Alaska & Ukon Recon

Reed Morisky, our guide, knew exactly where to steer his 21-foot aluminum jet boat deep into the remote Tanana River. Although only about 30 miles from Fairbanks, no trace of civilization could be detected anywhere – no other boats, cars, airplanes or sounds of mankind.

Reed Morisky, our guide, knew exactly where to steer his 21-foot aluminum jet boat deep into the remote Tanana River. Although only about 30 miles from Fairbanks, no trace of civilization could be detected anywhere – no other boats, cars, airplanes or sounds of mankind. We felt the exhilaration and angst that hangs in the blood when journeying to remote locations where there’s no help even in an emergency.

Morisky cut the engine and we drifted into the mouth of a small tributary densely lined with trees and underbrush. “Don’t move your feet or create any noise,” he whispered with a finger to his lips, “and look right over there.”

The astonishment on my face and companions Kelly Braden, Michael Kelly and Ted Braden could only be described as total wonder and excitement. Dozens of king salmon in the 10- to 40-pound class faced into the gentle current in the clear five-foot, glacier-fed waters. They floated effortlessly in place, almost appearing to be lifeless.

These kings – also known as chinook salmon – had unerringly traveled 750 miles via a series of rivers from the ocean to gather at this particular spot. Displaying the copper to reddish tint indicative of spawning salmon, these lucky ones successfully passed through a series of bear gauntlets, jumped steep rocky falls and at times overcame swift up-current rapids in order to arrive here safely.

Morisky positioned the boat to the side and slightly behind the throng of fish, which didn’t seem at all spooked by our presence. By so doing, we could cast ahead of the salmon and let our spoons sliver toward them in the manner of something resembling an appetizer floating out of the forest. Without any delay, a 20-pounder spotted my offering and in a fit of competitive zeal dashed to it ahead of its brethren. We could witness it all: the fish detecting a possible breakfast and getting all excited, zipping to the lure and suctioning the faux minnow into its mouth, and the hook-up rattling it to its very bones.

Fortunately the suddenly crazed chinook sped away from the other fish. The 12-pound-test spin tackle provided enough resistance to do the job, with few underwater branches or other hang-up points to contest. Morisky handled the release, the first of several on spoons and also large black lead-eye fly patterns.

Later in a small creek with winding corners, swirls and eddies, we caught over a dozen small but spunky Arctic grayling on 4-pound tackle and fly.