It may seem strange to see Alaska's southeast, which is predominated by the Tongass National Forest, referred to as the "other" Alaska. After all, no destination of Alaska sees more summer visitors than the southeast's largest city and Alaska's capital city, Juneau. Throw in Ketchikan, not terribly far from Juneau, and other southeastern cities like Sitka and the southeast sees over 1 million visitors each summer; considerably more than any other region of Alaska. The version of Alaska that exists in its southeastern reaches, the land of snow-capped alpine peaks, towering sitka spruce, harbors dotted with fishing vessels, float planes and tourist ships, is the version of Alaska that most of us know.
But to anglers, the southeast has always taken somewhat of a backseat. A backseat to the silvers of the Kenai Peninsula, the rainbows of the Bristol Bay interior, the king salmon of rivers like the Kanektok that course through Alaska's southwest. This is, of course, limited to those of us who chase fish for recreation. For sport. To the commercial fisherman, the Alaskan southeast is perhaps the most important region of the state. In recent years, salmon harvests in Alaska's southeast, fed by waters that flow out of the Tongass National Forest, have exceeded all other regions in the state and may continue to do so for years to come.
For fly fishermen, much of the southeast remains off the radar, despite the hard-to-comprehend volume of opportunities that are available not only via relatively short float plane or boat rides from Juneau's ports, but also from the only twenty miles or so of road that spoke out from the city's center and eventually dead end somewhere in the forest. Unlike Alaska's Kenai, accessible to hundreds of thousands of Anchorage residents by highway, the streams and rivers of the Tongass are accessible ultimately only by boat or air (there's no other way to get to Juneau due to the aforementioned lack of roads) and as such are largely as they were hundreds of years ago.
This is not only the land of sitka spruce and hemlock, bald eagles, brown and black bear, but one of dizzying numbers of pink, chum, silver, sockeye salmon and dolly varden.
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Literally just a few short miles from where massive cruise liners dock in downtown Juneau, is Sheep Creek. Despite only offering a few hundred yards of spawning habitat before a waterfall blocks fish passage, this shallow creek is blanketed by thousands of chum salmon when we arrived there in mid July. Following the chum salmon are countless dolly varden, there to feed on the eggs of the chum (photo: Chad Shmukler).
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Only mere inches deep in most parts and no more than a couple feet deep in the biggest holes, spawning fish entering Sheep Creek struggle to swim with most of their bodies out of the water. The creek's surface is never placid for more than a few seconds at a time, as fish moving upstream regularly compete for territory with fish that have already begun digging redds, causing a domino effect of thrashing fish that sets the small creek's surface ablaze (photo: Earl Harper).
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Only mere inches deep in most parts and no more than a couple feet deep in the biggest holes, spawning fish entering Sheep Creek struggle to swim with most of their bodies out of the water. The creek's surface is never placid for more than a few seconds at a time, as fish moving upstream regularly compete for territory with fish that have already begun digging redds, causing a domino effect of thrashing fish that sets the small creek's surface ablaze (photo: Earl Harper).
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Though our quarry here are the dolly varden that have followed the chum salmon into the creek, a healthy number of chum salmon are hooked. Due to the extremely shallow water, some of these are accidentally lined or flossed in the search for dollies, but others -- like those shown here -- will inexplicably break from their spawning behavior to chase and eat an egg imitation. The heft of a 10 pound chum salmon on a 4 or 5 weight rod is a recipe for a sore arm, a broken rod, or both (photo: Chad Shmukler).
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Though our quarry here are the dolly varden that have followed the chum salmon into the creek, a healthy number of chum salmon are hooked. Due to the extremely shallow water, some of these are accidentally lined or flossed in the search for dollies, but others -- like those shown here -- will inexplicably break from their spawning behavior to chase and eat an egg imitation. The heft of a 10 pound chum salmon on a 4 or 5 weight rod is a recipe for a sore arm, a broken rod, or both (photo: Chad Shmukler).
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Though our quarry here are the dolly varden that have followed the chum salmon into the creek, a healthy number of chum salmon are hooked. Due to the extremely shallow water, some of these are accidentally lined or flossed in the search for dollies, but others -- like those shown here -- will inexplicably break from their spawning behavior to chase and eat an egg imitation. The heft of a 10 pound chum salmon on a 4 or 5 weight rod is a recipe for a sore arm, a broken rod, or both (photo: Chad Shmukler).
