It's the Land of the Midnight Run

Resslin' Around-By Casey Ressler

Paul Revere may have made the most famous midnight run, but Valley residents have him beat on the frequency of 12 a.m. jaunts.

With weekend-only fisheries opening at midnight, there is more activity on popular creeks around 11 p.m. than there is at 11 a.m. And in the Land of the Midnight Sun, what really is the difference?

The Friday before Solstice, we put our rafts in at the Parks Highway Bridge crossing Willow Creek. It was about 9:30 p.m., and I was surprised to see so many people. The creek wasn't going to open for fishing for another two hours, but still, the area was a buzz of activity.

As we floated, we wanted to pick a spot that looked "fishy," but we really didn't feel like fighting the crowds. As we slowly and peacefully floated the couple miles down the river, it became increasingly obvious that we weren't alone in that thinking.

There were tent cities on nearly every bend of the creek. Not just a tent or two, but seven or eight at each spot. Many people were hooting and hollering and having a grand old time. For many, the midnight opener didn't mean a thing -- they were there for the fun and the company, not for the fish.

As we finally found a decent hole, we pulled our rafts out and rigged our lines. It was 11:30 p.m., and most of us still had our sunglasses on, as the sun peaked behind bushes but never really set.

Like 97 percent of my king fishing experiences, we got skunked. Having to watch my daughter in the morning, I passed on the camping part of things. Of the five guys I was with, there was a two-man tent, three sleeping bags, four tarps and two coolers full of beer -- the perfect recipe for a camping trip gone bad -- so I put my raft back into the water and floated to the mouth of the creek to take out.

I arrived there around 4 a.m. to find about 300 people fishing shoulder to shoulder. Time wasn't a necessary consideration when it came to fishing for any of those folks, to be sure.

That scene was something that every Alaskan understands, and every person in the Lower 48 does not. When the fish are in, when it's the middle of the summer, when it's Alaska, time simply doesn't matter. There are more important things to worry about, like having the right fly or lure on your line.

As I was pulling my raft out, I met a guy who also floated the creek that night. He ended up fishing at the mouth and fighting those people for a spot. He decided at 4 a.m. that it was time to get going home.

"I can't believe how many people are down here at this time," I told him casually.

"This? This isn't bad at all. You should see it when the lazy people who went to bed last night start showing up in an hour. Then it gets really crazy," he told me.

Barely able to keep my eyes open, I was glad I was at my truck and getting on the road, but the steady stream of headlights of those "lazy" people headed to the mouth of the creek only illustrated his point.

Casey Ressler (valleylife@frontiersman.com) is the Valley Life editor. He puts up with January and February because of his three favorite friends -- June, July and August.