depleted. I was praying the whole time that it would all come together, because I was just about at the end of my rope after dealing with this alternator crap.

The engineer on the tender was a huge help in pressing a part into the new (actually it was used and corroded) bracket. I was extra-careful because I knew I couldn’t take any more of this battery b.s. and missed fishing time. When it all came together, my prayers were answered; the boat fired up and the alternator charged! We lightened our load by leaving on the tender three dead batteries, a generator, and two empty jugs of gas.

I suppose this story has a happy ending, but I cannot find it. I know I’m not supposed to dwell on the fact that this guy and his stupid engine he slapped together probably cost me 20,000 pounds of fish in lost fishing time. Nor should I concern myself with the fact that when I was finally back up and running and fishing with a clear head, the run had tapered down and we were pretty much scratch fishing for the remainder of the season.

On the bright side, my boat now has the correct alternator, and at the end of the season I even ordered a correct spare for the engine so I will never have to go through that experience again. Yippee!

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Alternator Woes

July 7, 2007 — On Saturday, July 7, it was still really good fishing. The peak had passed, but most of the fleet was still on limits. Peter Pan Seafoods usually had us on a limit of 8,000 pounds per tide.

The Sunlight III had been running without problems, but I had always been wary of my alternator because of the funky wiring my engine guy created when he came up and finished the job he neglected to complete when he built the engine in his shop. I realized my concerns were not unfounded when my alternator completely crapped out.

I called up Johnson Diesel, NAPA, and the Peter Pan parts room, and between them I found a replacement alternator for my engine, but it had to be ordered and wouldn’t arrive until Monday. So I kept fishing by conserving my battery juice, and charging my batteries on the tender when I could on the brief closures.

When my alternator arrived it was sent out on a Peter Pan tender late in the day on Monday, July 9. I fished the evening flood then ran back into the district to where the tender was anchored to install my replacement alternator. By that time my batteries were just about shot.

Unfortunately, but expectedly with this makeshift excuse for an engine that was slapped together, the alternator didn’t fit. The engine guy put on an alternator that goes to a different engine, explaining why there was an extra wire. The biggest complication was that he not only put the wrong alternator on, but with it he put on the wrong bracket, which did not fit the correct replacement alternator.

So now, after two days of limping, I had to scrounge up an alternator AND a bracket. Plus I didn’t catch my limit because I quit fishing early to have time to fix my alternators.

There wasn’t water enough for me to make it up to camp when I realized my dilemma, so I stayed out and fished part of the early morning flood. I quit fishing early to go back to Naknek to search for the right bracket and alternator, again missing the opportunity to catch my limit.

I grabbed a couple fresh batteries while I was in.

I was on terra firma standing in the Johnson Diesel office bright and early on the morning of Tuesday, July 10. It is so refreshing to work with people who know what they are doing; I showed Laurie the pieces to my puzzle and she showed me the correct alternator. Unfortunately, that one was going into someone else’s boat, but she did manage to dig up the correct brackets from the back of the shop. Laurie ordered the correct alternator right away, but it still wouldn’t arrive until the next day.

I’ve waited many times for next-day deliveries, and wondered how long it would really take to arrive. To hedge my bet, and keep me fishing until it finally arrived, I grabbed my battery charger, 10 gallons of gas, and the used portable generator that was for sale in the parts room for $300.

I’m not sure if this nonsensical set-up helped or hurt my situation because it really did a number on my batteries. My electronics worked with the charger when they would not work without, but once the batteries lost their charge, there was no coming back.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Limits

July 1-11, 2007 — With huge volumes of fish coming into all areas, and all fishermen catching lots and lots of fish, the processors simply cannot keep up with the production of their fleets. When this happens, the processors put a limit on how many fish each fisherman can deliver in a period. When this happens, the fleet is said to be “on limit.”

As the fish were coming in thick into the river during the openings on July 2, I noticed there seemed to be fewer fishermen fighting it out at the line. It turns out some companies had put their fleets on limit, and once the fishermen reached their maximum allowed for that particular period, they called it a day. So as the day went on, there was more and more room to fish. My company wasn’t on limit because they didn’t have a bunch of boats in Egegik, Alaska, the district that was catching a huge volume of fish that day, so they had room to handle all the fish I could catch!

The next day, July 3, when all those fish pushed into the Naknek on that ebb, there were huge volumes of fish pushing into every other area around the bay. Egegik, Ugashik, and Nushagak were all getting masses of fish, and Naknek was right there with them. There was no way around the fact that the processors were getting completely plugged.

On Tuesday, July 3, just about every processor in the Bay announced not that they were simply on limit, but that they were suspending buying altogether for the next 12-hour period. That was a real shocker, and really hard to digest because there was a handful boats whose markets were not plugged, and they were out there fishing in front of everybody else’s nose. What a great day of fishing those guys must have had!

