July 28, 2007

I was standing knee deep in Campbell Creek with a dozen soon-to-be-dead kings splashing in the deep pool in front of me. I cast into the pool, hoping to find some trout waiting for eggs or pieces of flesh to detach from the big red fishes. A cracking in the brush caught me mid retrieve. I looked over my shoulder and in the exact location I had last encountered one of my local moose calf friends, a light brown fuzzy critter emerged. I turned back to my lure to be able to avoid any unwanted attention from the big fish.

The fish were big. Earlier I had found a dead one laying in the shallows. Its jaws were grotesquely hooked inwardly, its flesh was bright red. The eyes had been removed by birds. I stepped off the length of the fish. I had to do it twice because I couldn’t believe a fish more than four feet long could be swimming in such a small stream.

I finished my retrieve and looked back over my shoulder to say hello to one of my friendly neighborhood moose babies. “Hello moo……”, I started, intending to make sure the critter knew of my presence a mere 25 yards away. Something wasn’t right. It was brown. It was fuzzy. It was the right height. But it was a bear.

I froze. It glanced my way. I assessed my location. The bear continued around the bend in the creek. The bear climbed on a log, claiming a high spot, looking over the creek. I had a clear look at its face and it had a clear look at me. It moved further downstream.

The bends in the creek were leaving me in an uncomfortable location. I was on the same side of the stream as I last saw the bear. I could head upstream away from it, but it would require a deep upstream crossing that I usually only make with the current at my back. It would take effort and time that I wasn’t prepared to invest with a large predator potentially at my back. I could cross a little ways downstream, but it would put me into deep brush. By this time I had lost sight of the bear and I couldn’t rule out the brush as its present location. I elected to stay in the water and head downstream, following the route of the bear. It was the only place I could walk that provided me with a reasonable viewing distance.

I slowly rounded the next bend and even made a few casts. I caught a couple of small dollies. It made me nervous to focus on extracting a hook while maintaining an awareness around me. I worked my way down to a point where I have to get out of the creek to avoid a deep pool. At least I was climbing out on the opposite side of the stream from where I last saw the bear. I saw no footprints as I walked up onto the bank. I followed the short trail through the deep grass that bypasses the deep pool. Upon arriving back at the creek, I was terrified to discover bear tracks on my side of the stream. I hopped back in the water and continued nervously wading downstream.

I reached the next bend and looked for footprints. Not finding any, I fished the bend, trying to regroup in the relative comfort of a sparsely vegetated area in close proximity to the paved trail. The nearest crossing opportunity was still a ways downstream. Three tourists walked by on the trail across from me and I warned them of the bear. We chatted for a few minutes and as they started to walk away, I began heading downstream. Two steps later I noticed the footprints. The bear had come this way and was still heading downstream. I got to the next crossing point and looked carefully for prints before climbing up onto the bank on the other side. Instead of heading my normal downstream direction through the woods to the next hole, I headed back upstream to the paved trail. I ran into a woman with her dog and told her about the bear. “Black or brown?”, she asked. “Brown”, I answered. “I am going home”, she said, turning immediately around. I walked with her for a hundred yards.

I still felt like fishing so I headed back to the stream. The splashing salmon made me nervous. I looked for footprints on both sides of the stream. It was somehow no more comforting to not find prints than finding them. Now I was wondering if I had gotten ahead of the bear and was inadvertently waiting in its path. I fished quickly, loosing a nice fish because it never occurred to me to set the hook. It was too nerve wracking to even be back there. I quit early and went home.

I sent an email to Fish and Game. I got a response confirming the unusualness of a bear in my neighborhood. They were already aware because they had to remove a dead moose calf earlier that day to avert any conflict between trail users and a bear defending a kill. That and I suppose the tourists don’t like seeing partially eaten moose. I guess one of my moose friends won’t be visiting me while I fish anymore.

Last weekend was great fun. We drove to Hope after work and headed six miles up a narrow dirt road into the mountains. We set up at a six site tent only campground. Only one other group was there when we arrived, but it filled up as the evening wore on. We had a nice private little spot right next to a stream. The water was a little noisy and I couldn’t set a stake for one corner of the tent. I tied a rock onto the rope and threw it into the creek instead.

On Saturday, we drove several miles further up the mountain on a rugged trail. It felt like an accomplishment banging our way back there in our tough truck until we saw a minivan parked along the trail. In reality, the trail didn’t require that much ground clearance or traction.

We drove across a small stream and parked the truck. Kris got out the book which explained the trail starts on the other side of the stream. I still wanted to get out and look at the old mining ruins so we began hiking upstream. We soon found a suitable crossing. We hooked up with the trail and climbed up to a couple of mountain lakes. We were all alone on the trail. We decided to head up higher to the glacier. We climbed to over four thousand feet of elevation, at least a couple thousand above the truck. It was perfect weather. We had the mountain to ourselves. The scenery was spectacular. We did see a lot of people on the way down, though. Alaskans always seem to get a late start on their days.

After a shower in our tent, we drove down to Hope for a nice dinner. We also stopped in Hope to see if we could catch any pink salmon. We watched for a few minutes. Some fish were being caught, so I grabbed a rod and headed to the stream bank. I fished for almost an hour. The fishing seemed to have slowed the minute I grabbed my rod. I didn’t catch any. It was probably the wrong tide.

We woke to cloudy weather on Sunday. We had breakfast and began packing up. Of course, it started raining before we took down the tent so we had to put it away wet. We had planned to do some hiking, but it was a rainy day. We drove home, stopping to pick up ingredients for stuffed peppers. It has been awhile since we had a big meal at home on a weekend.

I did get out and fish a little on Sunday afternoon. The rain had muddied the water and raised the level a bit. Once I found the right color, I caught a couple of small dollies and a jack king salmon, and briefly accidentally hooked into a big king. I also saw one of the local baby moose. Perhaps it should have learned more fear.

Last night I bought another lens for my camera, a 200-500mm zoom lens for capturing more distant wildlife. The lens is huge. I have quickly learned how difficult it is to get good pictures with such long lenses. The shutter speeds required to avoid the effects of camera movement are very high. With enough light, the lens produces excellent results. We took it down to Taku Lake for a trial run. We saw grebes, ducks, geese, a loon, a bull moose, and lots of salmon in the creek. No bears, though.