Mammoth Getaway

  Gentle Readers. 

It has been far too long since your reporter pushed another essay at you from behind all of these covid based excuses.

I am reaching back to the beginning of what turned out to be a hectic summer to try and recapture a trip our offspring conspired to deliver as a Christmas present to their parents.  They decided that their gift to us would be separate vacations.  The girls took Wendy to Topanga Canyon for  some kind of hippie-chick encounter workshop while the full compliment of kids planned a fishing trip to a Big Bear Air B&B in May with Dad.  The owners apparently did a little bit of research and then contacted us to let us know that we were no longer welcome to stay there when we were pretty committed to that time frame.

Fortunately, our good friends Rich and Rachel, who have hosted us on prior occasions, volunteered to allow us to totally horn in in on their vacation plans for Mammoth during the first week of June.  The loss of the Big Bear time slot meant that Isaac was rubbed off on the rail of adverse scheduling.  He had to leave by then to begin his new job as a lobsterman in Boston, so we had to carry on without him.

 

Sarah, Tommy, David and I  left in the predawn darkness of a Sunday morning for a cruise up 395 to our traditional rally point of an 8:30 am  breakfast at Jack's in Bishop. We were a couple minutes late and there was a line of mask wearing feeders ahead of us, but we got seated soon enough at our favorite table.

We made it to Mammoth and hung out with Rich and Rachel for a day of acclimation followed by the first of a really great series of dinners.

The next morning, we snuck out in the gray light for our 6 am  rendevous at Lake Crowley with Joe Contaldi, our favorite guide in the eastern Sierra.  Joe had planned a day of midging near McGee creek.  This kind of flyfishing involves using a weighted brace of two tiny midges suspended just above the bottom and below an indicator that dips when a trout sips at one of the flies. You have to keep a constant eye on the indicator and strike violently when the bobber exhibits any movement. This year, the bite was mostly cutthroats that were feeding in 25 feet of water, so it was especially challenging to cast with that much sinkered line that had get through a sliding bobber.  It is too much line to allow for a fixed indicator.  We used rubber bands on the flyline as wind-on stoppers for the sliding bobbers.  The rubber bands have a tendency to hang up in the guides as we tried to work our casts away from the boat, so we had a hard time getting distance and then waggling our rod tips so that the line would feed down through the float without bringing the whole rig back towards the boat.

Our difficulty with getting distance on our casts did not really prove to be an insurmountable obstacle, as the fish were periodically feeding through the zone over which we hovered.

Sarah hooked up early and often as the morning clouds kept us cool and the wind stayed off our spot.

She landed a pretty nice rainbow and was the high stick for the day on a nice grade of Cutts.

Below is an example of one of Sarah's  bronze-back cutthroats

Joe now has a special fishing guide edition camera lense which dramatically enlarges the size of the angler's hands.  Below is our favorite example of this  effect, as David hoisted up a trout big enough to have bitten his head clean off.

As is almost always the case, the wind came up round noon and it was time to get off the lake.  It was great to see Joe after a few years of no contact.  He has always delivered and we look forward to trying out his Pyramid Lake technique for monster Lahontans when the opportunity presents itself.

We went back to Crowley the next day to try our luck without Joe. Your narrator was able to put the kids on fish, with Tommy taking big fish honors with a beautiful Brown that ate a Tazmanian about four colors down on leadcore line just north of the entrance to the Crowley Marina.

After we got off the lake, we headed up to Lee Vining for a great lunch at the Whoa Nelli Deli and some hiking near Mono Lake.

Sarah is still their big sister, but Tommy and David have reeled her in on the height chart.

We hit Hot Creek for some fly fishing in the evening before coming back to have another fabulous dinner with the Clampitts.

On day three we went back to Crowley for another shot at the trout.  This  time it was David's turn to score prettiest fish honors with this nice brown he got on a firetiger Tasmanian. Net man Tommy and sister Sarah remained cloaked against the cold of these early June mornings despite the sun on the water.  All fish were successfully released and none seemed too worse off for meeting us .

Lizzy finally was able to join us from Sacramento on Thursday after we got back from Crowley, so we bopped around town and celebrated with another fun dinner after our mandatory cocktail hour set the tone for the flow of another pleasant evening

We got in some tennis with Rich and Rachel.  The kids even got in a workout at a local pool so that we did not completely abandon Wendy's swimming protocol. Oh, and I got to read from Rachel's really beautiful hardbound edition of Typee each night.  I finished before we left as part of my respect for cannibals.

