Chapter 3: Combat Fishing

Since I wasn’t catching enough fish so far, I decided to visit Homer Fishing Lagoon. Nick Dudiak Fishing Lagoon, commonly known as “Homer Fishing Lagoon”, may look like a fishpond to many visiting anglers at their first sight, but this man-made lagoon is connected to Kachemak Bay only when the tide is high enough to flow over the narrow canal. There is a hard surface slope running from the parking area down to the shore for wheel-chaired anglers. The fish cleaning table and the bathroom with hot water are both cleaned by the City of Homer every day. You may say this is the least Alaskan like fishing location. Well, that’s what I thought when I came here first time. But as I learned more about Alaska from a traveling angler’s point of view, I grew the appreciation and respect toward Alaska Department of Fish and Game, and especially, the biologist Nick Dudiak who initiated the stocking program for sport anglers in Kachemak Bay.

I don’t have the exact figures with me but there are a huge number of people come to Alaska every year from all over the world and spend serious amount of money and enrich the local economy. The peak of their visit is in summer time, when many salmon returns to their rivers. The project of Homer Fishing Lagoon started in 1984 to “meet the summer demand for more sport fishing opportunity along the Kenai Peninsula road system without compromising wild runs.” (Fishery Management Report No. 07-55, ADF&G) How did they do? First, they dug the lagoon in Homer Spit because of its accessibility and popularity with both tourists and residents. Since there’s no fresh water stream there that is appropriate for salmon imprinting, homing and spawning, the fishery biologists collected salmon eggs from the broodstock that returned to the Crooked Creek Hatchery near Soldotna. Then eggs were flown to the Elmendorf Hatchery in Anchorage where heated effluent water is available from a power plant to accelerate development and produce smolts in less than one year. They were also exposed to the artificial imprinting agent. When they are about 6 inches long, the smolts are transported to the floating net pen in the lagoon and spend 5 to 7 days during which they were fed frozen fish food. The young smolts remembered the odor of the imprinting chemical dispensed from the several drip stations anchored along the Spit and use it as a homing stimulus when they returned as adult fish two years later. (The biologists later found out the fish, while staying in the net pen for a brief period, somehow are imprinted to the unique characteristics of the Fishing Lagoon and can return without the help from the artificial chemical agent. The use of drip stations was discontinued.) Homer Fishing Lagoon is a shining example of successful management of fishery resources. Though it is not as scenic as remote wilderness in Alaska, there you can see smiling faces of all sort of anglers, novice and seasoned alike.

Fishing in the lagoon is not that easy, contrary to your imagination. You need to learn how to deal with Combat Fishing. The best spot during the incoming tide is right below the parking space for handicapped people. The tide directly hits the shore where you should stand firmly between sometimes demanding and vocal local anglers. Rose (or Samai, her Native name) is one of them who you meet almost every day during the season. And next to her was the gentleman with a handicap on his right leg. They were talking about his visit to the local medicine person who had successfully removed the pain from his leg without using any medication. It seemed he was one of Native people as well.

I joined them three hours before the high tide to secure the best spot. By the time the incoming tide started pouring into the lagoon with new schools of returning salmon, the spot was crowded as it should be in the Fishing Lagoon. We stood almost elbow to elbow. Welcome to Combat Fishing Alaska! Rose got the first fish of the tide as usual. I got the next one. The place was in chaos. People got their line tangled up across the lagoon and side by side. Some of them were yelling at each other. I got my three fish quickly, thanks to my good fortune, and somehow escaped from the criss-crossing fishing lines at the right moment.

Then I saw the guy next to Rose fighting the fish. His right leg was in a plastic cast, and he stood with a cane. As he reeled in the fish close to the shore, he would have to walk backward to pull the fish to the beach. But since he couldn’t stand without using a cane for very long, he fell to the ground, just like a fallen soldier in war movie. “Want me to pull the fish in?” asked Rose, casually. He nodded to her while struggling on the ground to reel in the fish. She swiftly beached the fish by pulling the fishing line and bonked its head for quick kill, and resumed her fishing. He was still on the ground, cumbersomely handling his catch when the guy on the other side of him got a fish on. To my surprise, this time he literally jumped into the shallow water and held the writhing fish in his arms to the beach for his fellow angler. He was wet, his jacket was glistening with slime from the fish, but he was laughing like a kid who just got the first fish in his life.

