The Salmon's Gift

The Salmon’s Gift

“Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone...”-Bill Withers

    It was frozen into the top of the beaver dam.  The blood on the snow was fresh.  The tracks of fox, coyote, and otter concentrated around the perimeters of the pool packing down the snow. I felt like I was walking up onto a murder scene.

     Down below the dam, in the clear, deep pool were the last of his troop.  There were about fifty of them still alive mindlessly swaying in the current.  It’s mid November in Alaska and if you are a salmon that happens to still be alive then one thing is for sure; you are living on borrowed time.

       The swimmers, still marginally wary, darted from my reflection.  An attempt at a cursory escape, their efforts were futile.  They turned in unison making their way to the other side of the pool.   This pool, the size of a tennis court was thwarted by a ten foot-tall beaver dam.  They were at the end of the line.

     A few of their fallen brethren were scattered about on the bottom of the pool.  They bodies had run their course and were motionless in various positions; One was on its side, another belly up.  The process of decay had already begun and I was sure that it wouldn’t be long before they were gone altogether.  But then again, I know better.

    When salmon push up into their native streams to spawn, they bring with them all of the nutrients they have accumulated in their 2 to 7 years in the ocean.  When they die these same nutrients get re-distributed to a wide variety of organisms.  According to ADFG, researchers have found that salmon provide food for at least 137 different species of microbes, stream invertebrates, mammals and birds.

    Coowe Walker, who is a program Watershed Ecologist for the University of Alaska believes that these “salmon-derived” nutrients are important to the health of stream ecosystems, and especially to the growth and development of young fish. Circle of life? (Cue Lion King soundtrack)

   The trees, and plants utilize the nutrients from the salmon.  In return the trees and plants provide ideal habitat for spawning salmon ensuring the survival of juvenile salmon.  

  I couldn’t stop thinking about the future of this very salmon stream.  It makes me feel so small to realize that, since so many salmon are spawning this year it cannot be by accident.  One hundred years ago, conditions were just right.  Three hundred years ago...same.  How far back have conditions been favorable for salmon in this very stream so that in 2017 there are at least 50 fish swaying in the current so high in the river’s system on November 11th?

     I cannot ignore what I have learned by paying attention to the History of Salmon.  Europe, England, the East and West Coast of America once all had great salmon runs like we have in Alaska now. One by one big-industry, over-development and overfishing have decimated these runs.

     If history is any indication then we are next.  Alaska remains the last stronghold of salmon super-abundance.  As a commercial fisherman in Cook Inlet and Bristol Bay I have seen it first hand.  We are living in the glory days of giant runs of salmon.

    So how do we proceed?  The answer to this question is so simple it’s maddening.  Don’t screw it up.  Don’t kill too many of them, (Thank you board of Fish and ADFG) and equally as important; don’t destroy their habitat.  These are the two big lessons.

    All we have to do is learn from history.  If we don’t then we’ll have to settle for longingly reflecting about how it used to be.   Can you imagine an Alaska without Salmon?

Hazelee helping with our families setnet operation.

    I’m pro-development of Alaska’s resources but I realize that it’s not smart to trade one resource for another.  What would happen if coal, or natural gas, or a damming project were pursued in this stream valley before me? Who knows?

     Existing statutes on development in sensitive salmon streams have not been updated since statehood and are putting our salmon at risk.  Already we have had fend off the ridiculously irresponsible Pebble mine and Susitna-Watana Dam projects that science and history tells us would destroy huge salmon watersheds.  There needs to be agreed-upon criteria to protect salmon streams.  We can’t trust the whims of the latest gubernatorial administration to do the right thing.

    I was slow to leave this incredible scene and as I started to wade across the creek I stopped in my tracks.   There, in the middle of the stream swirling in an eddy were a hundred-or-so salmon eggs.  Some were partially buried, but some of them were adrift in the current.  “Are these fertilized eggs?”, I wondered.  I slowly backed up.  I decided instead to cross over the beaver dam.  

http://www.standforsalmon.org/

Caribou Hunting with a Hot Tent

 Caribou Hunting with a Hot Tent

    -Mystery bird perching on spruce.

