Alaska, the First Time

I went to Alaska in late August, for the very first time, hoping to catch silver salmon. A longtime fly fisherman, at 68, I was almost the last of my fishing pals to make the pilgrimage.

In the early morning chill, I boarded a floatplane in Anchorage and headed for Riversong Lodge on the Yentna River, 70 miles into the northern interior. From the co-pilot seat of the de Havilland Otter, I looked out at the illuminated, snow-mantled Alaska Range. It was like something from a fairy tale. We passed over the Knik Arm of Cook Inlet, and I hoped to get a glimpse of Denali, far to the north. As I peered down on the braids of the rain-swollen Susitna River, I had mixed feelings. I was fired up, yet perplexed. Why had it taken me so long to get here?

We dropped below a thick cloud bank and were soon flying at 500 feet above the Yentna, whose bank was full and muddy. The Otter made a river landing, and soon I was greeting the lodge owner and checking into my cabin. I rooted