Sweetheart Creek 2009
July 29-30


The Little Bitty in Stephen's Passage, Admiralty Island behind

We'd planned it a month in advance--Thursday to avoid the weekend rush, late July to correspond with the peak of the run, a rising tide to bring the fish.   I left work at 11:00 am and headed out in search or ice, swinging by Taku Fisheries where I'd heard they provide ice to sport fishermen for free; their ice would be better quality and grocery store ice is ridiculously expensive.  I was a little unsure of myself as I cautiously wandered among the totes stacked on either side of a narrow alley behind the plant, and was relieved to finally catch the eye of someone on a forklift.  The driver suggested that I speak to "the big man" on the dock.  The big man (boss?) looked a little cleaner than the other workers on the dock, and graciously pointed me toward a large tote of ice with a bucket in it near the ice house and a bunch of harbor style carts.  I wheeled a cart back through the narrow passage of totes and harrowing forklifts to my truck, loaded it with two coolers, and made my way back. I could only take one full cooler at a time, so had to make several trips through to load all the ice and return the cart to the other side.  But, the fine ice was well worth the 15 minutes of work, and I have a great deal of respect and appreciation for Taku Fisheries for making it available.

At home I finished packing up and headed to the harbor with Chris for a 1:00 departure.  We arrived a bit early, so had a picnic lunch and a beer on the back of the Ronquil while Dru launched the Little Bitty.  We were in another stretch of spectacular sunny weather and I was in pretty good spirits.  We met up with Dru outside the harbor and sped our way south in the sunshine.  I turned and paused around the corner of Pt. Tantallon to look for orcas (there were reports), but saw nothing.  About an hour and 15 minutes later we pulled into the Whiting River inlet, passing two eagles perched picturesquely together on a log just downriver from the homestead.  Dru anchored his boat while Chris and I grabbed a kayak and my halibut personal use gear from shore and dropped off some of our gear.  The deck in front of the lodge was warm and sunny as we tromped around on it and the air had that heady summer smell; a big part of me wanted to just sit around on the deck all afternoon.  Instead, we attached two new hooks to the personal use long line, rewrote my contact information on the enormous pink buoy, and stuck an old herring and a pink salmon head to the hooks.  Then we picked up Dru and his gear and, with the kayak resting across the back of the Ronquil, sped over to Sweetheart Creek to find five boats at anchor there.  On the way in we tried several times to drop the long line, but kept winding up in water that was too deep (my fathometer isn't functional) and eventually wound up not far from the dungeness crab pot buoys in fairly shallow water; Gilbert Bay drops into deep water quickly, apparently.  I dropped the guys off, anchored my boat among the others, and returned to shore, pulling the kayak high up into the grass to avoid the rising tide.  We crossed the wooded peninsula to the creek and headed upstream, passing a few groups fishing, including some folks on our favorite fishing point at the middle falls.  We went one point farther up and decided to try casting off the point next to the highest small waterfall.  I'd bought a new net this year, so took the privilege of the first casts.  I first brought it a jack, then three pinks, then a sockeye.  We weren't quite set up, but managed to land it, realizing that we'd forgot to bring a line to string the fish.  The group at the point seemed to be leaving, so we sent Chris over there to claim it if they left.  He chatted with them, then indicated that we could come over, so we repositioned there.  The creek was pretty high, which we were prepared for, but there was enough room on the point to work comfortably and we found a short piece of line someone had left behind that would suffice for stringing.  Until I heard the reports I wouldn't have believed that Sweetheart would be in a flood state during such a sunny summer, but apparently it responds to snow melt more than rainfall.  Nevertheless, we found sufficient room on the point to work.  Chris soon took his turn casting and brought in another gorgeous sockeye.  When not catching fish we were entertained by a man in a wet suit wading into the creek below us (dangerously we thought) and throwing a spear into the turbid water.  He eventually made his way toward our point and lost his footing as he began to climb up.  Dru and I held the dip net toward him and pulled him to shore.  Although he protested that he didn't need any help as he was clambering up the rocks, Dru and I knew he would have been out in deep water if we hadn't stepped in.  Our behavior toward him was somewhat more leisurely than you might expect, as we'd both had first hand experience in Sweetheart Creek.  The current takes an unexpected detour just short of the lower falls back into shallow water, so he probably wasn't in any danger.  We could all smell the alcohol on his breath from some distance.  In all, we fished there for a little over an hour, but never caught another sockeye.  There were some jacks in there, a few trout, but neither we nor anyone else around us was having much luck.  We decided to head back in preparation for an early morning start.  I got to carry the sockeyes out.

