“FISH ON!!”
I yelled, as my seven-weight fly rod tipped and the line played its magical “buzzing in the rain” tune. It was hard to tell how big the fish was or if it was a rainbow or a large Dolly Varden.
Hooking a large whitewater upper Kenai River trout doesn’t leave much time for species identification.
Hold on to him, we’ll chase him down and land him in calmer waters. said Allen, who was behind the spars of our 20-foot Willie driftboat.
We had just entered the Canyon section of the upper Kenai River and while my other three buddies fishing with me on the boat had already hooked some LARGE Rainbows and Dollies, I had yet to catch what I will call a “quality” Upper Kenai fish. That, of course, means insulting all the trout in every other river in North America, since the eighteen-inch Rainbows and twenty-inch Dolly Vardens I’ve already caught were barely chopped liver! It’s just that I had seen numerous twenty four inch fish caught in the morning and heard Allen comment that this was the best morning of fly fishing he had had in upper Kenai this year. Again, don’t get me wrong, he was catching my share of fish, but this was the kind of fish I was hoping for.
Ziiiinnnnggggg.
I stood up in the front of the boat, and Allen gave chase in our big-bellied river pursuit vehicle.
I held my rod up high and wobbled to keep a tight line on the fish.
As we headed towards the “right river” bank, we heard some crashing into the trees. In my peripheral vision I saw some movement, but I kept my eyes locked on the tip of my pulsating wand. Allen nonchalantly mentioned that we had a grizzly bear to our right, much like a man would mention seeing a 1957 Chevy.
It’s cool, but nothing to go crazy over. He continues fishing.
Now, I don’t know about you, but when I pass twenty yards of carnivorous carnivores, I like to give them more than just a passing glance, especially since most of us on the boat were seeing our first Brown/Grizzly bear in our lives, and not everyone gets to see a Grizzly when they come to Alaska. Not to mention, any of us would make a delicious mid-day snack for a bear out of the snacks.
Allen, trying to be Alaska’s consummate fishing guide, was trying to pass it off as an everyday thing and make you feel like, “Hell, most of us guides sleep with bears,” but you could tell by his attentive back and forth. You see–he didn’t get to see bears that often.
As Allen lowered the boat’s anchor in a pretty swirl, I turned to the fish and returned to the task at hand. Pump, for real, pump, for real.
Around this time, I began to hear some more commotion on the shore, and about the same time that my fish revealed its rainbow identity by doing an acrobatic leap into the air, I turned to see a bear climbing up a cliff. tree.
Well, that’s what I like to see from man-eating carnivores!
I turned to the fish, and then took a double look at the bear.
OH @%$+ IT WAS A PUPPY…
…and we’re not talking about the ones that play in Chicago!!
Faster than I could get the words “it’s a cub” out of my mouth, mama bear went into protection mode. We all heard brushes being knocked down like mannequins at Chicago Bears training camp and then saw “Mom” round-faced, shoulders hunched, claws digging in as she charged us toward the bench.
We all looked at the same time, and for a brief second, my first thought was, “Oh great, why does this have to happen when I have a pretty rainbow on? I hope I don’t lose this fish.” Of course, sitting twenty meters away in a boat, on the water, gives one a sense of security.
A false sense of security.
That bear rose to heaven as “superwoman.” With her legs outstretched and her legs flying, without even breaking stride, she was IN THE WATER.
You never saw ten eyeballs that big in your life.
I looked at my fish, and I looked at Allen, and I looked at that Grizzly, and I thought to myself; “Great, I have three other anglers on this boat and they all meet the criteria I had required to fish in bear country. They are all bigger and slower and at this point, between me and the bear!” BUT, if we were to go overboard, I sure wasn’t sure I could outswim these guys. Besides, he had a rod in his hand, a fish on the line and a natural fisherman’s instinct: not wanting to lose my trout! The bear would certainly choose me, because I would get the advantage of having a trout for dessert after his main course “Fisherman ala Gore-Tex”. I guess I shouldn’t have worried too much, after all, Allen wouldn’t have wanted to go back to the hostel without his ‘guests’ – too much paperwork!
Right?
Allen frantically grabbed the anchor rope, while “Mom” wallowed in the water. Meanwhile, the rest of us had that “deer in the headlights” look, waiting for instructions from Allen, or the voice of God, to tell us what to do next.
“I think we will fight this fish elsewhere.” Allen said, as he grabbed the oars and pulled us away with Herculean strength.
That’s what they call a euphemism. Elsewhere indeed!
What about Pennsylvania?
Mama had done what she set out to do, the danger to the cubs was gone, the fishermen white as ghosts, and the brown bear Peace and quiet restored to the right bank.
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!
He turned around and splashed back to shore…
I don’t know if it was the weighing anchor that startled her, or the pounding of the boat, or the splash of my Rainbow, but we had just witnessed – first hand – how grizzly bears protect their cubs in the wild.
More or less going CRAZY!
We drifted into the “left river”, downriver for another 100 yards, finally landing a depleted 23 inch FAT Rainbow trout. Sure, the fish seemed like an afterthought now that the five of us checked our boots for “brown spots,” but after all that, it would have brought tears to our eyes to lose that fish.
We all “high-fived” each other and still couldn’t help but look back, just to make sure “Mom” wasn’t mad yet. Allen said it was the first time he had seen a grizzly jump into the water like that.
In fact.
We then sat there and all gave our accounts of how the scene “played out.” It was great to hear everyone’s reaction and the different version of the “thirty five seconds of drama”.
We took a picture of that fish, which will always be known as the “Bear Fish”, and while it wasn’t the biggest fish on that float, it will certainly be the most remembered.
There was no picture of the bear, as everyone was fascinated with the real bear, not the Kodak moment.
When we got back to our lodge, Allen told the story of our Alaskan experience and some of the older guides gave him “sideways” looks like he was working on a good fish story or nickname. I could see it now…”Who are you going out with today? Grizzly Gillette? Allen the Bear Slayer?…Of course, there were four witnesses who were ready to back it up and it wasn’t exactly how we said we had.” seen “bigfoot” or “aliens” “For God’s sake!!
All things considered, I’d say we had the true Alaskan experience that day. Good fat top trout Kenai Rainbow and Dolly Vardens on a fly, fake loaded by a Grizzly mother and an unforgettable day in amazing scenery.
As the years go by, I’m sure the “Bear Fish” will grow, the bear will come closer (perhaps even the boat!) and the legend of “Grizzly Gillette” will grow.
But not as tall as that BEAR!