Eight-Weights: Alaska Peninsula Summer Trek – Going Off the Grid for Salmon, Trout, Char, Grayling and Pike

Posted by Jack & Barbra Donachy on May 17, 2017
Posted in: Fishing. Tagged: , , , , , , , . 9 Comments

Early last Friday morning we put the finishing touches on packing for this summer’s (potentially epic) fishing-centric trek on the upper Alaska Peninsula. Two Salsa Fargo bikes equipped with semi-fat tires, to be loaded with Big Agnes Rattlesnake Mountain Glow tent, down sleeping bags, Alpacka pack rafts, tenkara rods, fly rods, freeze-dried camping food, cookware, compact stove, minimal camera gear, blank writing journals, waders, rain gear, and (for me) just one extra pair of underwear. We then borrowed a pickup truck drove the gear to Chignik Lake’s airstrip and loaded it onto a Lake Clark Cessna headed for Nondalton.

I’ll turn 58 on this trip and I’m a little apprehensive – not as sanguine in my physical endurance and strength as I was in the old days. For the first time in my life, I am aware of physical limitations in a way I’ve never before felt those limitations. But I want to get out there and try this and see if I can handle it. I think I can handle it. If it comes together all right, this trip will set the stage for the next several summers. Fortunately, Barbra has greeted the prospects this summer holds forth with unbridled enthusiasm sufficient to douse my doubts. “Pace yourself,” a friend advised, and although that two-word phrase is anathema to the way I’ve gone about things most of my life, I have to concede that on this series of treks, it’s probably the most prudent recommendation I could receive.

Iliamna Lake is the epicenter of the world’s most prolific Sockeye Salmon nursery.

Nondalton is a perfect starting point. The Newhalen River threads together some of Alaska’s (and by extension, the World’s) most storied fly-fishing waters, including Lake Clark upriver and legendary Iliamna Lake downriver. Along with their nearly innumerable tributaries, the entire watershed constitutes the world’s greatest Sockeye Salmon spawning grounds and nursery. Oh, there are kings, silvers, pinks and chums, char, grayling, white fish and pike, too – and at the right time and place lots of them and large ones. But the keystone species is the Sockeye, and it’s because of these millions of spawning salmon and the ocean-borne nutrients they carry upriver each summer that the watershed is home to some of highest numbers of large rainbow trout found anywhere. Trout 18” and up are common. How far up? The Kvichak River, which flows out of Iliamna and into Bristol Bay, gave up a 23-pounder in 1999, and while there don’t seem to be as many super large trout as in the past, fish well over 20 inches are still abundant, as are large Dolly Varden Char, Arctic Grayling, Northern Pike and Lake Trout. In fact, when I ticked off a list of modestly-sized personal bests for the species we’ll be targeting this summer, our friend Jerry, who talked us into this trek, kind of laughed and replied, “You’re gonna break all those records right here on Six Mile.”

After exploring the Six Mile Lake area, the possibilities are practically limitless. Virtually every lake, stream and river in this part of the Bristol Bay watershed is a world class angling destination. So it’s almost a given that we’re going to catch a lot of fish. And camp, and hike, and pick wild berries, and raft, and swat mosquitoes and see bears and moose and cap an especially good day with a bourbon toast from a small flask a fair distance from anything that looks like civilization.

But it’s not all gonna be blueberry patches and easy trout. We might have to bush-whack into some places, and we won’t use guides or take float planes in to the best water. We’re determined to make the fishing our own, and that will mean fishless stretches at times as we explore, and it might mean tough going at times. That’s the price for getting off the beaten path.

If we each get a few personal bests this summer and have a few fish-after-fish-after-fish days, a few memorable wildlife sightings, a few meals of freshly caught fish… If we learn a few things, experience a few new things…

It’ll be a great summer.

JD

And with that, the staff of CutterLight is off on vacation for blessed weeks on end with no phone service, no computers and no news. Look for accounts of our adventures when we resume publishing toward the end of the summer. 

Ink and Light: Chickadee Flamenco and thoughts on art and spring from Su Tung P’o

Posted by Jack & Barbra Donachy on May 15, 2017
Posted in: Ink and Light. Tagged: , , , , , , , . 3 Comments

Chickadee Flamenco

What a wonderful talent – that can create an entire Spring
from a brush and a sheet of paper. If he would try poetry
I know he would be a master…
Su Tung P’o – On a Painting by Wang the Clerk of Yeng Ling, c. 1080

Also known as Su Shi, Su Tung P’o (1037-1101) was a Song Dynasty writer, calligrapher, painter, poet, statesman and noted gourmet. The dish “dungpo pork” is named for him.