One by one the companies resumed buying, but all were on limits. On July 5, Alaska Fish and Game announced that the escapement in the Kvichak River was back on schedule and fishing would be allowed in the Naknek Section only of the Naknek/Kvichak fishing district. This effectively closed the river to fishing, and moved us outside to partake in the more traditional routine of fishing the bay with our entire 150-fathom net, or 200 fathoms of net if a boat had two permits.

Now we were fishing outside, but we were still on limits. Peter Pan Seafoods, the company for which I fish, generally had its limits at about 8,000 pounds per opening. Smaller companies with fewer boats had their limits set in upward of 16,000 to 20,000 pounds per opening, and in areas like Ugashik that was a good thing, because there were a whole lot of fish being caught down there and they were catching up to those limits each period.

These limits lasted until July 11 when the catch volumes declined to the point where the processors could keep up with the fish being caught. Toward July 9-10 I think the processors could have lifted the limits, but maybe that was just the case in the Naknek district, as it could have been better fishing in other districts.

The big beef the fishermen have about limits is that every year a Russian processor applies to process fish in Bristol Bay, and every year it is declined. If that extra processing capacity was available during those times when the fleet was on limit, a whole bunch of fishermen could have delivered to the foreign processor and had that much more fish in the books.

In any event, there were a lot of fish caught in the 2007 Bristol Bay season, and a whole bunch that swam by because there wasn’t enough processing capacity to pack them up.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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River Fishing

June 26-July 5, 2007 — When the Free Week ended at 9 a.m. Friday, June 22, I went back to the dock to wait for an opening, just like everybody else who was fishing the Naknek/Kvichak district. Once the Free Week is over and the Emergency Order period begins, Alaska Fish and Game gives openings only if there is a sign of fish in the district, or if the escapement of fish going up the river is on schedule.

So we waited on the beach for a couple of days, and my brother Frank went out and did a little test fishing for Fish and Game, and although there were good enough fish outside, there weren’t enough heading up the Kvichak River to warrant an opening.

The Kvichak is the driving issue in the determination of an opening. It has been lagging in its escapement over the past few years, so the run managers wait until there are an acceptable number of fish going up that river before they give us an opening outside, even if the fishing area is isolated to the Naknek side of the district. If a certain amount of fish don’t show up by a certain date, then we fish in the Naknek River Special Harvest Area, which I refer to as “the river.”

Just as I expected, these predetermined run management triggers kicked in, and all of a sudden we were fishing in the river. The boundary line is drawn across the mouth of the Naknek River, which is about a mile across, and we can fish about five miles upriver from that line. We are allowed only 75 fathoms of net in the water at a time, and a total of 150 fathoms aboard the boat.

We started fishing in the river on Wednesday, June 26. Fishing started out all right, and only got better. We were getting three tides in a row, and then the setnetters would fish a tide, and then the driftnetters would fish another three in a row. There were quite a few boats fishing in the Naknek River this year. If I were more attuned to what all the runs were doing in the other rivers I could explain why so many guys chose to fish in Naknek, but I just plan on fishing here every year, so some years it is crowded, and other years it is not.

There were a lot more guys fishing upriver this year, perhaps due to the rule change that allows us to fish up to 75 fathoms instead of just 50 fathoms of net. In past years fishing upriver was good through most of the period, but this year from what I hear it was pretty much a mop-up operation, and then scratch-fishing for the rest of the period. But I guess there was a shitload of fish caught up there; of course there is no way of really knowing because it is so tough to get a reliable report that is not distorted by relative terms like “a shitload of fish.” Just how many fish are there in a shitload, exactly?

One day while fishing during the peak of the run, there was a definite shitload of fish that came pushing across the line. It was a day of pretty good fishing, but then during the ebb when it usually tapers off, this colossal wave of fish began pushing into the river. Everybody got tangled up (in a good way) with a bunch of fish in there net, so there were sets open to take a shot at this huge volume of fish. They were pummeling the corkline in solid waves of hitters.

Because it was on the ebb, I set only 50 fathoms because I had to pull the net up before I drifted out over the line. I wished I could have set the whole thing out, but it was quite a show watching them slam into my little piece of net. The good part is that after we pulled that 50-fathom piece aboard and totally loaded the stern, I had a clean 50-fathom piece of net in the bin ready to set, so I ran up and slapped it out again, and drifted out for another super-stuffer of a set, and piled on more fish than I had ever before put in the stern of the Sunlight III.

If I had another piece I would have set it; I don’t know where I would have put it when it came time to pull it aboard, but it definitely would have gone in the water. Unfortunately, my third 50-fathom piece of net was buried underneath that giant pile of fish, and it had only 60 fish or so that needed to be cleared. Had I known this was coming I would definitely have taken three or four minutes clear that piece, and been money ahead with a third helping from this insane shot of fish that pushed into the Naknek River that day.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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