The last day we all had a chance to be together, we decided spend the day on a pontoon boat at Convict Lake, which is one of my favorite places on earth. The kids and I got there early to take possession of the boat and scout around the lake.  We were joined by Rich and Rachel later in the day, as only my children willingingly subject themselves to the kind of lengthy tours of duty that boating with their dad creates for unsuspecting passengers.  We had great snacks and good tunes while orbiting the Lake.  We spotted deer and just basked in the majesty that pulses from the walls of this granite cathedral as the sun came out and warmed up another breathtaking day.

Sarah and Rachel kicked back on the couch. Lizzy got master fishing honors on a day when scenery, food and tunes took precedent over angling dedication, although we kept a line in the water  most of the time to keep the fish honest.  Lizzy even jumped in the lake in the afternoon to scare them away.

  

We topped off the trip with a fancy dinner at the Convict Lake Restaurant.  I think I would rather eat at this place than any restaurant in the world, because that would mean for sure that I was at Convict lake and likely among those humans I hold most dear.

The next morning we said good bye to Rich and  Rachel, as they decided to postpone the rest of their Mammoth vacation and come back when we were finally gone.  They  explained that they wanted to be able to generate the kind of distance that would allow them to miss us.

We had one more glorious day to spend with Lizzy.  We made the most of it with a dash back up 395 to spend the day hiking below Yosemite along Lee Vining Creek and then heading down to spark about along the so-cool-it-looks-fake June Lake Loop.  We stopped for a tasty lunch at the delightful Silver lake Cafe before hiking and getting in a bit of dry fly fishing along Rush Creek between Silver and Grant Lakes.  I could spend a month on the loop and not put a dent in all that it has to offer.

The next morning we said our sad goodbyes to Lizzy before we escorted each other out to 395. She turned north as we waved one last time and pointed south.  We checked her progress on our cell phones and celebrated the fabulous opportunity we took to be with each other in this magical part of the world.

We have so much for which to be grateful and I am certainly full of thanks to Rich, Rachel and my kids for bringing me more wonderful experiences and memories from which to project future plans and find refuge in wistful moments of dreamy serenity.

The clock has hit pause and the days are suddently shorter as winter beckons. 

 I hope that all of you have a wonderful Thankgsgiving and  try to keep in mind that

These are the Days

Winter Solstice Greetings 2020

 This has certainly been a strange year and I hope this note finds all of you gentle readers safe and comfortable.

Before the pandemic hit the beach, we were fortunate enough to take a trip with family to our favorite ashram at Punta Bozo in February.  We caught fish, waves and sun as we frolicked, oblivious to what lay ahead.

After  what would prove to be our last restaurant experience on March 13th, 

it was mostly just Wendy, Tommy, David and your reporter hunkered down at home with dogs who now think that we will never leave them alone.

The boys have grown like weeds and have adapted to life without high school culture or sports. Every day is a snow day. Wendy has been forced to deal with sharing the house all day with five males who just won't go away.  

Our own sacrifice has been mostly one of inconvenience as opposed to mortal danger.  One of the many realizations beyond toilet paper anxiety that your reporter has experienced is that the projects and personal betterment that this confinement might have inspired have been cast aside in favor of  weight gain and whacky TV previously thought of as a waste of time.  On the plus side, we seem for once to be living within our means, as  my frivolous impulses have fewer outlets.  WendyJo has laser-focused on trying to have decent, healthy meals, getting the right amount of exercise and reading good books to counterbalance my investment in a giant sloth life coach.

We did get outdoors with the dogs for some hiking with guns and other misadventures. 

Tommy with Tashtego along the Mojave River.  The training continues in a catch-as-catch-can kinda way.

Sarah and David made sure the light was still on at the  namesake site of the 1853 sinking of the cargo ship Carrier Pigeon on its maiden voyage from San Francisco.  

   

The girl's club got in a little camping before covid, but the young are so indestructible anyway.  

Your narrator was selected by Secret Skipper as his covidmate for a few offshore getways that stocked the freezer and put some salt in our lungs.

The boys got out for a little  rod and reel crab fishing off the Half Moon Bay jetty at Thanksgiving. This legal specimen received a proxy pardon for the turkey that escaped to Isaac's Oakland tenement convincingly disguised as leftovers.

