One of the perks of working for a cruise company, in particular this cruise company, is that we don’t just have cruise ships. We also have a number of upscale lodges, which as luck would have it happen to be in Alaska. We’d booked in for a night at the Kenai Princess Wilderness Lodge, which just so happened to be the very last night they were open for the season.
We spent a relaxing afternoon wandering down by the river looking for bears, then drying off in the rustic cabin room with a cozy wood-fired stove and private porch.
The afternoon was completed with hot as you like showers (no tokens required!) and truly a luxury – a hairdryer. Might not seem like much to you, but my new normal is towel-dry, essentially damp hair. Never dry hair. Wet hair. In the summer not a problem. But ugh, damp hair in the cold – for me means long chilly fingers seeping ever so gradually through my scalp to my bones, making me cold from the inside out. Not tonight though. Indeed, very happy to have hairdryer hair. And a hearty meal rounded off the evening.
One of the Must Do’s in Alaska is salmon fishing. Now I happen to know a thing or two about pacific salmon, having become closely acquainted with the different types and quality for a project at work a couple of years ago. It can get a bit confusing with various names for each type of salmon but I can give you a quick version if you like….
There are five types of Alaskan salmon, and you can remember them by counting them off on the fingers of your hand:
The first, is Chum – rhymes with thumb (also known in Alaska as Dog salmon because it’s just about good enough to feed your dog. If you see it in the supermarket, it’s usually smoked and likely to be called by its Latin name Keta). Next up is your pointy index finger, which you could use to sock ‘em in the eye, or Sockeye salmon. Then you have your middle finger, the biggest of the lot, think King salmon (also known as Chinook, considered the most supreme in flavor as well as in size). Followed by your ring finger, used to denote Silver salmon (Coho). And lastly, your little finger – your pinky – think Pink salmon (humpy).
So Chum, Sockeye, King, Silver and Pink. Ta-da, consider yourself an Alaska salmon expert. (And in case you’re wondering, Atlantic salmon is just one species so no need for a round two).
All of this didn’t help one diddly squat with our fishing trip, mind. The salmon have different migratory patterns and timing, and therefore on the Kenai river in early September, like it or not you’re fishing for Coho.
It was dark when we got up at 5am. It was dark when we drove to our boat launch and it was still dark when we left the riverbank at 6am. We sat in the boat in the dark – and the drizzle I might add. Four of us plus the captain in a tiny fishing boat, anchored maybe a hundred yards from where we set off. And we waited. No sign of any fish and get this, no sign of even any fishing rods. Huh?
The gruff skipper explained that the fish didn’t start biting until after sunrise – but it’s important to get out early on the river to get a good spot. We should think ourselves lucky – just last month the trips started at 4am instead of 6! Hmm.
There was no sunlight getting through those rain clouds believe me, but gradually the grey sky turned a lighter shade of grey, indicating the passing of time, and out came the fishing rods. And then we waited some more.
Anyone who’s ever been fishing knows that a modicum of patience is required. As we sat around doing nothing, I looked to our compatriots in the boat, fully kitted out in head to toe camouflage, that’ll fool those pesky fish!
The conversation between them and the skipper turned to hunting moose and caribou. Noooo! I wanted to put my fingers in my ears and tune out but found it impossible. Deep breaths. Probably not the right time to start a feisty discussion on the ethics of hunting, especially when we’re essentially hunting salmon!
Throughout the long morning, we had a few nibbles but they weren’t exactly coming thick and fast. The skipper was pretty much tearing his hair out and spent most of the morning on the phone to his other buddies on the river. Seems like everyone else was having a similarly dry day. Muttered conversations overheard included “It don’t get any tougher than this.” “This’ll drive a man to drinking.” And my personal favorite “It’s like fishing in the Mojave desert”.
Luckily we were saved from an empty-handed tail between your legs retreat by a lucky catch from Darren. He was the only one of the four of us to land an edible fish, a Silver Coho in its prime, kudos indeed.
Meanwhile, the Sockeye I caught was well past the optimum stage for being edible, so she was returned to the river to complete her journey and the next generation. I could not be happier that I caught (in my opinion) by far the coolest salmon and yet that fish still got to complete its lifecycle and its destiny. Good luck Sockeye!