People around him were smiling and cheering his bear-like attempt to land a fish. I had never seen anything like that before.

The water became quiet gradually and we all sensed the golden time of fishing had come and gone. Rose got four fish but gave two of them to the brave man with the weak leg. She left the place, saying good-bye to the people. Many know her well and if she’s done with fishing this evening, that means you should go home as well or you waste your time because “These fish ain’t gonna bite no more.” as she claimed. So I quit fishing and got ready to move to the cleaning table. The gentleman with the plastic cast was packing his gear as well. Since Rose was gone, I was now next to him. I offered him a helping hand to bring his fish, four of them, and rod to his car parked above us, and we started chatting. After talking about the tide and short-lived fishing fiasco, he asked me where I was from. “I am originally from Tokyo, but now living in Hong Kong, sir.” “You’re Japanese, then? Me, too! I am Japanese American, Nisei, from Hawaii. I moved to Oregon many years ago though.” This is how I met Ralph Yoshimura. His face was so sun burned and dark, I mistook him for a Native American. Anthropologically speaking, Japanese are not that different from them. When I was working in Navajo Indian Reservation, several local Native people had come to ask me which tribe I was originally from. So I shouldn’t be surprised to find Ralph look like a Native American after all. I felt bit ashamed of forgetting my inter-continental Asian heritage.

Ralph and I cleaned the fish together as we talked all the way till we said good-bye at Coral Point fish processing house. He comes to Homer every summer, like I do, to bring salmon back home for his family. Turns out polio ravaged his leg, which limits his mobility but not his spirit to catch fish. Since he asked me about the fishing in Anchor River, I told how beautiful the river is, even though the fishing wasn’t so good so far this year. He seemed quite interested in the river and asked me if I thought he would get by, physically. Walking to Slide Hole on the muddy slippery path is not easy for a man with both legs in good shape. Maybe Bridge Hole is much more accessible to him, I said. He seemed to ponder on the idea. I thought I would see him there someday.

Ralph was adamant to give me a fish scale remover, which I praised for its usefulness while cleaning the fish. I told him he would need it for the reminder of his fishing trip but he insisted I take it. I accepted his kind offer. It is one of those metal scale remover made in China. You can find it in a dollar shop anywhere. But this particular one would remind me of our pleasant meeting in future. (Gary liked the story as well as the gadget. It really works fine. I asked myself how often I would use the item back in Hong Kong. I decided it’s best to stay here for Gary to use, instead of ending up in the drawer in my kitchen for nothing. Ralph, your fish scale remover is still in Alaska, working so wonderfully!)

Chapter 4: Endless passion

While I was in Homer, Gary and Ev tried the river. Gary got one fish, but Ev was shafted again. Gary saw the guy catching two fish in the same spot, using the same fly next to him. As he had done it to me when we first met, Gary talked to the guy and took a quick look at his fly. It had a dark red bead on the shank of the hook. Gary wondered if it’s possible to attach a plastic bead thru the hook bend. It wasn’t. So he deduced that it wasn’t a bead after all. He visited his friend Dave, another fanatic fly fisherman in Anchor Point for help.

Dave and his wife Bonny are retired teachers and both enjoy fishing. Dave’s knee, however, gives him hard time these days, so he spends more time tying flies than actually fishing. (Similar to my case, for I spend hundreds of hours to tie flies for only two weeks of fishing in Alaska.) When I saw his fly tying table with a magnificent view, I could feel his passion. The table is full of colors in many materials, almost resembles to an oil painter’s. Every fly tier has his/her style of favor. His is giving a bit of metallic touch to his creation. He attaches small spinner blades on his streamer to attract more fish. He puts an angled jig head to his fly so that it will be keeled in the current to prevent snagging. He loves working with metals and is good at it. But Gary’s here for something non-metallic. In modern fly tying, there are so many synthetic materials used. Glue gun and multi color glue sticks are being quite popular among salmon and steelhead anglers in recent years because you can create all shape and color of salmon eggs. Dave quickly made several egg patterns for Gary.

Gary later put the orange chenille and hackles on the hook with Dave’s glue egg on it to create something similar to the fly he had seen that morning. This is how Anchor Terror (patent pending) was born. Gary was too humble to claim it as his original. So I took the liberty to name it so.

