Seeing travel in a different way after returning to Alaska

Late afternoon is a mystical time of day when you sit on the bow of a fishing boat, rod in hand, in the height of Alaska’s short summer. The low-hanging sun captures the mountains to their highest quality, with the scent of pine, salt and sunscreen. The water looks like stained glass, disturbed only by otters floating with clutches of scaly on their bellies.

As fast as I thought Man, it couldn’t be more peaceful.I felt a distinct tug of rockfish taking my bait-fish.

Noticing a bend in the rod, I reeled in, pushing the fish skywards. As soon as it came out, it spit out the hook and landed on its back in the water. An eagle swooped down from the top of a nearby spruce tree, snapped its talons, and swung its arms like a shell turtle down before disappearing into the mist of the opposite shore.

“Huh,” said the boatmate. “What he missed was not what I imagined.

Like the rockfish, I’m lost. I lived in Alaska for most of my 20s, just shy of seven full years. Recently, I moved to Colorado, and this summer fishing adventure was my first step back.

One of the great problems of a traveler is deciding where to go next. Do you launch yourself into the unknown, seeking newness in customs, food, clothing and language in a place you’ve never been? Or do you spend your time returning to the relaxed comfort of a familiar destination?

Normally, if given the choice, I’d rather go somewhere new than where I’ve been before. However, last July I returned to the 49th state on a fishing boat, on a return trip to the secluded Fishing Lodge Falls Resort in the Alaska Panhandle.

In a past life, the resort was a salmon run, so it makes sense that the waters outside are rich in omega-3-bearing fish. Guests stay in converted crew quarters and spend their leisure time fishing for as many salmon, halibut, rockfish and lingcod as fishing limits and opportunity allow. The most coveted is the salmon species known as king or chinook. For the wealthy, they are prized for their buttery flavor and size (they can weigh more than 50 pounds, but most fall into the 15 to 20 pound category).

Although I have been a card-carrying Alaskan for several salmon seasons, I have never caught a king. This will be the year.

“I call this place Jurassic Park,” Captain Tony announced on our second full day of fishing. My three boat mates and I dropped our bait – immediately got four bites. Every time the hook hit the water a rockfish, red snapper or vermilion was on it within seconds. In less than 20 minutes, the deck is filled with fish. But still no kings.

Later that night, I swapped fish stories at Waterfall’s bar with a guy from Texas. This was his 12th summer visit to Water Falls Resort. The show was amazing until his father said he had been coming for over 20 years. The resort attracts many returnees. The Texans stayed on the property for three days and each reached the limit on kings (non-residents are only allowed two kings in July), I was so jealous.

If I find a king, we are equally destined to be called home by an unseen force. A salmon’s entire life cycle is a round trip from river to sea and back. A year after hatching in Alaska’s freshwater lakes and streams, the young fish swim the current downstream until they make it out to sea, often hundreds of miles. Over the next two to seven years, they travel the ocean, eating small fish and drinking heavily on their return journey.

At some point, the flip changes, and their sole mission is to return to the exact place they came into the world. For several weeks, the salmon themselves leave the ocean to fight their way up in the constant current until they find their spawning grounds to mate, give birth, and perish. Their bodies are eaten by insects, the young salmon eat when they hatch. It’s that journey that will get them past our waiting bait, and into our freezer with any chance.

On the last morning we headed south. It was the only boat to do so. “It’s hero or bust,” said Captain Tony. “Either you take nothing or we take everything.”

In the last three days we caught only one king among the four. At 33 pounds, it was the second largest of the season, and while it was enough to feed each of us, it was well below the limit set by our Department of Fish and Game. If we went further north, the chances of finding salmon were slim. We decided to make a big bet.

Even when we go directly above the kings, where we want to catch them – they appear like a boomerang on the ship’s depth control screen – they don’t bite. (There is some truth in the saying that it’s fishing, not fishing.)

I did not bring a king. Stack that on my recent move from Alaska, and the return trip seemed even more important. After living a new life in Colorado—making new friends, buying a house, learning to navigate—it was comforting to return to the routine and patience of a fishing trip in Alaska.

Soon, back at the dock, another fisherman shared his story about the lost salmon. “it was This is big” he groaned, placing his hands three feet apart. And, as I myself have been many times over the years, those hands keep getting more and more sophisticated, going back to that story.

Courtesy of Waterfall Resort

If you go

Waterfall Resort

Book now. Waterfall Resort; Rates start at $2,775 for three days, two nights

Waterfall Resort operates seasonally from June to September. Boats carry four passengers each, and captains are equipped to work with anglers of every skill level. All accommodations are suitable for two people and include rooms in the main lodge and stand-alone cabins. The resort includes a dining room, bar, seating areas overlooking the water, and a luggage and gift shop. All tackle provided including rods, baits, waders and boots.