     I bought a camping wood stove last Spring called the Titanium Goat.   The main selling point for me was weight; 1 pound 6 ounces for the  wood stove and the stovepipe,...not bad.   I wanted to add some much needed dry heat to our moose hunting shelter.   There have been many years on our hunt when it has rained, snowed or rained and snowed every single day of the trip.  I was hoping to be able to dry clothing and warm our bones.

    Since we hunt in a non-motorized area weight is always a judicious consideration.  In my mind the less-than two pound burden of the stove was so insignificant that it was worth fussing-with and even modifying gear as needed to make room for such a potentially game-changing piece.  

Our moose hunting shelter.  The Titanium goat was
underpowered to heat this behemoth.

   Although it was a little underpowered for our large moose hunting shelter, I knew that my tiny little Titanium Goat wood stove had its place and I really wanted to bask in the glow of it’s warm embers.  It would be especially grand if it were particularly inhospitable outside.  

Maybe I could modify my tent.  

    “I think I want to go hunting this weekend”.  I said.  Tamra wasn’t sure what I was talking about.  “The Nelchina caribou hunt closed on Sept 30th for the rut but it opens back up on October 21st.”

    “Okay.”, she said.   

      I began the process of designing a rain fly stovepipe adapter so I could use my wood stove inside my dome tent.  With only two days before I wanted to leave, I began the design process after work. I set up the tent on my frozen lawn.  

1/8 inch aluminum and random hardware found
in my garage would help to separate flammable tent material
from the hot stove pipe.

At this point there were puzzled looks from the wife.  Upon completion,  I snugged it into place on the rain fly zipper.  I crawled into the tent from the other side and fired up the stove.  I knew that if the tent smoldered, melted or erupt into dancing flames, it would be a failure and I wanted to find that out in the comforts of my back yard, not in the wilderness several miles from the truck.  Luckily none of these things happened.  What did happen was the inside of the tent warmed up quickly and life was good.  I dubbed it Prototype “A”.  It was almost as heavy as the whole stove but it worked, at least on my lawn.  

    The weather forecast for Cantwell Alaska was clear and cold.  How cold I wasn’t sure.  At this same time last year it was below zero.   My gear was packed; I was ready.

    I wanted to take my fat tire bike and cart but the snow was just a little too deep.  I opted instead to hike in and pull a plastic sled.  I had both loaded in the truck so I would have some flexibility.  The orange Paris sled has been with me on many mountain trips and it’s a blessing to be able to get weight off of your back.

hiking in.

     I split the weight of my camp and hunting kit between my pack and the sled and set off up the trail.  It was five degrees Fahrenheit when I left the truck but I had a good pace and was able to stay warm without sweating too much.  Before long I set up my camp about five miles-in at a place that, over the years, we have named “Caribou camp”.  I wanted to get the most use of the dwindling daylight hours so I didn’t set up camp right away like I usually do.  I dumped all unnecessary gear and headed further up the trail.  After about an hour I spotted a couple of small caribou grazing in the valley below.  

   The biologists at The Alaska Department of Fish and Game (ADFG) have been encouraging folks to harvest cows because the herd is exceptionally strong right now and they are worried that they will overgraze their habitat which, in- turn could cause a dramatic crash in the herd.  In fact, last year they granted a second permit for any tier 1 Nelchina caribou permit holder to help achieve this goal.  I wanted to bag a cow but I’m an opportunistic hunter; I’m not likely to pass up legal game. Know thyself.

     I continued down the trail, making myself small trying to avoid giving away my position.  I hunkered low as I made my way down the hill toward the cows.  Something caught my eye.  “Oh shit, there’s a big bull!” I noticed.  The bull had been laying low below a small bench.  When he saw me sneaking down the hill, he stood up, looked at me and then ran off.  Quickly I took off my pack, chambered a round in my 30.06 and waited for my opportunity.  

    Sure enough he appeared in a small clearing between stands of Willow bushes about 300 yards away.  He took pause to turn and look at me and as it turned out this was his last mistake.  

Bull down

After one antler broke off, I used it to anchor
my rope ratchet to hoist the rear leg.

All of the meat fit into my
kiddy sled.

Titanium goat kicking ass.

Hauling meat six miles to truck is a lot easier
with a sled and a few down hills runs.