On the way back to the boat we schemed about how to maneuver for the best fishing spot the next day.  We'd chatted with some folks who were trying to fish where we'd first started and indicated that they'd caught 15 fish on the point that morning and that the people on the other side of the creek were slaying them.  Their theory was that having groups on both sides forced the fish back and forth as they fled the nets.  I could see where, with limited fish, the sockeyes in the pool we were casting into might all flee to safety on the other side and stay there.  Sockeye returns were down in general this year, and some people theorized that the high water was discouraging them from coming up.  So we decided to fish the other side of the river, across from the coveted point, where we'd had great luck the very first year we fish Sweetheart.  Getting to the other side of the creek, though, was an issue, especially at flood.  I remember being terrified to cross it in years past when the water was lower.  Dru thought he could do it easily in his waders, but Chris had only xtratuffs.  I had hip waders but was pretty concerned about it, and I certainly couldn't piggyback anyone.  We decided that I would drop the boys off early in the morning and they would split up at the creek, Dru crossing to attempt to claim the point we wanted, and Chris heading up on the near side to the coveted point in case the other was taken first (which is a favorite of dip netters).  I would anchor the boat near the mouth of the creek and kayak upstream; if Chris was there, I'd know that Dru had the point across the creek and could ferry him and the gear across.  If he wasn't there, I'd know that he was claiming the point.  I thought it was a good plan, but I wanted to make sure that Dru was going to be able to cross the creek.  He assured me it would be no problem, but I made him wade in anyway and he thought it was fine.  So we checked the halibut line, replaced the missing herring, and headed back to the homestead.  Gilbert Bay was motionless, the sky flawlessly blue (see photo to left).  We ate pasta and zucchini, played some rounds of Scattergories, and went to bed relatively early. 

The 3:00 am alarm felt better than I expected it would, all things considered, but I certainly wasn't anxious to get out of bed.  We threw on the clothes we had ready and made our way to the lodge in the dark.  Dru was already up.  I ate a hasty breakfast, grabbed my day pack, and kayaked out to the boat, picking up the guys at about 3:45.  It's really too bad that we have to get there so early, but we're not particularly good fishermen, so having the prime spots are important!  And, these days, Sweetheart fills up fast.  There was about the same number of boats at anchor when we pulled up (see photo to right).  I dropped the guys off with most of the gear, then puttered my way toward the creek's outlet.  The sun was coming up, but it was still pretty dusky, and my heart started racing when what I thought was a clump of seaweed turned out to be sandbar I was approaching.  There are lots of shallows around the end of Gilbert Bay that are unintuitive.  I couldn't see well enough to be sure where the outlet to the creek was, but I decided to anchor in front of the only indentation in the shoreline that I could see (things make a lot less sense in the half light).  Unfortunately, I could not get the anchor to catch.  First I dropped the anchor in water that was too deep and had to reposition (my fathometer is no longer functioning).  On the second try I drug the anchor around and around and around and could not get it to take hold (and, yes, I had plenty of scope played out).  I finally pulled the anchor up and repositioned, again dragging it around a ridiculous amount before it finally caught.  I probably wouldn't have pulled anchor anyway, but didn't want to take the risk of my boat wandering off.  The noseeums were out, biting any piece of skin I exposed (my lower back got four or five bites while I was bending over the anchor).  Thus, I wasn't in a very good mood when I started kayaking in.  Thankfully, the indentation turned out to be the mouth of the creek and I was able to cut through a side channel  to the main  creek.  There the water was about two feet deep, choppy, and running very fast.  Walking across was out of the question, so I got in the kayak and paddled like mad, winding up about 20 feet downriver from where I'd started.  That didn't bother me so much, but from there I had to walk along the shore pulling the kayak with me through the stiff current, the nose of the kayak getting caught up in clumps of grass, logs, and other debris.  I was tired, and not having a very good time.  When I approached the bottom pool, my state of irritation was not helped by the sight of both Dru and Chris on the opposite side of the creek.  Dru was signaling to me in a most cryptic manner and Chris was waving cheerfully.  I'm ashamed that I only scowled back.  Over the din of the roaring creek upstream I finally came to understand that both points were open.  I got ready to cross in the kayak and Chris moved downstream in preparation for my being swept down as I crossed.

Reunited on the opposite side, we agreed to take the point on the opposite side.  Dru had discovered that the water was swifter and the crossing more treacherous than he'd realized, but found the pole of an old landing net that he thought he could use to brace himself.  Chris and I watched as he slowly made his way across.  The sun was making the tops of the mountains glow and it looked to be another fine day.  Next Chris and I had to figure out how to cross with ourselves and all our gear.  It was unnerving enough to cross that I really didn't want to do it twice.  So, we loaded everything up, Chris climbed on board, and I waded in as far as I could up toward the pool.  Then I sat down and paddled as hard as I felt I could without pushing our instability over the edge.  With the two of us and the gear, the boat only had a couple of inches of freeboard.  But, the creek isn't very wide, so I was soon able to jump out and pull Chris across the side stream that breaks off from the main current below the lowest pool.  Whew.  We pulled the kayak up into the bushes and tied it off, then trekked along the slippery, mucky trail upstream through the woods.  The bank there was very steep and we inadvertently took the higher trail, winding up about 30 feet straight above the water looking down a near-vertical slide of muddy bedrock and a few roots.  Somehow we managed to boulder our way down with our gear without killing ourselves.  Chris and I settled onto the little point right below the upper falls and Dru got into the water just below where he could assist with landing fish.  After a few minutes to settle ourselves, we started casting and we started getting fish.  Chris pulled in the first sockeye and we scrambled to land it effectively, proving ourselves a little awkward, the fish getting tangled in the net while we maneuvered around the slippery point to take care of it.  From there we were a bit better set up, pulling the fish onto the point to stun and bleed them, then stringing them and handing them off to Dru to tie off to a nearby branch.  I pulled in one, then Chris pulled in two at once, and soon I pulled in two at once, then he got another.  I tried a sneaky trick that I'd watched another fisherman do a few years earlier to my group.  I casually waited to cast until a moment after the group on the opposite point cast, hoping to capture fleeing fish.  It's how I got all the fish that morning, but it could have been a coincidence.

