Mysterious remains nearby

Beach logs

Camp

It rained during the night and we were awakened several times by little streams of water falling off branches onto the top of the tent.  We heard a boat enter the harbor and go straight to the creek early in the morning, so we suspected we weren't the only ones who had come for cohos.  I rowed out to the boat to pick up breakfast and lunch, feeling a little better after a night of sleep and willing schools of cohos to come in in the dark.  After oatmeal and cafe francais for breakfast, we packed up and headed to the creek; I carried the backpack and poles and Chris slung the Howard Moon (our inflatable) on his back in case we wanted to row across the lake.  We normally prefer to fish up there at the entrance to Pavlof River, but I had my doubts about whether any coho would be up there yet.  Salmon runs across the state had been late, and if the Pavlof run was just beginning (as seemed to be the case so far), there was a good change they hadn't acclimated enough to fresh water to journey up there yet.  I'd also noticed that the water running over the falls and, more importantly, through the fish ladder, was high, and it seemed possible that the fish would let it lay down before venturing up as well.  All in all, I was doubtful that there would be fish in the lake; if there were any at all, I expected we'd catch them below the falls as they nosed their way into fresh water for the first time in over a year.

A boat similar to our own was anchored in the creek (meaning the channel between the bottom of the falls and the open bay); the occupants were friendly, had had no luck with cohos, and said they'd leave us alone (which was a wonderful acknowledgement of Chris and my secret desire to have the area all to ourselves).  It turned out that we never had much company for long, but at least half a dozen boats came in over the weekend that appeared to be targeting cohos; all left within the hour.  Chris and I stuck it out!  We spread out along the beach fishing into the amber water, seeing occasional jumps of what appeared to be salmon.  I worked my way down toward the entrance of the bay, thinking that cohos like to nose their way into fresh water and I might have luck with newcomers down there.  And, in fact, I was the first to get a fish on!  A flash of a jumping belly confirmed it was a salmon, but this fish fought like a monster.  Chris grabbed a good bonking rock and came to my assistance, but I was unable to reel the fellow in.  In fact, after some time went by, I became convinced that I'd snagged this fish based on my inability to reel it in even when it wasn't running--it felt just like any of several fish I've snagged and struggled to bring in close enough to release.  This went on for quite some and finally the line broke and the fish escaped.  I named him Atlantis because he felt huge, was underwater, and impossible to find.

But at least that proved that there were fish there.  Not long afterwards, Chris got a fish on and I rushed to assist.  When this guy came into the shallows I was afraid it was a pink, as it seemed a little dusky, and I said as much to Chris partly to not get his hopes up in case it was.  When it got close, though, it suddenly became apparent that it was, in fact, a coho, but I didn't tell Chris this in case she got away!  When she was worn out and close to shore, I finally guided her up onto the beach, pounced, and knocked her out with the wonderful, spear-like bonking rock Chris had found.  A beautiful coho!  Chris caught two more cohos along that same stretch, and we were starting to cheer up a bit.  Each one was hard won, but we averaged about one an hour during that time.  I may have had one on briefly as well, but the only thing I landed was a pan-sized dolly (the only one of eating size we caught all day) up near the bottom of the falls, which we kept for dinner.  By that time we were pretty exhausted; the sun was out and we were resting on the beach, having a snack and taking a break.  Chris commented that it was more relaxing without having to worry about bears (presumably not around because there were not yet abundant fish to catch).  I was about to mention this big brown rock across the creek that kept making me think of a bear and, as I glanced up at it, I saw a real brown bear amble into view!  It crossed the flats below the falls and Chris and I decided we'd better retrieve the Howard Moon which we'd stashed right next to the waterfall, as bears like to chew on rubber and it was our only dry way to reach the boat.  So I started casting again and Chris walked up to pick up the boat; as he did so, he talked and waved to the bear to let it know he was there, standard behavior.  The bear, however, did not respond in your typical bear-at-a-fishing-hole way!  It locked eyes with Chris and, instead of carrying on its own business or moving away, actually came straight at him.  He wasn't aggressive or moving very fast, but bears don't normally approach.  Chris retreated back to me (sans boat) and we scrambled to grab our belongings.  Chris grabbed the fish, but the knot on the string they were tied together with broke and the fish scattered on the ground.  In the meantime, I was scrambling to pack all our food and tackle into the backpack.  Chris scooped up the coho by the gills and I grabbed the dolly and we waited.  Sure enough, Ernesto (as we later named him) showed up at the point upcreek from us and continued to come in our direction when we yelled at him, stopping to thoroughly sniff the area we'd been resting (also near where we'd cleaned a fish).  We retreated down the beach and around the corner nearer our campsite.  Ernesto did not follow, but we decided to fish from the boat for a while to avoid his curiosity.  His behavior was so unusual I think he may have figured out an association between free fish (or other food) and humans; that or he was so hungry that, lacking a fishy meal on his own, he was exploring all possibilities; or both.  Either way, fishing from shore was less appealing.  It was funny, having fished in such close association with bears on many other occasions, to be unnerved by this one.

