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 Went Snaggin'Talkeetna, Alaska -- July 20-25, 1998 |
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Went Snaggin' Talkeetna, Alaska -- July 20-25, 1998 |
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Rarely do I feel like a complete and utter idiot. Alaska, the 49th and largest state, home of Mt. McKinley, polar bears, grizzly bears, 43 different species of salmon, and people who view chewing tobacco as a religion, did just that.
Talkeetna, population 600 on a good
day, boasts no fast food, no dry-cleaner, no fancy hotels. It’s
a charming, sprawling piece of wilderness that just happens to
have a few roads cut into it. People here measure the distance
between neighbors in miles. In the summer, you’re much more
likely see a bear than your friend next door. In the winter, the
only thing you’ll see is the aurora borealis -- on the way
to the woodshed or the outhouse.
My friend, Tom, moved to Talkeetna about
5 years ago. "Came up this way for a vacation and bought
my place the very same day," he recalled. Tom’s
cabin, on the National Register of Historic Places, is a 1940’s
style hunting lodge nestled up against the Alaskan Railroad. Several
times a day, the blue and yellow engines roar by – always
sure to toot at Tom’s dog, Lily, who invariably gives chase.
If you want to go to town, you can wait outside Tom’s house
at around 5 p.m. and wave the train down – they’ll stop,
of course, and take you in.
Once you’re in town, there ain’t a hell of a lot to do. Main Street was paved for the first time a couple of years ago. The post office is the biggest and nicest building -- getting mail is a big event. Still, Tom told me about a few of his ‘Nam vet friends who won’t go inside -- Government Officials and all, I suppose. There’s a new taco stand that's all the rage. Other than that, you can head down to the Latitude 62 for some good cooking at outrageously high prices. Oh yeah, there’s a place called the Roadhouse that serves up a good breakfast – when they remember to order propane for their stove. There are a few souvenir cabins, of course, for nearby Denali National Park – home of Mt. McKinley. Police station is down there somewhere too, I assume, but I haven’t seen it.
What can the police possibly do in a town where 95% of the residents leave their houses unlocked all the time and their car keys on their dashboard? Seems like their primary duty is "Road Kill Administration." Every year, nearly every resident signs up for the list. When an animal gets hit by a car, train, snowmobile, or plane, the top name is called:
So they
do – they go get it, skin it, chop it up, and eat it. The
animal, not the Subaru. If you fail to respond to a road kill
call, you're 'axed' from the list. Tom got several moose (meese?)
over the years. Melissa, who I met at a local Pot Luck BBQ, is
thinking about calling the RKA and asking to be put back on the
list – seems the black bear she got was too damaged and too
small to be any good. Normally black bear is quite the delicacy.
Better luck next year, I say.
Met some other interesting people
at the Pot Luck. There’s this guy Bill that got attacked
by a bear a few years ago. Bill was running through the woods
to do some fishing and came across Mama and some cubs. Mama didn’t
like being startled and chased old Bill up a tree. Then she shook
poor old Bill out of "a bad climbing tree" and
then ate up his leg. He’s walking fine though. Quite lucky
I guess.
Met
a couple of people into sled dogs. Iditarod types. One bon-a-fide
crazy (even Tom thinks so) has over 50 dogs. Guy came in 22nd
(out of 50 or so) last year – took him just over 11 days
and 5 hours to go 1000 miles. These dogs and racers, I was quickly
informed, just get faster and faster every year. The guy’s
time was good enough to win 11 Iditarods, but only good enough
for 22nd that year. He might try again if he can raise the $1700
entry fee and the rest of the expense money. Oh yeah, first prize
pays $50K – a lot of Puppy Chow.
He probably won’t race no more though because he’s building onto his house. Seems that’s the major pastime up here. Nearly every single person in Talkeetna participates in some kind of building project. Tom’s adding a 12x16 cabin and upgrading his water and electrical systems. Esther is busy laying down a foundation for her new cabin she’ll be living in – she’s not wiring it for electricity, though. She’s lived without it for the last 10 years or so, and sees no need to change things. Guy down the street is using his own bulldozer (it seems nearly everyone owns one) to clear way for a carport and workshop.
In
the building spirit, I actually tried to help Tom with his cabin
one day. We were laying tile. We had a 52 1/4" by 49 7/8"
space and 16 or so 300mm square tiles (they’re made in China,
they use metric). Somehow, Tom thought I’d be able to "calculate
the correct gap to go between those tiles" so that we
could do a minimal amount of cutting. Oh yeah, don't forget to
take the door joist (what’s a joist?) into account and also
don’t forget the 3/8" for the trim. Building projects
are just one of the many ways for a city boy to feel stupid in
Alaska.
