THE AMERICAN RIVER, which lies southwest of Kulik Lodge, is among the options available to visiting anglers, and even in early July, about a month before red salmon arrive en masse, the river holds a variety of fish. Patty, who’s heading into his third season at Kulik, knocked on my cabin door about 5 a.m., but I had been awake for about 30 minutes and had already dressed to fish.
He handed me a small pot of hot, black coffee, and I drank a couple of cups before ambling to the lodge for breakfast.
At 6 a.m., we boarded a plane and soon, with floats up, headed to Lake Colville, where, under cloudy and windy conditions, the pilot banked and landed near the mouth of the American before entering it. He steered the plane upstream almost a mile before dropping us off near some boats, which had been cached there. We unloaded a container of gasoline and our gear, said our goodbyes, and then the pilot made a U-turn, headed back out to the lake, and returned to the lodge.
Patty and I loaded up, and he turned the boat downstream. We exited the mouth of the river, and he picked up the pace as we faced into a heavy wind funneling down through the mountains. The western corner of the lake is rife with grassbeds that hold a healthy population of northern pike.
A slight drizzle fell, and added to the chill of the day. We at first fished within 100 yards of the northern shoreline, but the grass cover seemed spotty, and a few minutes of casting failed to turn one fish.
Heavy pressure seemed to accompany the drizzle, and I wondered if we’d catch fish at all, but Patty motored us farther out, and we soon discovered any level of heavy grass yielded vicious strikes—pressure or not. For the next hour, Patty motored us into the wind, then turned the nose of the boat to the east, and allowed the breeze to push us westward over the grass flats of Lake Colville.
While visiting Kulik Lodge, the author flashed his trout-catching grin fairly often. The upper reaches of the American River, with its smooth flows, affords opportunities for dry-fly angling. (NICK HALL PHOTOGRAPHY)
The big lightweight poppers didn’t exactly cut through the wind, but pike aren’t exactly boat shy. Still, the strikes didn’t come at a rapid rate, but each strike seemed like a torpedo attack, blowing up the surface with sound and fury, and fighting in similar wild abandon—one toothy fish severed the line.
After catching and releasing a few, Patty looked at me and said, “Are you ready to catch trout?” He turned us toward the American River, and we moved through the river mouth and upstream, where sandpipers erupted from shore and female red-breasted mergansers, looking addled and trailed by their speckled pups, swam feverishly toward shoreline cover.
By the time Patty slowed, the clouds had parted and the wind had settled. Still, the first sunlight of the day seemed a welcome omen. He ran up on a small sandbar, and we walked alongshore of a feeder creek just before it confluenced with the main stem. We moved downstream maybe 10 yards, and got below a deep pool near the mouth of the tributary. Patty tied on an big heavy streamer that appeared to be kin to a Double Bunny, with a strip each of black and white Zonker. As soon as the fly disappeared in the depths, big broadside fish came swirling up out of the hole. They didn’t bite and appeared to have been spooked by the fly. I made a couple more drifts, but Patty motioned for me to move closer to the confluence, where we could see fish holding in current.
I made down-and-across presentations that didn’t entice any of the fish, but with several big char right there in plain view, we decided to keep trying. Patty tied on another streamer. The first swing enticed a couple of fish to charge the fly, and the line came tight. I set the hook.
While reeling it in, something felt strange. It didn’t take long to realize the fish had been foul-hooked. We released it, and it quickly settled into its previous position. We moved to another deep pool, and I made one or two swings and felt a strike. I struck back and soon brought in a legitimately caught arctic char. Its fins already had orange edging, and with its variegated spots, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a more beautiful fish.
We moved upstream a ways, stopping occasionally and picking up a rainbow here and there, including a couple opposite a long sandbar, which is where we broke for lunch. Patty offered coffee from a beat-up and rusted old Stanley Thermos. Steam rose from my cup, and he told me we’d move toward the upper reaches of the river, where we might have a chance to catch some fish on dry flies. I said that sounded great.
