Lox and Luxe

I have battled giant tuna off the coast of New Jersey, and I have angled for twelve-pound crappies in the backwoods of Indiana. I have ice-fished on a frozen Maine pond, and I have seen majestic blue marlin soar into the air, only to crash down into the surf and disappear forever. I have stayed awake for hours on end with only chewing tobacco and lukewarm Folgers Instant coffee as my sustenance. I have scars on my hands and arms from hooks, gaffs, fish teeth, and gill spikes. I have assisted in the capture of an 800-pound Mako shark, and I have brought in six ounce Dolly Vardens on miniature rods. I'm not entirely a novice fisherman.

Even so, when I spent a week in tiny Ninilchik, Alaska, on the Kenai Peninsula of the southern coast, I was completely unprepared for the awesome spectacles lying in wait. From the get-go, it was not your normal fishing lodge. The Deep Creek Fishing Club offers gargantuan cabins, each with two enormous beds, a fireplace, and a satellite television, quite different from the three-foot by six-foot pallets I was accustomed to on long-range trips. Instead of old coffee and stale bagels every morning, I was awoken by the sweet scent of piping hot gourmet Java and freshly baked muffins. The dinners, catered by a four-star chef flown in for the summer from San Francisco, were different each night, sometimes a meat (elk skirt steak, caribou porterhouse, Kobe beef sirloins, BBQ ribs), sometimes a fish (the day's catch of halibut or salmon), and sometimes just fantastic (sushi cut right off the boat, Alaskan King Crab legs, Cornish game hens). In addition, the fully stocked bar never seemed to run out of delicious liquor--I got drunk seven straight nights off of seven different beverages (Vodka, Rum, Tequila, Wine, Scotch, Bourbon, and, get this, a thirty-two-year-old Port).

Needless to say, the trip would have been a roaring success even if the fishing had been atrocious. However, with the combined experience of the five captains and six mates the lodge had on staff, there was little chance of returning empty-handed. I spent three days on the saltwater, fishing for halibut (a bottom feeding fish that is widely considered to be the ugliest creature in the history of evolution, but can grow up to 400 pounds), one day on the Kenai River, fishing for King salmon (the Kenai River has the largest salmon in the world, including the world record, a 97 pound, 4 ounce behemoth caught in 1985), and three days of "flyouts" to catch silver salmon, pink salmon, and sockeye salmon (also called 'red' salmon).

The salt fishing was an enjoyable enterprise, (much of my fishing experience has come from bottom fishing for fluke, which are essentially miniature versions of the halibut), and the prospect of landing an eighty pound King salmon definitely intrigued me, (although the Kenai River was packed with dozens of other boats, all eagerly questing after that elusive 100 pound beast--as well as a cash prize for largest salmon of the week, month, and year). But it was the flyouts that truly took this trip to another level.

Imagine flying shotgun in a plane the size of a large SUV, but without any of the safety precautions. As we rose above the verdant forests, I began counting the bears I espied, roaming throughout the wilderness. Alaska's human population is about 640,000 people, most of whom live in Anchorage, but the state is nearly 2.5 times the size of Texas. Approximately 97 percent of Alaska is wilderness, and it is estimated that 60 percent of the 365,000,000 acres has never been trod upon by the foot of a white man. The thousands of lakes and the tens of thousands of streams and rivers offer a bucolic wonderland for any fisherman. The salmon are so plentiful that the Alaskan Fish and Wildlife department normally does not place limits on the amount of pinks that may be caught per person per day (I brought in 45 inside of three hours), and the limits on sockeyes (often as high as ten per person per day) are designed to maximize the reproductive capabilities of the fish. Standing on the bank of an unknown creek in an area more familiar to moose than mapmakers, I was unable to see the sandy riverbed, as the plethora of glistening silver bodies reflected the sun's light straight up, giving the water a distinctly silver sheen.

Casting my unbaited hook in front of the swimming beauties, I slowly reeled in the line as the current brought my lure back to me. Salmon do not eat when migrating back upstream, so the fisherman must lodge the hook in the side of the fish's mouth. Regulations forbid "snagging" or using a multi-pronged hook to bring in the fish, so the fight is not completely one sided. Once a salmon is hooked, it will flee with every ounce of its considerable strength, and it is not uncommon to slip and fall in the swiftly moving current when a larger fish stubbornly refuses to yield.

After a long day of fishing, I wanted nothing more than to return to the lodge, lie down on the porch, and, glass in hand, stare out over the bay at the volcanoes ringing the far shore. Unfortunately, because I had been so successful, I was given the joyous task of carrying my bounty back to the floatplane, anchored nearly two miles away. If you feel like doing the math, pink salmon weigh between 6 and 14 pounds, and I had nearly fifty of them. When we finally returned to the lodge, I collapsed next to the bar, and quickly drank a brace of whiskey. I was all set to fall blissfully asleep when one of the waitresses (also flown in from San Francisco, mind you) suggested that we go swimming in the ocean. Never one for turning down a lady, I quickly downed a few more glasses, and steeled myself for what turned out to be the most exhilarating, swimming experience of my life. Hours later, again sitting on the deck, I took in the most amazing thing about the Alaskan summer; at three in the morning, I saw the sun dip beneath the horizon, only to reappear two minutes later. At that point, noticing the time, and realizing I was due on the halibut boat two hours later, I took my leave of the waitress, and caught just enough sleep to land a 90-pound halibut the next day.