Isaac auditioned for the Musical "Florence of Arabia", but production was cut short by the shelter in place order in the spring.  If only the producers had waited until the coast was totally clear in the summer, this would be a poster on Broadway.  

  These restrictions have certainly shined a light on the level of sacrifice that some Americans are willing to make for the sake of their  most vulnerable fellow citizens, from the brave and tireless health care workers providing comfort for elders dying in isolation, to the mask-burning freedom fighters baying for their God-given right to server-provided cocktails on the San Clemente pier.

Covid has certainly made us aware of the countless services people perform for our society that have previously gone underappreciated.  Perhaps we will keep these things in mind when circumstances improve and we have a chance to show our gratitude in person.

  Wendy and Jenni took off their masks long enough to let me photograph them doing their part to get out the vote and avoid amputating the electorate to install a ruler.

The Reaper definitely took his cut this year as the  family generation before ours passed. 

 This pandemic has made bedside goodbyes an unavailable emotional luxury and put our ability to honor our dead in suspended animation.  Weddings and funerals have been postponed, but funerals outrank weddings in our world of reasons for gathering.  

Wendy and I are no longer on deck.  We are in the batter's box.

 The local community also lost our beloved Pigrim, icon of Dana Point.  Who could have known that an ancient wooden ship would be hard to keep afloat without maintenance?  It was on life support too long with the triage of shipwrights perfoming an ancient art, waiting for an appointment with a drydock shipyard that was postponed one time too many as the economy closed off and priorities were reshuffled.

The Winter Solstice is once again upon us, perhaps as a more spectacular metaphor than is usually the case.                                         We have seen the foundation of the imperfect but functioning democracy we took for granted under a full-court press from an Alternative Reality in much the same way as our nation's health has been under seige, but we hope the tide is turning.   The limitless informational platforms that we once thought would serve to prevent the suppression of truth have proved to be a frighteningly powerful firehose that can wash accuracy off the deck in a torrent of targeted misdirectional messaging.  

      There are certainly some dark days of winter ahead of us and this pandemic malady is not yet in retreat.  We are lucky and still standing, with a horizon on which to focus as the vaccine rolls out and we continue to take precautions for the sake of others

Once again, there is a reason for hope as we face down the darkness that still envelopes us and work together to share an expanding light to the tune of Optimistic Voices:

We're out of the woods,

We're out of the dark,

We're out of the night.

Step into the Sun,

Step into the light!

May all of you and your loved ones, along with those we do not know, stay warm and safe as we look toward a brighter year than the one that still stubbornly beckons from our wake.

Getting through these difficult times together helps us appreciate all that we have and certainly serves as a reminder that

These Are The Days.

 

It's a Wild Northland, Part Two

  When I left off, I believe that we were going to go fishing out of Homer on the Artemis again.

     On Day two of our campaign in Homer, I joined Nike, Demeter, Dionysus, Diomedes and Sophacles on the Artemis, while Ajax and Hermes went on another boat (we had to split up our group each day because of Covid distancing, which most Alaskans seemed to take seriously).

     Our destination was the Barren Islands, which consitute the northernmost chain of the Kodiak Archipelago.  It was close to a 70 mile run in seas that were alternately calm and then roiled into a froth at specific locations where currents rubbed each other the wrong way.  These more remote islands feature a shot at big ling cod, which is the fish I primarily came to Alaska to kill.  They are not cod at all, but rather are the biggest and nastiest of the Greenlings.  They will eat anything they can bite.

The Halibut fishing started off slowly, but eventually we found the larger grade.  Naturally, Nike caught another biggest one of the day, even as I tried to convince her that my second place flatfish was a contender for that honor.  Everyone got their big one out here and we hit the small halibut spot on the way back.

  We also targeted the rockfish, with several of our anglers indicating their desire to get the rare yelloweye, which is a lot like the cow cod that we are no longer allowed to keep in SoCal.  Your narrator, having been made aware that we were fishing an area where we might encounter the big ling I was obsessed with engaging, blew off any pretext of fishing for  rockfish, pelagic or otherwise, and concentrated on relentlessly yo-yoing the biggest jig the crew could provide in my Ahab-like quest for a big ling, which I consider the fiercest of the deepwater fish.  My previous personal best was a 24 pounder caught during the Nixon administration at the Farnsworth Bank, which is now another MLPA-prohibited spot in California waters.                    

