“I paddle away from the action to settle my nerves.”
ISLAND HOPPING FROM BROOKS TO BUNSBYS KEEPS THE FISHING FRESH.
under the boat and leap in a silver arc on the other side. I jam the rod tip underwater and scull with one arm to follow, but the tac- tic usually creates enough slack to win the fish its freedom. After a few humiliating torpedo attacks, I paddle away from the action to settle my nerves. Thankfully, Steve yarded up a ling for our first night’s meal
and by dusk we were tucked around a cozy fire on a sandy beach grilling fish fillets and keeping a close eye on our furry neighbor who seemed to be getting friendlier. Our first order of business was to fish the returning coho
migration off the mouth of Battle Creek. After we’d had enough of that action, we planned to paddle to the Bunsby Islands where a couple of stellar camps offered great access to several honey holes and a fantastic view of the open Pacific. Finally, we would paddle north to the Brooks Peninsula, before reversing our route and heading back to the pick-up in Battle Bay nearly two weeks later. We had plenty of open water, untouched fishing and white
sandy beaches in our future. We also cached supplies in a hard- box in our first camp, then another drop of dry bags at the second camp that we could hit on our way back. When the salmon weren’t taking, we jigged lead in deep water
alongside bull kelp beds for ling. These Jurassic-looking fish are serpent-like and strong; one beast even ripped a Boga-Grip out of my hands. With a gaping mouth full of needle teeth, ling are no fun to wrestle in a kayak, but their delicate white flesh makes for a killer ceviche that is worth losing a finger or two. Schools of black rock bass haunt the kelp, too. These reliable
targets will take a weedless Clouser cast into the underwater forest. After a few days at Battle Creek, we settled into a rhythm that
comes from a long stretch in the wild. Each tide was timed to meet the salmon. A freshwater stream beside camp offered a place to rinse our fishing gear. We even built a rock corral to chill the Foster kids (our stash of big blue and green cans of Australia’s finest brew). After a few days of easy action and comfortable camping, we
were anxious to interface with the open Pacific. The next day we decided to head to the Bunsby Islands. We put together our first cache of gear and headed out the next morning. It was sunny and the wind was light out of the north when we
pushed off the beach. The forecast called for a few more days of fine weather before a series of storms brewing in the Gulf of Alaska would come slumming south. We slipped through an exciting surge channel at Greenhead and paddled past the reefs that front the cluster of islands. A colored maple leaf drifted past the boat, but I kept one eye looking for boomers and the other on my bucktail weaving among the stands of kelp. Once we reached the main island, we decided to use the flood
A PAIR OF BEAUTIFUL CALICO ROCKFISH, JUST RIGHT FOR DINNER.
tide to paddle up a narrow creek and try our hand at trout. After a tedious mile of paddling, poling and walking our boats through a narrow channel, the jungle closed in, but we fought back like Humphrey in African Queen. Just as we found a honey hole, the boats hit rock bottom. “We’re not going an inch further,” Steve said. The brush was so dense I couldn’t make a back cast let alone a roll cast, and the tide wasn’t
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