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The Taku Glacier, one of the seemingly countless glaciers that surround Juneua, is seen here from the air. The Take glacier is a tidewater glacier known to be the thickest glacier in the world at nearly 5,000 feet thick (photo: Chad Shmukler).
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The Taku Glacier, one of the seemingly countless glaciers that surround Juneua, is seen here from the air. The Taku glacier is a tidewater glacier known to be the thickest glacier in the world at nearly 5,000 feet thick (photo: Chad Shmukler).
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Iridescent blue ice is revealed as a small portion of the Taku Glacier, near the glacier's snout, calves into the grey meltwater below (photo: Earl Harper).
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Iridescent blue ice is revealed as a small portion of the Taku Glacier, near the glacier's snout, calves into the grey meltwater below (photo: Chad Shmukler).
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The Taku continues to advance, unlike many other glaciers in the region, which have been negatively impacted by climate change. Of the 20 glaciers in the Juneau Icefield, only the Taku is still advancing.
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The Taku continues to advance, unlike many other glaciers in the region, which have been negatively impacted by climate change. Of the 20 glaciers in the Juneau Icefield, only the Taku is still advancing.
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The Taku continues to advance, unlike many other glaciers in the region, which have been negatively impacted by climate change. Of the 20 glaciers in the Juneau Icefield, only the Taku is still advancing.
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The Taku glacier is also one of the purest and cleanest known glaciers. As a result, ships that have traveled the region since the 19th century have preferred to stock their ice boxes with ice from the Taku. To this day, ice from the Taku glacier is still harvested. The scene below came into view as our DeHavilland Otter soars clear of the glacier and on to the Taku Glacier Lodge, which we later learn harvests ice from the glacier regularly for use in chilling and storing perishables, ice for drinking water and so on, due to the complete lack of electricity at the lodge's remote location.
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A feast of wood-fire grilled Taku River sockeye salmon, which labored over by the staff of the Taku River Lodge during an extensive cooking and smoking process, awaits. The salmon of the Taku River, like those of every river, stream and creek that dots the Tongass, depend on stable, clean, wild habitat to thrive (photo: Chad Shmukler).
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A feast of wood-fire grilled Taku River sockeye salmon, which was labored over by the staff of the Taku River Lodge during an extensive cooking and smoking process, awaits. The salmon of the Taku River, like those of every river, stream and creek that dots the Tongass, depend on stable, clean, wild habitat to thrive (photo: Earl Harper).
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The swirling aroma of salmon and hickory smoke lures more than beer drinking fishermen to bask in its midst, including this black bear, and the three that followed shortly thereafter. Once the guests headed inside for dinner, the bears took to the wood burning grill to clean out the drippings of salmon fat that had fallen into the sand below (photo: Earl Harper).
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The dizzying aroma of salmon and hickory smoke lures more than beer drinking fishermen to bask in its midst, including this black bear, and the three that followed shortly thereafter. Once the guests headed inside for dinner, the bears took to the wood burning grill to clean out the drippings of salmon fat that had fallen into the sand below (photo: Chad Shmukler).
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On the return flight to downtown Juneau, freshwater heavily tinged by glacial silt and flour from the Taku glacier meets saltwater. The interface of the two produces a dramatic sight.
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Near the terminus of the twenty-odd mile long (and only) road that extends northbound leaving Juneau is Kowee Creek, a powerful glacially-fed stream. Lining its banks is lush rainforest, filled with towering evergeens and an understory made up of seemingly jurassic plants with leaves that are likely equally well suited to building shelters as they are to gathering sunlight.
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The invaluable system of complex trail markings, developed by our guides over the course of decades exploring the Alaskan bush, takes weeks of study to fully comprehend (photo: Earl Harper).
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Cowee Creek runs a rich, milky blue-green as a result of the glacial flour suspended in the meltwater that feeds the stream. Even when air temperatures reach their peak, meltwater-fed streams like Cowee remain at chilly, optimal temperatures for salmonids (photo: Chad Shmukler).
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Largely without exception, every leader in the group of eight that has made their way to the creek has something big and pink tied to the end of it. Pink clousers, pink egg sucking leeches, pink dolly llamas, pink zonkers. It matters not, so long as it is pink. Humpies (pink salmon) aren't known for being elusive and the word is anything pink will do. And while the first few casts from the group are uneventful, it is only minutes later before it begins. And once it starts, it doesn't stop until rods are tossed down stream side to rest arms that ache from fighting fish and sides that ache from laughing (photo: Earl Harper).
