Tongass National Forest

Days 5-6: Exploring Alaska’s Tongass National Forest

Dave_Maccar — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 14:41:16 -0500

by Darren Dorris

I met Arne Johnson owner of Bear Creek Outfitters at his shop early the next morning. The shop was adjacent to the Juneau airport. It seemed odd at first with the juxtaposition of a flyfishing guide shop overlooking the tarmac of an airport rather than a river, but Bear Creek Outfitters specializes in fly-out, flyfishing adventures—so, really, it makes perfect sense.

I was lucky enough to secure a spot on their morning trip, accompanying the Blake family (Jackie, Gary, and Jordan) and Peter Voss—all of whom were cruise ship passengers out for a day of flyfishing. We stepped into our waders, then were whisked off to the float plane docks.

The floatplane is the best option for reaching the inaccessible wilderness of the Tongass, and these docks were busier than the main airport. We all climbed into the DeHaviland Beaver and taxied for takeoff. A 20-minute plane trip, and we were so far out in the wild that our guide Matt Boline unloaded a bucket from the plane full of supplies…just in case the plane could not get back and we need to spend the night. We were that far in the wilderness. He also unloaded a 12-gauge shotgun and explained about bears and what to do if we see one and what to do if one approaches.

While Matt began a casting lesson streamside, I took the opportunity to walk upstream and make a few casts myself. We were at the mouth of this stream where it opens up to the many straights of the inside passage, and according to Matt, the earliest run of Coho, or silver, salmon starts in this stream.

From the moment the stream was in view, I could see thousands of pink salmon clogging the stream. On the flight over, Matt had clued me in to a hole upstream that usually held a few silvers if they were in, so off I went. I caught a few pinks on a pink Clouser Minnow just to shake the cobwebs. Then tied on a big chartreuse-and-white Clouser that I use at home for striped bass. I found the hole, and on my first cast, I hit silver. It put on an aerial display and forced me running downstream. Finally I slid the great silver toward the bank and tailed it. It was as bright silver as could be—it even had some sea lice still on it. I shot a few pictures and released the fish thinking how amazing these fish really are.

That fish hatched a scant mile upstream from this spot at almost four years ago. Then swam off to the Pacific Ocean to live and grow. Next, the fish made its way back to this stream, bypassing nets and other fishermen for the last two months. And now a scant mile away from where it will spawn and die, I made its acquaintance. Truly amazing.

While that silver salmon will make its spawning grounds, there are some that may not. Not because they get caught, but because their natal streams have been blocked. In the Tongass, this is sometimes due to undersized or improperly installed culverts along logging roads. Hydroelectric power dams are also a threat to the Tongass and its salmon populations. As more people call Southeast Alaska home, the need for electricity increases and with all the streams and rivers, hydroelectric power is really an easy choice. Doing so irresponsibly, however, can lead to big impacts on the salmon population. Once a dam is created it can block the access to the natal spawning beds for salmon. Not all the rivers in the Tongass are in fact salmon spawning rivers, so hydroelectric power is a great choice over fossil fuels and other means of electric production in these non-fishing-producing streams. Trout Unlimited is working to ensure that hydro operations are implemented responsibly in Alaska and that impacts to fish are minimized.

As the group casting lesson concluded, they made their way upstream toward the hole. Peter Voss, on his first cast in the hole, hooked up with a nice silver, while Jackie, Jordan, and Gary continued their assault on the pinks. All four were nothing but smiles as I shot pictures of them on their adventure. No need to say “cheese” here. Most first-time fly anglers struggle to catch their first fish. Here in the Tongass, these happy rookies caught their first 20 fish—easily. Yet another reason the Tongass is so special and unique.

Once back at the shop, I overheard the Blake family recounting their 22 day Alaska vacation they had been on. They had started in northern Alaska, and were on the last 5 days of their trip before returning to Park City, Utah. Jackie Blake stated “ The southeast and the Tongass is our favorite place in all we have seen of Alaska.” Mine too Jackie, and I have one more day!

