The Watery Rave

By Robert King

Kodiak Island Expedition member Conway Bowman has a thing for sharks, makos in particular, but just about any of the shark species will make him twitchy. On the Kodiak Island Expedition, Bowman insisted on trying to fly fish for salmon sharks, but the timing was off and the fish weren’t chewing.

Recently though, we took Bowman up on the offer to film the San Diego mako scene when it was going off, just to get an idea of the California jazz that comes with fly fishing for any of the shark species. Most of the makos we encountered were not the “bite you in half” size, but that was probably a good thing given their tendency to go all “berserkowitz” when hooked.

If there’s one thing that’s predictable about mako sharks, it’s that they’re unpredictable. These fish can roll, spin, leap out of the water and rocket off with amazing power and speed, and if the mood suits them, they might even opt for joining everyone on board.

Conway had prepped us on what to expect when the mako fishing is going off, but what we found was this insanely charged fishery with sharks appearing out of nowhere then leaving town with authority. For the most part, the tackle held up, as Conway landed four makos in the about two hours.

These aren’t small fish. They ranged from 120- to 220-pounds, and given the rough sea conditions (66% of the cameramen were yaking at one point or another), the fly tackle was a stretch.

Everything was going along well, with Conway pinging four quick fish, but the fifth fish was a wily little 120-pound bastard. He showed up with an attitude, swam up and ate the camera. I had a 20 second wrestling match over my single largest financial asset. From there, the fish just turned mean, fed with reckless abandon and just lunched the crap out of the fly.

He ripped Conway into his backing right out of the gate and Conway had to use to the boat to chase the fish down. So he laid the wood to the fish, at which point it got really pissed and started with the death rolls. Conway was in the stage of fish fighting known as “retain possession of the rod.”

The dives you see right before he broke off were small dives up and down mixed with straight runs. It was pretty incredible to see and the fish knew exactly what it needed to do to break off. Conway was a bit embarrassed that he got so worked, but after landing some monsters earlier in the day, I think he was alllowed one bitch slap for sure.

While all the sharks we hooked that day had their own attitude and crappy disposition, this fish taught us both a lesson—makos can be unpredictable, ferocious, nasty animals, and at any given time, they can be a real bitch! Check out this sneak peak from our Facebook Page.

Bowman Goes To School

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.

Any time you put four somewhat young anglers and a handful of video geeks in the same arena, there’s going to be a mandatory allotment of adult beverages needed to quell the sniping and instigate the smack talking, and the Kodiak Expedition was no exception. Fortunately, Kirk Deeter thought of that predicament when planning the expedition and pitching sponsors and approached Alaskan Brewing Company with a great sponsorship opportunity—basically beer for exposure.

Deeter dangled the fly in front of their faces, and the beer manufacturers bit, shipping 15 cases of Alaskan Brewing Company Beer, and a pair of flip flops with a bottle opener built into the soles. When you have two weeks on the water and 15 cases of beer, it’s going to be hard to run out, but when you fly in to your fishing spot on a daily basis, it’s easy not to bring enough for a constant lightheadedness. On top of that the fishing guide eats and drinks a whole lot when you go fishing, and no one wants to piss off the guide, lest they end up working a run called “The Desert” or “Punishment Hole.”

So with the three case daily allotment dwindling and the fish biting, there was only one thing to do…call the bush pilot, offer him a case of beer to drop off two cases, while rationing the video geeks to hourly bottles. It actually took a case of Alaskan IPA and a half pound of moose jerky to convince Jay, the pilot, to wrap up a couple of cases of beer in PFD’s, and strap them to the float and make the drop. Obviously Jay had experience with the dilemma as he already had a proven engineered beer drop contraption where he ran the rope through the door of the plane.

Jay came in at about 15 feet high upriver of where Trent Deeter, Conway Bowman and Kirk Deeter were in the river fishing, pulled the rope without opening the door and made the perfect beer drop midriver, where the beer floated right down to the anglers, they opened a beer and funneled the shaken brew down in one fell shot. The fact that the water was ice cold only made the beer consumption and refrigeration easier, while keeping the guide happy and the anglers into fish.

      Trent Deeter is head fly fishing guide at Kodiak Legends Lodge on Kodiak Island, Alaska. The Nebraska native spent three years guiding the classic rivers and eating elk jerky in Southwest Montana before deciding that looking at the same water every day has a tendency to make guides support the funding of local microbreweries. When you spend your life in cold climates it can wear on you, so when it’s time to move on and you can pick anywhere in the world to go fish and become a guide, the obvious option is to go somewhere even colder, but with a shorter fishing season.

 After finding his way to Bristol Bay, Alaska where he guided at Crystal Creek Lodge, a fly-out lodge that catered to the elite occasional anglers of Corporate America, Deeter decided it was time to fish the Karluk, a river that his anglers were always comparing to the waters he guided on.