Peddle Paddle

Peddle Paddle

    I have been experimenting with bike-rafting.  The idea is not hard to understand; bike with a packraft to a destination with water.  From there  float home or elsewhere with the bike cleverly strapped onto the raft.  Voila!  

    In the end it’s a lot of set-up/ breakdown but the great thing about bikerafting is that you get to ride your bike, paddle your raft, and see some fantastic country that wouldn’t be accessible otherwise.  

    The plan was to peddle my bike and gear from the town of Talkeetna, up the tracks and overland to Clear Creek.  From there I would break-down the bike and strap it to my pack raft.  With a little fly fishing along the way and a sparkle in my eye, I would float back to Talkeetna.  I’ve pack rafted the route two other times (hiking-in) with friends and thought that adding a bike to the equation would be faster and more challenging.

  It was 23 degrees F. when I left at 7:30 A.M.  I made good time and before long I found myself at the gravel pit 5 miles in.   I started up the hill, but  suddenly my pace slowed to that of a small tortoise.

   “Shit” I thought.  In front of me I saw that the trail was completely submerged.  It had rained hard last week.  The last two days were clear and cold.  The result of these two weather events was lots of standing water on the trail.  I tried to ride through it. The thin layer of ice held my weight for a few feet but then I would crash through, into the mud puddle.

One of many long runs of
standing water on the trail
to Clear Creek. Oct 15th 2017

I decided to push my bike through it while I skirted to the side.  This made for a trying effort because there wasn’t much room to skirt.  I bushwhacked and sidestepped my way to the other side.  A brief “dry” section brought me to the next pond.  With one hand on the seat, the other on the handlebar I leaned into the bike and danced along the bank.  The ice broke off in plates in front of the bike.  I could see another long stretch of water around the corner.   After 45 minutes of this with no end in sight, I had an epiphany;  This sucks!  

    I decided that I wasn’t willing to spend my entire day thrashing through muddy troughs with my bike when I would be much better served with a gondola or canoe.  Having already biked six miles, I realized that I had another ten miles to go to reach Clear Creek and after scouting further down the trail (without my bike) I discovered more of the same.

    I retreated back through the slop and down to the railroad tracks.  I headed North up the tracks with a new plan.  I would drop into the Susitna River and float back that way.  After a few miles of riding on the tracks the River came into view and I knew that this would be a good day.

Let the breakdown begin.  I removed both tires
and lashed everything down

Denali was my companion all day.

Almost home near the confluence of the three rivers;
The Susitna, the Chulitna, and the Talkeetna.

Smoking Silverbright Salmon

Smoking Silverbright Salmon

Corey and I taking a break from catching Reds, Silvers,
AND Silverbrights.

    “Wow, look at this!” We pulled the next grunch of fish into the boat over the gunwale. It’s not a group, it’s not a bunch...it’s a grunch!  Setnetters are known to create their own vocab.   I noticed that one of them was special.   Corey and my dad were too busy picking fish to notice my discovery.  I had pulled a giant Chum Salmon into the boat.  It was well over 15 pounds.  The head and jaw resembled a King Salmon and it was as bright as dime.  I quickly decided that I wanted to keep it, so I ripped a gill to bleed it properly and slipped it into the cooler.  

   Chum Salmon are the Rodney Dangerfield of Alaskan Salmon; No respect.  They have taken-on many names over the years including Dog, Keta, Calico, and recently the cheery Silverbright Salmon.  The natives on the Yukon River have always coveted them for their rich oily texture.  As it turns out, the Chums that have to travel the farthest to reach the spawning grounds are the largest and store the most fat on their large bodies to be able to endure the long trek up-river.  Fat equals flavor.

    Our market here on the Susitna for Chum Salmon has been limited.  Primarily we sell Reds (Sockeye), and Silvers (Coho) to our customers in Talkeetna.  Some dog mushers will buy Chums and put them up for the dog team, but that market has been hit-and-miss.   They are usually larger and fattier than Reds and Silvers but for some reason, no one wants them;  I decided to smoke this big ol’ hog and see what’s up.  Warning: Recipe.

