Alaska Fishing

2012-01-03T09:24:00.000-08:00

The time has come to plan for the new year......... We are here for you come snow or high water!

A Delicate Subject in the Alaska Fishing Community

2011-10-18T13:19:00.000-07:00

Thefollowing news item is one of several on the subject that is circulatingthroughout the Alaska fishing community these days.

http://www.alaskapublic.org/2011/09/26/former-crew-members-attempted-to-turn-in-fuglvog/

Some thoughts from Captain Mac -

Asmany of you know, I have been involved in fisheries politics for over 30 years.Since 1993 I have been particularly active in halibut issues. Halibut is a“federal” fish, by virtue of the fact that it is managed by an internationalconvention between the U.S. and Canada.

Asan international, federally managed fish, many layers of law and bureaucracyaffect halibut. The primary U.S. agency that governs halibut is the Departmentof Commerce, and its sub-agencies, NOAA fisheries, and the National MarineFisheries Service, or NMFS. The primary laws affecting halibut are the NorthernPacific Halibut Act of 1982, and the Magnuson-Stevens Act, commonly called “The200-mile limit law” because it kept hungry foreign fishing fleets beyond 200miles of our coastline.

Inaddition to many other facets of the law, Magnuson-Stevens created a series of eightFishery Management Councils that cover the entire U.S coastline, including theGulf of Mexico and the eastern seaboard. The Council that is responsible forthe federal waters and fish off Alaska is called the North Pacific FisheryManagement Council (NPFMC) and is usually referred to as the ”North Council.”

TheCouncil process is very deliberative and is constrained by many federal lawsand processes requiring in-depth analysis, public input and rigidadministrative procedures. It takes forever to get anything through the Counciland into law or regulation, and sometimes by the time it becomes law it isalready flawed and outdated. State fisheries management does not have near asmuch red tape.

Somewould say that the Council process is proper in that it mandates thesedeliberative procedures and assures that the public is involved in the process.It sounds good, but in practice it doesn’t always work the way it was intended,especially at the North Council as it struggles to deal with recreationalfisheries.

Thevarious commercial fisheries off Alaska are huge, so it follows that federalconcern and jurisdiction is almost entirely directed toward commercial, notrecreational fisheries. As a result most of the North Council’s eleven voting membersare linked to, or have commercial fishing backgrounds. Even the State of Alaska’srepresentative on the Council, the Commissioner of the Alaska Department ofFish and Game (ADFG) invariably comes from the commercial sector of statefisheries management. In fact there is only one recreational fishery representativeon the North Council. One out of eleven. So it is little wonder that issues involvingrecreational fisheries that compete with commercial interests do not get a fairhearing. Votes involving recreational issues are defeated by a 10 to 1 marginwith monotonous regularity. The North Council also has an Advisory Panel (AP)comprising about 20 members, give or take. Similarly there is only one, oroccasionally two recreational representatives on the AP. And similarly, inspite of a preponderance of public comment to the contrary, recreational issuesgo down by votes of 19 to 1 or 2. The North Council was intentioned to dealwith commercial fisheries and it was never envisioned, nor is it structured orequipped to deal fairly and appropriately with recreational fishing issues.

Whatrecreational fishing issues does the North Council have to deal with? There isonly one. Halibut. The federal fish. And it is a minuscule amount of fish inthe grand scheme of the fisheries of the North Pacific that the Council mustdeal with on a regular basis.

Andhow does one get to be a voting member on the Councils? Through politicalrecommendations and appointments. Surprise, surprise.

Since1993 I have served on three committees at the NPFMC relating to sport andcharter halibut issues. No, I was not a political appointee. I volunteered andpaid all my own travel, lodging and meal expenses to serve on those committees.I wanted to know what was going on in the federal regulation of our industry soI could prepare myself and inform other charter operators and lodge owners.

Sowhat has all this to do with the news article and Arne Fuglvog?

TheNorth Council was where I first met Arne, over 20 years ago. He and a few of hisassociates initiated the anti-recreational halibut wars at the North Counciland were formidable opponents to the fledgling sport halibut fisheries thatthey viewed as threatening to them. I sat across the table from him atcommittee meetings and gave testimony before him and the rest of the Councilcountless times when he was a Council member. He was an influential, brightyoung man and a rising star in the fisheries management world. The news storytells the rest. In fact, in early 2009 he was considered a strong contender to head NMFS, the very agency responsible for enforcing federal fisheries regulations. See: http://deckboss.blogspot.com/2009/04/another-alaskan-to-head-nmfs.html

Photo by: ERIK HILL / Anchorage Daily News Arne Fuglvog, former fisheries aide

for Sen. Lisa Murkowski, leaves federal court Thursday morning, Aug. 11, 2011, in Anchorage.

Tenmonths in jail is only the beginning of his worries. He is still a young man,in his forties. He will also pay $150,000 in fines. His licenses will likely bestripped from him, and the fishing community will hold him in contempt for therest of his life. He is a fifth-generation commercial fisherman who has held manyinfluential positions in fisheries management agencies and has been awarded theU.S. National Fisherman Highliner of theYear as well as the commercial fishermen’s union’s United Fishermen of Alaska's Fisherman of the Year.

It will be a long way down for Arne.
http://www.alaskadispatch.com/article/former-murkowski-fisheries-aide-headed-prison

Butthe real tragedy in this story is that the behavior that brought down Arne isnot limited to just this one person. Rumors and stories are rampant about theabuses that commercial fishermen inflict on the resources upon which theydepend for their livelihood. There is a mentality among many (not all, butmany) in the fleet that says, “I need to get mine before it is all gone.” Arnewas an icon, an award-winning professional, a highliner. If Arne is not abovesuch action, then who in the commercial fishing industry is? The word on thestreet in his home town of Petersburg is that many are worried about what Arneknows, and who he might implicate to mitigate his own circumstances.

Meanwhilethe charter industry is being subjected to what I believe is unprecedentedscrutiny, and dare I say harassment, by federal (NOAA/NMFS/USCG) enforcementactivities. Do I have proof of this? Can I produce statistics and history ofenforcement activities? No, I cannot. All I know is that in all my years in thebusiness I do not recall a time when there has been this much going on,enforcement wise, in the charter industry. I also know that when the USCGlaunch comes alongside in preparation for a boarding, the first question theyask these days is, “Do you have any halibut on board?” If you say no, they willusually not board you. If you say yes, they certainly will. Why is the CoastGuard so interested in halibut all of a sudden? And why should that affectwhether they board you or not?