Like any entrepreneur with a taste of fishing world class waters, he found a way to fish the Karluk, to understand why it’s nicknamed the Green Goddess and to get someone to not only sponsor the trip, but to pay him to fish. That’s how he became a guide at Kodiak Legends Lodge.

We caught up with Deeter as he was tying flies for the upcoming season in June, bitching about the snow on the ground and generally sharing the shack nastys with whomever was on the other end of the phone line.

Costa: Describe the Green Goddess (Karluk River).

Deeter: The Karluk River–it’s pretty much the Upper Madison on steroids, but with a pile of steelheads. It’s like a Lower 48 trout river in Alaska.

Costa: How big is Kodiak Island, how many different rivers are on the island and what makes each of those rivers special?

Deeter: Kodiak Island is so big that there’s a crap ton of rivers on it that have never been fished just because of accessibility. It’s pretty unique, in that when you’re flying over Kodiak and look down, you can’t tell if you’re over a lake or the ocean. It’s weird compared to southwest Alaska, where you either have tundra or if you’re at the ocean, a mud flat. On Kodiak, there’s mountains shooting straight out of the ocean.

Costa: A lot of Alaskan fishing lodges fly in to camps on the river, yet Kodiak Legends Lodge prefers daily fly-ins. Is there a reason for flying in daily over staying in one location for several days?

Deeter: Diversity. That and flying is half the fun. It’s a part of the whole experience, and even if you’re fishing the Karluk with a million steelheads, you can get sick of that after three days and want to see a new piece of water. There’s so much water up there, and it’s all so different you just want to see it all.

Costa: What’s the best approach when a bear opts to high-hole your water?

Deeter: Back up and make a lot of noise. Be sure to position yourself farther away from the bear than your guide or other anglers. They’re just big raccoons, so you can normally make enough noise to kick them out. But just in case the bear decides he wants to eat something that screams loudly, you want to make sure you’re not the slowest runner or closest to the bear. As a rule, we all pretty much maneuvered to a point that we were behind Conway whenever a bear entered the river.

Costa: At one time, Kodiak was home to one of the most intensive commercial salmon fisheries in Alaska. What is the status of the salmon fishery in the area today?

Deeter: The salmon are coming back strong. The fishing is awesome, and numbers-wise the commercial fishery is the only impact on the salmon population I see, and they’re a lot more regulated than in the past.

      The fishery was pretty much destroyed by commercial fishing in the early 1900’s and it’s taken forever for the fishery to come back. Just to give you an idea on the status of the fishery, the Karluk was closed to targeting king salmon forever, and they’re thinking of opening it again this June. The bad thing is that they’re looking at allowing anglers to keep one fish a day, when they should really just make it a catch and release fishery.

Costa: With such a diverse fishery, who is the protector of the resource?

Deeter: Humans. Whether you’re a fly fisherman, a commercial fisherman or a native, it’s got to be a joint effort or it won’t work. Everyone has to protect the resource. It’s so fragile and open to abuse, and we’ve seen that it can be wiped out from overfishing in the 1900’s. Everyone who lives here depends on those fish, so we all protect the resource as a means of protecting our lifestyles.

Costa: In the States we have Honky-Tonks. What’s the Kodiak version of a country bar?

Deeter: The Kiko Inn. It’s dark, with classic rock playing, and real smokey–you know, the kind of place you wouldn’t be in unless you were pie-faced and felt like you needed to remember why Van Halen broke up.

Costa: Is it true that the mosquito is the Alaska state bird?

Deeter: The mosquitoes are terrible in June and July, the wet season when all the water is standing and they’re hatching. It depends on where you are and how windy it is. Most of the time it’s not that bad compared to the noseeums and the white socks, which are little gnats that will absolutely drive you insane. Try to fish with 4,000 white socks gnats circling your face, being sucked into your nose and mouth with every breath and just constantly buzzing. It’s maddening.

Costa: Give us a little insight into the guys on the Kodiak Expedition. You know, the good, the bad and the ugly.

Deeter: Conway is a SoCal bratty bro. The first time I met him, I was like, “Who the f—is this guy?” But he’s a good dude.

      Kirk Deeter is a super nice guy who was super quiet at first, but once you broke his shell open, he was hilarious.

      Chris Santella was pretty much Mister Rodgers with a fly rod, but an unbelievable guitar player around the fire. You could pretty much shout out any Grateful Dead song and he could play it and knew every lyric. He had some pretty serious improve going on as well. 

      They were all super fishey. I think we’re heading back in October to get more footage and do a reunion party. It’s a total excuse to get together again, have a party and go fishing. Want to sponsor it?