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Largely without exception, every leader in the group of eight that has made their way to the creek has something big and pink tied to the end of it. Pink clousers, pink egg sucking leeches, pink dolly llamas, pink zonkers. It matters not, so long as it is pink. Humpies (pink salmon) aren't known for being elusive and the word is anything pink will do. And while the first few casts from the group are uneventful, it is only minutes later before it begins. And once it starts, it doesn't stop until rods are tossed down stream side to rest arms that ache from fighting fish and sides that ache from laughing (photo: Earl Harper).
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Largely without exception, every leader in the group of eight that has made their way to the creek has something big and pink tied to the end of it. Pink clousers, pink egg sucking leeches, pink dolly llamas, pink zonkers. It matters not, so long as it is pink. Humpies (pink salmon) aren't known for being elusive and the word is anything pink will do. And while the first few casts from the group are uneventful, it is only minutes later before it begins. And once it starts, it doesn't stop until rods are tossed down stream side to rest arms that ache from fighting fish and sides that ache from laughing (photo: Earl Harper).
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The pink salmon isn't nearly as renowned as other salmon as either a food or game fish, despite being one of the most widely harvested fish by commercial salmon fishermen. On the table, pink salmon is mild and versatile, finding its way into countless canned and prepared food products that contain salmon. On the line and in the hand, pinks are voracious feeders, feisty and beautiful specimens. Pink salmon in for their spawning run vary widely in coloration and in shape, ranging from sleek silver missiles to individuals dressed in all manner of green and pink and blue, some complete with the pronounced hump that spawning pinks develop (photo: Earl Harper).
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The pink salmon isn't nearly as renowned as other salmon as either a food or game fish, despite being one of the most widely harvested fish by commercial salmon fishermen. On the table, pink salmon is mild and versatile, finding its way into countless canned and prepared food products that contain salmon. On the line and in the hand, pinks are voracious feeders, feisty and beautiful specimens. Pink salmon in for their spawning run vary widely in coloration and in shape, ranging from sleek silver missiles to individuals dressed in all manner of green and pink and blue, some complete with the pronounced hump that spawning pinks develop (photo: Earl Harper).
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The pink salmon isn't nearly as renowned as other salmon as either a food or game fish, despite being one of the most widely harvested fish by commercial salmon fishermen. On the table, pink salmon is mild and versatile, finding its way into countless canned and prepared food products that contain salmon. On the line and in the hand, pinks are voracious feeders, feisty and beautiful specimens. Pink salmon in for their spawning run vary widely in coloration and in shape, ranging from sleek silver missiles to individuals dressed in all manner of green and pink and blue, some complete with the pronounced hump that spawning pinks develop (photo: Chad Shmukler).
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The pink salmon isn't nearly as renowned as other salmon as either a food or game fish, despite being one of the most widely harvested fish by commercial salmon fishermen. On the table, pink salmon is mild and versatile, finding its way into countless canned and prepared food products that contain salmon. On the line and in the hand, pinks are voracious feeders, feisty and beautiful specimens. Pink salmon in for their spawning run vary widely in coloration and in shape, ranging from sleek silver missiles to individuals dressed in all manner of green and pink and blue, some complete with the pronounced hump that spawning pinks develop (photo: Chad Shmukler).
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The pink salmon isn't nearly as renowned as other salmon as either a food or game fish, despite being one of the most widely harvested fish by commercial salmon fishermen. On the table, pink salmon is mild and versatile, finding its way into countless canned and prepared food products that contain salmon. On the line and in the hand, pinks are voracious feeders, feisty and beautiful specimens. Pink salmon in for their spawning run vary widely in coloration and in shape, ranging from sleek silver missiles to individuals dressed in all manner of green and pink and blue, some complete with the pronounced hump that spawning pinks develop (photo: Chad Shmukler).
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And then this happens. Amongst the shouts and the laughter and the boasting, we notice one by one -- as we peer up and downriver -- that everyone has a fish. Well, everyone with a rod that is. Matt Smythe, having handed his rod off to photographer Earl Harper, is left to graciously play photographer as we each carefully land our fish near shore. A few shutter clicks later, this widely shared image "Seven Salmon All in a Row" is captured. And, as has been mentioned before, it bears noting that opportunities like the one that precipitated this image continue to arise throughout the day. None of us have likely imagined, let alone seen, this kind of plenty before (photo: Matt Smythe).