Theagencies will tell you there is justification for these actions. That may wellbe true. They certainly have been able to make their charges stick. But whatabout the likes of Arne in the commercial sector? Is there a like amount ofenergy being directed towards them? How much damage can a commercial vesselinflict as compared to the average charterboat? The commercial take of thehalibut resource is over 80%. Certain sectors of the commercial fisheries wasteup to three times the total sport halibut catch. If conservation concerns arereally what is driving these enforcement activities, couldn’t that effort bebetter directed where there is a greater possibility of some serious damagebeing done?

Breakingthe law cannot be condoned, no matter who it is or in what sector it occurs. Andyou can’t fault the boots in the boats, the enforcement officers and CoastGuard men and women. They are courteous and professional in doing their dutyand carrying out their instructions. But you have to ask, where are theirorders coming from and why is this apparent increase in enforcement attention,effort and money being directed at the charter industry at this time?

Charteroperators, particularly in Southeast Alaska have been subjected to halibutrestrictions that, if left in place for just a few more years, will decimatethe industry and eliminate it as a competing fishery for halibut. Could the politically powerful andwell-healed commercial sector have a stake in the outcome? Could people likeArne, closely aligned with commercial fishing interests and very tight with topfederal regulators, have influenced the decisions that have caused so muchchaos in the recreational side of the halibut fishery? When Southeast Alaskacharter fishermen are eliminated as viable competitors for halibut, who isnext?

Andask yourself which sector, commercial or sport, has the potential to do themost damage to the halibut resource. Remember the story of Arne the highliner.Was he the only one?

Mac

Congratulations to Mary Kaye!

2011-05-06T11:57:00.000-07:00

Alaska Magazine Contest

2011-03-21T11:51:00.000-07:00

Win a trip to Sportsman's Cove Lodge
Contest began March 15th and ends April 30th. Go to the link above to enter or find out more details!

Cape Chacon Part IV

2010-10-12T19:52:00.000-07:00

Captain Mac’s note:

Finally...the closing chapter in deckhand Jonathan Bender’s saga of his fishing trip to the fabled waters of Cape Chacon, at the southern tip of Prince of Wales Island, Alaska. My apologies for taking so long to complete the story. The season caught up with me and that was the end of any opportunities to update the blog.

There are three previous parts to the story. This is the fourth and final segment. You will have to back to the blog archives for November of 2009 to pick up the thread in Part I. By the way, Jon’s captain, Brad, mentioned in the story, happens to be my son. Brad is now the General Manager of Mount Spokane Ski & Snowboard Park in Eastern Washington state.

Hope you enjoy Jon’s story.

Ben & Carl at Cape Chacon

At around 3:15, just as we’re about to head back, it happens. Tim cries out, “fish on!” I look over and notice the heavy bend in his rod, the whizzing of drag shooting off of his reel. It could only be one thing! He knows it, and he’s understandably excited, nervous, trying to focus. Feeding halibut on these pinnacles are in an uncomfortable situation—off the bottom—and they instinctively dive when they’ve grabbed something. The other guests sense what’s happening and respectfully bring up their lines, but before he gets very far, Billy, one of the Missouri dads, hooks up. A halibut double! Feeling out the situation, I decide that everyone, even Billy, wants me to focus my attention on Tim. His fish has stopped its initial run now and he’s begun the laborious process of hefting it from the depths.

I prepare the harpoon while coaching him, instructing that he do everything “eeeeaasy.” Slow motion. As his fish nears the surface, I give him the same instruction that I’d given his father earlier, not to lift the fish out of the water, but to guide it up across the surface. He’s fishing with 50 pound test line, and freed from the restriction of the water, the quick jerks of a large halibut would snap the line like thread. Gradually, from the black depths, appears the gaping mouth of this monster. He’s well over 100, maybe 160, I estimate.

I ready the harpoon, the line in my left hand, pulled tight against the shaft in my right. Meanwhile, Brad, our skipper, loads the .410 Snakecharmer for the kill. Tim can hardly contain himself, and in his excitement, he commits the error that I’d warned him about, pulling the giant’s head from the water. As I expected, it makes a quick shake, snapping the line, sending the straining Tim falling backwards into his father. The fish turns, rotating its bulk to head back down. In a last-ditch effort, I lean over, plunging the harpoon toward the fish, now four feet below the surface. I have luck behind me today, and I make contact, penetrate, and in the same motion, I tip back into the boat, pulling hard on the rope. The fish makes a swift kick with its immense caudal fin, but I’m faster, pulling its tail from the water; it swipes against nothing but air. I’d harpooned it close to the tail, and I was afraid that it wouldn’t hold, but my skipper is right there with the 4-10, and as I guide the fish backward a bit, he plugs it with the slug, killing it instantly. We gaff it on board, triumphant. Tim is jubilant to say the least.

Ben & Lingcod

Just then, we all remember Billy, who by now has his fish at the surface, this one just under 100 pounds. Another quick shot from the 4-10 and, much more fluidly, we bring it on board to accompany the other. On the deck lies a beautiful sight: 10 square feet of halibut, in a yin-yang of white and brown, opposing sides interlocking. To complete the photo-op (and to get a visual on the work I have ahead of me filleting), I pull the bright king, the two large lingcod, three big yellow-eye rockfish, and a couple assorted smaller rockfish out of the cooler to completely cover the deck of the boat. After bringing in the rest of the gear, we start to make our way back toward the cove where the planes await.

The trip to the cove, and even the five hours back to the lodge, isn’t enough to diminish the group’s enthusiasm. The sense of satisfaction and accomplishment in the group was infectious, giving added purpose and value to my drudgery.

These are the experiences that I live for; we’d created a life memory for all of us.

* Footnote: The photos accompanying the story are from another trip to Cape Chacon.

Honor Among Friends!

2010-05-07T19:44:00.000-07:00

A handful of retired classmates of the Canadian Naval College and I took on a 50th year class project. Our goal was to replace a faded photo (photos above) of one of our own, who had fallen three days before Christmas, 1964, while on loan to the United States Coast Guard. We completed this task in March of this year.

A 'Press Release" put out by the Coast Guard on March 31, 2010 by LT Todd Vorenkamp, detailed the story behind the visit.

McKinleyville, CA - A group of former Canadian military officers visited Coast Guard Group Humboldt Bay to remember fallen shipmate Royal Canadian Navy pilot and U.S. Coast Guard exchange aviator, Sub lieutenant Allen Alltree, on Wednesday.

