This chapter covers our first day in Alaska

My brother Corey and I got dropped off at the airport, three hours before our plane was to leave and take us to Anchorage.  We shouldered our gigantic duffels loaded with fishing and camping gear, cameras, dehydrated food and jerky, and lumbered into the airport.  Ten minutes later as we waited for an elevator, Corey noticed we were missing something – our rod tube!  All of our flyrods were stuffed into a big black bazooka-looking tube, and it was gone.  I sprinted through the throngs of people that filled the airport, running up escalators and hurdling velvet ropes.  Out on the sidewalk where we were originally dropped off, I frantically scanned the piles of luggage for our precious tube.  It was nowhere to be found.  Could someone have walked off with it, walked off scot-free with five of our beloved custom-built flyrods?  Desperate, I found an airport employee and asked him if he had seen a big black bazooka-looking thing with fishing stickers plastered all over it.  Lo and behold, he drug it out from behind the counter and said, “Two more minutes and I was gonna call security and have them take it away.  Looks dangerous.”  Elated, I thanked him and headed back inside.  Wow, that could have ended very badly for us.

Relieved, we now lugged our gear through the airport looking for our airline’s ticket counter.  Not finding it, we asked a lady working at an information desk.  Her answer was simple – Our airline did not fly out of this terminal, but rather flew out from the other terminal which was located five miles away.  We now had to scramble to catch a shuttle bus that would take us there.  Limping across the entire airport under the heavy load of way too much gear stuffed into duffel bags that were way too big and bulky, we sweated and cursed our way to the shuttle.  Our bags had to be negotiated through the bus doors and blocked the hall, but we were finally on our way to the place we should have been dropped off an hour ago. 

Finally we were actually at the right airport, and everything started to come together.  This terminal was much less crowded, and we breezed through airport protocol with no real issues.  Corey even checked his 357 magnum without much problem.  With our bags checked and still an hour to kill before our plane was scheduled to take off, the bar seemed as good a place as any to calm our nerves after the ordeal we had just endured.  Gulping down Guinness and watching the end of the Twins game, my brother and I decided that we had probably gotten all of the bad luck taken care of right off the bat, and from now on everything should go smoothly.  Things were definitely looking up after the Guinness.    Boarding the plane, we were asked if we would like to sit by the emergency exit.  The seats had much more legroom, and all we had to do was say we would help out the other passengers in case of an emergency.  I guess we looked like we could handle the job, and we took it.

It was well after dark by the time our plane finally took off.  During the flight, I pored over a fantastic book that Corey had picked up titled “A Flyfisher’s Guide to Alaska”.  The book detailed hundreds of rivers and streams, categorized by region.  I started to get a pretty good idea of our angling options on the Kenai Peninsula, and could not wait to make that first cast. The horizon got increasingly brighter as we headed north.   After a couple of hours, I dozed off.  Upon waking, I looked out the window to see craggy mountains and huge fields of glaciers.  It was almost complete daylight now.  I was mesmerized by the terrain far below us, which was unlike anything I’d ever seen.  We were indeed visiting a unique part of the world.

We finally touched down in Anchorage after a six hour flight, and I stood by the baggage claim waiting for our luggage to come down the chute.  Corey was enjoying a much anticipated cigarette outside.  Suddenly I got a slap on the shoulder, and turned to see the grinning face of my cousin Tyler. 

“So, you finally made it to Alaska!”, he said.  “It only took you what, twenty years?”.

“Yeah, yeah”, I said, shaking his hand.  “But we’re here now, aren’t we?”.

He laughed, and I struggled to pull two enormous duffles off the conveyor.

“What the hell’s in those giant bags, you bring me that many gifts or what?”

“Uh, no, your gift is in another piece of luggage.  This bag’s got a tent, pots and pans, 10 pounds of dehydrated food, waders – “

“Whatever, man.  I just hope it all fits in the Corolla.  I didn’t realize you’d be bringing so much gear, I told you I’d take care of you guys.” 

Tyler has lived in Alaska for 25 years, and is for all intents and purposes a native.  He lives with his wife and 3 year old daughter on the outskirts of Anchorage, not far from the airport.  Of all of the wonderful outdoor pursuits available to an Alaskan, Tyler chooses mountain climbing above all others.  He has climbed Denali, traveled to Nepal and Pakistan to reach faraway summits, and at the drop of a hat will decide to climb a volcano and ski down it just for kicks.  He enters 50 mile survival races across rugged wilderness, where the only prize is bragging rights over your comrades and a can of Red Bull.  And you’ll never see Tyler without a grin on his face.  Life’s too fun.

Corey showed up at the same time as the rest of our luggage, and we headed out to Tyler’s car.  The car ended up being a tiny, rusted Toyota Corolla with racks on top.  My brother and I looked at each other, most likely thinking the same thing. 

“I don’t know if all our gear is going to fit in there.” 