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Making our way to another favorite spot a bit farther downriver means tromping through a preposterously bear-friendly meadow that is choked with fireweed that exceeds 8 feet in height in many places. Whiffs of bear musk, whether real or imagined, are detected by more than one angler as we happily but cautiously make our way through the towering weeds. As we emerge on a sandy bank a few hundred yards downstream, we're greeted by a relatively fresh brown bear print (photo: Earl Harper).
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Making our way to another favorite spot a bit farther downriver means tromping through a preposterously bear-friendly meadow that is choked with fireweed that exceeds 8 feet in height in many places. Whiffs of bear musk, whether real or imagined, are detected by more than one angler as we happily but cautiously make our way through the towering weeds. As we emerge on a sandy bank a few hundred yards downstream, we're greeted by a relatively fresh brown bear print (photo: Earl Harper).
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Making our way to another favorite spot a bit farther downriver means tromping through a preposterously bear-friendly meadow that is choked with fireweed that exceeds 8 feet in height in many places. Whiffs of bear musk, whether real or imagined, are detected by more than one angler as we happily but cautiously make our way through the towering weeds. As we emerge on a sandy bank a few hundred yards downstream, we're greeted by a relatively fresh brown bear print (photo: Earl Harper).
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Temperatures soared into the eighties and the mid-afternoon sun beats down through uncharacteristic bluebird skies. With the number of pink salmon brought to hand long into the hundreds, it is easy to take a seat, despite the otherworldly fish catching opportunities that lay just feet away. Still, guide Mark Heironymous, the only one present that has regular access to the bounty of the Tongass, rebuilds his rig to chase a few fat pinks that are sunning themselves in a back eddy not far below.
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Temperatures having soared into the eighties and the mid-afternoon sun beats down through uncharacteristic bluebird skies. With the number of pink salmon brought to hand long into the hundreds, it is easy to take a seat, despite the otherworldly fish catching opportunities that lay just feet away. Still, guide Mark Heironymous, the only one present that has regular access to the bounty of the Tongass, rebuilds his rig to chase a few fat pinks that are sunning themselves in a back eddy not far below.
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After a stifling, 2 mile walk back in waders through the steaming, verdant Tongass rainforest, backs ache, shirts are soaked and feet are sore. The fact that sultry summer days and muggy forest walks aren't supposed to be part of an Alaskan summer is lost on no one. As we arrive back at the creek's intersection with the road, some of us have yet to have enough, returning to the river to chase down more pinks, while the rest of the group moves on to finer pursuits (photo: Earl Harper).
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After a stifling, 2 mile walk back in waders through the steaming, verdant Tongass rainforest, backs ache, shirts are soaked and feet are sore. The fact that sultry summer days and muggy forest walks aren't supposed to be part of an Alaskan summer is lost on no one. As we arrive back at the creek's intersection with the road, some of us have yet to have enough, returning to the river to chase down more pinks, while the rest of the group moves on to finer pursuits (photo: Earl Harper).
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After a stifling, 2 mile walk back in waders through the steaming, verdant Tongass rainforest, backs ache, shirts are soaked and feet are sore. The fact that sultry summer days and muggy forest walks aren't supposed to be part of an Alaskan summer is lost on no one. As we arrive back at the creek's intersection with the road, some of us have yet to have enough, returning to the river to chase down more pinks, while the rest of the group moves on to finer pursuits (photo: Earl Harper).
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After a stifling, 2 mile walk back in waders through the steaming, verdant Tongass rainforest, backs ache, shirts are soaked and feet are sore. The fact that sultry summer days and muggy forest walks aren't supposed to be part of an Alaskan summer is lost on no one. As we arrive back at the creek's intersection with the road, some of us have yet to have enough, returning to the river to chase down more pinks, while the rest of the group moves on to finer pursuits (photo: Earl Harper).
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After a stifling, 2 mile walk back in waders through the steaming, verdant Tongass rainforest, backs ache, shirts are soaked and feet are sore. The fact that sultry summer days and muggy forest walks aren't supposed to be part of an Alaskan summer is lost on no one. As we arrive back at the creek's intersection with the road, some of us have yet to have enough, returning to the river to chase down more pinks, while the rest of the group moves on to finer pursuits (photo: Earl Harper).
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After a stifling, 2 mile walk back in waders through the steaming, verdant Tongass rainforest, backs ache, shirts are soaked and feet are sore. The fact that sultry summer days and muggy forest walks aren't supposed to be part of an Alaskan summer is lost on no one. As we arrive back at the creek's intersection with the road, some of us have yet to have enough, returning to the river to chase down more pinks, while the rest of the group moves on to finer pursuits (photo: Chad Shmukler).
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