By Clayton Young
Mount Foraker is the second tallest peak in the Alaska Range. Thousands of years ago, snow fell on the southern slope, forming the Yentna Glacier. With time she grinds solid rock into powder. The turbid glacier melt seeks sea level, flowing into the Yentna River and eventually Cook Inlet. This summer, the same as last, it sees tens of thousands of salmon swimming upstream to their ancestral home to spawn, die, and feed the ecosystem.
My father was the oldest brother of three boys. Sixty years ago, my selfish grandfather abandoned his young family. A deadbeat father can ruin even the best of kids, but Dad decided to never pass along the sins of the father to the next generation. He keeps that promise to his three boys and goes fishing with them. As a result, the eldest got hooked, and the two traveled up the same stream to fish, fellowship and feed the family.
That is how we ended up at a remote fishing lodge only accessible by float plane or several hours on a jet boat. We arrived in late July looking for silvers and sockeyes. Our guide took us through an endless maze of winding rivers in the swampy interior of Alaska. When targeting silvers, we fished eggs, and for sockeye, we learned how to “floss.” The constant movement, the need to be aware of your line, how to properly manage it, and the importance of quick reflexes reminds me of flyfishing. Though I would never tell my buddies who exclusively fly fish, as their heads would explode whiles screaming “you’re just snagging fish!”
Heading Up River
Our quarries have traveled more than a hundred miles to get here. They have fared better than their cousins, the king, in the open ocean, dodged seals in Cook Inlet, and by winning a game of chance, have not been scooped up by a bear or an eagle. An olfactory memory of the Yentna River guides them back up the opaque, grey bends. Silvers will be looking to feed on this journey, especially off the progeny of their competition. Sockeye, by comparison, tend to not hit a hook until they complete their journey. Prompting our two different styles of fishing.
We both hit our limit the first few days of fishing for silvers. This slower form of fishing was beneficial as Dad was nursing a bruised rib secondary to a fall on a glacier a few days prior. He landed less than a yard away from the opening of a crevasse, but that’s a story for another day. Thankfully, we had time to explore The Last Frontier between his fall and our fishing trip. So, we went on a wildlife cruise in Kenia Fjords National Park. We were lucky enough to see more than half a dozen humpback whales cooperatively feeding. They were the paragon of our Alaskan adventure.
A Fishing Family Afield
Cooperative feeding is a learned practice of humpback whales. They will encircle a school of fish and blow bubbles, pushing their prey towards the surface. The gull’s pilferage will be interrupted by several tons of open-mouthed aquatic mammals uniformly lunging to the surface. I thought about them when we were doing our own form of cooperative feeding off the sand bar. Standing in line along the shallows casting at sockeye as they journeyed upstream; calling them out to the next man in case we missed our mark. The whole time giggling like schoolgirls. As we were heading back to the cabin I couldn’t help but wonder if the whales were giggling while fishing together as well.
My anthropomorphic daydream was interrupted as we rounded the bend, and through parted clouds, could see the king of North America, Denali. Only about 30 percent of people who visit Alaska get to see her. I am batting a thousand right now. The more time you spend in nature the rarer stuff you get to see and the more she reveals truth to you. Sometimes it’s as simple as the importance of getting outdoors. Other times, it’s a parable of a father not going anywhere or the importance of tradition.
I thought about tradition when I sat down to write and looked at a photo of my dad holding the best fish of the trip, an 8-pound sockeye that I was able to net for him. I think about tradition when I see in my mind’s eye salmon going upstream, whales teaching each other to fish, and of the age-old image of a father and son fishing. I know one day my hero, my son’s namesake, won’t be at my side when I take my own son fishing in Alaska. But because of the example he set for me, and the traditions he passed on, my father will always be with us.
