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OPINION: Kenai River fish story fit for a grandson

July 5th 12:03 pm | Lew Freedman Print this article   Email this article   Create a Shortlink for this article

Malachi Willis, my 9-year-old grandson, has been on the Kenai River just twice, although he lives in Anchorage, and he was still in need of education about what type of fish swim in its sparkling turquoise waters.

"Are there sharks?" he asked. "Dolphins? Swordfish?"

He was missing the point. We were after king salmon, preferably one as big as his 58 inches in length and 77 pounds in weight.

A veteran of bluegill fishing in the Lower 48 and the capturer of one silver salmon, Malachi knew that he wanted to catch a king, but he didn't know how prized they are, really how big they are, or how difficult it could be to land one.

It was sunny June morning on the Kenai, the water glittering like diamonds as the sun hit the surface. The water level was lower than usual, just three feet deep, and we were in a flat-bottom boat belonging to Harry Gaines Fishing guide service.

Given that rain had been on the forecast as often as hamburger had been on the McDonald's menu, we lucked out on a spectacularly clear day with temperatures in the 50s. I have been told my fishing technique is all wet, but at least we wouldn't get wet.

Our guide Dave is an elementary school teacher in real life, but was also a longtime sport and commercial fisherman. Current fishing regulations favored the salmon. No bait was allowed, only bare hooks, and salmon caught measuring between 46 and 55 inches had to be released.

They were being given the chance to grow, perhaps into monster status like the world record king of 97 ¼ pounds caught by Soldotna angler Les Anderson in 1985 and on display in a mount at the nearby Soldotna Visitors Center.

An unsuspecting fish chomped on my hook and Malachi helped reel it in. It fought with anger and resistance, but was no king-sized salmon. The fish was a Dolly Varden and we agreed to keep it. It was dropped into the fish box where it made a racket.

Two years ago, after Malachi caught a 7-pound silver he asked to see his fish. When the top of the box was opened, the fish flipped and Malachi jumped so high I thought he would come down in the Anchor River. No frights this time. The Dolly was deader than my old '69 Pontiac.

People come from all over the world to the Kenai River to pursue large king salmon. Red salmon runs are the most awesome to see. Their bright coloration shines through the water and they pass in long lines.

Reds were swimming in the nearby Russian River as Malachi and I hungered for a solitary king. High above us on a tree rested a huge bird's nest knitted out of tree branches and twigs. Perched alongside was a steely-eyed eagle, the guardian.

We paused at Airplane Hole, the spot where at age 8 Dave said he caught the first king of his life 20 years ago. As we moved around, Malachi got to steer the boat, a big thrill as we reached 25-30 mph and the wind blew his long, sandy hair all over his face.

Suddenly, a fish grabbed my hook, hitting it hard. I yanked back on the line quickly to set it and began reeling in the 40-pound test line. The fish felt heavy, but the battle went my way from the first. I never let the salmon gain momentum and kept the pressure on. Within moments the fish was at the rear of the boat, its long body just under the surface.

The fish came up faster than Dave thought it would and he didn't have the net handy when the silvery chrome of the salmon's skin appeared. Suddenly, before Dave could swing around and net it, the fish spit the hook and swam to freedom.

I was stunned. The fish was on, the fish was almost in, the fish was gone. Just like that. One minute the fish was about to be filleted, the next it was just another big-one-that-got- away story.

Lew Freedman is a former long-time Alaska journalist and the author of numerous books about the state.

 


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