slowly ebbed against the inexorable pull of
boron, graphite, and nylon. I hollered to our
guide, who came sprinting along the bank
towards me to assist with the final touché. Joe
assumed the statue-like posture of a patient
heron, peering through his polarized glasses
and seeking just the right opportunity to slip
the net beneath my prize. Several times, I
managed to steer the hen’s head towards the
waiting mesh and over the net rim only to
watch the chinook flex her powerful tail and
dash away. She then made one final, half-
hearted run a few yards downstream, floated
to the surface, and opened her mouth where-
upon she shook the hook free, leaving us with
naught but exasperated stares.
This was my second week of chasing
chinook salmon on the Alaska Peninsula,
during an extended fly fishing sojourn that
took place in early summer of 2017. I had just
completed an incredible angling session for
sea-bright kings on the nearby Sandy River,
and was eagerly looking forward to the pos-
sibility of battling yet more chromers on the
Sapsuk River.
The ultra-modern, state-of-the-art Pilatus
charter aircraft made the short flight from
the Sandy to Nelson Lagoon in swift fashion,
and as we landed on the gravel airstrip, I
saw friendly faces awaiting my arrival. I had
spied my long-time Alaska fishing companion
Charlie standing at the edge of the runway;
his enormous grin telegraphed the success
he’d had during the prior week. As the plane
was unloaded and re-packed, Charlie regaled
us with tales of the big salmon he’d hooked
and fought – the main run had arrived, and
we would be casting over fresh kings during
the next 6 days.
With the tide nearing flood stage in the
Lagoon, we quickly transferred our gear onto
the aluminum hulled Nikka D, launched her,
and then sped across the chop with Merle
at the helm. At the mouth of the river, camp
manager/head guide Mike was waiting there
to take us upriver to the camp. I greeted my
dear friend with a bear hug, and, after piling
mounds of fresh provisions, rod cases, and
luggage into his jet sled, he promptly fired up
the Yamaha outboard, then roared upriver at
full throttle for the final leg of our journey.
The author caught this bright 35-pound buck
Chinook from the Mojo Hole.
Having fished at the Sapsuk for autumn
coho salmon and fall steelhead during prior
seasons, I was eager to test my skills against
the larger and more spirited chinook. On
the Alaska Peninsula, these monarchs of the
Pacific salmon family return to their natal
rivers during June and July, ascending to
upstream spawning areas and completing
their life cycle sometime in mid- to late-
summer. A typical AP king weighs between
18 to 25 pounds, and I had heard prior tales
about Sapsuk anglers hooking fish approach-
ing 40 pounds. These chinook were mighty
adversaries that were renowned for their
awe-inspiring power and incredible stamina,
and catching one requires long hours of
dedicated effort, and waging pitched battles
against formidable strength that was slow to
yield. Landing half of the ones you hooked
was considered exceptional, with many
anglers managing to attain far lower percent-
ages; little wonder, then, that king salmon
were atop the pinnacle of species pursued
by the international coterie of anadromous
salmonid anglers.
Heavy gear is necessary to successfully
subdue these ultra-strong fish, which fight
like demons incarnate after feeling the sting
of a hook. I was equipped with Winston
Boron III Spey rods (including a 15’ 9-weight
and a 13.5’ 8-weight) and high-quality disc
drag reels (Loop Evotec and Orvis Hydros;
I left my classic Hardys at home, knowing
full well that these click-pawl reels would be
inadequate for handling the powerful kings).
Skagit shooting heads attached to floating
running lines, along with an array of sink
tips, stout leaders, and an assortment of large
attractor flies rounded out my tackle arsenal.
The first day of angling began with the
alarm sounding off at 0300, followed by
breakfast thirty minutes later, and depar-
ture at the onset of first light. Besides Mark,
Michael, and I, our camp was fully occupied
and included three French anglers, who had
booked two consecutive weeks; each trio
rotated between the two guides, allowing us
to change fishing beats every day.
We drew the upper water and stopped
first at the Cabin Corner, a deep pool formed
via current scour against a hard clay bank.
Casting in the gathering light, I was rewarded
with a grab on a chartreuse Bjorn Stinger
Prawn during my third swing. I waited for
what seemed like excruciatingly long mo-
ments as the gentle tugs morphed into steady
traveling angler
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