May 1 Plane Crash near Chignik Lake: A Tribute to our Bush Pilots

Posted by Jack & Barbra Donachy on May 2, 2017
Posted in: Alaska bush. Tagged: , , , , , , , . 16 Comments

A nine-seater from Grant Aviation cuts through the mountains just after leaving Chignik Lake this past March.

They’ve been called Alaska’s cowboys, and life without them would range from difficult to impossible for those of us in the remote parts of Alaska that make up most of the state. They’re our bush pilots – the men and women who navigate the trackless wilderness between population hubs and the isolated communities we and thousands of other Alaskans call home. They bring us everything from mail to grocery staples to visitors (when we’re lucky enough to have them). With skill and confidence, these men and women navigate through weather that can change in a blink (it alternately was sunny, rained, snowed, hailed and rained again as I wrote this morning) and through winds most of us wouldn’t even want to take a walk in. We complain a little among ourselves when the planes don’t fly (earlier this year we went for over a week with no mail as our Brussels sprouts and other groceries languished in King Salmon) and we grumble when grounded flights mean truncated vacation time or a delay in friends reaching us. But we understand – safety first. And we know that if it’s possible to fly, the pilots serving Southwest Alaska – our pilots – will be in the air.

Yesterday we lost one.

By mid-afternoon word had swept through the village that a Grant Aviation plane – a Cessna Grand Caravan, the nine-seaters that are fairly standard in the bush – had gone missing. It was en route from Port Heiden to Perryville (see map at end of article), scheduled to arrive at 2:15 PM. At 2:00, just 15 minutes out of Perryville, the plane’s Emergency Locator sounded. The pilot, making a cargo and mail run, was the vessel’s only passenger.

This photo was taken near Perryville, a coastal community about 28 miles southwest of Chignik Lake. The Aleutian Mountain Range sprawls across the Alaska Peninsula. It’s breathtakingly rugged country where high winds can spring up out of nowhere. The name Chignik means “Big Winds.”

Soon afterwards, a Coast Guard C-130 and an MH-60 Jayhawk helicopter began combing the mountainsides, tundra and lakes around Chignik Lake. In fact, the chopper landed here to take aboard volunteers to serve as additional pairs of eyes out the helicopter’s windows. At 5:49 PM, 3,000 feet up on a steep mountainside at a place known as Windy Pass, the wreckage was spotted. A rescue swimmer was subsequently lowered to the crash site where he confirmed that the pilot had died. Given the difficult terrain and cloud cover, recovery of the pilot’s body and the cargo he was carrying will be challenging.

Gabriele Cianetti, 54, the pilot of the downed Cessna 208B, touched many lives, including ours. Our thoughts and condolences go out to his family and friends as well as to his extended family at Grant Aviation. Additionally, our deep appreciation is extended to the men and women of the United States Coast Guard: Semper Paratus – Always Ready.

The Chignik Lake airstrip at dawn. The pilots who serve our community and Alaska’s other bush communities are true heroes in a land where air travel is not a luxury, but a necessity.

The above map includes Port Heiden, where the plane departed from and Perryville, where the plane was heading. Chignik Lake is marked in red.

Additional details for this article were pulled from KTVA news and Alaska Dispatch News.

Ink and Light: Spring Snow, a thought by C. S. Lewis… and how Do you pronounce that word that means “Artistic Blur” in photography?

Posted by Jack & Barbra Donachy on May 1, 2017
Posted in: Ink and Light. Tagged: , , , , , , , . 4 Comments

Woman with Umbrella in Spring Snow: Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia

*Bokeh (暈け / ボケ) is a Japanese term meaning blur that began to gain popularity in American photography circles in the late 1990s. 

The only friend to walk with is one… who so exactly shares your taste
for each mood of the countryside that a glance, a halt, or at most a
nudge, is enough to assure that the pleasure is shared.
C. S. Lewis – from Surprised by Joy, 1955

Clive Staples Lewis (1898-1963), known as Jack, considered his last novel, Till We have Faces, to be his most mature and masterly work though it did not achieve commercial success.

*As is true of many Japanese words added to English, the pronunciation of “bokeh” is not always consistent with the original Japanese. This bothers some a lot, others a little and still others not at all. Many English speakers pronounce the word “boh-kuh” to rhyme with chocolate “mocha.” However, in Japanese the first syllable in bokeh  is pronounced with the “o” in hope and the second syllable is pronounced with a clipped (shortened) long “a” approximately between the ke in kettle and the kay in the name Kay. Almost like the word “bouquet:” long “o” and long “a,” but with the vowels clipped short and neither syllable accented. 

