My Season on the Kenai

Lew Freedman

Description

Follow along with award-winning sportswriter Lew Freedman as he journals an unforgettable season of fly fishing along the Kenai River.

Just as you never know what kind of fish and what size fish might be tugging on your line when the rod bends, you never know what kind of excitement awaits during a season on the Kenai River. Located in Southcentral Alaska, the Kenai River is a world-class salmon river attracting fishermen from all over the world. Each summer thousands of anglers fish the magical Kenai River. Discover what makes the eighty-five-mile-long river a dream destination for the devout fisherman inside My Season on the Kenai.

Freedman’s amusing stories and first-hand experience are sure to entertain and inspire the avid angler, with valuable information and insights sprinkled in each chapter.

A complete novice waiting to be hooked, I asked around and was told that if I was going to fish on the Kenai River and attempt to wrangle a salmon into my boat, I needed to look up a personable guide named Harry Gaines. Harry Gaines, I was told, could read the river like the lines on the palm of hands, and he was a wizened old-timer with more experience than almost anyone else in the Soldotna-Kenai area where most guides were based. That was about 150 miles from Anchorage, the banks of those small cities abutting the Lower River.
The Lower River is where the king salmon, the most prized of all types of salmon, return to spawn each spring and summer, and where the angler with ambition goes to catch one. Kings, better known to the outside world as Chinook salmon, are the bad boys of the river, the big, even monstrous fish, that are difficult to entice onto a hook, that fight like hell when caught, and that offer delectable dinners when served.
The kings were the kings of the river. The biggest kings in the world returned to the Kenai each year and this was proven year after year when fishermen and their guides were left agog as someone hooked into a hog of a fish weighing 90 pounds or more. For the typical fisherman, weaned on the sport in the rest of the United States, a big fish might be a five-pound bass, a common fish a perch, walleye, or bluegill weighing anywhere from a few ounces to a couple of pounds. Catching one of the giant king salmon (nobody even bothered to keep one that weighed less than 35 pounds) was the equivalent of hooking your fifth-grade son and trying to haul him into the boat.
—from the Introduction

Sujets

• Sport
• Autres sports
• Sports de plein air
• Alaska
• Hameçonnage
• Recreation
• Fishing
• Fly fishing
• Kenai River
• Sports

Informations

• Publié par: Turner Publishing Company
• Date de parution: 08 avril 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780882409511
• Langue: English

Extrait

My Season on the Kenai
MY SEASON ON THE
KENAI
Fishing Alaska s Greatest Salmon River
Lew Freedman
Text and photographs 2013 by Lew Freedman
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Freedman, Lew.
My season on the Kenai : fishing Alaska s greatest salmon river / Lew Freedman.
pages cm
ISBN 978-0-88240-906-1 (pbk.)
1. Salmon fishing-Alaska-Kenai River. 2. Kenai River Region (Alaska) - Description and travel. 3. Freedman, Lew-Travel. I. Title.
SH686.F74 2013
799.17 560979835-dc23
2013007806
Design by Rudy Ramos
Front cover photo: iStockphoto.con/Jonathan Nafzger
Published by Alaska Northwest Books
An imprint of Graphic Arts Books
P.O. Box 56118
Portland, Oregon 97238-6118
503-254-5591
www.graphicartsbooks.com
I would like to dedicate this story about the Kenai River to the late Harry Gaines, who helped develop my love of the river and Reuben Hanke, who keeps Harry s name alive on the river.
This carving of the late Harry Gaines overlooks the Kenai River at the Harry Gaines fish camp operated by Reuben Hanke.

Contents
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Map
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
About the Author
A view from the water of the Harry Gaines fish camp operated by guide Reuben Hanke.

Acknowledgments
Special thanks for all the help provided to make my summer work out so well go to Harry Gaines Kenai River Fishing owner Reuben Hanke, Fenton Brothers guides Mike and Murray Fenton, Alaska Fishing Service guide Kevin Thurman, Kenai River advocate Bob Penney, Ricky Gease, executive director of the Kenai River Sportfishing Association, and the Alaska Department of Fish and Game.
Weigh master David Wahoo Cole at the September 2012 Kenai River Women s Classic.

