It may be difficult for some to comprehend, but occasionally the fishing in Alaska is too good. On a halibut trip in Prince William Sound I had my limit of two, hundred plus pound halibut, within an hour of wetting a line. After pulling those monsters from the depths, one after the other, my arms were so weak I couldn’t lift a can of beer.

Fishing from the Chuit River Lodge, on the west side of Cook Inlet, the Silver Salmon were so plentiful I had a fish on with every cast. After a few hours of catch and release it actually got boring.

I know some people, like my son Shane, who can never get in enough fishing. On a road trip from Anchorage to Dawson, when he was young, at his insistence we had to stop and fish every pond of water larger than a mud puddle. When he was older he got a job as a fishing guide, more as an excuse to fish than to make money.

I enjoy fishing, but when I’m “fished out,” I like to have other activities to occupy my time. On a fly-in trip I may take my airplane up for some local flight seeing. When I hike into fish a remote stream I take my Gold Bug metal detector for some prospecting. Then again, when I’m engaged in other outdoor activities, I always have a fishing rod with me.

One summer my friend Gene invited me to spend my vacation at his gold mine. I’ll just say his claim is on a stream south of Anchorage, as miners are generally vague about disclosing the exact location. He had been getting almost an ounce of gold a day, so I knew it was a productive area worth the effort of packing in my 3 inch gold dredge. The dredge and fuel weigh over one hundred fifty pounds and the claim is a mile from the nearest road, then down a cliff.
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After a lot of sweat and a near hernia I had my gear at the waters edge. So as not to crowd Gene, I set up my tent across the river from his camp. He and his kids were living on the claim for the summer and had built a house-like structure made with a frame of poles and covered with opaque Visqueen.

Excited with the prospect of finding some gold, I soon had the dredge in the water and was sucking sand and gravel from the river bottom. After a long day of working chest deep in glacier cold water I checked the riffles to find I wasn’t getting much gold. This spot had been worked before.

Throughout the day I had noticed something flashing in the water off the tailings end of the dredge. It was fish. They were feeding on the muck I was pulling off the stream bottom. From the occasional flash I couldn’t tell what kind they were or how big, but I was going to find out. Of course I had my fishing rod along.

I retrieved my pole and tackle from the tent. With wire I improvised a rod holder on the floating dredge. A lure drifting in with the tailings runoff soon resulted in the reel drag singing like a buzz saw. I grabbed the pole and headed toward shore as I tightened down the drag setting to avoid loosing all my line. With the twang of an over tightened guitar string the line snapped and the fish was gone.

I had four pound test line and an ultra-lite pole. This setup requires a delicate touch when playing a fish but it makes a nice challenge. I don’t fish the crowded places in Alaska where you have to horse in a fish before it tangles with someone else’s line. In a land of over three million lakes (eat your heart out Minnesota), and even more streams, you don’t have to fish in a crowd.

With a new lure and a drag adjustment I was soon fighting what turned out to be a big fat Dolly Varden. The next fish was a fair sized Dolly. Then I hooked an eighteen-inch Rainbow trout. I had discovered a new method of fishing. I was mining fish.

I don’t know if a Fish and Game officer would have considered my method to be chumming. I didn’t even think about it at the time, so that evening we all enjoyed a fish dinner. The smell of fish cooking over a campfire would result in one unwelcome guest.

The next morning I was alone at the claim. Gene and the kids had gone to town for supplies. I went to open a can of peaches for breakfast but I had forgotten to bring a can opener. Knowing Gene would have one I waded across the river to his camp.

The door to his place was about four feet high. I bent over, pulled back the plastic and went in. As I stood up I was face to face with a very large black bear! You don’t realize how big a bear’s head can be until your six inches from his nose. We stood eye to eye for a fraction of a second before I quickly backed out the doorway. My first thought was of my gun. It was across river… lying next to a can of peaches.

As I made my hasty, heart pounding retreat, fearing the bear would be following me out, I spotted a chainsaw on a stump next to the door. With one swoop I grabbed the saw, thumbed the choke to full and pulled the starter cord. It roared to life on the first pull. Thank you Homelite Corporation!

With the roar of the chainsaw the bear made a new doorway through the back of the plastic house. Then, surprisingly, he paused and looked around the corner at me, head canted, with a puzzled expression on his face. A brown bear tends to avoid humans but the black bear, when hungry, will stalk a man. I was worried.

If I had to battle a bear without a gun my second choice of weapons would defiantly be a chainsaw. I waved the saw blade in the air and revved the motor repeatedly like a racecar getting ready for the green flag. Finally the bear ambled off into the brush and the standoff was over. I had lost my appetite.

I was on a heighten state of alert for the rest of my stay at the claim. At night I slept like I had when I was with the Marines in Viet Nam. At the slightest sound I was wide awake, gun in hand, ready to be attacked. The noise of rocks rolling with the flow of the river made for some sleepless nights.

After two exciting weeks I packed out my equipment. I didn’t get rich finding gold but the fishing was great. And I didn’t see the bear again.

Some of my other stories: Bear On, Stolen Nuggets