Sub Lt. Alltree was killed near Trinidad, CA., in the tragic crash of Coast Guard helicopter CG-1363 on December 22, 1964 while on a rescue mission.

In December of 1964 the "Storm of the Century" had hit northern California. The Eel River was well above the flood stage and local emergency services were overwhelmed. The Humboldt County Sheriff's Office requested assistance from Coast Guard Air Station San Francisco to evacuate 16 stranded persons in danger of being engulfed by the rising waters on Cock Robin Island. The island, at the mouth of the Eel River was 200 miles north of San Francisco. That morning, a Sikorsky HH-52A Seaguard helicopter was airborne with Lt. Donald L. Prince, USGC, pilot; Sub Lt. Alltree, copilot; and James A. Nininger, Jr., Aviation Electricians Mate second class, USGC, crewman.

The helicopter arrived on scene at about 2:50 p.m., and, in spite of rain, fog, and extremely high winds, commenced rescue operations. Late in the afternoon, after having rescued at least 20 people from the raging flood waters, the helicopter landed its last 5 survivors at the Humboldt County Fairgrounds in Ferndale, CA. Mr. Bud Hansen, a local dairy farmer, volunteered to assist the Coast Guard crew in finding more neighbors before darkness made the searching impossible. The helicopter departed in "terrific winds and heavy rainfall." Now in darkness, they made three more rescues, hoisting Mrs. Marine Bahnsen, Mrs. Betty Kemp and her baby, Melanie.

Darkness had settled and fuel was getting low. The crew flew north towards the Arcata Airport where they had fueled earlier in the afternoon. With low visibility the crew was forced to fly offshore. Due to power failures from the storm, the airport lighting was inoperative. The crew realized they had missed the airport when they picked up a radio bearing north of Trinidad. In turning back to the south, the extremely high winds pushed them inland where they impacted the terrain at 1200-feet above sea level, coming to rest in a stand of Redwood trees. Due to the terrible weather conditions, it took rescuers five days to locate and hike to the wreckage site where they found the helicopter completely demolished and all on board deceased. Medical experts reported that death for all had been instantaneous.

Sub. Lt. Alltree and the rest of the aircrew posthumously received Air Medals for meritorious achievement in aerial flight. In October 1998, Bud Hansen was posthumously awarded the Meritorious Public Service Award for his selfless act of heroism, in putting his neighbor's interest above his own.

My classmates from L to R - Ken Scotten, Ed Vishek, Wilf Lund, Finlay Sterling, Myself, and Larry Lott with Captain Chris Martino, Commanding Officer, USCG Humboldt Bay Air Station.)

"It was our honor to host these Canadian officers and their families for today's ceremony," said Lt. Todd Vorenkamp, public affairs officer for Group Humboldt Bay. "As an exchange pilot, Sub Lt. Alltree was a member of our Coast Guard family, and it is a privilege to meet his Canadian shipmates and hear stories about someone who was a member of a crew that heroically gave their lives while saving others."

Royal Canadian Navy Captain Wilfred Lund (retired) contacted the Coast Guard in January and expressed a desire to gather some Canadian classmates of Alltree and update the photo of Alltree in the Coast Guard's Humboldt Bay memorial. Lund and the other officers had discussed a visit to the USCG Air Station after a reunion last year After several days of rain, the skies cleared for Wednesday's event. "Al brought us some good weather," said Captain Lund before the ceremony.

Each member of the contingency of retired Canadian naval officers had a specific contribution to make in the ceremony. My part was to present the new photograph to the Commanding Officer, Captain Chris Martino (seen in the photo above with me). I reminded the gathering that the Coast Guard has an unwritten creed: "When people are in trouble and life is in peril, you have to go out. And you don't always come back."

After the ceremony, Captain Martino, Commanding Officer of the Humboldt Bay Air Station shook hands with each of us and in his palm he held the Coast Guard Medallion shown here, giving one to each of us. It was a moving experience, and it reminded me of how fortunate we are to have such dedicated and professional members in our Armed Forces, and of the sacrifices that our young men and women make every day.

The security and freedom we enjoy is not free.

Note: Captain Mac spent altogether approximately 9 years in the Royal Canadian Navy. He has been a naturalized American citizen for over 40 years. He says, "I am proud of my Canadian heritage, but also very proud to be an American, which took an active decision on my part. I am an immigrant in the great American tradition. I am an American by choice."

Jonathan Bender's Cape Chacon - Part III

2010-03-18T13:58:00.000-07:00

Part I of this Series was posted back in November of 2009. Part II was posted in January 2010. You have to click on the Blog Archive for the appropriate month to bring them up. If you haven't been following the story go back now to the archives and pick up the thread. Enjoy!

Captain Mac

On the first two days of their trip, fishing out of the Lodge, we’d connected with huge schools of migrating silvers, and had been treated to the non-stop action we called “Coho Chaos” that comes standard in such cases. For hours, at no time were there less than three people hooked up; the darting silvers taking bullet-runs every which way; me shouting, “Over!” “Under!” Guiding the fishermen, trying to prevent line-tangles. All the while, I’d struggled to keep up with the action, retying rigs and baiting hooks in the spaces between netting, often two fish at a time. The intensity of these silver footballs of muscle never ceases to amaze me. My favorite incident this trip occurred on the first hookup, when Tim had announced, “I think my line broke,” upon noticing that it had gone slack. “Reel!” I shouted, trying to deliver some urgency to the situation. Just then, I noticed the chartreuse lead zipping under the boat. The fish was passing us!

So by one in the afternoon, having gotten their fill of salmon, the sextet had unanimously supported the pursuit of Tim’s trophy. Over those first two afternoons, the group brought in eight halibut, all less than 50 lbs. (excellent eating), and innumerable cod to round out each day, but we hadn’t gotten the big one that Tim wanted. I had reassured them that we still had Cape Chacon, and a good bet for the trophy.

Cape Chacon is the southernmost point of the Island, facing open water. (See the chart in Part I) There, weather permitting, lies some of the best bottom fishing in the world. Two opposing currents collide, welling up nutrients from deeper waters that result in tremendous feeding frenzies. Huge schools of feeding black rockfish commonly called “sea bass” are occasionally mauled by a giant lingcod, while bright king salmon dart past, snatching up stray herring. Occasionally, when we’re lucky, we’re treated to a rare group of frenzied halibut, up from the depths to gorge themselves on whatever strays a bit from the cover of the rocky pinnacles. In these cases, a boatload of excitement is multiplied by double, even triple hook-ups. On the previous day, I had started filling the minds of our guests with such tales, such anticipation, being sure to qualify everything with the tag lines, “on good days,” “if we’re lucky,” or, “if you’re good.” The third being a bit strategic with this group, a comment that serves to both challenge and bolster their manly pride.