    After filleting it I cut it into one inch strips (lengthwise).  My dry-brine is a 50/50 kosher salt and brown sugar mix.  I dredged each piece with the mixture and set them inside a small cooler.  One hour.

     What happens next is a small Christmas miracle.  Moisture is pulled from the fish and the salty/sugary brine settles in.  After the hour, the once dry brine is now a slurry of brown sludge; Time to rinse.

    I like to fill a bucket 2/3rds with water and put all of the fish in there.   One by one I pull them out making sure that all of the salt has been washed off.  From here it goes on the drying rack.

    I set up a fan.   I’ve got a couple of racks that I made out of 2x2’s and screen door mesh (aluminum).  Keeping the flies off is key.  One full day is good enough, but if you want more of a jerky texture then two or three days is better.

    From there the fish goes into the smoker.  I use a gimmicky product called “The A-mazin Smoker.” that sells for 29.99 on Amazon (link below)  The small rectangular tray is filled with smoking pellets and has dividers that form a maze.  Get it? A-Mazin smoker? The pellets smolder in the maze pattern slowly without much heat over the course of 6-8 hours.

    I like to finish them off in the oven at 350 degrees for 10 minutes.  It’s best to let them cool before vacuum packing but they will never taste better than when they come out of the oven hot.  

    The end product is a super oily, mild and smokey fish that you have to kind of slurp off of the skin.  It’s pretty darn good and from now-on, it’s official I’ll be calling them Silverbright.  

Yummy Chummy.

https://www.amazon.com/A-MAZE-N-AMNPS5X8-Pellet-Smoker/dp/B007ROPJ1M/ref=cm_cr_arp_d_product_top?ie=UTF8

   

An Intrepid, Beautiful Wedding

An Intrepid, Beautiful Wedding

The newlyweds in front of Denali

-Brian and Naomi tie the knot with style.

“Brian, will you Marry me today?”  Naomi had been asking for the last two days and it was looking like this might actually be the day.  The two days prior had been too cold.  “Alright.” said Brian.

     The vintage Reeve Aleutian Airlines thermometer hanging outside the door on the first morning was pinned to 35 below zero.   Nevertheless, we rigged up for glacier travel and skied down-glacier in hopes of finding the perfect place to join two very special people; Brian Gornick and Naomi Ducharme.  It was decided that that perfect place was going to be somewhere in The Gateway to the Great Gorge on the Ruth Glacier which could quite possible be the most awe-inspiring place on earth.  But both days turned us back due to the biting cold winds.  As it turns out it’s hard to read vows through chattering teeth. “Are we going to miss our weather window?” I thought.

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      Flashback three months:  I was picking out chips at Fred Meyer’s in Wasilla.  My cell phone rang, it was Brian.  “Hi Brian what’s up?”

   “Oh not much”, he said, “Naomi and I are just having a leisurely Sunday, I think we’ll watch some football today....oh yeah; will you join us over Spring Break at the Mountain house? Oh and if it wouldn’t be too much trouble would you marry us up there?”.  I was excited and overwhelmed.

   My answer was yes.  The plan was for us to go up there and do-the-deed in a private ceremony. Naomi’s lifelong friend Haley would join us making us a party of four.  “Don’t tell anyone”, Brian said and I promised that I wouldn’t.

     “Of course Brian, my word is my bond.”  I told him.  We said our goodbyes in all the usual ways and hung-up the phone.  

     “Oh my God Tamra, you’re not going to believe this!”  Several shoppers glanced over as I spilled the beans enthusiastically to my wife in aisle 7 of Freddies.  Did I mention I’m not very good at secrets?  

   As it turned out it wouldn’t matter because they had a change of heart and sent out invitations to all:   Please send us your words of wisdom, poems, quotes from literature for us to share at the mountain house on our special day.  Sweet.  The stage was set.

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      The cold dry air followed me into the cabin as I shut the door behind me.  It was 8:00 A.M. on the fourth day. My bladder had me up earlier than I was hoping for.  “How cold is it?” Naomi asked.

    “Fifteen below.” I said.

    Brian’s eyes popped open “Fifty below?” he questioned.  He was tucked deep into his red and grey cocoon and didn’t appear to be excited about the prospect of even colder temperatures.

