Fishing in Valdez
I hopped on my old bike alongside Roy. He and I were about to embark on a fishing trip up the paved highway going north from downtown Valdez. We had been told about a favorite spot about two miles out of town where one could easily catch dolly-varden with a hook baited with a single salmon egg. We each had our spinning rods and a small jar of salmon eggs bought from Gleason’s market.
The day was bright and the temperature at a steady 70 degrees. It was as good as it gets in Valdez and we found biking a simple pleasure.
Surrounded by mountains and a nearby glacier, Valdez was a mini-Switzerland, but unlike Switzerland, Valdez was graced with a fine protected seaport with open water all year round. It was a fisherman’s dream too, with a salmon run each June that comprised 90% of the local economy.
But we were not after salmon. Abundant in the local streams were very nice/sized ocean/going trout called dolly-varden. These were our intended targets.
We biked for about a mile and a half before veering off onto a graded dirt road leading east. We glided past about two hundred yards of head-high vegetation so thick you couldn’t easily penetrate it - though a moose would walk right over it. Our journey terminated at a small copse of trees with a well beaten-down grass glade leading to a confluence of two streams.
One was the Robe River, a fresh water stream running south from Robe Lake. The other was the Lowe River, a much larger glacial stream running many miles south from Thompson Pass. Where the two came together, for about 50 yards, the fresh clear water of the Robe River and the muddy silt-filled grey water of the Lowe River, did not co-mingle, but formed a wall in the middle. We knew from other locals that the Dollys would hide within the silted water and, if you cast an egg into the water just at the edge of the clear water, they would dart out and take the bait. At that point, you would haul them in and add them to your string of fish. Since we were on our bikes with a long trip home, both Roy and I decided to limit ourselves to about 5 fish. (today the daily limit is 10!)
The taking was good, the dollys hungry, and it took only about 30 minutes for each of us to have 4 fish collected beside us, strung up beside uson the riverbank as our bikes lay further back at the edge of the copse.
I was about to bait my hook for a last fling, when I noticed movement near our bikes. Out of the trees came a medium-sized black bear. He was snuffling and shuffling, obvious smelling something delectable in the air. As his nose moved right to left trying to take in OUR scent above the fish scent, we realized we were in trouble as the hungry bear sat astride our bikes and waved his nearsighted beady black eyes in our direction. It wasn’t us he was smelling.
Quickly, I said to Roy: “Toss the fish as far from our bikes as possible.!!” He heeded the message and we both, in sync, sailed our fish away from our bikes.
The bear, smelling the toss, immediately ran to the fish for his picnic. We took the moment to run to our bikes, grab them, and skedaddled to the road. As we biked along furiously, that bear probably enjoyed his feast. But.. as Roy peddled furiously ahead of me, lo and behold a second bear darted between us, across the road, and totally ignored the two sweaty and scared teenagers aiming for home.
That night we had to settle for noodles and hamburger helper.
I hopped on my old bike alongside Roy. He and I were about to embark on a fishing trip up the paved highway going north from downtown Valdez. We had been told about a favorite spot about two miles out of town where one could easily catch dolly-varden with a hook baited with a single salmon egg. We each had our spinning rods and a small jar of salmon eggs bought from Gleason’s market.
The day was bright and the temperature at a steady 70 degrees. It was as good as it gets in Valdez and we found biking a simple pleasure.
Surrounded by mountains and a nearby glacier, Valdez was a mini-Switzerland, but unlike Switzerland, Valdez was graced with a fine protected seaport with open water all year round. It was a fisherman’s dream too, with a salmon run each June that comprised 90% of the local economy.
But we were not after salmon. Abundant in the local streams were very nice/sized ocean/going trout called dolly-varden. These were our intended targets.
We biked for about a mile and a half before veering off onto a graded dirt road leading east. We glided past about two hundred yards of head-high vegetation so thick you couldn’t easily penetrate it - though a moose would walk right over it. Our journey terminated at a small copse of trees with a well beaten-down grass glade leading to a confluence of two streams.
One was the Robe River, a fresh water stream running south from Robe Lake. The other was the Lowe River, a much larger glacial stream running many miles south from Thompson Pass. Where the two came together, for about 50 yards, the fresh clear water of the Robe River and the muddy silt-filled grey water of the Lowe River, did not co-mingle, but formed a wall in the middle. We knew from other locals that the Dollys would hide within the silted water and, if you cast an egg into the water just at the edge of the clear water, they would dart out and take the bait. At that point, you would haul them in and add them to your string of fish. Since we were on our bikes with a long trip home, both Roy and I decided to limit ourselves to about 5 fish. (today the daily limit is 10!)
The taking was good, the dollys hungry, and it took only about 30 minutes for each of us to have 4 fish collected beside us, strung up beside uson the riverbank as our bikes lay further back at the edge of the copse.
I was about to bait my hook for a last fling, when I noticed movement near our bikes. Out of the trees came a medium-sized black bear. He was snuffling and shuffling, obvious smelling something delectable in the air. As his nose moved right to left trying to take in OUR scent above the fish scent, we realized we were in trouble as the hungry bear sat astride our bikes and waved his nearsighted beady black eyes in our direction. It wasn’t us he was smelling.
Quickly, I said to Roy: “Toss the fish as far from our bikes as possible.!!” He heeded the message and we both, in sync, sailed our fish away from our bikes.
The bear, smelling the toss, immediately ran to the fish for his picnic. We took the moment to run to our bikes, grab them, and skedaddled to the road. As we biked along furiously, that bear probably enjoyed his feast. But.. as Roy peddled furiously ahead of me, lo and behold a second bear darted between us, across the road, and totally ignored the two sweaty and scared teenagers aiming for home.
That night we had to settle for noodles and hamburger helper.