Introduction
When the water looks turquoise under a bright sun, with splashes of light glowing on the surface like diamonds as it rolls past, the Kenai River delights and hypnotizes me with its beauty. At those moments the river seems all dressed up for a special occasion, the coronation of a king maybe.
Those are the peaceful moments, when I am a bystander, an observer, just soaking in the sight of the dazzling river that is my favorite body of water in the world. One of the gems of Alaska, the Kenai is the world s greatest salmon stream, a picturesque, glacially fed river of both power and grace that is stunning in the way it combines its natural wildness with accessibility to man.
Located in Southcentral Alaska, the Kenai River is the jewel of the Kenai Peninsula, in some places situated only one hundred road miles from Anchorage, the forty-ninth state s largest city. The aboriginal Dena ina called the river Kakny . A national treasure that attracts visitors from all over the world, it is also one of the most popular playgrounds for Alaskans who love to fish. Stretching eighty-two miles from the mouth of Cook Inlet, where the salmon enter from their Pacific Ocean travels, to Kenai Lake in Cooper Landing, the Kenai River is a sinuous waterway wending past aspens, spruce, and birch.
I was introduced to the Kenai River by reputation after moving to Alaska in 1984. Conversation, the stories of big fish and lucky fishermen, captivated me. Although I was not much of a fisherman then, deprived as I was by a big-city upbringing and a lack of family connected to the sport, it did not take much secondhand exposure to lure me in.
A complete novice waiting to be hooked, I asked around and was told that if I was going to fish on the Kenai River and attempt to wrangle a salmon into my boat, I needed to look up a personable guide named Harry Gaines. Gaines, I was told, could read the river like the lines on the palm of his hand, and he was a wizened old-timer with more experience than almost anyone else in the Soldotna-Kenai area, where most guides were based. About 150 miles from Anchorage, this area featured cozy, smaller cities along the banks of the Lower River.
The Lower River is where the king salmon, the most prized of all types of salmon, return to spawn each spring and summer, and where the angler with ambition goes to catch one. Kings, better known to the outside world as Chinook salmon, are the bad boys of the river, the big, even monstrous fish, that are difficult to entice onto a hook, that fight like hell when caught, and that offer delectable dinners when served.
The kings are the kings of the river. The biggest kings in the world return to the Kenai and this was proven year after year when fishermen and their guides were left agog as someone hooked into a hog of a fish weighing ninety pounds or more. For the typical fisherman, weaned on the sport in the rest of the United States, a big fish might be a five-pound bass, a common fish a perch, walleye, or bluegill weighing anywhere from a few ounces to a couple of pounds. Catching one of the giant king salmon (nobody even bothered to keep one that weighed less than thirty-five pounds) was the equivalent of hooking your fifth-grade son and trying to haul him into the boat.
As it so happened, within a year after my move to Alaska, a modest Soldotna car salesman named Les Anderson made fishing history one magical May day in 1985. Early one morning out with a buddy in a small boat, Anderson s hook was grabbed by a curious fish that bit hard into his offering and bent the pole almost double.
The fight was on and when Anderson prevailed after a mighty struggle he had caught the fish of every man s dreams. It weighed ninety-seven and one-quarter pounds and it represented a new world-record Chinook salmon caught on rod and reel.
Back in those days big kings were common, but no fish was larger and few approached the size of the dream fish. That did not deter guide Harry Gaines, who sported a white beard, a twinkle in his eye, and a background in radio broadcasting. He figured that Anderson s fish was the greatest advertisement for the Kenai River short of an appearance by the Loch Ness Monster s twin brother.
Sometime before I met him, Harry sought to turn Anderson s good fortune into his own, as well, with an advertising campaign that essentially was, Come Fish with Me, Catch the World-Record Salmon, and Win $50,000. Harry was pledging a prize of fifty grand if you caught a world-record king fishing with him. At least that was the idea. He had to back off when Lloyd s of London refused to insure him. I never could believe that Lloyd s of London was too chicken to back that deal. Don t they insure anything? Anyway, out of prudence and respect for his bank account, Harry reduced his prize offering to $5,000. The gimmick lost some of its luster when that zero was dropped.
In any case, I finally went king salmon fishing with Harry. He was an entertaining guy. Good teller of jokes, corny and otherwise. Harry, originally from Texas, developed a special scent that when added to the shiny red salmon-egg bait in common use was supposed to be irresistible to a fish with a discerning palate. He also a believed in talking to the fish and requested that those who shared his boat participate in his fish cheer. Give me an F, give me an I, give me an S, give me an H. What s that spell?
Actually for me mostly it spelled no fish. I did not catch a king salmon with Harry my first time out. They apparently did not speak my language. Dutifully I wrote of my experience in the sports pages of the Anchorage Daily News , where I was then sports editor. Over the next couple of years I returned to the river regularly, always fishing with Harry because I had not yet caught a king salmon under his guidance and I felt it only fair that after publicizing our failures together I publicize our successes together.
I was a wise guy in the newspaper and Harry was a wise guy on the air as a couple of Kenai summer fishing seasons passed without me coming any closer to seeing a salmon than checking out cans in the grocery store. I was going salmon-less, but there were other perks. Not only did Harry and I become good friends-he definitely was amusing company-but I developed an abiding love for the river. Harry used to joke that people went salmon fishing with him because they wanted to catch fish, not because they liked boat rides. But I really enjoyed the boat rides, too. The river was its own world, so close to civilization, yet far enough removed to offer serenity. Sometimes eagles flew overhead. Sometimes seals popped up downstream. Sometimes moose swam the river s width. Once in a great while we saw a bear half-hidden in the trees on shore.
Eventually, I did catch fish with Harry, but we kept on fishing together, anyway. In 1990 Harry was stricken with a fast-moving cancer. The following spring, as he was dying, the local radio station recorded retrospective interviews with him reviewing his long career as a pioneer guide on the river and the changes he had seen since the 1970s. When asked to name the worst fisherman he had ever guided, Harry didn t hesitate. Lew Freedman! he said with enthusiasm. He probably figured he owed me that one from all of my strike-out columns. Besides, I laughed. I didn t hold it against him.
When Harry died in the summer of 1991, his ashes, appropriately, were spread in the Kenai River right near the fish-camp property he shared for years with his wife, Dot. One of the last things Harry said to me, less than two days before he passed away, was Our memories remain forever.
He was right about that. Partially because of my friendship with Harry Gaines, my passion for the Kenai River never waned. For the last twenty-five years, I have made annual pilgrimages to the river, even after moving out of Alaska. Yet it was never enough. I wanted to spend more time on the river and during the