Of course we still needed the Howard Moon to get to the Kathy M, which had been left behind!  We put our fish in the water and decided to wait a few minutes before venturing back less encumbered.  In the meantime, we walked up to a cliff face at the top of the beach that had a little cave indentation.  Right next to it, the cliff had a black streak that looked a bit like a smoke stain, and I wondered if Tlingits had sheltered in that cave and lit fires nearby often enough to blacken the rock.  Inside the cave I found clusters of crystals (see photo to right) on the ceiling and quite a few mussel shells on the ground.  I'd read recently that Pavlof Harbor was a traditional fish station for Tlingits and that the Hudson's Bay Trading Company had (apparently illegally) traded with Tlingits there in the 1860s.  I liked that the run we were harvesting from was an old run, long utilized by the people of Southeast Alaska.  The pilings on the other side of the harbor and the equipment rusting near the waterfall are probably the remains of a fish processing plant and/or saltery that operated there in the early 1900s.

Aftera few minutes, Chris and I went back to the creek, creeping along the narrow shelf of beach between the water and the alders, hailing the bear loudly, and hoping he had wandered off.  We saw no sign of him and successfully retrieved the Howard Moon, which transformed Chris into "Raftso" on the way back, which surely would have intimidated Ernesto had we run into him again.  I was interested to see that he had not eaten the salmon roe that I'd failed to throw far enough into the creek when I'd cleaned the fish earlier.  Back near camp, I rowed out to the boat, picked up Chris, our fish, and our gear, and headed back to the mouth of the creek.  It was quiet inside and the tide was low, so we anchored right at the entrance to the bay and fished there after icing our catch.  Everything had gone quiet except for the occasional splash somewhere in the bay.  Ernesto showed up back in the creek, swimming across the deep water even though he was only about 50 feet from the shallows that he could cross on foot; he bopped around on the opposite shore for a bit while we fished, moving a little farther into the creek after having no luck at the entrance.  Just as a couple of Lund skiffs entered the bay, coming our way, Chris got a fish on while standing in the bow.  Neither of us had really considered what would happen if someone got a fish on up there; with the full cabin behind them, it's awkward to move around the Kathy M!  I didn't have much hope for saving this fish, but I grabbed the net and got ready.  Sure enough the fish immediately headed to the stern; I thought we'd lose it for sure if it did anything back there under the boat or near the engines, so I sprung to action.  Somehow I managed to grab the line and direct the fish straight into my net, landing him in about 20 seconds.  Chris, in the meantime, was holding his pole in the air over the cabin to give it as much room as possible.  We're pretty sure the other boats didn't even know we had a fish on!

They wound up being pretty interesting people, though.  They, too, were from Hoonah, but were staying around the corner in Freshwater Bay (something about a float house, we think).  One of the boats headed up the creek for a few minutes, drifting past us on the way back, and one of the two kids excitedly told us a story about a whale breaching onto their boat.  Apparently they were halibut fishing when a whale breached right next to them out of nowhere (they said they had seen a whale some distance away, but didn't know this one was there), and landed on the boat, capsizing it and forcing them to swim to shore.  The kid was quite excited about it, which I understood even better when the boat spun in the water and the man pointed out the big, concave indentation in the side of the boat where the whale landed!  I later saw a news story on it in town. 

