Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/787068
I say aloud, "Let's do that again," and we do. My fishing partners for the morning are Linda and Chris Bohnert of Greenville, Indiana. Chris hooks a dandy that after several long runs, a sky-busting jump, and bulldogging circuits around the boat, finally comes to the net. Over 32 inches, this is a wondrous fish, deep-bodied and thick through the shoulders, promising luscious, pink filets, and much roe. After a hearty lunch in the cook tent, I venture out with Larry Pulkrabek, from Wisconsin, and his stepsons, Bryant and Greg, this time guided by Mike Peterson, talented and funny, wearing flip-flops despite the cool weather. Both Larry and Bryant land fish over 35 inches, bruisers that have them dancing around the boat trying to keep up. So it goes for three days, catching big salmon fresh from the sea, while staying in a most comfortable river camp, complete with wall tents on platforms, delicious food, and a shower room with hot water. Then, a quick flight with Preston Cavner, master guide and owner of Stonewood Expeditions at the controls, back to Port Alsworth and lovely Lake Clark. F rom the air Stonewood Lodge looks like a sprawling, rustic estate house, handles the boat, monitors our spinners garnished with brightly colored salmon eggs, and, when the time is right, nets our fish. Yes, we are being pampered. Early July is supposed to be the tail end of the king salmon run on the Nushagak, but the action is steady, the fish strong, and inclined to jump. A 30-inch king will wear a man or woman out, even on stout spinning or casting gear. There are mathematical principles at play here, integrating the drift of the boat with the direction of the wind, and the tapping of heavy sinkers bumping over rocks with the often subtle strike of a 20-pound fish, which experts say isn't really hungry. My first-ever king salmon, 19 inches and about 12 pounds, strikes and steams toward the boat. By some miracle I am able to hook him and after a strong fight, land him. S hoals of salmon fry gather in the still shallows of the Nushagak, hoping the river will share its bounty with them while the swift current farther out is alive with mature fish answering the overwhelming urge to forge upriver, spawn, and die. On the shore a mama plover challenges all intruders that draw too close to her dun-colored babies. She stretches to her maximum, most intimidating height, perhaps four inches, and runs to within a few yards of my boots, chirping her warning. When this fails to stop me, she transforms into a pitiful creature, wings aflutter, tail- feathers dragging the rocks, ripe for capture, leading me away from her chicks. Instinct will have its way, won't it? Three of us are fishing, while Chris Hanson, an excellent king salmon guide, 122 • S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S