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.

    

    

    

Chasing the Sun

Chasing the Sun

“Mama always told me not to look into the eyes of the Sun, but Mama, that's where the fun is.” -Manfred Mann's Earth Band

   I could see it getting closer.  It was maybe a half mile away but I had to stop.  That giant ball of fire hanging so low in the sky wasn’t keeping me very warm today but it was calling me and I fully intended to seek her out.  I was riding in the shadows on the shady side of the river.  Today the shady side of the river extended over half way across.  Because of recent snowfall I was tethered to the snow machine trail in front of me but I could see that it would lead me into the light and the riding was good.

Do you see the light?

     After carefully laying my bike down I went for a jog.  I’ve been working on my cold-weather skills lately and I’ve discovered that if I get off my bike and jog around for a couple hundred meters my toes warm right up.  The rest of my extremities are always fine; it’s my toes that don’t fare well in the super cold weather, especially the big ones, you know, the piggy that went to market.  I didn’t want to have to pull the plug and have to go wee wee wee all-the-way-home. Maybe they’re cold because I’m pedaling with my standard-issue summertime leather hiking boots but I can get two pair of socks into them as long as I don’t lace them up too tightly.  I’ve tried biking with my burlier North Face brand winter boots but it’s no fun to peddle around with big clunky boots on.  I know there are special wintertime biking shoes on the market, but dropping another couple hundred bucks on this already expensive biking habit doesn't seem prudent or necessary.  So I jog.

       There I was hustling away from my bike on the newly packed snow machine trail courtesy of the Mid-Valley Trail Club.  I had already been out for a couple of hours and it was 15 below zero and the snot-cicles on my mustache were growing longer and thicker.  The longer ones on the sides were bouncing off of my cheeks as I ran up the trail.  “Hey, I’m going just as fast as I was on the bike.”  I thought.  Before long I turned around and headed back to the bike and by the time I got back, sure enough, my toes were warming up.

     This would be my pattern throughout the day;  peddle for a while then stop and then do the warm-up toe jog.  Although I carry-on, it was not bothersome in the least and most of my attention was centered around following the trail and chasing the sun.  

     It rose today at 10:18 A.M and set at 3:29 P.M. giving me five hours and eleven minutes to play with.  Part of my wellness plan for the winter includes actively seeking out dates with the sun.  The longer the dates and the more frequent they are, the better off I will be, I figure because in the past I have suffered from S.A.D.(Seasonal affective disorder)

      Wikipedia says this: Seasonal affective disorder is also known as winter depression, winter blues, or seasonal depression.  It is a mood disorder subset in which people who have normal mental health throughout most of the year experience depressive symptoms at the same time each year, most commonly in the winter.  

    The good news is that the condition treatable.  Many think it is brought-on by lack of sunlight and although we don’t get much of it in Alaska in the winter it is a variable that can be planned-for, maximized and as it turns out, supplemented.   One of the recommended treatment options is called light-therapy and it involves sitting in front of a special full-spectrum light each day for a few minutes.  Exposure to sunlight is thought to increase the brain's release of a hormone called serotonin that we know is linked to mood.  Light therapy mimics the therapeutic properties of the sun and is thought to do the same thing.  

My therapy light box has been dormant for years
but it is making a strong comeback.

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      A dark figure stood before me in the trail.  Standing a hair over 75 feet tall, I was impressed.  I knew that he would continue to grow but I wasn’t going to stick around to find out.  I was on the move.  I unzipped my bike bag and drank what I could of my mostly frozen nalgene bottle and then pushed off pedaling my way up the trail as my dark friend mimicked me, danced around and silently morphed in and out of view.

Sasquatch?

     The trail had only been packed a few times by snowmachines so far but it was delightful nonetheless.  Long sections of it had set-up perfectly for riding.  It weaved over and around various islands and channels of the Susitna River snaking its way North and West crossing finally at a steep cut in a bluff that locals have named the Ravine.  For kicks I hiked up the Ravine and ran into the sun on the first swamp.  My toes warmed with the extra effort and having reached the furthest point on my journey today, I turned around and back down the Ravine.  The Sun would be in my face now and I was feeling just fine.   

Flanked by Sasquatch.....on a bike!

Mama always told me not to look into the eye of the sun.

      

Rollin' on the River

    

Rollin' on the River

Since I have made a conscious decision to take-on our snowless winter head-on wielding no more than a shiny new fat tire bike I figured that I’d better get to peddlin’.  Mother nature, forcing my hand yet again is going for the trifecta of shitty weather winters.  

    True-to-form I have been peddling my buns off.  I have explored all of the territory around my house that is legally accessible.   Fat tire bike tracks lead away from our house like a spider’s web and since there hasn’t been any new snow to speak of since the first few inches on October 17th, all of my tracks are still visible.

      A month's worth of tracks have hardened, grown wider, and solidified serving as arteries pushing me into the wooded and watery landscape nearby. And although it has been nice to check out all of our local lakes (there are five lakes within a mile of the house), and nearby trails,  it’s the river that I look forward to most.

    Accessing the river from our property in Willow near mile 84 is a cinch.  From our cabin I can peddle over the hill and be on the river in under two minutes.  From the river basin there are endless sloughs, ridges, channels, beaches and flash-frozen overflow pools providing lots of cool stuff to ride on and is far from boring.  I look forward to seeing the changes each time I ride down there.  The Susitna River never ceases to amaze me. It is always in a constant state of change.  A fire pit and log jam that Hazelee turned into a fort two weeks ago is currently glassed over in an overflow event that flooded the whole two acre shelf it was on.  Skating anyone?

Last week this was gravel.

     I picked up a pair of studded tires last weekend and they are pretty amazing.  Riding over glare ice is not a problem.  I can hear the studs crunch into the ice as the bike rolls effortlessly over top.  Slamming on the rear brake carves several parallel lines in the ice as the bike scrapes to a stop.

    Today I found a place to cross the mighty Susitna.  I ditched the bike so I could check it out and test the ice.  Carefully I made my way across the ice;  Solid.  Finally as I stood on the far gravel beach having just crossed the main channel of the river I looked back across to where my bike was parked.  It was 150 meters away.  I wanted to retrieve the bike and begin exploring the beach but I was out of time.  It would have to wait until the next ride.

Yours truly halfway across the main channel.  It was solid

Tight frozen ridges on a main channel of the
Susitna River near Susitna Landing.

Zamboni overflow.

Studs don't fail me now.

Frosty clear shards of fresh, new ice
glistening in the sunset.

Studs.

Back slough of the Kashwitna. Solid.