We both drive good-sized trucks and usually fill them up when we go on adventures, but now we would be driving around the Alaskan wilderness in a vehicle that could possibly fit in Corey’s pickup bed with room to spare.

Somehow we managed to cram everything in, after emptying some of the contents of the duffles to spread out the gear pile.  Corey crammed himself in the back seat, and we took off.

“Hey, good thing I took that toilet out of the back seat before I came and picked you guys up.”,  Tyler said. 

We didn’t even ask.

After a short trip down Spenard Road blasting heavy metal music with the windows rolled down, Tyler veered off and pulled into the parking lot for his apartment.  The Corolla’s front bumper tapped an old toilet sitting in the lawn, and the engine shuddered before quitting.  We hauled much of our gear inside, hoping to come up with a plan for the next few days tonight.  Tyler’s wife, Arianne, and daughter Evy greeted us upon entering the apartment.  Evy was a little shy, not knowing what to think of the two tall, bearded men who invaded her home.  She retreated to her room, where her mother read her a bedtime story and put her to sleep. 

Meanwhile, Corey and I gave Tyler his gift.  We had built him a custom 8-weight flyrod, with his name along with mountains and a climber’s pick painted on the blank.  It was matched with a nice reel, filled with backing and a quality line.  He admired it, and claimed that he hadn’t been fishing in probably five years.  And even then, it was Halibut fishing out off Homer Spit from his Zodiak.  His freezer was full of Sockeye Salmon, but they netted their fish.  We already knew that he wasn’t much of an angler, and our hope was that if he had a nice custom flyrod he might be more inclined to wander over to a nearby stream when the salmon were running.  He loved the rod anyways, I think, so Corey and I were pleased.  Tyler broke out a couple bottles of wine, and he and his lovely wife told us all about their Alaskan existence.  We talked for hours, until the need for sleep became a reality and everybody crashed.  I set my alarm for 5:30, and sank into the comfortable couch.

When the alarm sounded in the morning, Corey and I sprang out of our sleeping bags and began looking over maps.  We were hoping to fish some Anchorage-area rivers with Tyler, and started devising a plan.  An hour went by, and still nobody stirred.  All of our gear was ready to go.  Corey and I left a note, took the Corolla and drove to a store to get our fishing licenses taken care of and stock up on Dr. Pepper and Pringles.  Everything is expensive in Alaska, due to the need to ship everything in.  One of the few grocery items that was reasonably priced were Pringles potato chips.  Corey theorized that since Pringles were packaged in a durable cardboard tube, they were more easily packed onto cargo ships and thus cost less to transport.  That sounded reasonable to me.   When we returned, Tyler was up and getting ready to go to work.  Apparently he couldn’t join us for some fishing today, so he said we should just take the car and go wherever we pleased.  We discussed our options, and came to the decision that we would travel around Turnagain Arm toward the Kenai Peninsula and look at a few rivers.  Tyler concurred, and said to call him whenever we got back in the area.  He borrowed us a portable MSR stove, two Alpacka pack rafts, and an Alaska atlas. 

“Who knows when we’ll be back, Tyler”, Corey said.  “I guess we have tentative plans for a float-trip in a week, so we’ll be back before then.”

“So, see ya whenever I see ya!”, Tyler said, and then added, “All I ask is that you deliver these CD’s to my buddy Chunk.  He lives in an old Army tent down by Cooper Landing on the Kenai River.”

 I stared at him blankly. 

“Here, I’ll draw you a map. While you’re in the area, you guys can crash at my cabin if you want.”

Corey and I loaded up the Corolla and took off.  Tyler was aware of the fact that we were experienced campers and outdoorsmen, and I believe he really wanted us to take off on our own so we could experience his homeland like it should be experienced – on your own.  We blew through town and started making our way around Turnagain Arm of Cook Inlet.  It was a beautiful sunny day, and the scenery was amazing as we flew down the highway in the old Corolla.  We were a pair of brothers without a care in the world, wild with anticipation.  Everything we could possibly need was packed in the car with us, and we had two weeks to do whatever we wanted. 

After a couple of hours, we turned around the tip of the inlet.  We had passed a few rivers and resisted stopping so we could get farther away from Anchorage, but now we passed over a small, clear stream that just looked too inviting.  This was Ingram creek.  We pulled off the road and parked, then walked down to the stream to take a look.  The crystal clear water revealed dozens of pink salmon finning in the gravelly run, and we quickly rigged up our 5-weight flyrods, donned waders and jumped into the water.  We found a shallow run loaded with hundreds of pinks, and Corey landed one after only a few drifts with an egg pattern.  A few minutes later, he landed a spunky dolly varden that leapt high out of the water.  Neither one of us had seen this species of fish before, and what a beautiful species it was!  I fished hard, but had problems getting any fish to take my flies.  Up around a bend in the stream, I found another large concentration of salmon.  I finally landed a hard-fighting hump-backed pink here, then two more in a short time.  They were a blast to catch on light fly tackle.  We each caught a few more fish, then decided we had better move on so we could see some more rivers. 

