It’s almost September and the air is unseasonably warm. With summer close to an end, the urge to get outdoors and away from the city is stronger than ever.
This weekend, we’ve somehow managed to escape to the Caribou Clubhouse where our only goals are a good time and a fresh salmon dinner. Let me tell you: the Clubhouse is a magical place. She’s named after her location on Caribou Island, tucked away in the southwest waters of Skilak Lake.
A weekend of fishing at the Clubhouse is guaranteed to bring friends and family together, unless you play Yahtzee (Yahtzee at the Clubhouse is guaranteed to rip your friendship apart and make you question why you invited certain friends to spend a weekend with you at a remote cabin on an island hundreds of miles and a boat ride from home). But, last night’s Yahtzee game aside, the Clubhouse is a perfect home base for fishing the Kenai River.
A remote cabin on an island hundreds of miles and a boat ride from home is a perfect home base for fishing the Kenai River.
A fifteen-minute boat ride is all that separates us from a tranquil salmon fishing heaven.
A fifteen-minute boat ride to the west of Caribou Island is all that separates us from the tranquil salmon fishing heaven of the Middle Kenai River. Here, the mouth of the river is wide and the riverbanks are easily accessible and well-suited for fishing, thanks to more than a few years of fishermen patiently standing in our place.
Today, the morning’s sun and the flash of jumpers glittering above the river immediately raise new goals of filling our freezers. We post up where we see the most jumpers and set to work perfecting the ‘flip-and-dip’ method, flipping the line upriver and listening as the weight makes the always-satisfying ‘dip’ noise as it hits the water below. Flip. Dip. Repeat.
I’ll be the first to admit, it’s been a while since I’ve gone out with my fishing pole and spent the morning trying to catch that evening’s dinner. After a few hours of casting, we try our luck with trolling upriver. No dice.
It’s hard to complain, but after so many hours of unsuccessful fishing amidst the relentless teasing of very-nearby jumpers, we can’t help but suspect our techniques are inferior. So, with the wind picking up on the Lake and the sun casting longer shadows upon the River, we let our grumbling stomachs steer us across the windy surface of Skilak and back to the Caribou Clubhouse.
The consolation prize of last season’s salmon thawing in the fridge turns out to be good planning, but it’s tough to shake the feeling that the very the act of packing it was total fishing trip sabotage. The morale boost, however, of sitting around the dinner table with Sockeye on our plates brings the day of failed freezer-filling into perspective: tonight, we’re a group of friends, usually separated by hectic summer schedules, coming together over our mutual love for the salmon life.
This is the beauty of our favorite fish: we can count on it to bring us together.
Let’s face it: there are very few uniting forces that can overcome hard feelings from a certain dice game or make us agree on what to eat for family dinner (salmon tacos). This is the beauty of our favorite fish: we can count on it to bring us together for one last hurrah before season’s end.