After those seven fish the pool dried up.  No one in sight was catching much of anything.  It seemed like there were two possibilities: either we had fished out the pool, which was not being replenished, or all the sockeye in it were cleverly hanging out in the narrow stretch of turbid water in the middle of the creek where neither side could catch then.  Either way it's not much fun to cast over and over again and catch what seemed like the same pink salmon and jack sockeye again and again; plus, the rising tide was going to change soon, making me nervous about boating into the estuary where I hoped to pick up the boys.  We called it quits around 8:00 am, deciding to try some trolling and/or halibut fishing on the way back.  Dru graciously agreed to carry out all the fish and we all stumbled and slipped our way downstream.  Thankfully, we found the lower path and didn't have to scale the slimy gorge on the way up.  Back at the lower pool, I pulled Chris across the side stream in the kayak, then left them to go fetch the boat.  The plan was for the boys to walk down the creek as far as they could into the flats and for me to meet them there in the Ronquil.  This prevented anyone from having to cross the creek again now that we had fish.  But first I had to kayak down!  It was so much fun.  The water is very swift, giving rise in some areas to 1' standing waves.  It careened around corners, split around shallow areas, and the run was over with far too quickly.  I was spit out into a placid bay and kayaked over crystal clear water on the way to the boat, looking down onto the sandbars I'd avoided that morning far beneath me.  Several seals went about their business, completely at ease with the kayak, and allowed me to get surprisingly close (maybe because I wasn't trying to).  Thankfully, pulling anchor was easier than setting it, and I soon puttered into the estuary to pick the boys up.  It was really spectacular to see the bottom of the inlet with such clarity--some of the clearest water I've ever seen.  On our way out, Chris saw the whole body of a very spotted seal underwater.

Dru crossing the creek	Sunrise on the mountains	Part of the treacherous trail
The guys waiting in the estuary	The reef where we had lunch	Dru trolling
Tide line in Taku Inlet	Sockeye	Portioned, vacuum packed, and ready for the freezer

I was pretty relieved to leave the tidal area behind and hit deep water.  We pulled the personal use halibut line again; the herring was gone and the pink head greatly nibbled upon, but there was nothing attached.  We continued on to the homestead where Dru packed up and Chris and I started cleaning fish on the bow of the boat, simultaneously keeping it from going aground.  When Dru was ready he came and finished cleaning and icing the fish and I closed up the lodge.  We left at about 10:00 and cruised over to South Island along the shore of Admiralty right across from the mouth of Snettisham.  Dru started trolling between the islands, but Chris and I were hungry, so we headed over to the inner edge of South Island and dropped the anchor on a big rock at the edge of the reef, enjoying lunch and beers in the sunshine.  By the time we were done we'd decided to call it a day, as we still had processing ahead of us, Chris wanted to work a half day, and I needed to be somewhat awake at work on Friday.  Dru readily agreed and we headed to Juneau, bumping in a little bit of a northerly chop until we got in the lee of Grand Island.  I stopped there for a moment, in part to clip the tail fins of the fish, which I'd forgotten to do on the creek.  In Taku Inlet we passed a dramatic tide line in the water.  Back at the harbor, Dru pulled up with the Little Bitty in tow just as Chris and I finished loading the truck with our gear and fish.  We agreed to meet up back at my place as soon as we could to start processing; Chris went straight to work and I stopped by Costco for vacuum bags.  About an hour later Dru came by with his vacuum packer.  He filleted all the fish in the garage while I set about vacuum packing Chris and my share of the catch.  Dru didn't vacuum pack his fish, so it was a fairly painless process and soon all portions were securely in the freezer.

Dru and I came away from this trip a bit discouraged, and both decided we may not return.  The creek is ridiculously crowded (there were 14 boats at anchor when we left) and fishing there is a tremendous amount of work when you're not catching very much sockeye.  Maybe the first few years were anomalies, but we remembered catching sockeyes in nearly every cast and worrying about how we were going to get all the fish out, not getting up at 3:00 am just to find a spot to fish.  Maybe we're too impatient--we certainly would have caught more fish if we'd stuck around longer.  Regardless, we were both running out of enthusiasm for the Sweetheart experience, and five fish won't get Chris and me through the winter.

Sweetheart Creek from the point