The Watery Rave

By Robby King

Production Team

Until you’ve been to Alaska, perspective is a random shoebox of personal experiences. Hey, I’m from Los Angeles, so a long way to me is the walk from Spago to North Rodeo Drive, which is like crossing the street on Kodiak Island.

 The town of Kodiak is like most small American waterfront towns with a small centralized population and surrounding housing spawl, although most towns don’t have an endless horizon of mountains and water. We have states the size of Kodiak Island, which pretty much gives you the Alaska perspective.    

 After arriving at Kodiak Legends Lodge, there was talk the night before we left to go scout the river about how we would actually be getting there. I was just in from Los Angeles – a place where nobody speaks about the outdoors or God forbid your Audi (with the new lights) breaks down and you have to actually go out in it – so I was down for anything. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen, you get a blister? It’s not like something is going to eat you. Later, when I found out that was a distinct possibility, it was already too late for me to be shared scitless.

 In fact, during my flight transfer walk across the Seattle tarmac in between fuel trucks and idling jet engines, I remember thinking to myself as a strong, damp breeze hit me, “Now THIS is what air should smell like.” I really had no idea that lung tissue could freeze.

 I was in my room still unpacking when the Kodiak Legends Lodge guides Trent and Chuck walked into my room and said, “It looks like we’ll be hiking in to the river in the morning.” Trent was actually the one who said it – or at least I think those were his words, the guy is one step away from speaking with an Electrolarynx. Chuck just stood there with a wry smile and both seemingly were sizing me up looking for any reaction the California film geek.

 I’m sure they figured a hike, no matter how long, was crushing news to the Starbucks Infantry that sat in front of them, but I was pumped. I still had my “Everything’s new and cool travel glow” about me, and answered, “Sounds great, I’m up for anything,” while secretly thinking that answer was pretty rockstar because I didn’t even ask how far the river was from the lodge.

 Chuck, on the other hand, had that “You’ll earn it,” look on his face when he said, “Try not to get eaten or take any of us with you if you go rolling downhill.” I was pretty sure they were kidding, because I knew I was an intricate part of the filmmaking process. Then again, Chuck had that weird set of pearlies showing.  

 With that, the two guides exited my room shaking their heads while divvying up my personal possessions should I not make it. I felt like Forrest Gump after Lieutenant Dan warned him not to do anything stupid – I hoped that I wouldn’t let these guys down.

 Anyone who’s ever been on this type of angling expedition knows there are two types of sleep you get: the sleep of the dead after going so long and so hard that you can hear someone yelling “Timber!” as your head falls to the pillow, and  the day before your first day of fishing sleep, which is no sleep at all. Obviously, the latter prevailed, and I stirred through the fog of restless oblivion to the random sounds of people getting their gear ready for the hike in.

 I quickly joined Zach and Chris in getting all the gear ready for a day of scouting and filming. It became abundantly clear that we’d be impersonating pack mules by humping a ton of gear. I tried to draw from my high school physics class and remember if that meant that more weight would give me more speed rolling downhill, but all I could be certain of was that it would be harder to stop once the momentum got going.

 In the meantime, Trent and Chuck would walk by on their way to grab coffee or another Alaskan Brewery Pale Ale to stuff into their bags and every time they passed, they’d shake their head and laugh. Never a good sign, I thought.

 This was my first time to Kodiak Island, so I literally had no idea what to expect from the term “Hike In.” I didn’t know if we’d be using machetes to fend off bears and clear brush with every step, or if sparkling ATV’s would be waiting for us at the trailhead. Whatever the situation, as soon as I threw on my pack and slung the jib case over my shoulder, I came to the realization that I was probably 80 pounds heavier–I am still looking for the design team that came up with that piece of crap case so I can choke out every single one of those morons.

 I now weighed over 300 pounds with all the gear slung around me, and after a beautiful boat ride across the bay that dropped we came to the trailhead. In Lost Angeles, trails are manicured paths with identifying signs. In Alaska, trails are paths that animals take on a regular basis on their way to and from their feeding grounds. I gathered all my gear at the banks and hoped we were the ones that were feeding.

 The path we took was fairly steep in the beginning, but soon leveled off through stunning views of endless grasslands painted with beautiful golds and reds. Kodiak is nicknamed the “Emerald Isle” for all the greens and colors from the plant life, and this was the kind of vista where you’d walk off a cliff while looking at a field of wildflowers. There was not a person or even a distinctive landmark within miles it seemed, and certainly, not a river either.

 At this point, I should mention the trail itself, which was fairly damp and muddy–Kodiak gets tremendous amounts of rainfall and it seemed as though it had rained a good amount the day before. The others ahead of me seemed to navigate each muddy patch with ease–I, however, made huge landslides down into the large puddles below each ledge of mud created by the worn path of the trail.

 It was like walking across cow patties with a BS magnet on both feet. Every single one I fell into–no matter how far from the edge of the puddle I stepped. It would be no exaggeration to say that every fifth step I took ended with me wiping out on a new piece of mud and falling down into the worn groove of the trail–each time, a complete kick in the balls and a solid test of ankle ligament.

 Eventually we made it to a part of the trail where we could see the amazing, winding and inviting river below us and my first thoughts were, “How the hell did anyone ever find this place?” I was half expecting a caveman to walk by when Trent and Chuck passed me and the epiphany kicked in.

 I ran though mental checklist of all the high-tech gear that I utilized to get to this very place and thought about how any native could have ever survived in this area centuries ago. Standing and overlooking the river with just a gentle breeze as the only distraction gave me time to appreciate just what was before me: a river flowing as it has for thousands of years, a source of food for both the natives and bears, and a pristine environment that we all hoped the Fish Gods would allow us to capture and share if we promise not to mess it up.

 I couldn’t take a step forward until I promised to myself that above all else we will make it known that places like this are to be protected at any cost, and to be able to protect something, you have to know it and love it. Once I said it, I took a deep breath and then a step forward.

 Trent, Chuck, Zach, Chris, and I headed down the slope of the trail and to the edge of the river, then downstream to some likely holding spots for steelhead. After 78 kicks in the balls later (I forgot to pack studs) we moved beyond the slippery free stone section of the river and made it to a grassy bend of the river. This would be where we would set up camp and swipe beer from Chuck and Trent’s impressive cache.

 With the heavy load off my back and piled in the grass, I finally got to look around. It was just stunningly beautiful. I had taken in about 20 seconds of views when I heard Trent say, “all right boys” along with something else, but who knows what it actually was given the voice box thing. In a blink, Trent was ready to fish and Chuck was right behind him. I thought to myself, “These guys are no joke.”

 About 20 casts into the day, Chuck got hit with The Kodiak Project’s first steelhead (which pissed off Trent because with the hookup he lost a pretty brutal bet), and soon after that Trent got his first steelhead of the day. Zach, Chris and I all yelled the same thing, “We have a steelhead movie folks!”

 We were all smiles and filmed the two guides having a blast in the river and talking smack to each other as fresh steelhead peeled line off of their reels. The weight that lifted off all of our shoulders was palpable. No one broke an ankle or became a hurtling projectile, we were in the middle of nowhere with steelhead all around us, they were feeding, and we were going to make a movie about that – a damn good one.