Monster Salmon Part I

There are a few outdoor experiences in one's life that stand head and shoulders above the rest.

I was very fortunate while in college to have landed a summer job working as a fishing guide in Alaska. For three summers I worked for Alaska Trophy Safaris, the fi- nal two years on the Ayakulik River on the west side of Kodiak Island. Just about every day I was met with outdoor experiences that most people only dream of experiencing in a lifetime.

The Ayakulik is situated in a lush, verdant grassland. In mid-summer with clusters of pink fireweed and purple lupines painted on an emerald backdrop, it is beautiful.

The lodge was located on a bluff overlooking the ocean at the mouth of the Ayakulik River. Seals would enter the river to hunt salmon during high tide. I also saw sea lions and, on one occasion, a mother whale and her calf.

Every day I saw brown bears. Some days, I would see upwards of two dozen catching fish, playing, swimming, fighting, and mating.

The Ayakulik was accessible only by floatplane or helicopter. The majority of the stream was located in the Kodiak Wildlife Refuge. It was a nature lover's paradise. With no trees along its banks, the Ayakulik provided excellent fly fishing.

Fishing for king salmon on a comfortable Alaskan summer night is an experience few could ever forget. Add a 45-inch king salmon to that and you have an experience no one could ever forget.

It experienced runs of king salmon numbering over 15,000, silver salmon runs over 60,000 fish, and sockeye salmon runs numbering a quarter million. Many argue the Ayakulik holds the best fly fishing for king salmon in the world.

It was in such a setting one glowing night in July 2002 that I caught the largest fish of my life, a 45-inch king salmon.

With the long summer nights in Alaska, there was plenty of time to wet a fly line. On this particular July night, a friend and I decided to hike upstream a couple miles to some good salmon holding water.

We were fishing a pool known as Upper King, and the action was rather slow. Both of us were fishing wet flies, changing things up, trying to find a fly that would excite the king salmon that this pool harbored.

We had tried the usual, fat freddies, purple egg sucking leaches, and bunny flies with no luck. Trying once more before heading back, I tied on a flash fly, which is not much more than fancy tinsel tied on a hook, and gave it a try on the tail out of the pool. It seemed as if our long hike upstream was futile, when my line paused on the drift.

I instinctively set the hook, raising my nine-weight fly rod in the process. Immediately, I felt the slow, powerful throb of a large king salmon shaking its head, telegraphing to me that this was no snag. It was the real deal.

(Continued next week).