The coast here is magnificent. 300-foot cliffs, jagged and gnarled, are a testament to the kinds of storms that regularly visit here. A few gnarled, twisted trees cling to the rocks near the top, a sort of masthead on the island’s bow and breakwater; the only representatives of the land that dare face the dominion of this sea. Today is bright and calm, the only conditions in which we brave these often-violent waters. I’ve tied up over 100 rigs, and they’re hanging from the rubber trim atop the cabin window, a strange, functionless curtain. We’ve started the group off with the heavier halibut rods, since the chance of hooking a 50 lb. lingcod or a large halibut is high, and we want to be prepared for that trophy if it hits. We arrive at the pinnacles where we usually have some success and set up for the first drift. As soon as everyone drops, bam! Four hookups. Before those first four make it to the deck, the other two are on. I’m running around, gaffing everything in sight (netting is too messy for rockfish), trying to keep everyone baited. Tim’s dad, Jerry, while bringing up a black rockfish, notices a dark shadow lumbering behind it. “Give’em some slack!” I instruct. He drops his rod tip and almost immediately it doubles over from the weight of the huge preying lingcod. I know the lingcod is most likely not hooked, just greedy, refusing to release the meal from it’s gaping, toothy grip, and I tell Jerry, this time calmly, “Whatever you do, don’t lift it out of the water. Only up to the surface.” I’m going to have to place the net under the big fish very carefully so as not to spook it, then net it, and hoist it over the rail and into the boat quickly. “Help us out. Clear a space!” I announce, “This thing’s going to go ballistic as soon as it feels the net!” Gingerly but as quickly as possible I position the net under the big fish and give a mighty heave, trying to fluidly move into a lift, as I bring the gruesome thing in over the side. It’s a twisting, angry, snapping 35-pounder, and I’ve got to ‘subdue’ it quickly, with the aid of my trusty aluminum club.• This kind of scene is constant for three hours, with short, five-minute breaks for us to reset the drift.

• Captain Mac’s Note: At the time of this trip there was no slot limit for lingcod. Today at Cape Chacon a lingcod must fit within a 30” to 35” “slot” – the fish must be no less than 30” long and no more that 35”. Still a pretty nice fish!

At one point, Jim, another of the sons, brings in a 35-pound king salmon after a 20-minute battle, bright chrome with that characteristic purple tint along the sides. Such a catch is enough to request everyone else to bring in their lines, giving me a short break while we fight the king. But Tim ignores the request and instead moves to the opposite end of the 37 foot boat, away from the action. He is on a mission. I steal occasional glances at him, making sure he is all right. He is concentrating intensely on the sparkling, mysterious water, almost mesmerized. "C'mon fish. C'mon fish."

To be continued

Alaska; The Last Frontier

2010-02-10T15:33:00.000-08:00

Put up or shut up

Take a few moments to read this article in the Alaska Dispatch, written by Craig Medred.

The answer to the Alaska Christmas Gift Quiz

2010-01-15T12:43:00.000-08:00

Did you guess the significance of the Alaska Christmas Gift?

Well...it's a Cartridge in a Bare Tree.

Hope you had a Merry Christmas!

Captain Mac

Winter Days at the Lodge

2010-01-14T23:55:00.001-08:00

Misty Winter Morning
in Saltery Cove

This Christmas season the weather has been just the opposite of last year. We have had little or no snow, and balmy temperatures during the day (all the way up in the mid-40's some days) and clear, crisp nights down into the 20’s. The last few days of December were gorgeous and I couldn't help capturing some images to share with you.

Our floating dock, and that of our next-door neighbor’s, are ecosystem unto themselves. They shelter schools of baitfish, mussels, flowing seaweed, worms, hundreds of small shrimp, crabs, sea cucumbers, several varieties of starfish and many other forms of marine life at the lower end of the food chain.

This living banquet attracts all kinds of critters and today they all showed up, well all except our resident mink population, much to my disappointment. But those guys will probably show up soon for their daily foraging so I'll likely catch them with the camera then. For sure we will hear them at night, squealing and screeching like a bunch of alley cats.

The fish ducks, or sea ducks as they are more commonly called are everywhere, and they come in many shapes and sizes, mostly Mergansers and Goldeneyes and Scoters with a few Buffleheads and the odd Harlequin thrown in.

They paddle around with their heads underwater in search of their prey, and as if on signal, they disappear all at once in a splash and pop up a few seconds later, usually with a small fish wiggling in their mouths.

Where are they? There's fish down there somewhere.

And the seals are also drawn by the action. We have a couple of regulars that hang out around the dock, and at high tide, come within a few feet of the deck on our home.

"The Wierd One" cruising upside down under our deck

The water is so clear we can easily see them chasing the baitfish underwater, zooming and turning and twisting with incredible grace and fluidity.

We have one that we call “The Weird One” that cruises around upside down with just his tummy and his nose and chin above water. In this position he is able to breathe while he scans what is below and ahead of him in the water

One right side up (top) and "The Wierd One" upside down

And of course there is Hank. Hank Heron, that is. Yes, the play on words and reference to the famous ball player is deliberate. It just fits somehow, kinda flows together naturally.

Hank is amazing for his patience. He will stand absolutely motionless for hours on end at the water’s edge or on a log or at the end of the dock. He becomes part of the landscape so you are not even aware that he is there. And as you approach him he will let out a mighty squawk in protest and launch his huge frame into the air scaring the wits out of you!

Hank on our neighbor's dock line.
He will stand there motionless by the hour.

Today he was working the beach. Evidently the baitfish were along the shoreline. I couldn’t see them but Hank could. He would stand in a few inches of water, in his statue-like pose.

Standby......ready....

You could tell when the school of fish were coming within killing range because he would cock his head ever so slightly, and very slowly lower his head, taking aim, then – Bam! He would strike, and invariably come up with a small fish in his sharp beak. He was deadly!

Bam!

Gotcha!

The otters didn’t show up the first day I started shooting pictures. It snowed a bit on December 30th, not much but enough to entice the otter critters to come out and play on the floatplane dock the next day. We watched them coming from all the way across the Cove, in their unmistakable, porpoise-like diving swim, they made a bee-line for the floatplane dock and hauled themselves up on it.