   “No no no,  fif-TEEN below” I answered.  Haley, Naomi, and I laughed.  This is going to be the day, I thought.   Slowly we got up, had coffee and fried Roadhouse bagels, and began suiting up for the big day.  

    The Don Sheldon Mountain House is situated on top of a rock outcropping  near the base of Mt. Barrille on the mighty Ruth Glacier.  Hexagonal in shape each side has big windows except the one with the door. Each window frames a different spectacular view.  There is a wood stove in the center and padded benches around the perimeter of four of the sides that are suitable for sleeping on.  It would prove to be a very comfortable and well thought out structure.

    Furthermore it says this on sheldonmountainhouse.com:

“Don Sheldon, a master glacier pilot who was revered by the climbers he flew into the Range, intended the Mountain House to be a destination for mountaineers, skiers, photographers, and wilderness-seekers. Don tied lumber to the wing struts of his Cessna 180 and Super Cub, making numerous flights into the Gorge before he had enough materials to build the Mountain House. It was constructed in 1966 by two Talkeetna locals. The Mountain House sits on a spectacular 4.9 acre rock and ice covered outcrop located at the 5,800 foot level, in the middle of the Don Sheldon Amphitheater just above the Ruth Gorge; perhaps the most scenic and spectacular spot in Denali National Park & Preserve. The Mountain House is owned by members of the Sheldon family through the Mountain House LLC.”

    After clicking into our skis and checking each others knots we started down the glacier.  It wasn’t long before we emerged from the shadows of Mt. Barrille and into the blazing sun.  The immediate difference in temperature was staggering.  

Taking a break on the Ruth

It was no less than a glorious day with zero wind. The surface of the glacier had been relentlessly scoured by recent winds and had formed the irregular wavy ridges known as sastrugi.  It made for easy travel.  There was a lot of snow and it was firm.  The chances of a crevasse fall today were slim.  We picked our way around crevasses and made our way around the corner and into the Great Gorge.

      The ceremony itself was conducted after I had probed-off an area that could be determined safe for all four of us to be able to stand together.  One at a time we belayed each other onto the gentle rise.  With all of us so close together with all of our gear strewn about the scene was more akin to a yard sale than than a wedding. Skis, poles, packs were strewn about and we were still linked together by snaking piles of blue rope going hither and thither. We took off our packs and somehow managed to shuffle ourselves into our matrimonial positions. The bride and grooms skis pancaked my own awkwardly but no one seemed to notice or care. I was sure that if one of us fell over, we would all go down like bowling pins.

    The ice under the wedding spot has been estimated to be somewhere between 3,800 and 4000 feet deep.  I was careful to not drop the rings as I pulled them out of my pocket.  The towering 5000 foot granite walls of the Gargoyle and Mt. Barrille on either side were our cathedral walls and the aisle of the church was our ski tracks. Haley was the maid of honor, witness and reader of poetry and I standing in the middle, already choking-up was the Reverend. Rev for short.

    Brian and Naomi had prepared vows for each other that were very touching and articulate.  Intermittent tears of joy fell from our faces as they committed themselves to a life together.  Haley recited a poem that they picked out among all of their incoming mail.  Together they agreed to support, and love each other for the rest of their lives..... along with the Green Bay Packers.  

      “By the power vested in me by the State of Alaska, (I’ve always wanted to say that) I pronounce you husband and wife.  You may now kiss each other.”  Some of Brian’s snot-cicles and mustache ice had broken off by now but miraculously after what could easily be considered the best wedding kiss ever, they were gone altogether.  Love.

      Brian and Naomi had pulled-off exactly what they had envisioned for their wedding.  It was beautiful and perfect.  We danced, we sang, we laughed (a lot), we cried and we ate incredible food and drank delicious beverages.  We read poetry and personally written words, notes, and letters from over 50 people.  

Haley's turn to read.

Through these words it was easy to see how much they are loved and supported by their incredible network of family and friends.  And although these people could not be in attendance their love was felt immensely throughout the trip.   Naomi pinned all the cards, letters, pictures and poetry to the clothes lines that criss-crossed the ceiling as we read them.

     It was a trip I will never forget.  Haley and I consider ourselves lucky and grateful to have been able to be a part of something so special; The joining of two people that belong together.  

