What a summer. Cool, wet weather. Too much traveling and running around. And a rather poor season for salmon on the Copper River at Chitina—on top of many constraints keeping us from going at the few, brief good times. On the bright side, we had a lot of great visitors this year, which was fun. But when the traveling was finished in mid-August, Rose and I were both home at the same time, and the fishing report sounded decent enough to make a run for it. We’ve become fairly addicted to Copper River red salmon, and not even attempting to fill the freezer with those tasty beauties just didn’t feel right. So we made a fast run during the last week that the charter operated.

We didn’t expect to do very well. It was fully a month later than we’d ever gone, and salmon swim to a pretty tight schedule. But just getting away in the camper and seeing some of our favorite Alaska scenery sounded too good to pass up, so we gambled on perhaps breaking even (by Rose’s calculations this would be 10 red salmon) and zoomed down to Chitina on a Sunday for Monday fishing. This drive was not uneventful. A vibration in the front end that had begun as Bob Dickerman and I concluded our drive south from the North Slope in June became worse as Rose and I drove south in August (I don’t think the truck had moved in the interim). At Delta Junction our inspections were fruitless, but when we stopped for a short break after Summit Lake I could see that both front tires had broken steel belts and were warped. Thank goodness I had been too lazy to toss out the second spare that Bob and I had brought north in June (see a previous account for how important that second spare can be on the Haul Road). So, at a rest stop just north of Paxson, Rose and I changed two tires. After that, our driving was fairly uneventful. (Later that week the guy at the tire place marveled that those two tires even held air anymore. Anyone who’s driven fast to Chitina along that winding two-lane road will understand how relieved Rose and I had been that they had!)

When we reached O’Brien Creek we dropped some of our gear in the line forming at the traffic cone for tomorrow’s charter, had a nice late dinner, and went to bed early to sleep up for the next day ,which we correctly anticipated would be a long one. One nice thing about going later in the year is that the lineup for the charter begins at about 0630, and the first boat leaves at 0700—a fairly late hour for starting a dip-netting day. We were on the first boat, and the day was looking like a beauty. Mark Hem dropped the first group off at a place one of the guys called the “Honey Hole,” which was a name we’d heard applied to a different place before (and here “Red” had had a head-banging accident on the rocks some years earlier, if I wrote about that). Rose and I were dropped next at a place on the south bank near the canyon’s mouth. We tied the nets and ourselves off and got to fishing.

Capture rates were rather slow, but we picked fish up steadily and soon realized that we would at least break even. Gas, charters, and fish are expensive; Rose had it about right that 10 fish would give us an adequate fish-pounds-worth of return on the money investment. But, as they say in the advertisements for lesser things, the overall experience is priceless. One of the two spots we were told to hold the nets was proving much more productive than the other. We switched off frequently, and then found that a second spot remarkably close up-current (but downstream from the river’s flow—you fish back-currents with dip nets) from the better one picked up fish at about that same rate without any evidence that one net was sampling the same fish-current that the other was. In other words, the down-back-current net would catch fish that the lower net (river-wise) wouldn’t, and bumps (misses) in the lower net would not be detected by the upper (down-back-current) net. It was weird, but we were racking up fish to show how well it worked. In our experience, every spot and every day requires some exploration to increase capture rates. Today we had plenty of time and incentive to explore; capture rates were rather slow.

But the sun came out, the day was gorgeous, and to our surprise the fish capture rates did not decrease substantially as the day waxed. This late in the season the charter does not come by very often to check on clients. Gas is expensive, and there are fewer people fishing, making down-river trips to check up on folks less frequent. So we went for about two-hour intervals between checks. On the first one we were doing about average compared with the rest of the people out. On the second check we were in the lead and had broken even (we’d discovered the secret of the second spot), and that’s when Rose decided that if the other guys had the Honey Hole then we had the Meat Hole. Despite the gloriously beautiful day and the strong sun, the fish kept steadily hitting.

We caught a lot more Dolly varden than we’d ever had before; they must come up later than the main run of reds. They have to go back in; you can’t keep them. And one of the times that I had Good Spot #1, a big one just sort of slumped weakly into the net, and it became a big struggler as I pulled the net in. It was a king! What a surprise! It was only about a 17-pounder, but we were really happy to get such an unexpected late king; they are delicious smoke-grilled. Rose suggested that it was the one that didn’t get the memo that kings run earlier. (Late June is when you can usually get a king; the limit here is one.) Mark was so skeptical that we had a king that he had us hold it up for positive ID on his second check. Even the biologists at O’Brien Creek seemed surprised. It was no less tasty for its tardiness, a lesson for anyone who has ever been late.

To our further surprise, we had our limit nearly an hour before Mark eventually came around for another check. We were the only ones at that time to have our limit (30 salmon per household), so we had done remarkably well. We were thrilled. It had been a beautiful day, and we’d had a lot of productive fun. We were a little crimpled from handling the nets intensely for about six hours, but a pile of fresh salmon (29 reds and a king) made the stiffness a very satisfied feeling.

The vole? As we sat there after filling out on our limit, we finally had time to eat our lunch. A net out of the water does not catch fish, so when they are slow that is not a desirable position. We retreated up-rock to more comfortable positions and sat there munching sandwiches that Rose had pre-made. (One of the most uncomfortable aspects of dip netting is ‘clenching’ the rocks with your butt or whatever else helps you hang onto the substrate when holding your net in the best spot. Maybe you have to be there, but it can be agonizing.) Anyway, it was very nice to relax our muscles. To add to our surprises, a red-backed vole popped out of the rocks and began exploring all around us. It showed practically no fear of our presence, and Rose tried to feed it almonds (that Rose—she brought more than sandwiches). The vole was mighty curious about us and our vicinity, but it didn’t seem to be interested in almonds. It left for parts elsewhere, and our attention moved on to the scenery, to people catching fish on the other side of the river, and to the really phenomenal weather. Until a little something seemed to pat my back. I moved a little to adjust my wind-breaking jacket. It seemed to pat me higher. Weird. I shook a little to adjust my jacket again—there had been a little buffeting breeze all day in the canyon. Then I felt the paws and claws on my neck as our little friend found his way out of my jacket and back up into the sunlight. I had a hard time not overreacting, and had a hard time with laughing to tell Rose to please flick it off as I bowed my head and held my jacket hood clear to give the Bold Vole a clear path to freedom. I don’t know how much was Rose and how much was the Bold Vole’s desire for freedom, but our little friend was soon clear and sniffing about nearby and ignoring his almonds. And so Rose figured we’d met the Bold Vole of the Meat Hole, and all in all it was a very good day.

After gutting and icing down our catch at O’Brien Creek, our drive home was uneventful, and the next day we cleaned, packed, and froze another year’s worth of tasty salmon. Except for three-day’s worth that we had fresh. So good!