Heading down the Sterling highway, we decided to check out Ptarmagin Creek.  This was a glacier-fed river, wild and turbulent.  With very high gradient, the brilliant turquoise-blue water raced quickly through a dense forest of Spruce.  We walked and waded about a mile, and encountered no Salmon.  A few current breaks produced some small rainbow trout, but without the salmon and their eggs the fishing was not going to be stellar.  Back on the highway, we kept heading South on the Kenai Peninsula.  The sky clouded up and fog shrouded the mountains.  Passing an unknown river, we stopped for a quick look.  Driving over a small bridge, we looked at the river and saw large, bright red fish everywhere.  We had found a river holding a run of sockeyes, and fairly leapt out of the car and rigged up our 8wt flyrods to battle some of these bruisers.   It started to rain, but I was too anxious to fish and hit the river wearing just a t-shirt.  The bright red salmon proved very difficult to fool.  We caught a few dollies, but after many fly changes we still didn’t connect with a sockeye. 

Finally, I swung a purple egg-sucking leech past an aggressive male and he took the fly.  The fish fought hard, using the fast water to it’s advantage, but I eventually got him close and started to ease him toward the gravel bar I was standing on when the hook popped out and he swam away.  I had worked hard to hook this fish, and it all fell apart in the blink of an eye.  A little discouraged, I continued to swing my flies in front of the sockeyes.  Just a few drifts later, another big red male swam up and smacked my fly.  After another great battle, I managed to keep this fish on and slid him onto the gravel bar.  Having never seen this species before, I was amazed at it’s appearance.  It’s entire tall, arched body was a brilliant red color, and the head was a strange green.  It’s mouth was a kind of fleshy beak, with irregular canine-like teeth.  If Dr. Suess invented a salmon, it would probably look a lot like a male sockeye in it’s spawning dress. 

We caught a few more dollies, then Corey battled and landed a sockeye.  His fish was even larger and crazier-looking, a bright red beast pushing ten pounds.  We were very happy to catch this species, and also to get some good photographs of them.  After catching a few more, plus a handful of dollies, I was soaked to the bone by the chilly rain.  Corey had been smart enough to put on a raincoat, and laughed at me.  At one point, an enormous red fish slashed through the throngs of sockeyes - a chinook.  The fish moved on very quickly, and I didn’t get a fly in front of him.   However, I had seen my first Alaskan king salmon and it was very impressive. 

I needed to get into some dry clothes, and we still needed to find Chunk’s place and drop off his CD’s, so we headed out.  It was raining and very foggy when we rolled into Cooper Landing and saw the Kenai River for the first time.  The Kenai is legendary for it’s gigantic king salmon, the largest kings found on Earth.  Huge salmon weighing close to a hundred pounds swim in the Kenai.   Following Tyler’s map, we looked for the old Army tent that his friend Chunk called home.  What we found was more of a shack than a tent, but we stopped to get a closer look.  Multiple kayaks, mountain bikes and dozens of skis littered the woods outside the shack.  This had to be Tyler’s buddy.  Upon closer inspection of the dwelling, it was apparent that indeed an Army tent did provide the living quarters.  Large Spruce trunks had been crossed to form lodgepoles, and a plywood roof had been built in A-frame fashion.  A sturdy door led into the tent portion of the dwelling, in front of which pallets formed a front step.  On the stoop, there was an axe, a nice little smoker and a full-curl dall sheep’s skull.  I approached the door with caution, not wanting to surprise this fellow and end up with a revolver pointed at my face, and knocked on the door.  No one answered, so apparently Chunk was not at home.  I left his CD’s just inside the door atop a pile of old metal ammunition cases.  Corey and I were a little disappointed that we couldn’t meet the mysterious man known as “Chunk”.  I’m sure he would have been a very interesting individual. 

It was starting to get dark when we crossed the mighty Kenai and headed south, towards Tyler’s cabin south of Soldotna.   Corey piloted the Corolla through a fierce electrical storm, and the highway went through a vast swamp.  We saw our first Alaskan moose here, as they stood along the road enduring the heavy downpour.  Finally we turned down Wolverine Road, and managed to find the cabin.  It was a large two-story log cabin, with numerous large windows.  Tyler had built it himself, including cutting down and debarking all of the logs.  We brought in our sleeping gear along with a bottle of whisky, and found that the interior was not finished.  A concrete floor and a few folding chairs made up the furnishings.  We drank whisky and looked back on our first day in Alaska in the glow of a small trouble light as the thunderstorm continued to rage outside.   It occurred to us that nobody on Earth knew where we were exactly.  Tyler didn’t expect us at his cabin until tomorrow, and everybody else just knew we were somewhere in Alaska.  I crawled up into the upper story and slept on a large piece of foam insulation, and Corey slept on the concrete in his sleeping bag.  I fell asleep wondering what great adventures we would find in the morning.