Costa: Everyone seems to know about the salmon in Kodiak, but no one seems to talk much about the steelhead fishery. When is the best time to target steelhead in Kodiak?

Deeter: October 15^th. You can go any time from late September through early October and have one or two fish days, but if you want to have a 30 fish day, fish October 15^th. Weather doesn’t matter, it’s related to water temperature, and will be going off.

Karluk River, Kodiak Island, Alaska–

THE STORY:

Two weeks of unlimited access to the bush planes allow a four-man team to ply the waters of the Karluk River (along with the Dog Salmon River and several others) while trying not to run dry of the beer sponsor’s product supply or become a ten inch column in the local newspaper under the headline: Plane in ditch, six dead.

Following a plan of daily fly in fishing where you pick the spot and hope the conditions allow the plane to land, experience one of the greatest runs of wild steelhead on the North American continent and the rebirth of a salmon fishery that was almost completely wiped out by profit and greed. Take two weeks in October, when bad weather can march in with an attitude and 15 minutes notice and walk the stone bottom of the Karluk to find what preservation, time and nature can do to rebuild a fish population.

Will the anglers and camera crew survive the cold that digs for bones when the sun hits the horizon, a regular fog that prevents the airplane from dropping daily rations of beer and a population of brown bears that feel the river is their beat? Only nature and the inhabitants of the Emerald Isle know for sure.

 THE ADVENTURE:

Only 5000 years ago the island of Kodiak, Alaska was covered with billions of pounds of frozen water (think glaciers) that molded the rocky landscape like Playdoh and forged valleys with their melt-off. Today, the second largest island of the United States after the Big Island of Hawaii, remains a brutal artic environment where the life expectancy of a sea lion swimming in the harbor is about six minutes when the orcas are in town.

 In the early 1900’s, the seaside town of Kodiak was home to one of the largest salmon fisheries in Alaska and supported by the Karluk River then considered the best salmon river in the world. In a historic example of Mother Nature revolting, The Standard Oil Company and most of the king crab and salmon fishing fleets were destroyed by a 30-foot tsunami that struck Kodiak in 1964. 

Come summer, Kodiak (nicknamed the “Emerald Isle”) is green with the envy (literally) of serious salmon and steelhead fishermen across the globe. In fact, there are more shades of green across the landscape than you’ll find in a 200 count box of Crayola crayons, while through the green snakes rivers of azure—the most famous of which, the Karluk, hosts all five salmon species, a historic sockeye run and wild steelheads hell-bent to find a mate, spawn and then return to the Eastern Pacific.

Nestled among wild flowers that are tall as a mountain goat, the Karluk River winds a playful 22 mile path from Karluk Lake to the Karluk Lagoon, but getting to the shallow waters of the Karluk aren’t as easy as pulling off the side of a mountain road. First off, there are no roads. And parking spots are limited for the DeHavilland Beaver and Cessna 206 that provide the only access to these remote areas of the river. Then again, let’s not forget the bears.

Long stretches of shallow water and massive runs of salmon add up to one of the largest brown bear populations on the planet, one that draws bear hunters as well as bear watchers, bear carvers, bear artists and bear buddies, much to the chagrin of the brown bears. To say the bears take a pissy view of humans invading their territory is like saying Harry S.Truman liked parks.

THE PLAYERS:

Conway Bowman: One of those guys who looks at the water with his head tilted to the side, Conway is well-known in fly fishing circles as a San Diego, California, fishing guide who likes to target sharks—more specifically, snaggle-toothed mako sharks. He’s dialed in on the California shark on fly gig, and now wants to see what all the hullabaloo is about steelhead, and while he’s at it, maybe take a shot or two at Alaska’s fully agro salmon shark population.

 Kirk Deeter: Extreme adventure junkie Kirk Deeter likes to take his fishing to a new level, one he shares with readers in the Field and Stream fly fishing blog Fly Talk. A resident of Pine, Colorado, Deeter has shunned conventional success for the poverty of outdoor writing and the opportunity to fish whenever and wherever he wants, while most times getting someone else to pay for it. Which begs the question, “What’s wrong with that life?”

 Chris Santella: A former advertising and marketing consultant, Santella opted for the low-stress life of a fly fisherman/writer/hack golfer, a philosophy he’s been able to make a profit off by sharing his exploits with the worker bees who live vicariously through his words. The author of eight books (mostly about great places in the world to visit), Santella travels well, lives off publishing speculation and fishes like a wild man.

 Trent Deeter: Nine years of guiding in Alaska on the back of three years as a guide in Montana pretty much qualify you as a trout bum extraordinaire. As head fishing guide at Kodiak Legends Lodge, Trent  pretty much has the Karluk and the other Kodiak Island rivers down pat, and a good feel for what it takes to make the fish lunch a bug.