Naomi and Haley rocking her homemade bridal veil

The crew basking in the love of words sent
by others dangling from above.

Shangri-La

Brian making his way up "the chute"

Stairway to heaven

Hunting, Fishing, Trapping and Peppers

    Hunting, Fishing, Trapping and Peppers

    Movement caught my eye as I rounded the next bend in the creek.  Sure enough it was another moose, number seven on the day but this one was different.  It was a legal bull and he was well within range.  I shut off my snowmachine, ducked behind it and motioned to Bryan and Corey who were right behind me.  The bull, who was standing on the creek when I saw him, cantered up the bank fifty feet and then did what many moose do;  He stopped and looked at us broadside.  This curious move, a hiccup in his get-away was representative of the demise of many-a-moose across Alaska.  Today would be no different.

      Corey and I were crouched behind our snowmachines and Bryan, who was ready to go at a moment’s-notice had already shouldered his 300 ultra and had a bead on our new friend.  BOOOOOM!

    We were proxy hunting for our friend Jim Lanier.  Jim had drawn a tier 2 moose hunt for unit 16B and we were happy to oblige.  

    The moose fell and there was much rejoicing and by noon the deed was completely done.  Skinned, quartered and loaded into my black sleigh, the proverbial pack-out was a mere three feet; It was more of a flop really.

    “What do we do with the rest of our day?” I chuckled to myself.  

    Moose hunts like this in the winter can be stoopid easy.  We were able to drive right up over the bank and straight to the moose.  The willows were super thick here but they were no match for our Skandic Super Wide Tracks.  I would joke later that Indian Creek has some of the best willow riding in the state.  

    The 24 inch wide track is the widest in the industry and since it is also 156 inches long it has the biggest footprint too.   This giant snowshoe of a track provides incredible floatation and is even able to back-up in deep snow.  The big footprint along with an actual transmission with low, high, and reverse makes it great for towing giant loads.  

    With all the meat loaded and all of our gear stashed, I fired up my Super Wide and easily plowed my way back to the creek over improbable terrain.

Best willow riding in AK.

     What now?

   Since we planned to stay at the cabin another two nights we now had some play time.  Aside from cutting firewood, we augured some holes in the ice for our tip-ups hoping to catch some Pike.  No luck.  We also set some traps targeting the local coyote population.  We would have to return on another trip to check the traps.  Okay.

     We also spent some time exploring the nearby hills trying to find the performance limits of our Super Wides.  As it turned out on this day there was no obstacle we could not overcome and by days’ end we returned to the cabin feeling a bit untouchable.  We knew the sentiment wouldn’t last but for now we reveled in the prowess of our backwoods snowmachines.  

600 etec on left, 900 ace on right.

    As luck would have it we brought plenty of fine ingredients for cooking at night.  The highlight had to have been the stuffed poblano peppers over pesto pasta.  Stuffing peppers has become as much of a wintertime tradition as anything else and it’s just one more reason to come out here.

Stuffed Poblano Pepper Boats

6 Poblano peppers

3 Jalapeno peppers (cut into strips)

1/3 cup pesto sauce

1 lb. beef or pork chorizo

1/3 cup sharp cheddar cheese (cut into strips)

6 slices of bacon

Toothpicks

*Pro-tip:  It’s best to use the buddy system here.  Prep time is greatly diminished with the help of a willing volunteer.

1. Carefully cut the poblanos in half lengthwise creating a boat.
2. Baste the boat and the cap liberally with pesto sauce
3. Lay several strips of cheddar in the bottom of the boat.
4. Fill the boat to the gunwales with Chorizo sausage.
5. Lay down several strips of jalapeno on top of the sausage.
6. Replace the top and wrap in bacon.  Use the toothpicks to hold the bacon into place along with both parts of the poblano.
7. Have someone else grill them to perfection in the dancing flames of an outdoor charcoal grill right on the front porch.   Be sure they don’t burn down the cabin or singe their eyebrows too much.
8. Voila! Bon Appetite!

Chef Kirby

Bryan gets a birds-eye view
of a group of moose.

Corey staying warm by way of burrowing-in.

Bryan Kirby and young moose.