Wolf

Posted by Jack & Barbra Donachy on April 26, 2017
Posted in: Wildlife Wednesday. Tagged: , , , , , , , . 14 Comments

Canis lupus occidentalis, the Northwestern Gray Wolf. Although seldom seen, wolves are fairly common in the Chigniks, as is evidenced by their numerous tracks in the area.

A little over a month ago with darkness still falling early and Chignik Lake yet locked in ice, we were engaged in a familiar evening time routine. Standing at the dining room windows with binoculars pressed to her eyes, Barbra was scanning a patch of open water for ducks, seals and otters as well as the frozen lake and shoreline for foxes, moose and whatever else might happen along. Meanwhile, I was in the kitchen preparing the evening meal. In fact I already had the broiling griddle preheating in the oven for the marinated pork which would become the night’s pulled pork sandwiches. Deep into my own thoughts, I only half heard Barbra’s musing as she glassed the lake, words along the lines of…

Something’s making tracks on the ice. What is that? What would a dog be doing… WOOOLLLFFF!
That last word caught my full attention. I let the wooden spoon I was mixing barbecue sauce with fall into the bowl, ran to the window, grabbed the other pair of binoculars and squeezed in next to Barbra. “Cap this lens!” I bellowed as I removed the 70-200 from the D5 and attached the camera body to the 600mm lens, which was already on the tripod with the 1.4 TC mounted. I briefly debated switching to the 2.0 TC, but figured every second might be precious. The previous week I’d seen this same wolf, but by the time I got outside it had vanished.
“Follow me!” I commanded like a crazed navy captain shouting orders in a hurricane. The chaotic scene was vaguely reminiscent of the time I nearly got Barbra drowned.

Blowing down from the Bering Sea to the north, a sharp breeze pushed the wolf’s fur.

Tripod, camera and lens slung over my shoulder, I slipped into my Muck Boots and gingerly ran toward the beach. The wolf was still there! I quickly set up and got a handful of “record” shots, then kept proceeding out onto the ice, which, this late in the season, was significantly rotten in places. By this time, Barbra – who had had the sense to don coat, hat and gloves – had caught up. “Be careful!” She whisper-shouted at my back as I edged out onto the ice.
The wolf was behaving calmly on the far side of the lake, a wide wedge of open water separating us. “He won’t spook as long as I’m on this side,” I reckoned. About 100 meters out, I very carefully stepped over a six-inch, water-filled seam between separated ice sheets and proceeded another 30 meters to the edge of open water. Ironically, in this process I got closer to Mergansers than I’ve ever been in my life… so tempted to shoot them, but, Stay Focused Jack! I grabbed a few more photos of the wolf. “Closer!” I was thinking. “How do I get closer!?” 
I cautiously worked my way up the lake, hoping the ice was as solid as I thought it was, in the process skirting a large patch of rotten slush. “His tracks! Wow! No mistaking those for a fox!” Uncertain of the quality of the ice and cognizant of the fact that the wolf could now close the distance between us in seconds (and I didn’t even have bear spray) I kept moving forward, 30 steps at a time. He was very aware of me but didn’t seem overly concerned. “Young… and not getting enough to eat. Probably a male kicked out of his pack.” His demeanor looked calm, non-threatening… I figured I was close enough.

He may have missed a few meals this past winter – one of the harshest in recent years – but this young Gray Wolf is nonetheless a formidable, magnificent being.

A few snowflakes were blowing in on a stiff breeze out of the north and the sun had already set behind the snow-shouldered mountains rimming the lake. For a while the wolf lay down, chin on his paws, the sharp wind pushing his fur as he watched a group of mergansers diving for fish at the edge of the ice. He lifted his head when a harbor seal popped up, the two of them exchanging uneasy glances before the seal disappeared. He stood and looked – wistfully, it seemed -, down the lake, across the patch of open water toward the river that joins the sea a few miles below the village.

One last look down the lake…

And then he looked straight at me. We held each other’s gaze for seconds that seemed much longer. Finally he turned and began casually jogging up the lake, his massive paws kicking up powdery snow. At one point he altered his course, veering toward me. I stood up tall, spread my arms wide and he abruptly returned to his original course and continued up the lake.

In a few weeks, there will be a surfeit of salmon, young hares, voles, newborn moose and caribou and more. But March is the thick of tough times.