Diomedes cranked up a pretty yelloweye, which gave others hope.  As it turned out, the only other yelloweye anyone would catch was his second one.  It was twice as big and had to be released because he kept the one in the photo.  Fish are counted individually, so there is no sharing or trading for purposes of managing limits to maximize take.

Nike got a beautiful little tiger rockfish.  My companions also caught Quillbacks, which are another of the "pretty"  non-pelagic rockfish that come over the rail as a complete limit in that category.

Demeter and Diomedes each caught big lings, which have to be 35 inches to qualify up here, as opposed to the 22 inch qualifying length in California.  I was jealous, but refused to trade out my giant exculsionary leadhead jig that I was employing like a harpoon intended only for Moby Dick.  I got several nice lings that did not qualify until I finally hooked the one I knew was what I came for.  I did not allow him to get his dick in the dirt and cranked him up steadily like I would die if it got off.  I was mighty stoked when David sank the gaff and took him over the rail.  It was over four feet long and was the absolute highlight of my trip.

  Nike, who was really rooting for me to fulfill this obsession, was nearly as happy as I was overtaxed to hoist this gator up without popping a hernia.Once again, our crew lined up the catch for us as this day was even better than the day before.

     On Sunday, the others went on a fly-in trip to get close to grizzly bears while I opted to fish the Kasilof River with guide named Grant, who owns the Fly Box in Anchor Point.  I was targeting trout and Dolly Varden for catch and release fishing.

We had the river virtually to ourselves.  We started off flossing for sockeye.  Naturally, since that was not the focus of my trip, I had no trouble catching a limit, which Grant immmediately cleaned in accordance with the rules of the river.

I caught and released numerous trout and was able to cross Dolly Varden off my list of fish to catch.  We stayed on the river until 8 pm.

On Monday, we were set to go out with O'Fishial charters out of Homer one more time.  On this occasion, the weather which had been so kind to us reared up and blew a gale outside, causing all of the boats to cancel.  We had plenty of fish already, so we spent the day blasting around the Spit, shopping for souvenirs and grabbing cocktails at the famous Salty Dawg Saloon, which is a must for kooks like us.  Below, Dionysus and Diomedes prepare to pick a fight with strangers.

We spent the last day picking and packing up our fish to head out.  That was harder work than it sounds.  Nike and Demeter struck a pose with our haul before the trek back to Anchorage.

If I make the chance, I am coming back here, because it is big country, with big fish, cool people, and...

These are the Days

It's a Wild Northland, Part One

     Sorry for the lack of posting, but I have not been out that much during these strange times.

     I was recently afforded the opportunity to horn in on the second half of longstanding vacation plans of a group of veteran Alaska anglers, who coached me through the process  of getting Covid tested and receiving results in 72 hours in order to gain access to this state of grace. Then they schooled me on their finely honed program for fishing and fun.

     We all had to take and obtain negative Covid tests within 72 hours of landing so as to present our test results at the airport.  We used Vault Health's Zoom  monitored saliva test and it worked great.  This demonstrates that rapid testing and results are quite achievable and will become more affordable.

We had one supreme commander on this outing of  Sacramento-based Greek expats.  Nike Wuhu is a legendary anglerwoman from Sacramento who was kind enough to find a place for me midway on the latest installment of an adventure she has been leading and repeating for more than a decade.  

     I arrived in the evening at a cabin on Loon Lake near Soldatna to meet the other seven people for their last day (and my only day) with the sockeye salmon on the Kenai River the following morning at 3 am. 

     Our crew included Nike and her husband Ajax;  Dionysus Cottonwood; Diomedes Johnson; Hermes the Traveler; Sophocles the Defender and Demeter Basset.  They all knew way more about Alaska than I did and had been fishing for sockeyes most of a week when I showed up.

        After a night of intoxication on the shores of the lake, we left at 4 am the next morning for the Kenai. We split up into drift boat teams to floss for sockeye salmon, which are the lifeblood of the Alaskan ecosystem.  This method of angling is one I had never tried.  It involves using heavy fly gear and essentially drawing a sinkered leader with a bare hook on it across the current and randomly encountering the open mouth of a salmon, like a horsebit, since they are not feeding and are only in the river to spawn. If you and the fish react appropriately, the hook will lodge into the outside of the salmon's mouth and then it is game on. I could not see the fish and was instructed to strike fiercely at any abnormality as I pulled these relatively short casts back to shore repeatedly.  The other members of my group had the technique down, but I had to go through a bit of a learning curve and hooksets on rocks and lumber before recognizing the proper sensation of a fish.    

