The best moment of my life? Well of course it would have to be when I was wedded to my beautiful wife. We were on a beach on Captiva Island in Florida. We said our vows just before sunset, and all who were there agreed it was a perfect ceremony. Of course, the moments each of my lovely daughters were born would be right up there, perhaps making this a three-way tie, at least too close to call.
Although there was this one other thing that happened back in the 80’s…
I was a guide for an Alaska fishing lodge. On this particular day my duties included flying out with 4 guests to a river where another of our guides had a camp. This was on the Nushagak River, more specifically the section known as the “Middle Nush” [pronounced “noosh”]. I don’t recall exactly where we were, but I believe it was above where the Mulchatna comes in from the east.
We were going to fish for resident trout and perhaps intercept the first silver salmon of the year. It was my first year as a guide and hadn’t been there before. No worries, I was excited to see some new water, as I had spent a lot of time doing lake trout detail on the lakes at the lodge.
So I’m in a float plane with 4 guests. The plane lands near a gravel bar where the other guide was waiting with two boats [he had to tow one from his camp]. At this point it is important to note that the other guide is none other than Brian Cummins, better known as BC. Anyone who has guided in the Bristol Bay Region in the last 30 years has probably met him, or at least knows of him. He is the perfect fishing guide: entertaining, outspoken, funny, smart, and an overall great guy. We had not guided together much before so I didn’t really know him that well, but like all other new guides I had a ton of respect for any senior guide, and I wanted to make sure I did well. While he is a super nice guy, he could also be very intimidating. We loaded the gear into the boats and waited for the float plane to take off. Gene, the pilot, would meet us back here later in the afternoon.
BC, from a different season with a king Salmon. This was also on the Nush
Boats loaded, we eased off the gravel bar. I asked “What’s the program?” “Follow the leader” was the only answer I got.
So that’s what I did. BC pulled up to a tasty looking bank and his guests started fishing. I eased in about 50 yards above his boat and had my guests start casting. They were all using spinning rods. We floated along this bank for a bit, then BC pulled up and headed down river a half mile or so to a similarly good looking bank. Same drill, he led the way, I followed behind. Both boats were catching a few fish, nothing too amazing, but a nice mix of resident fish- mostly rainbows and grayling. So it went.
We moved to another new section, this time as we were drifting along we came to an island that split the river in half. BC went to the right. I looked down the left channel. It looked good. No reason there wouldn’t be fish down there. Besides the island didn’t look too big, and it should be easy enough to meet up with BC when the two channels converge. He did say follow the leader…but I know what I’m doing. I can find my own fish. Who wants to be second boat through every time? Not me. What’s the worst that could happen? This island can’t be more than a few hundred yards long…
So down the left channel I went. And it would be 6 hours before I saw BC again.
Turns out the island was longer that a few hundred yards. A lot longer. Nonetheless, I still expected to see BC once the two channels came back together. But he was nowhere to be seen. I hadn’t heard an outboard running during my side channel venture, so I could only assume he had continued floating down river. So downriver I went. Never having fished this river I didn’t have any spots, but my guests caught fish steady enough, I just fished along “fishy” banks. At some point we came into a nice slough where my guys caught a couple of quick rainbows. Then one of them hooked a much bigger fish. Thinking it was a big rainbow I was pretty excited. As I was preparing to grab it, I got a good look at it and realized it wasn’t a rainbow after all.
Turns out it was one those early silver salmon we hoped to intercept. Actually, BC had a spot somewhere near the drop off point that he had found some silvers in the day before, and we were all to fish there in the afternoon. Of course I had no idea exactly where that was, still had no idea where BC was, but there’s silvers here, so keep casting boys! They ended up catching two more silvers out of that spot, and then I spotted a similar looking spot downstream and they got two more out of there. I was pretty pleased with myself, seeing as how i had never fished for or ever even seen a silver salmon before that day. They caught all the silvers [and most of the other fish this day] on Mepps and Vibrax spinners.
By now it was getting close to lunchtime, and I was eyeing up the big metal box in the middle of the boat. The lunch box. Sandwiches, drinks, salad, desert. For both boats. And both guides. I still didn’t know where BC was. I was convinced he still had to be downriver ahead of us, so I fired up the big motor and drove downstream for a while. Like for a half hour. At some point I came to a village. I don’t know what village it was, but I was pretty sure that if we were going to be near a village during our planned day that BC would have mentioned it. So I did a 180 and started back upriver. 