Then the fun started. There was a family of nine altogether, Mom and Pop and seven teenagers, rolling in the snow, running and sliding, and finally all ending up in an “otter ball” piling on top of one another and rolling around in a furry heap of heads and arms and legs and tails in the snow. They were having a blast! Every so often one or two would peel off and dive under the dock, coming up with mussels and other goodies that they sometimes shared with the rest. This went on for a half hour or more. I wished I had a telephoto lens.

So what did we need to top off this perfect scene as the day ended? Why a full moon of course.

What an incredible place we live in, even in winter.

Moonrise - New year's Eve, 2009

I hope you have enjoyed this collection from the last few days of 2009.

May you have a blessed 2010!

Captain Mac

Jonathan Bender's Cape Chacon - Part II

2010-01-14T19:17:00.000-08:00

Sunrise at the Lodge.
Deckhands start their day

If you haven't read Part I yet, go ahead and do that now, so you can pick up the thread. My apologies for being so long between posts, but Christmas and all that...

Looks like it will take at least one more posting in addition to this one to finish up Jon's story. Hope you enjoy it.

Captain Mac

++++++++++++++++++++++

For the past two months I had made my home on another obscure cove, tucked into the eastern side of Prince of Wales Island. There, I’d developed and kept a nearly uninterrupted routine for 64 consecutive days. I’d crawled from my bunk each morning at 4:30 to eat breakfast and prep the boat; spent the day tying lines, baiting hooks, checking gear, chit-chatting, netting fish, hosing off and scrubbing the boat, filleting fish, chit chatting, pulling hooks out of my hands, filleting fish, cleaning the boat, and… filleting more fish, before crawling into bed at around 7. But I enjoy that stuff; helping people have a good time. Otherwise, why would I take the extra time to whip up some wasabi for the fresh, halibut cheek sashimi when there’s a successful catch to celebrate? Why would I go through the trouble of snelling my own rigs when there are pre-tied ones available (with duller points and that tacky nickel finish)? It’s kind of like taking a friend to a movie you’ve already seen, enjoying their reactions to your most memorable scenes, maybe feeding their excitement beforehand. So, all this drudgery, it’s all the cost of being able to offer what I offer, and in such a wonderful setting. A powerful experience awaits every morning, not just for the guests, but for me too. We have access to this spectacular place where so few people ever venture. It’s just the Inside Passage, raw nature, and our little fleet of four. This is the thought that goes through my mind as we motor out of Gardner Bay this morning This is what fuels me, and I’m all too eager to share this world with anyone willing.

This is a particularly fun group. They’re after the experience, as opposed to those unfortunate ones, the people that come for a $3000 box of meat. These guys, three father/son teams, are wonderful, enthusiastic, and they’re having a great time. The group of six had grown close over the previous two days, and they’d shared personal stories and aspirations. Two teams, both from Missouri (by coincidence) were most excited about salmon fishing. The other pair, the Martins, were celebrating young Tim’s high school graduation. They’d fished together for years in northern Minnesota, catching walleye, pike, perch, and smallmouth bass in the many lakes that dot the countryside, but Tim’s dream, for some years now, had been to land a large halibut. He’d read articles in magazines about these amazing creatures, about their somewhat mysterious habits, their adaptations for ambush, their incredible strength. He talked about this dream on the way out the first day, to an apprehensive, but supportive audience. Of course, I had told him the tale of Ron “Marlboro Man” Johnson.

The lodge’s Maintenance Team Leader, a self-proclaimed grizzly cowboy, Ron is like no other. He sports a 50’s, Elvis hairstyle—a bright silver, pompadour swoop across the top of his forehead that frames the sharp, angular features of his prematurely aged and pockmarked face. He’s remarkably strong and fit, an amazing fact considering that eats only chicken, once every two days (he’s nursing an untreated ulcer). His leathery, expressionless face is punctuated by the wide, lipless mouth, slightly curved, perpetually revealing only the beginning of a smile that just can’t seem to surface. And he smokes, constantly, as he’s done for 35 years. Over the years, Ron had developed a reputation for occasionally winning the “biggest fish of the day” competition amongst the staff. He would head over to a creek mouth around the corner in his skiff, and return with a 200+ pound Halibut in tow. He never brought a gun or harpoon, but instead, he’d reel up the giant, reach over with a knife to cut its gill, and then fight it back up to the surface again as it slowly bled to death. Anyone else that tried his spot was rewarded with nothing but frustration at the endless dog sharks that trashed their line and gulped down bait. No one else had ever caught anything edible there. This year, on one of Ron’s two trips to the spot, he brought a harpoon with him. He’d been convinced by one of the skippers, much to the dismay of Captain Mac, the lodge owner, that it was superior to his method, more reliable. Ron had reportedly sat there, in his spot, for maybe an hour, shaking off the recognizable dog sharks that nibbled at his salmon head (his preferred bait), before finally hooking up, as usual. This fish, according to Ron, was the largest he’d ever seen. It didn’t move, instead acting much like a concrete bridge abutment being hoisted slowly toward the surface. When the monster had surfaced, it was nearly the size of the 11 ft. skiff, an eyeball-estimated 350 lbs. easily, making it the largest halibut ever seen at the lodge. Ron, faithfully, grabbed the harpoon, sinking it into the fish up to the hilt, and then actually pushing the fish a good foot below the surface before withdrawing the shaft. He then manned the harpoon line, a thick rope, abandoning the rod at the floor of the skiff. The harpoon head is designed to go through the other side of the fish and rotate 90 degrees, such that it is pulled flat against skin. The fish dove, jerking the fishing rod overboard, and tearing the harpoon rope through Ron’s burning hands. He sat back, pulling the rope against the side of the skiff, trying to gain leverage and resistance against the behemoth, when the line suddenly went slack. The fish, and his rod, were lost. Apparently, the harpoon had pulled out; perhaps the fish was just too thick for the 18-inch harpoon shaft. This, the most remarkable tale I’d heard, would never have been believable except for Ron’s reputation for success, his raw, burned palms, and his unnaturally pale, shaky skin as he told the story that evening. As I related the saga to our group I could see Tim visualizing the story, living the tale and imagining his moment of glory.

To be continued...

Alaska Christmas Gift

2009-12-29T22:16:00.000-08:00

On Christmas eve each year, the five couples, (and six dogs) that share our cove here on Prince of Wales Island in the Alaska Panhandle, all gather in Dan and Liz Williams' beautiful log home to share gifts and celebrate Christmas. Its a great time of stories and camaraderie, food and friendship.

