River run fizzles

Did our annual dipnetting run down to the Kenai River. What a great trip!

My wife, Glenny, packed only the absolute essentials into tubs and bins that fit perfectly into the van. With only a couple of tubs sitting behind the rear seat, our nets secured to the top of the van and a few snacks to munch on along the way, we set out on our trip down the peninsula. Our truly great friends, David and Stacey, followed in their big Ford truck with a camper on the back. The sun was shining, traffic was light and we made record time getting down there.

We pulled into Centennial Campground and found a wonderful camping spot with the perfect combination of sun and shade. The camp spaces there are nice and large, so we were able to save money by using one spot. In this way, we also saved more room for other people who would no doubt be coming to camp there as well. David and Stacey unloaded their camper and in a thrice, I had our brand-new cabin tent set up — not that I was in a hurry, mind you. The weather was amazing and it was so hot out that I almost didn’t need the tent.

The next morning we were up and at ’em early. And wow. Like a dream, the reds came up the Kenai in a massive run and our nets got slammed. It was as though the water was boiling there were so many — two, three and even four fish at a time hit the nets. In a matter of hours we were already approaching our limit. Then it was back to camp to clean, gut and start smoking the massive amount of salmon we had caught. Add a little sitting around the campfire and shooting the breeze with friends and family and wow, what a great trip.

Then I woke up in my freezing tent and took a minute to shake that dream out of my head. In reality, I had pulled out of Palmer the day before in a grossly overloaded van that wallowed and wobbled all over the road like a bloated pig. I couldn’t even see out the back window, and the traffic going through Anchorage was (as usual) absolutely horrible. David and Stacey followed in their big Ford, but we had to pull over along Turnagain Arm. Seems Stacey had tried to save time by crawling through the rear-window slider in order to use the camper bathroom and had become stuck trying to crawl back into the cab. She was wedged in that window for eights miles until they found a place to pull over and save her.

When we finally got to Centennial Park, we were told they charged by the vehicle; it really didn’t matter if we both stayed in the same spot or not, it would still be double-charged. Gosh, that makes sense. As they unloaded the camper from their truck, I set up the tent immediately adjacent to the mosquito hatchery that was our spot. You see, I had to hurry because the rain was starting to come down. After setting up camp and having a quick meal of hot dogs, it was time for bed. I had double sleeping bags, extra blankets and threw on my sweats before crawling into the sack. Didn’t matter. I still froze my tail off. Here it was mid-July and the nighttime temperatures were barely above freezing! My brother sent me a picture of snow falling in Wasilla that morning. Lucky me; I had chosen to go camping and fishing during a record cold-temp July.

But it wouldn’t matter. I wasn’t here for the camping, right? Nope, I was here for the fish! And so we were up bright and early and down at the river to get our nets in at 6 a.m., just as the tide was scheduled to start coming in. We had five nets in the river. It was cold and slightly breezy, but after a few hours of hard dipnetting we came back out of the water and admired our massive haul.

Of … one … lousy … fish.

So, hey, they weren’t running yet. No big deal. Surely they would start running that afternoon or at least the next day. And so it was that we did indeed get more fish. We wrapped our third day with a grand total of two fish. It was cold. It was windy. It was wet. And my reward was two lousy fish.

Now, normally when spirits start to fall or people start to get impatient, I’m the guy who runs around saying, “Hey, that’s just the way it is sometimes. Gotta take the good with the bad. Gotta be patient,” and all kinds of malarkey like that. Not this time. Day three found me all bundled up in my sweatshirt, flannel and Carhartt jacket trying not to freeze while sitting inside the car because the rain was coming down in five-gallon buckets. When I stepped out of the car the family all looked at me in mild surprise when I said, “That’s it! We’re done! Everybody start packing up! We’re going home!”

We came home a few days early with our mighty catch of two fish and I slept in my own bed in my warm house that night — and it felt great! Of course, I just heard a couple days back that the reds “finally started running.” Yeah, that’s great. Woo-hoo.

Glenny is taking the kids back down this weekend to try again.

I hope she slays the heck out of the fish and brings home several hundred pounds worth. I’ll be at home, sleeping in our queen bed at night, eating what I can cook in our kitchen, surfing the Internet and ready to fire up the smoker when they drag their stinky bodies back home.

Ben Compton is a Palmer resident and publishes his column under the tagline “Compton’s Corner,” the same title used by his grandmother, Phyllis Compton, a longtime Frontiersman columnist.