As we passed the spots where we had caught the silvers I was tempted to stop and see if any new ones had moved in, but figured I better find my fellow guide. After an hour of motoring I checked my gas can. Not good, less than a quarter tank. It was getting on in the afternoon. I know I’m in trouble, and I am doubting that I have enough gas to get back to where we were to be picked up. We ate our lunch while I was motoring, trying not to think too much about what the other boat did for lunch.
It should be said that we were never in any actual danger [other than me potentially getting my ass chewed] as I knew all along that no matter what the pilot would be able to find us.
When you are an Alaskan fishing guide, the appearance of a float plane can bring mixed feelings. On a day when things have gone well it can be disappointing to hear the drone of a Beaver as it means the end of the fishing day and time to go back to the lodge. Or, if you’re a guide at a river camp, a bad weather day can mean no guests [think day off!]. The appearance of a plane on those days can be a little disappointing. I can tell you I have never been as relieved as I was when the yellow and blue Tikchik plane appeared above the trees at the next bend. The pilot flew over us, circled around and landed on the straightaway. Just in time, as my outboard was running on fumes by this time. 
I pulled up on the gravel near the plane, secured the anchor and sheepishly approached Gene who had just stepped down from the cockpit.
I tried to explain what happened and asked where the other boat was.
“They’re just above where I dropped you off this morning.”
“How pissed is BC?”
“Moderately. He’ll be more pissed when he finds out he has to come down here to get your boat.”
Great. We loaded our gear into the back of the plane and our salmon were loaded into a float compartment. A quick taxi to the middle of the river and we took off upstream. Within a couple of minutes we dropped back down and landed where we had started our day.
There was no other boat in sight. Gene said that BC still had his guys fishing the silver hole just upstream. On cue, here comes BC’s boat towards us at full speed, but BC was the only occupant. He barely slowed down as he drove up on the gravel. He barely glanced in my direction as he snarled “You don’t play follow the leader too fuckin’ well, do ya?” I didn’t say much, tried to make a quick excuse for my disobedience, but he was having none of it. He continued, “Had to take my guests up to my camp for lunch, I’m sure you guys ate well though”. Then he put on his happy face and started talking to my guests, “Hey, grab your rods and get in my boat, I’ll take you up to where the other guys are still fishing.”
They complied and he turned back to me. “I want to see your guys catch a couple of silvers today.”
“We got silvers” was my reply.
He looked at me like I had just said we had found a yeti.
“Yeah, right.”
I gestured to the float compartment.
This is the good part.
He lifted the lid and looked inside. I’ll never forget that look on his face. A confused look that betrayed what he was thinking—something along the lines of “How in the ever living fuck did this clown from Minnesota manage to find silvers that aren’t even supposed to be in the river yet”. He slammed the lid back down. “I’M TAKING THEM UP THERE ANYWAY!” he shouted and marched towards his boat. Gene winked at me and I knew everything was going to be OK.
BC came back with all four anglers about forty five minutes later, and they did indeed catch a few more silvers. We loaded all the gear and fish into the airplane, and I apologized to BC again; he still had to go down river to retrieve the other boat. He had calmed down and explained to me the importance of sticking to the plan. Duly noted.
We made the quick flight back to the lodge. Because of the uh, overtime fishing session we were the last plane to pull up to the dock. Somehow, word of my little adventure had already made it back to the lodge, and the other guides gave me grief as we unloaded our gear. No matter, the guests had a good time, caught the first silvers of the year, and had an interesting story to tell at dinner.
Epilogue
The Boss couldn’t have been too mad at me, as later that week he sent me on another mission to the Nushagak. This time we were going to fish the infamous “Blood Beach” on the lower Nush. The hopes was to intercept the first major run of silvers [not the “scouts” we had caught upriver, we’re talking a push of many thousands of fish coming in on the tide]. 2 planes, 2 pilots, 2 guides, 8 guests. The fishing was stupid. They KEPT limits for all, 5 fish each, so 60 fish. Plus they released a bunch. The other guide and I had to clean all the fish before we could fly back to the lodge or we would have been too heavy to get in the air.
If you’ve gotten this far on the story and want to keep going…here’s a song I wrote about the Nushagak. One year while staying at a camp on the Lower Nush I counted how many salmon I could see swim past me in one minute while standing on a gravel bar. It was 110. This was going on for days. The number of salmon that run up that river is phenomenal.
Big Nushagak is a song I wrote for a contest, it protests the proposed mine in Bristol Bay. I didn’t win the contest. Maybe due to the production quality–I recorded it with my phone and used an app to put drums and bass to it.