This year Ron and Joan Leighton gave us a very "Alaskan" gift, the table centerpiece shown here. It has a slightly corrupted Christmas significance, uniquely Alaskan. Can you guess what it is?

The answer when we post Part II of "Jonathan Bender's Cape Chacon"

In the meantime all of us here in Saltery Cove wish you the Season's Best, and a peaceful, healthy and prosperous 2010!

Captain Mac

Chart of Cape Chacon and Gardner Bay

2009-11-28T23:54:00.000-08:00

This is a chart of the southeastern tip of Prince of Wales Island, Alaska. Cape Chacon (pronounce shack-un) is the point of land at the bottom left of the illustration. The entrance to Gardner Bay is highlighted in yellow. As you can see Gardner Bay is not very big.

We don't do Cape Chacon trips very often. It is a four hour run from the Lodge so the crews take the boats down the night before and the guests fly down to join us next morning, and fly back in the afternoon. This maximizes fishing time at the Cape. Obviously it is very expensive to charter floatplanes, so there is an additional cost for the trip. It is also very weather-dependent. This is the exposed open ocean, not like our protected Inside Passage waters back at the Lodge. We don't go unless there is an absolute guarantee of good weather, both for flying and fishing. So, when we do go, it is a spectacular trip.

The fishing isn't necessarily any better at the Cape. I have often come back from a Cape Chacon trip to learn that the boats fishing close to home out of the Lodge did far better than I. But the fishing and the environment is different. It's a wild and wooly place, above the surface of the ocean as well as below, as Jon Bender describes, and it has a charismatic attraction, a siren call, all of it's own.

It is 45 nautical miles from the Lodge to Gardner Bay and another 10 nautical miles to the Cape. The Canada/U.S. border runs only a short distance south of the Cape and is still in dispute to this day. You can click on the chart to enlarge it.

Captain Mac

Jonathan Bender's Cape Chacon

2009-11-28T22:16:00.000-08:00

Dawn Breaks in Gardner Bay

Foreword:
Jon Bender was a deckhand around 12 years ago at our Southeast Alaska fishing resort, Sportsman’s Cove Lodge. (See www.alaskasbestlodge.com). He was about 20 years old when he wrote this. He sent it to me a year or so ago. I have edited it only slightly to update some facts and changes in fishing regulations that have occurred since Jonathan wrote this. The trip he is describing is the third day of a four-day package. Jon has been fishing with the group for two days prior to this. I hope you enjoy his perspective, which is representative of all of the staff at the Lodge, and in particular the deckhands. I will post it in several parts.

Captain Mac

Jonathan Bender’s Cape Chacon

Part I

It’s early. Though it’s plenty light enough to function, the sun has yet to peek through the opening at the east end of the small cove. The black sea is glassy, calm. Surrounding us on three sides is a series of rocky, knobby peaks, their flattened tops dropping off precipitously into the water of the cove. This area is so often and so violently windswept that the characteristically dense forest that carpets the rest of the island has never gained much of a foothold on the bedrock. Instead, resilient chartreuse lichens contrast against dark green moss and gray-black rock. Looking around, it’s easy to visualize the glaciers that, thousands of years ago, scoured out the depression in which we are anchored, now filled by the sea.

Our four charterboats are rafted up together in Gardner Bay, about 10 miles from Cape Chacon (pronounce shack-un). The other crews are beginning to stir. I eat my breakfast while prepping the gear for the day. There’s a lot to do; things are going to get hectic. The Alaska dawn comes slowly while I work and soon we hear the sound of the floatplanes, venerable de Havilland Beavers, delivering our guests. The skilled coastal bush pilots always offer a scenic and exhilarating ride, but particularly so in this case, as they maneuver expertly to land on such a small stretch of water; but short landings are their specialty, the reason why the Beavers were consigned this day. After circling above the edge of the surrounding peaks, assessing the landing zone for wind, downdrafts and any debris that might be in the cove, they descend in an arcing approach, touch down smoothly, and once firmly on the water, raise the nose steeply to come “off the step” and slow the aircraft in as short a distance as possible. Captain Mac, watches with a critical and appreciating eye. With just a touch of envy he mutters, “Poetry in motion,
just watching these guys.” And don’t worry, they know he is watching too.

One by one, the floatplanes carefully pull alongside the outside boats of our raft. Aluminum and fiberglass don’t mix so fenders and many hands help to keep the two apart. And one by one the planes discharge their cargo of passengers, lunches and raingear and drift away before starting engines and launching off towards the entrance of the cove in a blur of noise and spray.

As the guests come aboard there are happy greetings and elated descriptions of the almost hour-long low altitude flight down the eastern shore of Prince of Wales Island. Excitement and anticipation fills the air. You could cut it with a knife.

We pick the anchor, turn loose of the other boats and head for the opening that will take us out of the cove toward the open water beyond.

“Okay folks, it’s all business from here on out,” I announce. “You should probably get some stretching in, calisthenics; whatever your pre-workout routine.” My comments are met with some blank looks, eyes peeled open, focusing on a much-anticipated near future that’s dissolving into the present. I’d started to prepare them the previous day, but I don’t think they quite understand what they’re about to be a part of. The fun is about to begin.

To be continued...

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Tholepin: Filthy Video of Halibut Waste

2009-11-08T16:05:00.000-08:00

Tholepin: Filthy Video of Halibut Waste

This came to my attention recently. It makes you want to throw up. As an active participant in the halibut management debate since 1993, I have served on several committees at the North Pacific Fishery Management Council (NPFMC) and testified countless numbers of times before the Council on the subject of halibut. I have also been a member of the International Pacific Halibut Commission (IPHC) Conference Board on many occasions since 1993.

I would not publish this if I did not think there was some truth to it. Read/watch it and weep.

Captain Mac

Moon Shot

2009-10-31T21:33:00.001-07:00

I thought you all might enjoy this. It was taken from the deck of our home at the Lodge on the evening of the day in mid-October 2009 that we caught Patty's big halibut. This is the moon, not the sun, as it appears. As you can see it is a perfectly clear evening and it is just at twilight. Our neighbors, the Williams have their porch light on. There is just the hint of mist across the Cove in the little draw where the creek comes down from Swan Lake. I took about a dozen shots. This is the best one.

Captain Mac

Part II - Patty's Big 'But

2009-10-31T14:49:00.000-07:00

Okay...we're back. My apologies for the delay in finishing the story of Miss Patty's big halibut.

