Dipnetting and daydreaming

Frontiersman reporter

KENAI RIVER -- I stood waist deep in the mouth of the Kenai River, my Carhartts soaked and clinging to my thighs. Fish heads and filleted carcasses floated down the muddy river, occasionally knocking against my knees and ankles. The tide was cold and rising but, like hundreds of fellow dip-netters, my determination to scoop red salmon from the murky waters was a little stronger than the temptation to drink beer around the warm campfire on the beach.

Holding a 15-foot-long dipnet in the river, I stood still and silent, conserving what precious heat remained in body as I waited for an unwitting salmon to swim into my snare. The water was too muddy to see the net, so I concentrated on the feel. A successful catch hinged on my ability to react the exact moment a salmon entered my net and to swiftly drag it ashore before it escaped.

I stood sandwiched between fellow dipnetters, just a few feet of open water to my right and left. The rest of the beach was the same, elbow to elbow for as far as I could see.

People wore an assortment of hip waders, chest waders and body suits, much of their equipment was cracked and faded through years of faithful service. Caulking, duct tape and other home remedies kept the old waders waterproof for yet another summer. Others, like myself, were less equipped and wore soaking wet tennis shoes, pants and raggedy T-shirts.

Many of the anglers created their own homemade nets, assembled from scraps of plastic and copper piping, tree branches, crutches, curtain rods and various other items from the shed.

They fastened their contraptions together with nails, bolts, wire and copious layers of duct tape, making the nets as varied as the men and women who owned them.

Seasoned veterans with modified, fortified, enlarged and extended dip-nets were easily distinguished from the rookies with mere standard, store-bought nets. It had been a few years since my last dipnetting adventure but I never remember seeing such elaborate fish-catching contraptions. After years of trial and error, the creative and increasingly complex dipnets reminded me of Darwin's theories about the adaptation of species.

One man, on the cusp of the next evolution, avoided the elbow-to-elbow hordes by tying a lifejacket to the handle of his net and floating down the river, out just beyond the reach of the farthest land-waders. He floated past hundreds of dipnetters, treading water, while dragging his net through the river until it thrashed to life, at which point he'd swim ashore, throw the squirming fish in a cooler and repeat the entire sequence. This evolved dipnetter snagged a fish about every other float -- five or six times faster than his landlocked counterparts. If people were taking mental notes, there will likely be a river full of floating, flipper-wearing, dipnetters, equipped with snorkel gear and dry suits in coming years.

As the sun descended, tents, ATVs and four-wheel-drive vehicles littered the beach with small clusters of men, women and children huddled around glowing campfires. Like members of a nomadic fishing tribe, hundreds of Alaskans camped along the bountiful river. Family dogs lay on the beach like bloated seals, their bellies stuffed tight with salmon guts. Whatever they could not eat, swarms of frenzied seagulls devoured with piercing cries of delight. There was never enough to satisfy their endless desire. When they ate all they could hold, they hovered in circles above the feeding masses, waiting for their stomachs to make more room.

Every few minutes a dipnet thrashed to life and a pleasantly startling dip-netter broke ranks along the river to drag a squirming fish from the water and up onto the beach. All eyes would fix upon their triumph for a moment; it was a feat everyone hoped to duplicate multiple times before weekend ended.

I had personally traveled several hundred miles with friends and family members. We paid $15 for subsistence licenses and joined the masses for a chance to stock our winter supply of fresh fish. Apart from the coolers, radios, beer and bonfires, however, our motivations for being at the river were strikingly similar to all the flying and four legged creatures -- we wanted fish meat.

After a quick break at the bonfire I resumed my single-minded pursuit, waist deep in cold rising water.

I rhythmically scooped the net through the river and, staring into the gray water, my mind began drifting through random, unpredictable musings. I remembered previous, childhood trips to the river, which triggered other memories of mud fights marshmallow roasts.

I'm not sure how long or far the neural connections progressed but suddenly, somewhere in the middle of a childhood water fight memory, the end of my net thrashed to life and I was pulled from my daydreams. Instinctively and spastically I yanked the net forward and dragged my prey from the river. I felt the other dip-netters watching. They were torn from their own daydreams to watch the triumphant dipnetter haul his wiggling prize up the bank.

The fish instinctively slapped its silver body against the mud. After admiring the beast, I scanned the beach for a rock or clubbing stick. When none was found I bent down, untangled the fish and, with my bare hands, punched the creature's cold hard head, four times, until it lay motionless and unflinching. Its unblinking eyes were wide and unchanged but all life had departed.

I removed the fish and slapped it down next to my backpack and belongings. A couple of elderly Filipino women sat in nearby folding chairs, watching me. They smiled, before flashing the thumbs-up sign. Unlike the seagulls, who are constantly suspicious of their own kind, I knew I didn't have to worry that those two women would steal my catch. We had a measure of civility and social norms between us that seagulls did not.

I returned to the river with renewed determination. There were fish to be caught and I knew how to catch them.

It was an ancient thrill, similar to the human and animal experiences that have occurred along those banks since before recorded history.

The entire episode took fewer than five minutes, before I took my post again. Cold water flowed across my legs.

My heart was still pounding with adrenaline as I stared into a gray river, full of hidden adventures.