Fighting Alaska's Wild Kings

By Craig Boulden

If you’ve ever dreamed of tangling with the fierce power of the Alaskan king salmon, this is the book for you. Craig Boulden shares his ten years of experience as a professional Alaska king-fishing guide to give you a comprehensive and lethal battle plan for getting the jump on everyone else on the river.

Each chapter begins with first-hand accounts of duels with monster fish—brimming with the excitement of the chase, the exhilaration of the battle itself, the heart-stopping beauty of the Alaskan wilderness, the adrenaline rushes of encounters with bears, and the thrill of finally landing that fish-of-a-lifetime.

Then, revealing the treasured secrets known only to veteran guides, Boulden gives step-by-step instruction on ALL the deadliest king-catching techniques — backtrolling, boondoggin’, downtrolling, sideplaning — and even fly fishing. You’ll learn:

--how to read the river like a pro
--how to get in the king-catching “zone,” and stay there
--how to make quality drifts by mastering the art of boat control
--eleventh-hour fighting skills for seducing that monster into your net
--the guides’ tricks for modifying hooks and lures to catch more kings
--the best way to cure fish-attracting salmon eggs
--details on the tackle and gear used by the pros
--how to get the most out of your guide
--everything you need to know to fish for kings on your own

An authoritative reference guide for both novice and expert fishermen, “Fighting Alaska’s Wild Kings” also gives armchair anglers a taste of what it’s like to fight these awesome giants and to drink in the vast and untamed nature of America’s last frontier. Includes photos.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Craig Boulden
• Release date: Jan 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465913159

Craig Boulden

Craig Boulden was born and raised in the wilds of Wyoming. During his twenty-five years as a professional fishing and hunting guide, his angling adventures have taken him from the rugged mountains of western Wyoming, to the arid canyon lands of northern Arizona, and to the untamed watersheds of Alaska’s last frontier. As an out-camp guide for king fishing, he lived in the Alaskan bush for ten years with the bears and foxes, and averaged at least 500 kings in his boat each season. Boulden’s wizardry with a rod and reel have been written up in Western Outdoors, Western Angler, Gray’s Sporting Journal, and The Arizona Republic, and he has been featured on the Outdoor Channel’s “Fly Fish Television Magazine” show. In 1998, he captured the “Best in the West” fly casting championship and, in 1991, the title of #2 Team of the Year on the Wyoming Walleye Circuit. In the last few years, Craig has extended his quest for angling adventure into blue water, becoming one of the elite group of fishermen to have landed bonefish, tarpon, dorado, barracuda, and sailfish on his own hand-tied flies.

Book preview

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FIGHTING ALASKA’S WILD KINGS

Fish-catching Secrets of a Veteran Guide

By

Craig Boulden

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Craig Boulden on Smashwords

Fighting Alaska’s Wild Kings

Text and photos copyright 2012 by Craig Boulden

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Dedication

To my late grandfather, who took me aside at the tender age of seven and taught me the art and skills of fly fishing and, later at the age of fourteen, the stealth and cunning of still-hunting. Because of him, a feeling of reverence for the animal kingdom and a love and respect for the beauty and power of wilderness burn in my soul. To my mother, who gave me family values and the strength and faith to follow my heart. And to my wife, who helped me understand the value of the path I'd chosen to take.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1 -- Living to Fish and Fishing to Live

Chapter 2 -- The Six Secrets of Success

Chapter 3 -- Backtrolling

Chapter 4 -- Boondoggin’

Chapter 5 -- Downtrolling

Chapter 6 -- Side-planing

Chapter 7 -- Fly Fishing

Chapter 8 -- Fighting Kings

Chapter 9 -- King Tackle and Gear

Chapter 10 -- The King’s Magical Tour

Chapter 11 -- Share with the Bears

Chapter 12 -- Shore Lunch for Six

Chapter 13 -- Tips on Selecting a Lodge and Guide

Chapter 14 -- Tips for Fishing on Your Own

Author’s Message

Photos

Appendix

About the Author

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Every fishing water has its secrets. A river is not a dead thing. It has beauty and wisdom and content. And to yield up these mysteries, it must be fished with more than hooks.