The following morning, Tim Bristol, TU’s Alaska Director, picked me up at the hotel and we met Mark at the Auke Harbor launch ramp. Today the plan was to head out to Favorite Channel and troll the saltwater for silvers and then take a few hours in search of some halibut. We boarded Mark’s aluminum skiff and raced out of Auke Bay. Before long, we were setting downriggers with flashers with hootchies (small squid skirts) and plug-cut herring. We varied the depths searching for our first strike. Tim got it and deftly fought our first silver to the boat. This one went in the box. My turn and I had a little trouble keeping fish hooked. Eventually I got over that and over the next few hours we boxed several nice silvers, while pods of humpbacks fed and surfaced all around us.

After a short run, we hit Mark’s halibut spot. On stout conventional gear we set 12/0 circle hooks and 1-pound weights down 200 feet to the bottom. Within minutes I felt life on the end of the line. I raised the rod felt the weight and began to reel. I could feel the head shake, similar to the flounder I catch on the east coast—only this was much bigger. As it surfaced we netted a 20-pound halibut, a perfect size to eat. We boated a larger one about 60 pounds and then we decided to pack it in, head to Mark’s house, and Tim offered to prepare some of those salmon and halibut.

Tim seasoned the fish and grilled them to perfection; dinner was delicious. Listening to Mark and Tim talk about the Tongass I could hear their passion for this area. Like it was their backyards and they wanted to keep it pristine for all those that wish visit.

However, Tim, Mark, and Trout Unlimited can’t do it alone. They need your help.

Sportsmen all over the country are losing these truly amazing opportunities for fish and game. The Tongass National Forest is pristine public land. It’s essentially a salmon forest—and we aim to keep it that way. Trout Unlimited is crafting legislation called the Tongass 77 that would conserve the forest’s highest-value salmon and trout watersheds, some 1.8 million acres, while still leaving over 9 million acres for responsible development, logging, and even hydroelectric power stations. This balanced approach should make a lot of sense to anglers and other sportsmen.

Call, email, or write your legislators, let them know that you support the Tongass 77. And that they should too.

Days 3-4: Exploring Alaska’s Tongass National Forest

Sarah Smith — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 13:58:28 -0500

by Darren Dorris

The day after the hunt, I boarded the Fairweather, a high-speed catamaran run by the Alaska Marine Highway system (AMH) and one of the fastest in its fleet. In a scant four hours, I would travel the 150-plus miles to Juneau. Getting around the Tongass is very unique, with 656,000-plus square miles of islands and water, travelers must go either by air or boat. The AMH makes traveling this region simpler with stops in all the major ports.

While all ferries offer vehicle and passenger space, depending on the length of the trip they offer cabins, restaurants, game rooms and more. The ride from Petersburg to Juneau was filled with the stunning scenes of the famed inside passage. As tired as I was from the previous day’s hunt, the sheer beauty of the glaciers, icebergs, snow capped mountains and whales made it hard to even blink for fear of missing an instant, let alone some sleep.

Juneau is Alaska’s state capital, yet not a single road connects this city to the rest of Alaskan mainland. The only ways in and out are by plane or water, and in this city most visitors arrive by water. Juneau is a major cruise ship destination with almost a million visitors and crews disembarking from April to September. The influx of tourists makes this bustling port one of the most visited cities in all of the Tongass. Even with this huge influx of summer population, the areas directly surrounding Juneau are still as wild as it gets, as I would soon find out.

At the ferry terminal, I was greeted by Mark Kaelke, Trout Unlimited’s Southeast Alaska project director. Mark gave me the quick tour of Juneau beginning with the Mendenhall Glacier. This glacier is a popular tour spot for tourists. With a viewing platform and facilities, this park makes seeing the glacier accessible for all. From there we walked to a small creek just off the parking lot. Here in a crystal-clear small stream I finally caught my first glimpse of what the heartbeat of the Tongass is truly all about--salmon. In the creek were the last of the sockeye salmon finishing out their life cycle spawning and expiring.

