Kasilof King Salmon Fishing
One
Muddy Mile on the Kasilof River
The
Kasilof King that took us all the way to the take out...and beyond!
It
all started with an enjoyable July float down the fast moving Kasilof
River. I was fishing with Greg Norsten, his wife Pat and daughters Michelle
and Heather. Our day was close to over as we floated through the muddy
braids and scattered mud bars that mark the lower Kasilof River. We
already had some nice fish in the box, but a few missed opportunities
meant we still had a couple rods to knock down.
With
less than three hundred yards to the take-out, both time and water were
short and we needed to make the best of this final hole. I dipped my
oars constantly as we entered the top of the run. I was looking for
the shallow water to deepen and once it went from inches to feet, I
dropped the anchor and prepared fresh baits. Coming off a high tide,
the water was dropping fast and an outgoing tide usually means moving
fish. I quickly rebaited the rods and ushered them into the chalky green
water to meet their fate.
One
made quick work of the task and was pinned in less than a minute. The
boat jumped to action and after a brief rendition of the Kasilof shuffle,
we realized it was merely a jack. After the short battle we repositioned
the boat and again put fresh bait on the hook. We were now a third of
the way into the hole and as we prepared to have another go, the boat
next to us hooked a nice one. I pulled my anchor and began rowing hard.
We went less than five feet before Pat's rod became possessed. It was
totally flattened on the sturdy rod holder, bent to the backbone and
line racing through the guides. The fight within the fight was just
prying it loose from the holder.
Once
Pat had it free it became apparent this was no jack, this fish was grande!
After running furiously down river, the fish was now headed back toward
the boat, and when she caught up it was nowhere close to ready. A heightened
sense of nervousness gripped the boat as the take-out was now less than
a hundred yards away, this was it. Pat braced herself against the fly
deck of the driftboat and just kept putting pressure back on the king.
In turn, the fish took more line and as the distance to our take out
(a solitary gravel haul with a cable and my awaiting pick-up) dwindled,
I knew things were not looking good. Below the landing was another two
miles of muddy tidal flats before the relentless Kasilof dumped into
Cook Inlet. Pat kept reeling but I was already resigned to the fact
that the fish was way down there and we were up here and staying here.
I rowed to the shore and instructed Pat to hit the beach reeling.
I
asked Greg to hold the boat and with my net in hand, I got out with
Pat and told her to keep reeling! We managed to make it to the top of
the slippery steep bank where mud turned to hard packed grass. There
was a trail and by this time Greg had secured the boat and was right
next to Pat helping her along. Needless to say she was a bit winded.
Meanwhile the thrashing king had raced headfirst into the tidal mud
about 100 yards downriver and was rolling and thrashing in the shallows.
We were now in a full sprint toward the beached fish and in the background
I could hear my fellow guides jokingly yelling "run Forest...run..."
I naturally ran well ahead and jumped down the steep wall of oozing
tidal mud. The spent fish was ready for the net. I reached out with
my long handle and dipped the huge buck to a roar of cheers from the
crowd at the take out. I threw up my fist like I just made a putt at
the masters and then the elation literally sank to my boots as I realized
I was stuck. Going back up the fifty-foot embankment of knee-deep slop
was going to be tough. Oh yeah... and then there's the fifty-pound fish
to carry as well. It became a matter of securing the net, pulling each
of my legs loose from the suction, pulling the netted king up another
level and then again freeing my feet. Fifteen minutes of that and I
was glad the tide wouldn't be back for a few hours! Finally I clogged
my way to the top and the whole thing was history. I sat on the grass
overlooking the river, Pat was not the only one a bit winded. We had
our congratulatory hugs and made our way back to the landing where a
round of high fives awaited us along with lots of appreciative smiles.
We must have put on quite a show.