--Zane Grey

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Chapter 1

Living to Fish and Fishing to Live

Surely one of the richest bounties of angling is to grow deeply intimate with the inner life of the world of nature, and in so doing, to come closer to your deepest self.

--Nick Lyons

I have often wondered why the wilderness chose me. For it is there, among the high mountains, raging rivers, and wild creatures, that I have always gone in search of clues to the mystery of who I am. And it is there that I truly feel most at home and most vibrantly alive. For me, responding to Nature's siren call was never a decision, rather a destiny--one which consumed me as a young boy and later ushered me into a lifetime of adventure.

Born in the remote wilds of Wyoming, I was lucky enough to experience first-hand the rare and untamed splendor of the vast, open country and abundant wildlife for which the West has always been famous. Even as a young boy, my whole world revolved around studying the movements and habits of the countless creatures that littered the nearby sagebrush flats and tree-lined hillsides.

My grandpa, the woodsman of our family, must have recognized the wildness in my soul because, when I was only seven, he took me aside to introduce me to the mysterious rituals of fishing. Snatching up a twelve-foot cane pole and a Band-Aid can full of grasshoppers, he showed me how to creep through the brush Indian-style and sneak up on his favorite mountain stream. Kneeling down beside me, Grandpa swung his long pole out over the gurgling water and dabbed a freshly-hooked hopper into the choppy riffle. Do it just like this, he whispered. With wide eyes, I watched the hapless grasshopper bob and spin along the steep cut bank, wondering what scaly creature might be living in the depths below. Now you try it, Grandpa murmured as he handed me the bamboo pole and slipped quietly away. The fish must have felt safe when they saw his six-foot frame vanish from sight, but they didn't know a tiny angler-to-be was still lurking close by. As soon as I splatted the yellow-bellied insect into the water again, a giant shadow darted out from the bank and inhaled the wriggly morsel. Instantly, I reared back on the oversized pole, bending it almost in half. But I was too small to lift the big lunker any further than six inches above the surface and, in the blink of an eye, he thrashed off the hook and escaped. Devastated, I raced back to Grandpa with my first tale about the big one that got away--and the sure knowledge that I was hooked for life.

From then on, instead of riding bikes or playing with toy trucks, I took every chance I could to stalk the unsuspecting trout that teemed in the trickling currents of Garden Creek, only a block from our house. By the time I hit high school, I knew the names and patterns of every fly that existed and spent most of my time daydreaming about hunting and fishing in Wyoming's rugged canyons and sagebrush-choked valleys. It didn't matter what I was chasing, as long as I was out there, trudging through the open wilds that stretched in every direction. I was truly more at home in the vast emptiness than I was in my own yard.

At seventeen, I bought my first horse, a sorrel appaloosa, for five hundred, hard-earned dollars. Insisting that my freedom to roam was more important than anything else, I spurred this trusty steed through the rugged, unexplored mountains of Wyoming for months every summer, living entirely off the land. While everyone else was making big bucks during the oil boom that put Wyoming on the map, I was scraping by on the few dollars I made from selling hand-tied flies, yet living like a king in the wilderness. All I needed was the open air and a dry place to sleep, and I was in hog heaven. To me, the hardships I endured were not annoying discomforts but proud badges of honor.

My father, however, thought otherwise. He always encouraged me to work in the oil patch and make something of myself, like most of my friends were doing. But I was the heir to my grandfather's free spirit, and his woodsy tutelage had instilled in me an inextinguishable love of all things wild and free. So, even though I felt uneasy about not having my father's blessing, I felt compelled to follow my heart and press onward. Leaving the worrying up to my mother, I depended on nothing but pure faith, as she had taught me, and trusted I would make it through whatever challenges came my way. One day I realized that while all my friends were driving fancy cars and chasing girls in the local taverns, I was the one experiencing the real richness of life, riding endless miles on horseback and exploring the remote landscapes that called to my soul.