Mark and I made plans to fish the following day on a little creek called the Montana. It feeds directly into the Mendenhall River and ultimately runs into the Pacific. The Montana is a major spawning creek for both pink and chum salmon. These types of salmon are two of the lesser sought-after species primarily due to their subpar table fare once they enter the freshwater.

On the Montana Creek--like many other creeks, rivers and streams in the Tongass--once the pinks and chums begin dropping their eggs during the spawn, the Dolly Varden begin their feast. Dolly Varden, a member of the char genus, time their migration into the rivers and streams on the heels of the salmon and feed voraciously on the salmons eggs. These colorful “dollies” as they are known, were our target the following day.

Armed with a Temple Fork 3-weight fly rod, a floating line and an 8-pound tippet, Mark and I drove out to the creek and began the three mile hike to where we would step in. Astonishingly enough, the Montana is just 15 minutes from downtown Juneau, but once in the stream the wilderness takes over.

From the moment we stepped foot in the stream, there was not a square yard that did not have at least five pink or chum salmon in it. The stream was amazingly prolific; salmon both alive and dead were everywhere.

On my orange bead egg’s third drift past a salmon redd (a redd is the depression the female digs out to lay her eggs) I felt the take of my first Dolly. Ounce for ounce these fish can pull. They were constantly using the current to their advantage; I was truly impressed. Many times the fish would run downstream with Mark or I running as well. These fish were simply awesome in a three weight. What was even more impressive were the markings and colors of the fish, they looked like an artist had painted them.

Both Mark and I proceeded to catch countless numbers of fish along the entire three mile stretch back to the car. Some topping out at over two pounds! Every so often I would take a break before my next fish to look around at the lush greenery and soak in the sound of rushing water. This was truly a special place, and it is all yours. The Montana Creek is public land waiting for the people to access it, as is the entire Tongass.

What was even more amazing was the number of spawning salmon we passed on our quest for Dollies. It is a conservative estimate to say thousands and thousands. This really drove home the point that Mark had been making since my arrival: Salmon are truly what the Tongass supports. This 2011 commercial salmon season alone will boast a record harvest for Southeast Alaska, with a net worth of well over $1 billion.

The Tongass is a perfect salmon producing habitat. It has all that the salmon need to procreate and to do so with great abundance. And not only does the Tongass give the salmon a place to grow and spawn, but the salmon give the Tongass nutrients back to grow. Researchers have found that the salmon carcasses left behind by feeding bears and eagles pass organic nutrients back to the trees and vegetation of the Tongass.

Scientists have found conclusive evidence of salmon signature molecules showing up in analyses of ancient trees rings. This fact has given the Tongass the designation of a “Salmon Forest.” While the salmon numbers are impressive, resting on laurels rarely produces the best results. As one would expect, Trout Unlimited understands the interconnectedness of the salmon, the water and the forest, and has taken a “watershed” approach to protecting these vulnerable areas.

Thirty-five percent of the one thousand plus watersheds are protected, but that is not enough. Of the remaining unprotected watersheds, TU has identified 77 of these, roughly 1.8 million acres, as the most prime salmon and trout habitat in all of the Tongass. TU plans to push for legislation to protect them. Named the Tongass 77, the legislation would protect these 77 essential watersheds from industrial encroachment and other threats, and for the first time ever these areas would be managed for the fish, and ultimately be available for generations to come.

By the end of the day, my right arm ached from fighting fish. Other than Mark, I never saw another person all day, and gained a true appreciation for the “dollies” of the Tongass. As for the salmon, at one point during the day I had to actually push the salmon out of the way to cross the creek. That scene will forever be etched in my memory.

The following day promised the chance to get out and catch some of those salmon the Tongass is so good at making, ones that were fresh from the ocean and strong. The following morning I had to meet owner Arne Johnson of Bear Creek Outfitters, and my guide at eight a.m. sharp for a float plane trip in search of pink and silver salmon on a fly.