With this new weapon, Gary later caught more fish while Ev and I were rejected continuously, even though we were using the same exact Anchor Terror in the same hole. I decided to go fishing alone, away from Gary. I trekked upstream of Slide Hole one afternoon with a large bottle of water in my backpack. Walked across the huge fallen trees, which are sometimes called “nurse logs” because they work as a healer to the surrounding. Even after its demise, trees, like salmon, are consumed thoroughly by the next generation of the environment thru the help of bacteria. Nothing is wasted. I found a fresh, enormous pile of excrament on the riverbank. After close examination of its content and finding no fish bone, I convinced myself that it was from a hoofed animal instead of a bear. I kept walking upstream to find the huge pool called Dundes Hole in front of the private property next to Steelhead Camp Ground. The beach was spacious with no tall trees, perfect for fly-casting. The other side of the river is steep cliff and covered with half sunken trees. One glance and you can tell this is the top class hole.

I fished all afternoon around there. Though I didn’t catch any fish, I was certain this pool is so suitable for a school of fresh salmon right out of the ocean to get rest before their journey into the swift current. I decided to return there tomorrow morning, the last day of fishing in Alaska 2008.

At 4:30 I managed to wake up. After a cup of coffee, I hit the road. Within 5 minutes driving from Gary’s house, I was parking my car in Steelhead Camp Ground. It was still dark. Fishing in high latitude country in summer time can be physically demanding if you don’t want to miss the twilight hours of both sunset and sunrise. I walked past the group of anglers in Picnic Hole and headed downstream. To my chagrin, I found five anglers already fishing in the lower pool of Dundes Hole where half sunken trees providing a good hiding place for fish. Upper pool is much narrower but deeper. To my right the river is shallow and runs fast. Then it curves 90 degrees and slows down quickly as the pool gets deeper.

I fished another hour there but didn’t catch any more. The morning was now bright with sunshine. I could see the rock in the pool. I cast one more time, just like when I had caught the fish this morning. I savored the load on my fly rod during my last cast. I tried to remember how my green floating line changes its form as it drifted downstream. And I saw my chartreuse fly suddenly came into my vision thru the polarized glasses, next to the enormous rock. There she had been lying when my fly swam across. I wondered how many more fish were there with her. How many of them will swim thru the bridge beyond which salmon fishing is banned. Even after passing the bridge, they would have to face bears. I wished them luck, packed up my gear and went home.

In the afternoon, Gary and I visited Dave again. I asked him to show me his collection of guns and rifle. Both of them are avid hunters, though Gary is more inclined to fishing these years. I have been always interested in hunting but never been able to do it so far. In Japan, getting a license to buy a rifle is a long process. Gun control in Japan is so tight and I appreciate it as a citizen. The police would interview not only an applicant, but also his/her neighbors! Hunting is not something you can easily start as a hobby in Japan, especially in Honshu Island, which is almost the same size as the state of California but has a population of 100 plus million! In Alaska, as a non-resident alien, your hunting license costs $300. If you’re after a moose, it’s an extra $500 for Big Game Tags. On top of that, you have to bring your own rifle from your country unless you’re a US citizen and plan to buy it in Alaska. So I have to learn the thrill of hunting only from the reading or listening to guys like them. They truly fulfilled my thirst.

One bear was coming fast to attack a hunter who shot at it. But the adrenalin dulled the pain and the bear kept coming and mauled the hunter before it died on him, who was still alive but severely injured. You need to shoot a bear with a good distance. In Kodiak Island, a sound of rifle shot actually attracts bears. Hunters often have to abandon their catch to incoming bears. I have heard the similar story from one fishing guide. She said that in Kodiak, where the bear population is quite high, she would always submerge the fly reel to the water once she got a fish on to suppress the scream of the reel because bears are attracted to that sound. The point is, bears are highly intelligent animal. They learn, like we do. When Gary and his teenage daughter Laracella were deer hunting years ago in southern Alaska, he found the bear following them, not directly behind them, but on the trail parallel to theirs for quite some time. Fortunately the bear kept the distance and he didn’t have to kill it. But he was ready to do so, he told me. Use your imagination; you and your kid being followed by a thug on a street. It is a freaking scary thought for most of us. Now, put yourself in Gary’s shoes. Even though you have a rifle in your hand in this scenario, it is not a thug. It’s a bear which could easily eat you and your kid alive…