In a shirt, jeans and Muck Boots, I’d been out on the windblown lake for a good half hour. But it was only when the wolf faded into the muted grays of winter bare willows and scrub alder that I felt cold. Suddenly I was aware that it was all I could do to move my numbed fingers. With a hard shiver I turned and headed back across the ice to shore where Barbra had been waiting and watching.
That    was     amazing  we both agreed.
Fortunately I hadn’t yet put the pork into the oven, but a trace of ambient grease on the broiling griddle had resulted in one smoked up kitchen. Famished, I made short work of three heaping pulled pork sandwiches and two of Barbra’s dark amber beers, lifting the first in a toast with a paraphrase from the last stanza of D. H. Lawrence’s poem, Mountain Lion:
And I think in this empty world there was room for me and a gray wolf…

Set in a vast, remote, rugged landscape, the tiny village of Chignik Lake sits below a large water tower that is a mere cylindrical dot in this photo – one third in from the left, a little higher than center, atop a brown hill. The village arcs along the shore of the eponymous lake in a land of eagles, wild swans, salmon, bears, wolverines, caribou, moose and wolves.

Ink and Light: The Gobi Desert’s Singing Dunes and Inspiration from Herman Melville

Posted by Jack & Barbra Donachy on April 24, 2017
Posted in: Ink and Light. Tagged: , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Khongoryn Els: The Singing Dunes, Gobi Desert, Mongolia

A trace of slate in the sand grains at Khongoryn Els results in vibrations that are not only easily audible, but which reverberate through one’s body.

…I am tormented
with an everlasting itch
for things remote.
Herman Melville – Moby-Dick; or, The Whale, 1851

Herman Melville (1819-1891) served aboard a whaling ship before deserting in the Marquesas. Although he knew his subject (the book draws from Melville’s own experience, The Bible, Shakespeare’s work, research into whaling, the actual account of a hard-to-catch white whale nicknamed Mocha Dick and the sinking of the American whaling ship Essex by a whale, Moby Dick received mixed reviews and was a commercial flop. Dedicated to Nathaniel Hawthorn “in token of my admiration for his genius,” the book sold just 3,200 copies in Melville’s lifetime and was out of print at his death. 

A year after Melville’s death, Moby Dick was reprinted by Harper and Brothers. Literati circles – mostly in New York – kept interest in the book (barely) alive over the next several years until it was rediscovered by larger audiences. Of the book, William Faulkner said that he wished he’d written it himself; D. H. Lawrence called it “the greatest book of the sea ever written,” and in time it found its place as an icon of American literature.

Wildlife Wednesday: First Fox Sparrow of 2017, Chignik Lake, Alaska (With short video & vocalization clip)

Posted by Jack & Barbra Donachy on April 19, 2017
Posted in: birds, Wildlife Wednesday. Tagged: , , , , , , . 6 Comments

Helllllooo Ladies! Singing his heart out, a Sooty Fox Sparrow announces his arrival in Chignik Lake

Two mornings ago upon walking outside, we were greeted with a cheerful song that was both new and yet familiar. I spun around, went back for my binoculars, and found the year’s first Fox Sparrow trilling from a perch near the top of a White Spruce. Here in Southwest Alaska, there is no more certain emissary of Spring.

Our first connection with Fox Sparrows occurred back when we used to spend our summers in Seward, Alaska. There, in late spring, one served as our alarm clock. Perched just outside our camper his lilting song – delivered at a volume startling for a being so small – was generally among the first sounds of the morning.

“Foxy” sings three time during this minute-long clip. Redpolls, which continue to course through the village each day scavenging for spruce cone seeds and other food, can be heard in the background vocalizing with a mix of electric zaps, trills and cat-like mews.

Here along the Pacific Northwest Coast, Fox Sparrows are predominated by the “Sooty” race. Note the way the spots and blotches on his chest come together to form one large blotch in the center. Overall, Sooty Fox Sparrows have dark, uniformly brown backs. However, as with many passerines, there can be a great deal of variation in coloring. The individual in the photos accompanying this article is neither as dark nor as heavily splotched as other Sooties we’ve seen, and there’s a little slate coloring on his head.

With buds on our alders and willows swelling fuller each day, hatches of midges becoming more common, the year’s first Mallards out on the lake and even a few caddisflies in the air, it won’t be long before the rest of our summertime breeders show up: additional species of sparrows along with thrushes, warblers and swallows and the Merlins whose chicks will grow healthy on the abundance of prey.

Hopefully our new friend will find a mate in the coming days. We’ll be looking for their nest with its four or five pale cyan, speckled eggs on the ground beneath one of the village’s White Spruce trees or perhaps under an especially thick swatch of alders.

In any event, regardless of where you are, we hope your spring (or autumn, if you’re in the Southern Hemisphere) is off to as good a start as this little fellow’s.

The range of Sooty Fox Sparrows is generally confined to the Pacific Coast. Other recognized forms of Fox Sparrows include “Slate-colored” and “Red.”