  We all caught dozens of big pink salmon, which were released.  I did manage to catch a silver salmon which was a personal best for me.  Since this is my report, that is the fish I am electing to display.  Note the safety glasses anglers are required to wear because of the flying hooks and nonstop casting.

Despite catching numerous pinks, I caught none of the targeted sockeye, so this was the only salmon I killed that day, which was the last day of group river fishing before heading down the Kenai penninsula for the salt water action of Homer.

Our destination was the Raven House, located a few miles from Homer.  With our leader Nike taking a much needed nap, we drove to the Raven house displayed on our GPS.  Who knew that in this remote part of the world, there are two Raven House vacation rentals within a couple of miles of each other?  After checking out the wrong one (which includes Yurts), we all took a series of dirt roads to arrive at a house which had a spectacular view of the Cook Inlet.

Due in part to the fact that night time does not come around until morning, we awoke with moderately fuzzy mouths for our first day on the ocean with O'Fishial Charters.  I was with the  early morning crew that included Nike, Ajax, Hermes, Sophacles and Demeter.  Our boat was named Artemis and was ably crewed by skipper David, who happens to be a master free diver, as well as the dreamy object of our lady anglers' attention.

He was ably assisted by his deckhand Tyler, captured below in the act of cutting herring  for the chum bag with an ice chopper.  Both members of the crew had pretty subtle senses of humor.   Good jokes are more important when the fishing is not so good, but I believe I got the jokes anyway.

The boat is a roomy aluminum commercial cruiser with a huge cockpit, large fishwells, and twin 350 duo prop outboards that push it in excess of 30 knots.

The ride out through the port of Homer is quite picturesque. I took a bunch of shots, but made room for this one.

The big halibut we were targeting were not right out front.  We took a long run  out of the Cook Inlet and along the Alaskan Marine Highway to start fishing Elizabeth and Perl islands in the Chugach Passage. I got a shot of Nike and Demeter in the corner near the island.

We started fishing for Pacific Halibut (not to be confused with the smaller California halibut we have down here).  Each angler is allowed two fish - one over 32 inches and one under 32 inches, so there is a bit of strategy as to when to keep your big fish, as opposed to releasing it in the hope of  lifting something larger.  Once you commit to a big one, you are done fishing for them.  The smaller ones (males) are seemingly automatic and could be found in tremendous abundance at a separate location where females seemed absent, like my keg parties in college.  They use circle hooks and generally let the fish "load up" the rod in a rod holder before cranking down on and steadily winching them to the surface with Shimano Tiagra reels spooled up with Spectra line.  The halibut nominated for keeping are bled while still on the gaff and then deposited into a saltwater halibut hold without letting them rest flat on the deck, as that can result in berserko flopping and injury to bystanders.

We also fished for rockfish.  Each angler is allowed 5 rockfish, one of which can be "non-pelagic", which essentially translates into a colorful resident fish.  Once you catch one of these, you are done, even if the next one is twice the size of the only other fish you have.  The fish on the left is a "non-pelagic" China rockfish, while the others are the more common Black Rockfish.  All are delicious and similar to the "rock cod" we catch in southern waters.

Nike got to work on the halibut, landing what turned out to be the largest one of the day.

I bounced a leadhead jig as a more active method of fishing.  After sorting through 9 of the biggest halibut I have ever caught, including nervously throwing back an early 40 pounder because I wanted to keep fishing, I eventually landed a personal best that was a fraction of an inch shorter than Nike's.  Just to be contrary to the standard whiteside-out photographic tradition, I displayed the eye-side out in front of Hermes and Sophacles, who had much earlier settled their deal with the big fish and were engaged in celebratory consumption.

The crew did a great job of cutting our catch after a painstakiing effort to take a good picture of the lucky anglers and their carnage. Left to right - Ajax, Nike, Demeter, your narrator, Hermes and Sophacles.

We rolled back into Homer and spent more time on the Spit, which has an eclectic and colorful collection of shops and restaurants.  I must say that I really love this town and intend to get back here with my predator children before long, as opposed to just saying maybe someday.  We will see.

Although the tides were not extreme during our stay, Homer has some of the most dramatic tide swings of any location in the world, which makes for some beautiful beach combing.

Due to the amount of photos and my aversion to brevity, the spacial limitation of my blog condemns me to terminate this narrative and call it Part One, so you know what is happening here.

 See you in the next chapter, because...

 These are the Days.