Days 1-2: Exploring Alaska’s Tongass National Forest

Sarah Smith — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 14:00:47 -0500

by Darren Dorris

It’s 7:00 a.m., and I’m on the only daily commercial flight from Seattle that lands on Mitkof Island in the fishing town of Petersburg, Alaska. As we make our final approach, the clouds and rain are so thick that I can barely see the ground, almost until the plane touches the tarmac. The visibility is about what I expected. After all, I just landed in one of largest temperate rainforests in the world.

The airport terminal consists of a garage and a 1,600-square-foot building. Being an East Coast boy, this isn’t the kind of airport I’m used to, but it seems a fitting location to start my journey into the 17-million-acre Tongass National Forest, in which Petersburg sits smack in the middle.

My first order of business is getting a bead on a Sitka blacktail deer, and my hunting guide Scott Newman is going to help me achieve that goal. The blacktail is indigenous to the coastal temperate rainforests of Southeast Alaska and British Columbia. However similar it appears, the Sitka blacktail is not the same as the common blacktail deer found in parts of the Lower 48. Though I had plenty of whitetail under my belt, I knew the chance at a Sitka blacktail was once-in-a-lifetime. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

Our trek to blacktail glory started with a boat ride to Kupreanof Island, where we found the Suzuki Samurai that Scott had dropped off with a larger boat the day before. Scott’s nephew, Brian (aka Pack Mule), joined us to help carry equipment and set up camp. We drove 15 miles on old logging roads, and then began our nine mile hike into the mountains. Though the climb was rigorous, the setting was spectacular. At one point we were surrounded by skunk cabbage with leaves so big I felt like I was in a scene from Jurassic Park. The smells--Sitka spruce, alder and cedar--were simply intoxicating. I took it all in until we finally reached some level ground and set up camp at the base of the alpine face we would hunt the next morning.

In the Tongass during late summer, blacktail does and fawns feed in the lowlands on the lush rainforest vegetation. The bucks, on the other hand, are high up in the alpine region with their antlers still in velvet. The deer population fluctuates yearly and is very heavily regulated by the harshness or mildness of the Alaskan winters. Blacktails seek winter refuge in old growth forests. Unfortunately, those old growth forests were the target of much of the clear-cut logging that has threatened the Tongass. Clear-cut logging is incredibly destructive. All the trees are simply removed, inviting soil erosion and loss of essential wildlife habitat. The good news is that the U.S. Forest Service has changed its focus from management of old growth logging to managing the younger growth (20-year-old trees). Consequently, the amount of old growth clear-cutting has been significantly reduced.

The existing clear cuts, however, are in need of restoration, and Trout Unlimited has taken on this important project. Impact studies have shown that the Tongass is vital to the Southeast Alaskan economy. TU is working with commercial and sport fishermen and other allies to lobby the Obama Administration and Congress to conserve high-value watersheds and to direct more funding and attention to restoring ones that have been scarred by logging. Through these efforts, TU hopes that future generations will be able to experience blacktail hunts like the one I would embark on at first light.

The next morning, the slope was shrouded in thick clouds, making the “spot” part of “spot and stalk” impossible, so we sat tight and waited. Finally, just after noon, the clouds lifted. Scott continually glassed the lush face for our quarry until he spied three bucks. One of them was a big-bodied 2X2 with good mass and a nice set of eye guards. It was a mature buck that Scott told me in a whisper was bigger than average for the area. We both agreed that this would be our shooter.

After a bit of planning, we climbed into a small ravine that kept us hidden. For two hours we slowly moved closer to the buck. When we popped up, Scott had gotten me within 200 yards of the buck that was still grazing. Everything was now in my hands. I knew that if I missed, I might not get another chance. I raised the gun, but the buck quartered toward me. Though not an ideal shot, I lined up the shoulder as best as I could and squeezed the trigger of my .270 Winchester. The buck dropped. I turned to Scott who was smiling wide.

All I could think was that one day I would return to these mountains to hunt with my son, so he could experience the same rush.