After several years of searching for my niche in the world, I started to land jobs as a guide for elk-hunting camps and dude ranches, finally getting paid to do what I loved--fly fish and hunt in the unspoiled wilderness. I led summer pack trips on horses for hundreds of miles through the wilds of western Wyoming. And it was there, in a territory harsh and foreign to most city slickers, that my knowledge of how to live in style in the woods was at last starting to pay off.

But each year, when the November snows piled up to my stirrups, I was forced to retreat back home to the low country and figure out how to scrape out a living in the city. It was during one of these winters that I overheard my father bragging to some old crony about my exploits in the wilderness. Wistfully, they tried to envision how it might feel to walk among elk herds numbering in the hundreds or to land a five-pound native cutthroat on a size 16 Royal Wulff. Grinning with humble pride, I slipped away without saying a word, because I knew exactly how it felt. And it seemed that, at long last, I was finally getting a hint of respect from my father. Feeling that I had done the thing I was supposed to do with my life after all, I could now dig in my spurs and forge ahead with confidence to pursue my wildest dreams of adventure.

For the next several years, I bounced from job to job, working as a hunting or fishing guide for countless outfitters all across the state. At one stage, I was guide manager for a big outfit on Elk Mountain in central Wyoming, where I ram-rodded over a million acres of private playground. There, I had the privilege of trespassing on some of the most virgin and pristine wonderland available in pursuit of large trout and massive bull elk. Later, I operated my own hunting and fishing guide service, which I called Great Divide Outfitters for the area in the Red Desert where I crawled around stalking antelope and deer. Needing a change of scenery and some new and different challenges, I moved on to guide for an elite fly fishing outfit nestled in the shadows of Arizona's Glen Canyon. There at Lee's Ferry, we specialized in using tiny size-20 midge patterns to help clients catch finicky rainbow trout in the crystal waters of the Colorado River.

While in the winters I guided in the warm climate of the southwest, for the short summer seasons I soon began a new quest in the subarctic regions of the far north. Alaska presented a new challenge for me. I had to cope with bears, twenty-foot tides, and dangerously unpredictable rivers, as well as learn how to catch a whole new type of fish -- the migrating salmon that swam in the transparent, glacial waters few white men had ever dared to explore.

My introduction to this pristine wilderness was the turbulent Alagnak River on the Alaska Peninsula. Because the lodge I was working for didn't believe in training their guides, I had to learn everything on my own, the hard way. Every day on the river was an adventure in survival. Forced to confront the wildly fluctuating tidal surges, the fast-moving mazes of braided, narrow channels, and the violent weather patterns common to Alaska's rivers, I literally took my life (and the lives of my clients) in my hands just looking for a place to fish. Because I was the only guide not issued a boat, I was forced to borrow a different craft every day and learn through trial and tribulation how to operate a wide variety of boats--from 18-foot john boats with 50 horse props to 22-foot river sleds with 200 horse jet-foots. And when it came to actually hunting down kings, I had to start from scratch in building my own arsenal of successful techniques.

But my beloved grandfather had taught me to learn, not run, from adversity. So, that harrowing first summer, I reached deep inside to find the grit and tenacity that allowed me to hang in there, figure out how to apply my previous years of fishing experience, and eventually become a wilier, more successful guide--and a wiser and better man.

Over the next several years, Alaska opened itself to me and revealed the breathtaking splendor of its wild and verdant heart. While working for a first-class outfit on the Wood River drainage, we flew all over Bristol Bay in amphibious bush planes, through some of the most spectacular country on earth. By this time, I had found my place as a king salmon guide and mastered hundreds of miles of the Togiak, Nushagak, and Wood Rivers, as well as several killer fishing techniques to match the variety of conditions. Eventually working my way up to the trusted and demanding position of out-camp guide, I spent four months of every year alone in a tent, about three hundred miles from the nearest road. Here, in this remote, jagged region of southwestern Alaska, I had the time and opportunity to experiment with and perfect every little detail of the deadliest king-catching techniques -- backtrolling, boondoggin', downtrolling, side-planing, and even fly fishing.

Even though I still had