After a very frustrating afternoon of tiling and flashbacks from summers with my Aunt Lib ("everything you touch turns to shit", she used to say), I felt compelled to give Tom $60 for a new box of tiles to replace the ones that I ordered cut the wrong way. Tom decided I was more suited to leisure activities. We decided to go to the river the next day. Salmon fishing.
So, the next morning we headed off to the river where they were supposedly running thicker than pea soup. Got to the Talkeetna River around 7, just a few minutes late for the boat. So, we got some breakfast at the Roadhouse. Finally got on the boat and headed upstream 'round 8.
There
was plenty of activity on the bank. About 10 fishermen and women
were effortlessly casting their fly rods into the river –
and there seemed to be plenty of salmon to go around. So, I got
out Tom’s casting rod (not quite up to the River Runs
Through It scene yet) and hooked on a bright red spinner with
a treble hook. "That outta give 'em somethin' to think
about," I thought. I put on my waders, basically thigh
high rubber boots, but couldn’t figure out how to get them
to stay up – no problem, I decided I just wouldn't go past
knee deep. I waded out into the water for my first cast. Salmon
beware.
Fish were indeed thicker than pea soup. They were rocking, they were rolling, they were splashing around the water within spittin’ distance. But, they didn’t seem to like my lure. Guy next to me in full army fatigues is catching a fish about every other cast, yet I didn’t get a single bite the first hour.
Well, I didn’t know if we had any flies, but I took a quick glance at the hairy thing on the end of his line and took off for the tackle box. I found something with some hair and a little shiny thing on it – a spinner I suppose – and tied it on with the special fisherman knot that Tom’s 12 year old daughter taught me. Reinvigorated, I charged back into the water – forgetting all about my knee-high restriction. Water streamed into my left boot. Cold water. Glacier water. 38 degrees, or 3 if you’re from China. Still, those fish were going to pay. "You think they’ll like this one better?" I asked Camo Man. "We’ll you might snag one on that thing," he said deadpan.
Noon came and I still didn’t have a bite. "What you fishing with?" I asked Mr. Camo, not the least bit aware of the blunder I was making. I now know you are never supposed to ask a fisherman what he's using... He scowled. "I’ve never been salmon fishing before…" I added meekly. His scowl intensified. Camo man’s "bear protection" 45 pistol hung from his shoulder. I thought about running, but my left boot was filled with icy water and my foot was completely numb – not at all suitable for a quick dash.
"Reds are hittin' the egg sucking leech," he said as Godzilla rocked his line and doubled his flyrod over. "Got any of those?" he snickered as the monster leapt from the river 4 feet into the air.
"Tom, that nice guy over there says their hittin' the egg sucking leech. Do we happen to have any of those?" I asked. Two minutes later, I’m emptying out my boot, thawing my foot, and latching on the succulent yellow and purple egg sucking leech lure. This, I was sure, would work. Mr. Camo man had better get downstream from me if he wants any more fish.
First cast out, I got a bite. Well, I thought it was a bite and I yanked so hard that I buried the hook of the egg sucking leech into a submerged log. Took me a few minutes to wrangle it loose. Had to go up and over Mr. Camo Man who had moved downstream from me. Smith and Wesson was the manufacturer of that shoulder piece -- I got a good look at it as he was fixing our tangled lines.
Fish are still chomping down on everyone around me. I finally just decide to pull hard and hope to hit something. I did. Hooked him right in the tail. It jumped gloriously into the air.
The fighting fish pulled me deeper into the water. My right boot filled with water. "Keep that rod tip up boy," yelled Camo Man. "Walk backward." He called me Boy. I think Mr. Camo Man liked me.
And then, my heart sank to the bottom of the river -- I no longer felt the pull. The line went limp. "Damn! Damn! Damn!" I yelled. "The damned drag was too loose." (I must have learned that expression from watching Roland Martin's Fishing Hour, Sunday Morning television.) I adjusted it. Just then, Camo Man barked his orders:
And it was true! The fish ran straight at me – thus the slack line! With my drag adjusted quite a bit to the firm side, I quickly reeled him in and then landed my very first salmon. Quick photo and I’m thinking about how good he’s going to be baked with just a hint of pepper, salt, maybe some light oregano or basil…
"Too bad you can’t keep him," says Camo Man with a very grim smirk. (Different Strokes Flashback: "What you talkin bout, Camo Man?") "You didn’t hook him in the mouth," he says. Seems there’s a law that says that if you snag 'em behind the gills they get to go back. I felt stupid. Again. That was the only fish I caught the whole day.
There are plenty of things for a city boy to learn in Alaska, and humility is at the top of the list. I think all the trucks in Talkeetna should have a little warning on the rear view mirror: