You will be relieved to hear that our “end unit” in the parking-lot-turned-campground still allowed for half-naked middle-of-the-night potty runs. I know. I was relieved, too. In more ways than one.
I had a LOT of writing to catch up on and tried to make some progress on that while also ordering Dave around: “More coffee, please.” “Can you make me some yogurt?” Blah blah blah.
When I sensed Dave could take no more, I got dressed and we headed out to slay those formerly-elusive trout.
Trying hard to remember ALL that A.J. had taught us during his 30 minute soliloquy of words and fishing advice, we made our way back up the Parks Highway. There were three creeks before we’d hit Montana Creek (all the way back to Talkeetna). We knew Montana would be busy, based on the fact it’s Saturday and it was a zoo on Thursday. We were hoping to find some good fishable water before that.
First up was Little Willow. As we pulled into the turn-out and surveyed the many cars already there — several of which had trailers attached — I conjured up one of A.J.’s many, many sentences… “if you see a boat trailer, keep moving. That water is blown out.” I repeated it to Dave asking him, “Did A.J. mean *this* river?” Dave, too, recalled him saying something along those lines, so we kept moving.
The next river was Sheep Creek, which required a drive down a 2 mile side road to get to the access point followed by a quarter mile hike down a steep path. It was weird: lots of fishermen, most with spinning gear, but a few with fly rods… all headed to the main river (Susitna) to fish for — we presumed — salmon. Honestly, we have no idea. Even armed with everything we learned from A.J., we still are 85% in the dark about all of this.
Regardless, we geared up and headed down to the Susitna with plans to hike around the point to the mouth of Sheep Creek — where we figured we’d find fishable water. But it was still silty and deep and fast. We made ten casts from the bank — only because we were already there — and left.
Next on the map was Goose Creek. But A.J. did not talk about that one or indicate any access points. But as we checked it out, it looked fishable, there was a turnout, and there were fewer cars. So we stopped. We grabbed our rods and headed down to the water — very quickly coming upon the first group of other fishermen. Again, in our SUPREME RESPECT for their water, we scrambled up the steep bank and headed into the thick brush to give them a wide berth. Shortly thereafter, we saw ANOTHER group. So we continued to bushwack through the jungle. Right about the time we thought we were safe, we HEARD another group and had to continue on our death march.
It was AWFUL. “Never again. Never again. Never again.” I said to myself as I tried to keep up with Dave. At some point I tumbled into a gross, unseen hole filled with orange water, barely managing to stay dry. I didn’t cry. But I was close.
Yes, yes. We finally popped out on to the creek and miraculously there were no dogs, no cars, no atvs. There WERE chainsaws running somewhere nearby, but that made sense because there were a few houses on the creek. In Alaska, you legally fish the high water mark, so — as long as you stay in the water — you can keep fishing right on by.
We had actually popped out onto a nice bend and were finally able to fish. Dave needed a get on the board, so he took what looked to be the best water, while I casted downstream of him — keeping an eye on Dave’s indicator because his drift looked so good. I wasn’t really paying attention to mine when (of course. it always happens that way) I got a bite that nearly pulled the rod out of my hands. Dave was… exasperated. But also happy for me and, gentleman that he is, even landed the very big rainbow. No pic though, because after I unhooked it, it flopped out of my hands and shimmied through super shallow water to freedom. Dave then moved down and caught two small ones. We were encouraged!
But… that was it for the rest of the day. We fished a lot of really great water. We saw a lot of sockeyes in the water and assumed there were also trout in there, but they were having none of our tantalizing plastic beads.
I saw a few schools of three to four arctic char (I think) — which have bright orange bellies and a bit of white slashing on their fins like brook trout. They, too, laughed at us as we tried to fish to them.
One of the groups we leaped-frogged continued to press up upstream, but after a few hours we decided to call it a day and turned around, stopping to talk to them on the way. They were fishing streamer rigs and had a couple takes but it didn’t sound like they had landed any. I was bored so I tied a streamer on and attempted to cast it across the river. 100% fail. I hate casting streamers. I am so bad at it.
Dave was eager to get back to that first spot and try to catch a couple more. When I eventually caught back up to him, he had, indeed caught three or four more small ones. He wanted me to throw the streamer in and see what happened. On the first cast, a large rainbow grabbed it, but I probably did it wrong. And it came off.
We played around a bit more and continued back downstream towards the car.
And to our snacks. I was STARVING.
We made plans to go back to camp and have an early dinner and then try our luck on the Willow near the campground. We have been THOROUGHLY entertained watching the veritable CONGA LINE of fishermen going to and from the Susitna river near our site. It is endless. And MYSTERIOUS.
While Dave got the fire going for our steak, I went over to talk to one of the families camping near us to try to figure out where everyone was going and what they were doing once they got there. I learned: it’s a mix of mostly salmon fishermen and just a few trout fishermen. Salmon seekers mostly fish the Susitna with heavy rods and simple lures. One guy we talked to caught 30 Humpies (Pinks). Most don’t keep the Humpies. They mostly want Sockeye. There were people are lined up all along the shore casting, casting, casting. Here are some pics of that:
On the Willow River, which, tee’s into the Susitna near the campground, you are more likely to catch trout. The guy I talked to said to reach the main fork of the Willow just “Cross at the boat launch. Go ‘UP AND OVER’ to the next tributary. So that was our plan…
But first, back to dinner.
We cooked our dinner (steak on the campfire, broccoli and polenta) and made our plan. Dinner was interrupted by John, who wanted a tour of our camper. Super nice guy. Super fast talker. Super big into teardrops. We learned more about fishing in Alaska and how it is different from Colorado. (More confirmation that sneaking up on fish is 100% not necessary.) Also interesting: they don’t talk about 3x or 4x or 5x tippet. It’s 10lb and 12lb test — more aligned with spin fishing. Important info if you don’t want to look like a green-horn tourist!!
So off we headed to the boat launch to walk “up and over” to the main fork of the willow, just like I was told.
We went up and over. And we walked. And we walked. And we walked. Through bog and marsh. Through wild rose bushes and fallen trees. Through willows and spikey spruce. Through ankle deep mud and holes of inconclusively deep water…
“Never again. Never again. Never again…”
We KNEW there had to be a path somewhere. There was NO WAY those chubby guys from across the campground with their chubby kids could have done what we were currently doing…
I had layered up for the evening of fishing because there also was “no way I was gonna be cold!”
I wasn’t cold. I was sweating from head to ass crack. And when we FINALLY came out on the creek there was — no surprise — three visible groups of other people. When we asked them how they GOT here, one of the couples vaguely gestured to the marsh and said, “oh we just followed a maze of paths over there…”
I was fricken SWIMMING back before I was going back the way we came.
Nevertheless, we were there to fish. And fish we did. Futilely. The only good news being that no one else was catching anything either.
Well, that’s not entirely true. Way up the river, we saw a group of 5 guys catch 2 or 3 — what they were I don’t know, but I assume salmon, because I COULD see the flashy lures from where we stood. And there was a raft way down at the mouth of the river that appeared to be sight-fishing, as they would stand for a long time looking into the water and then make a short cast and catch one. Maybe they were snag fishing?
Again. I have not one single clue.
Since we were now way down at the mouth, we decided to follow a very well-trodden path that went around the point and back up to the boat launch fork.
Go figure. All of the bushwacking. All. Of. It. …Has been 100% unnecessary.
Defeated and exhausted — but surprisingly not at all unhappy — we got back to camp and put everything away so we could leave early the next morning.
Given that it was 11 pm (and the sun hadn’t even set) when we went to bed, it probably wouldn’t be THAT early — especially since that the family with the GIANT RV, which had parked right next to us sometime during the day, didn’t even get back to the campground until midnight and then proceeded to make a roaring fire — I no longer know what is early and what is late anymore.
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