This party soon left the harbor and Chris and I had the creek to ourselves again.  I was thinking that the creek might be a good place to fish on the rising tide, as they say fish come in and like to bite on rising tides, so I wanted to be there at about 6:30 when it turned.  We went up as far as we could, in the range of some of the pools on the opposite side where they like to jump and, we guessed, pool up.  A couple of times I repositioned, inching farther up and into closer proximity to them.  Since Chris was having the most luck, he got the position in the bow closest to the best pools and I fished from the stern.  As he was getting more strikes, I eventually traded places with him, starting to get discouraged that I'd had no success all day.  Not that I wasn't thrilled that Chris was catching fish, but I wanted a little satisfaction too!  We had four in the cooler at that point, which was all we came home with last summer, so at least we had that to show for our efforts.  I had secretly thought all day that four was the number to beat, and I hoped to be the one to beat it.  I cast across the creek, toward the falls, and into a pool directly ahead of the boat.  Finally, the tackle I'd been using most of the day flew off into the creek and I had to tie on a new swivel and choose a new lure.  Back on the bow, I was reinvigorated and felt more collected and confident.  And, some minutes later, I had a fish on from the pool directly in front of us.  We landed it and I sighed a sigh of relief.  We'd beat four, AND I had a fish!  What a good day.

We drifted out of the creek  Chris cast a few times, then we made our way to the beach and unloaded dinner before I anchored the boat and rowed to shore.  By the time I got back, Chris had gathered a bunch of firewood, somewhat drier after a day of sunshine, and we were soon cooking the veggies I'd cut up at home in a tin pan over the fire next to the dolly wrapped in tinfoil.  I heated tortillas over the rocks and soon we ate a dinner cooked entirely over the campfire (thanks go to Katie for inspiring this meal on our Tracy Arm adventure).  The evening was glorious.  The bay was still and devoid of boats and a tinge of alpenglow colored the peaks of Admiralty Island.  Chris sat up later than I did and saw a vibrant shooting star, which reminded me that the aurora was supposed to be strong that night.  I got back up and we watched pale green northern lights cover the sky for some time. It was so pleasant Chris made the comment that perhaps Ernest had gotten us after all, and here we were in paradise.

View out of the cave	Taking a break in the sun	Dolly Varden tacos!
Pavlof Harbor	Enjoying the view from our campsite	Roasted sand fleas

We accidentally slept in the next morning much later than I'd intended.  I woke to hear a boat coming in, aimed for the creek.  It apparently came to the same conclusion as the other boats and left before we finished breakfast, honking to say hello (I assume) as they left the bay.  While heating up water, I noticed some orange bits in the fire pit and wondered what scraps we'd dropped in there.  Then it occurred to me that we hadn't cooked to produce orange bits and, on closer inspection, they turned out to be sand fleas or similar arthopods which had cast themselves into the hot ashes to cook bright red and perish.  Poor creatures!

After breakfast, Chris and I headed to the creek to fish unsuccessfully for a while from shore.  The tide was higher, which left less beach for fishing, and soon a mother bear and older cub showed up near the falls.  We didn't yell this time, but simply retreated another point away when they headed in our direction.  We stopped and waited a few minutes, and mother and cub emerged from the vegetation 50 feet away.  This time we did yell, resulting in a stunningly beautiful image of the mother on her hind legs, her cub in front of her, watching us (I wish the situation had allowed for a photo).  They seemed neither wary nor interested, but given the lack of available beach to share with them, we decided to fish from the boat again.  On the way back we ran into a family from Whitehorse that had just come ashore and warned them of the bears; they asked about halibut fishing, so I gave them what little I knew and they soon left the bay.