So, to pick up the thread: It was a beautiful day in mid-October, just a few weeks ago. The last guests had been gone for over a month. Patty and I were working around the Lodge, finishing up the chores of preparing the facility for winter's onslaught. It was such a gorgeous day we decided to pack a lunch and take the Show Girl out to see if we could catch a nice little chicken halibut or two for supper and the freezer. We anchor up in 160' of water on one of my favorite "Chicken Farms" and just get the gear in the water when Patty's rod bends over double and the reel begins to scream. After a struggle to get the jammed rod out of the holder, Patty settles down to battle the big fish. We rejoin the story just as the realization is setting in that we are severely undermanned to cope with the monster when it comes time to land it.

+++++++++++

I judge that there is some time left to prepare for getting this brute aboard. For one thing, even though Miss Patty is making progress, this powerhouse is not done yet. Often fish being worked up from the depths encounter changes in the water column they don't like. I have a theory about that.

As an old Nasal Radiator (an irreverent term used to describe Naval Aviators) who spent most of his Navy flying career chasing submarines, I had some experience with such things. Trying to find a submarine was a lot like fishing in many ways: attempting to outsmart something beneath the waves that is at home there, is not an easy task. For one thing, the ocean is not an homogeneous mass of saltwater. Besides the obvious changes in pressure with depth, there may be a temperature layer (thermocline) or a change in salinity that doesn't sit well with the creatures. Submariners would hide underneath these layers, which were often strong enough to deflect sonar beams searching for them. It made sense, at least to me, that the creatures who live down there would be sensitive to these things as well. And I have seen it happen many times, especially with big halibut that have the strength to exert their will, that a fish will come only so far up and say, "Nope, that's it. That's as far as I'm going," and head full bore back to the bottom. There is nothing you can do to stop a big fish when that happens, without the risk of busting it off. You are along for the ride at that point. When the run is over, you are back at the beginning of the fight, and it starts anew. And it will repeat itself, sometimes several times, at the same depth, until one of you wins. Either the fish breaks off the gear or you finally tire it out enough to work it past the layer.

I figure there is at least one, maybe two of these runs left in this freight train, and I am not disappointed. We were maybe half way to the surface when the first one happened. Patty groaned as she watched the line go zinging off the reel so fast it was flinging water in her face. Back to ground zero. Start all over. Work it back up. Man, look at those head shakes! And at about the same place in the fight...here we go again. Hang on Miss Patty! Did she really just call that fish what I thought she did?

So I use the time to prepare ourselves as best we can for the moment of truth that will start when Patty yells, "Color!" For starters I got two of the big "J" gaffs ready. Now, these are really lethal weapons. The handles are 1-1/4" diameter fiberglass, 6' and 8' long and they really look more like the biblical shepherds' crooks than anything else. I hooked each of them on the rail, on both sides of Patty. A standby, smaller gaff was positioned behind us in case one of the big gaffs was yanked out of our grasp by the thrashing fish. It happens. Then I went to get the Snakecharmer from its locker. This is a beautifully simple little .410 shotgun intended to be a handy saddle gun but perfectly suited for this purpose: stainless steel and plastic components withstand the saltwater environment, and a safe but sure single shot action, that "breaks" like the traditional double barrel shotgun, for additional safety. There is one drawback. You get only one shot.

Between grunts (hers) I brief Patty on how this is going to go down. She is focussed on the fight. Is this registering? It is critical to get it right. We are probably not going to get a second chance.

"(Grunt) I'm listening. (Grunt) Go ahead."

"Okay...First: We are going to position you right at the railing gate for this so we can open the gate and not have to haul the fish any higher than we have to. When we first see color (initial sighting of the fish underwater) we put everything into slow motion. No jerky moves. If we are smooth the fish will probably behave. If we start yanking it around it will likely respond in kind. Keep bringing the fish towards the surface but don't let it break the surface. That's not natural and the fish might not like it. When the fish is just below the surface, I will take the line in my left hand, using just my fingertips to control it. I'll have the gun in my right hand. When I feel like things are under control I will tell you to drop the rod and grab the "J" gaff on your right."

"Got it. (Grunt)"

"Okay...the fish is going to come up vertically in the water at first. It will be hard to shoot and gaff that way. I will try to lay it out flat just under the water by slowing down the pull on the line. When I get the fish flattened out you need to take the gaff and position the gaff hook under the fish, tip pointing up obviously. Pick a good spot where there is a lot of solid flesh and bone, like the back of the head, not the gills, nothing solid in that area, the gaff will rip out, but try not to touch the fish, or it may spook. Remember where the rod is if the fish takes off. We're back to square one if that happens. If the rod goes too, we're done!"

"Uh-huh. (Grunt)"

"I will try to hold the fish steady and flat just below the surface. When you are in position with the gaff I will shoot. You won't get any warning because it will be a split second decision when everything is just right. When the shot goes off, you jerk. You won't be able to see anything because you will have a face full of water. I will drop the gun and get the second gaff into the fish. Hopefully, between the two of us we can hoist it aboard through the boarding gate before it figures it out and all hell breaks loose."

"I'm good. (Grunt)

Thank goodness she was a lady jock and is still coachable.

We're as ready as we can be and Patty is able to work the fish through the barrier layer with just a few head shakes. Its not long now.

"Color!" Patty shouts, and there is a sigh of relief in her voice. I slid open the railing gate and got my first glimpse of ol' Moby. Holy Cow! It's a big son-of-a-gun all right! This is going to be interesting. Show Time!

It went just as we briefed, almost to the letter. I knew the shot was good as soon as I saw the big fish's eyes "cage" when the shot hit home. A fish will be "looking around" but the instant it is stunned by hitting it with a fish club, or in this case, shooting it right in the brain, the eyes go into a stare that is unmistakable once you recognize it. The fish never moved. There was a hole as big as your fist right where the brain should have been. Patty's gaff went home in a perfect spot, I set the gun down, grabbed the other gaff and sank it into the fish's head.

It didn't come on the first heave. We got it part way out of the water and we ran out of oomph. There was more to this fish than we thought! We let it settle back into the water while we adjusted our footing and regrouped. We still had both gaffs firmly in place and the fish had not even twitched. Okay...again. Once more with feeling. Ready? We both gave it all we had and this time we got the head over the gunwale to a point where we could slide the rest of the fish onto the deck. Phew! Hot damn! We did it! What a fish. Biggest we have seen this season. Not much left of the cheeks though!

So how big is it? We were both thinking the same thing. The weighing scales were all put away for the winter, so were the gallows we used to hang the scales from. Neither of us wanted to undo all of that when we got back to the Lodge. We'll just have to use the measurement tables in the tide books to come up with a good estimate.