“The fishing’s been pretty good today,” he said, “but you’re here a month early. Actually, August and September are my favorite months—the sockeye are in, the rivers are red, bears are everywhere, and we sight-fish to twenty-two- to twenty-four-inch trout with the very real possibility of catching a fish over thirty inches. They aren’t a dime a dozen by any means, but they are there, and if you’re in the right place at the right time, then you have a good shot at hooking one—landing it is a whole other story.”
“When will the reds arrive?”
“They’ll begin trickling in pretty soon. I’ve not seen one yet this season, but we’ll start seeing a few in a couple of weeks— then we’ll see them by the thousands. You should come back some August.”
“I’d love that.”
After lunch, we moved upriver, and within sight of a tall rock wall that bordered the river for some distance, we began to see rising fish—four, in fact, spaced about 20, 30 yards apart. Patty tied on an Elk-Hair Caddis, and I began presenting drys with a 7-weight to the trout farthest downstream.
I waded into the water, about 180 degrees from the fish but slightly downstream, and watched. The fish rose a couple of times, and I made a cast. The fly drifted just a hair inside its feeding lane. I let the fly drift safely past; then I dropped it a few inches farther in, gave a slight mend, and the fish slurped it in. Soon, Patty had it in the net.
I moved upstream and cast to the next rising fish, and caught it. I picked off the next fish upstream as well, but the fourth wouldn’t take—and because of the currents, I had difficulty drifting the fly in its lane. On one last drift, though, a different trout from downstream swam a sprint upstream to blindside the fly. I snapped the leader as I set the hook.
Patty walked back to the boat to tie on another caddis, but I noticed something moving upstream at a very slow pace. It shone like a light in the clear water—a sockeye salmon.
As Patty walked back toward me, I said, “I think I just saw a sockeye.”
“No kidding?”
“Yeah, it just moved upstream.”
As we talked, another moved past— in the same slow, steady pace.
“Well . . . That’s the first one I’ve seen this year.”
A harbinger of what is to come.
Russ Lumpkin is the editor of Gray’s Sporting Journal.
If You Go
Kulik Lodge, along with Grosvenor and Brooks, is one of a trio of lodges under the same management that cater to anglers, nature lovers, and tourists from all over the world. During my visit, I met a couple from Estonia and a woman from the Ukraine. All three lodges are within the boundaries of Katmai National Park, which is a vast and true wilderness. Grosvenor Lodge, the smallest, is primarily a fishing lodge, and Brooks Lodge is most famous for Brooks Falls and its renowned gathering and viewing of brown bears.
(NICK HALL PHOTOGRAPHY)
Kulik is the oldest fly-out lodge in Alaska, having been in operation since 1950. You’ll first fly into Anchorage at least a day (or more if you want to see Alaska’s largest city or drive the beautiful Kenai Peninsula) before you plan to arrive at the lodge, and from Anchorage, you’ll fly via Katmai Air Service, which is located near the airport. Once you begin booking a stay at Kulik, the good folks there will walk you through everything. The flight from Anchorage is short and beautiful.
You won’t need to pack rods, reels, or waders. The lodge maintains a supply of all you’ll need to fish. If you opt to bring your own wading shoes, make sure they have rubber soles. Felt is against the law in Alaska, and shoes with studs or aluminum strips are not welcome inside the boats of Kulik Lodge.
In addition to the Kulik and American, the lodge offers fly-outs to the Upper and Lower Moraine, Funnel Creek, and the Nushagak, Kvichak, Alagnak, Nonvianuk, and Brooks Rivers as well as a variety of other world-class fly fishing streams. And in addition to rainbows, the lodge offers fishing for the five species of Pacific salmon, char, Dolly Varden, grayling, pike, and lake trout.
Lodging is available in rustic spruce cabins, and most of the cabins sleep two people. Two cabins sleep four.
You’ll want to pack clothes that will allow you to layer up or down. Temperatures and conditions can change quickly—from sunny and warm to cloudy, chilly, and rainy, and vice versa.
The guides are an affable, nonjudgmental bunch and helped make my trip memorable. The food is excellent, and a Thanksgiving dinner is served each Thursday night. That’s right—turkey, ham, and all the fixings. Some wine, beer, and liquor are available as a courtesy, but if you want top-shelf libations, you’ll have to pay.
Learn more at katmailand.com.