Back at the boat, we inched our way as far as we could go up the creek and started casting again.  Chris's goal of catching a fish was hard won.  His first fish escaped after a long battle just as I was getting ready to net it.  The second fish I lost through clumsy netting.  The third and fourth we managed to land, but I lost my own fish trying to horse it into the net.  All the while we continued to see the most activity from the pool right below the edge of the shallow wash below the falls, tantalizingly out of reach.  Finally, Chris rowed to shore and walked out there, only to find it thick with little dollies.  On his way back I got a fish on and, heroically, Chris threw down his pole, ran to the shore, and hastily rowed out to help.  This fish we landed, bringing our count happily to eight.  Chris then caught a large dolly which we decided to keep for dinner.  By then the tide was getting low, so we drifted out and anchored at the mouth.  We were both exhausted and tempted to rest, but a fish exploded off the stern and I rushed to cast in its direction.  A couple of casts later, a coho followed my hook in to just the moment when it was rising to the surface.  Encouraged, I continued to cast, moving to the bow to target a jump there.  I had no luck and soon joined Chris in a break.  The afternoon was beautiful and we decided to row to the river across the lake.  I still didn't expect any activity there, but we were tired of casting and the lake is very beautiful.  We left the Kathy M at anchor, rowed to shore, then hiked up to the top of the waterfall with the Howard Moon in tow.  It took me 30 minutes to row across the lake, awkwardly, as I never could get the same pull from both oars at one time.  As expected, we found nothing more than a few small trout and lots of sticks at the river mouth, but it was a pleasure to trade the noisy falls for the calm of the lake.  Chris rowed us back in better time and we made it to the boat around 7:00.  I don't think we tried casting much more, but headed back to camp, Chris by land and I by boat.  I took the time to fuel the Kathy M then, adding 30 gallons.  Several yachts had entered the bay by then and one took his dog to shore and then headed in my direction as I plopped onto the Howard Moon with dinner.  He said he was going to offer me a ride to shore and then we chatted a little bit.  I made it to shore, then realized I'd forgotten the dolly and had to return.

"Raftso"	The falls at Pavlof Harbor	Crossing the lake
Fishing at the mouth of the river	Low tide at the falls	Dolly Varden ravioli!

In the meantime, Chris had again gathered firewood and we commented on how well it burned despite its dampness and the rainy summer.  I was out of tinfoil and had forgotten the last tin pan in the boat, so I went on an expedition and found some skunk cabbage upslope in the woods where there was more light and gathered a couple of leaves.  I'd always wanted to bury a fish wrapped in skunk cabbage leaves with coals on a beach!  But, I also wasn't willing to go to that much time and effort, so I laid the fish on the coals of our campfire and heated up ravioli on the camp stove.  As time went by, I was dubious about the results, but it actually worked amazingly well.  The skunk cabbage leaves are so moist they resist burning, and the fish cooked nicely inside.  When the ravioli was ready, most of the dolly was cooked, and we plopped pieces of it in, leaving the rest to finish cooking to eat later.  The ravioli could have been better, but the fish was the best dolly I'd ever eaten.  It was another pleasant, mild evening and I took a walk a few points down the beach, enjoying the riot of wildflowers lining the edge of the forest including the brilliant red Indian paintbrush that seem to have followed our boating adventures this summer.

That night we shared the bay with several boats, thankfully quiet ones.  I awoke and packed up about 8:00, then brought the boat ashore and made breakfast while Chris packed and struck the tent.  We left the bay at 9:15 under an overcast sky; Chatham Straight had just a small following sea, which was encouraging, but we weren't underway for long.  I'd allowed myself one hour of halibut fishing on the way back, so we ducked into Iyoukeen Cove and picked an area I thought was the right depth based on the chart I had (the Kathy M has no depth sounder).  I bated my hook and dropped it, shocked to feel obvious nibbling within a few minutes.  I pulled up my first halibut after about five minutes!  It seemed pretty small, so I released it with Chris's leatherman.  No more than another five minutes went by when I had another strike and pulled up another small halibut, which shook loose close to the surface.  I repositioned then, going a little north and into deeper water, and was again rewarded with an almost instant bite!  This was pretty exciting stuff, and I finally realized why people enjoy halibut fishing.  Up to this point, I was dubious that anyone ever caught one!  Unfortunately, this third halibut was very difficult to release; I broke Chris's leatherman in the process and left the poor fish with a big, ugly hole in his chin and a lot of stress.  Horrible stuff, really, and I was very upset by it.  Nevertheless, I dropped the hook one last time and was rewarded with a fish actually running with the line.  I wasn't sure if halibut did that, so I didn't know what to expect when I pulled it up.  It felt about the same as the others, but again ran with the line as it came up.  It turned out to be another halibut, somewhat bigger than the others (possibly a keeper, but I wasn't sure), and was an easier release.  I looked at my watch and saw that it had been exactly an hour, so I dumped the rest of the herring and we headed out.  While I'd been fishing, we'd watched several whales including a lone whale lunge feed, as well as a group of harbor porpoise (another advantage to drifting instead of trolling).