Out came the measuring tape. We took very careful measurements and decided it was right at 70" long, lying on the deck. Maybe a scosh over but we'll call it 70. It was a fatty though. Pretty thick. It will be all the table says it is. Well, the tables make it 179.4 pounds live weight. Call it 180. Whos' going to argue, and we'll have the pictures to prove it.

What's that noise? Damn! Now my rod is going off...but I know I am not going to top the one lying on deck. The realization is setting in. She did it to me again.

Hope you enjoyed it. If so, pass the word. More to come as I have time.

Captain Mac

"The good Lord doesn't count against a man, his days spent fishing."
(Or a woman, for that matter)

Part II is Coming

2009-10-22T02:10:00.000-07:00

I've been really busy since starting the story of Patty's Big 'But. A big storm is coming into Southeast Alaska and I have a lot of work to do around the Lodge before it hits. As soon as the dust settles (or maybe the mud?) I'll get back to it.

The next episode will probably be the story about the day we picked nine people out of the waters of Clarence Strait, including an infant baby, after they were forced to abandon their burning cabin cruiser.

After that we will probably get into a series on "How to get the Most out of your Fishing Guide." It probably applies to hunting too, I guess.

Stay tuned,

Captain Mac

Patty's Big 'But

2009-10-17T16:26:00.000-07:00

We have enjoyed extraordinarily good weather this year in Southeast Alaska (The Panhandle) and it continued well into the fall. Maybe it is all part of Global Warming and this is what we can expect in the future! Last weekend was no exception and it was so nice that Miss Patty and I decided to take the Show Girl out and get some fresh halibut. We thought we would take our lunch and eat while we were fishing so we would optimize our time on the water. So off we went in search of a couple of smaller "chicken" halibut. The tasty, tender little guys in the 20 to 40 pound range. Well you can see by the pictures what happened. We no sooner got our rigs in the water, and got the lunches out when Miss Patty's pole lit up. I mean it REALLY lit up.

Understand, I'm not too surprised at this anymore. She cleans my clock every time we go out, and I'm supposed to be the pro! It gets so bad I have threatened to stop taking her. (Not really, and anyway she wouldn't stand for that.) If we didn't need the meat for our winter larder...but I digress.

Her reel is screaming and I am expecting it to start smoking any second. Our halibut gear, though stouter than our salmon gear is still pretty light by Alaska standards. Its a lot more fun and our guests enjoy it that way. So...the rod is in the pole holder, bent over double and there is so much downward pressure on it, it is jammed into the pole holder and she can't get it out. The two of us finally wrestle it out of the holder and the fight is on.

At first I thought it must be a big King Salmon, the runs were so strong and so long. We were only in 160' of water, so the fish had long since run out of "down" and was heading out and away from the boat, another indication that it might be a big salmon, which typically, after a few powerful deep runs will start to head for the surface, out and away from the boat the way this was beginning to look. Big salmon or big 'but. Which is it?! Finally, after several more smoking runs, the fight settled down into a pure slugfest, with the line near vertical, rod still bent over double and Patty straining to gain some line back onto the reel.

Now... Miss Patty is no shrinking violet. She has a room full of trophies from her days as a champion women's weight lifter. She'll tell you it was because she was a bit lighter in those days and those little girls just couldn't keep up with her. But she is well respected around the Lodge as being able to do the physical work of any man. We're not talking girly girl here. My point in telling you this is to help you understand, that this 'but was kicking her butt (so to speak) and that ain't easy!

Finally she started to gain some ground on this monster, and apart from those horrendous big ol' head shakes, that give you heart failure because you swear that line will snap with the sharpness and strength of each jerk, she gradually began working the fish up from the depths.

Now we had a problem. How are we going to get this thing aboard? We discussed releasing the fish, but it was the first fish of the day. What if this was the only one for the day. In our busy lives and at this time of year, we may not get another chance until next Spring. So releasing the fish was out. But there was just the two of us. If this was a regular Lodge charter I would have a deckhand and several guests to help. I could put the deckhand and the toughest-looking guest each on a gaff, while the angler worked the fish to the boat. With the fish alongside the boat the two gaffers (sorry Hollywood) would position the J-gaffs under the fish with the points up, whereupon I would shoot it in the head with a slug from the .410 Snakecharmer, and step quickly back out of the way. At the shot the gaffers would give a mighty heave and the fish would be aboard. Quick, slick and easy.

But it takes four people to pull that off. We were two bodies short of the ideal scenario. And now the fish was getting close. Time to improvise! And don't screw it up. Especially the shot. It better be right on the brain the first time or we are going to have a really ticked off big fish on a short leash.

To be continued next post...

Winterizing the Lodge

2009-10-17T14:48:00.000-07:00

I've been in KTN (Ketchikan) for the past week doing business and tidying up loose ends after our season ended in mid-September. Tomorrow I will take the Show Girl, (one of our six charterboats assigned to the Lodge and the one that I consider "my" boat), and go back out to our home at the Lodge on Prince of Wales Island, about 25 miles to the west of KTN across Clarence Strait. Although it is a partially protected portion of the beautiful "Inside Passage" Clarence Strait can get nasty, especially during the winter months. I have a weather window that will allow the trip in relatively calm conditions.

There is still some unfinished winterizing to do out at the Lodge, including bringing the airplane back to KTN for servicing, and a few other odds and ends that I need to take care of before we head off on vacation for a few weeks.

Off we go...

2009-10-16T23:39:00.000-07:00

Well, here we go.

All this is new to me, but I have been encouraged by my family, primarily my daughter, who is a fairly senior Air Force officer (no pride there!) to start writing it all down. Fifty years of fishing (pretty much all saltwater) and flying (seven years a Navy pilot and 34 years with a major U.S. airline, and still flying my own floatplane in the Alaska coastal bush) all done pretty much concurrently. There ought to be something in there that would interest somebody. So...off we go into the wild blue yonder!

Topics will be all over the map, whatever I feel like at the moment, or whatever you, the readers would like to hear if you give me your feedback. I have written several articles for fishing and outdoor magazines in the past, but one that I have always wanted to write is the subject of "How to Get the Most out of Your Guide." We'll work on that one somewhere along the line, probably in installments. I don't have a lot of free time. I'm not retired yet even though I am seventy years old. I still run one of the top fishing lodges in SE Alaska and it is a full-time job.

Stay tuned if you're interested, and give me some feedback. I'd hate to be taking the time to do this if no one is listening.

Fish on!

Captain Mac