JASON'S FISHING TRIP TO ALASKA

I guess you could say my fishing career improved after I flew from my home in San Francisco, California to Anchorage, Alaska to visit my Uncle Arne.

"First we're going to Otter Lake," Uncle Arne said. He was messing with an old bamboo fly rod. I'd never used a fly rod before.

"What's in Otter Lake?" I asked.

"Rainbows," Uncle Arne said. He was sitting in the driveway. It was gray out, a few sprinkles. Uncle Arne had a Spruce Fly in one hand, the leader in the other. His fingers and hands moved. He cinched the leader to the fly. I didn't know how to do that knot.

"You done this before?" Uncle Arne asked.

I didn't want him to think I was new to being a fisherman. I'm 12 years old and I'd fished before. I've lived in San Francisco all my life. I've fished with my dad off Candlestick Pier. Bait fishing. We use anchovies and pile worms. We caught smelt and shark. My uncle Arne was looking at me, waiting for me to answer, but I didn't say anything.

"You probably have your own knot, right?" Uncle Arne said.

"I guess so," I said.

"OK, I'll show you a trick, how to do this one."

He cut the leader. There wasn't a fly on it anymore. He had a Black Ant in his hand, stuck the leader through the eye of the hook, wrapped the leader around three times and passed it through first one loop, then another and cinched it down. He handed the fly and the leader to me. I did the cinch knot the first try. I'm pretty sure he could tell I was a fisherman.

THE KNIFE

"We're going to the store," Uncle Arne said.

"Buy more flies?" I asked.

He didn't answer. I wished he would hurry up, get the canoe on top the car so we could go to Otter Lake. I found the knife of a lifetime in the Sporting Goods section. I'd never owned a knife before.

"Can I buy that?" I asked. "I've got money my parents gave me."

"You know how to use one of those?" Uncle Arne asked.

"Sure," I said. That wasn't the whole truth, but I was pretty sure I knew how to use one.

Uncle Arne didn't say anything.

"Think I could buy it?" I asked.

He looked off into space awhile. Then he said, "Might as well."

It cost me $17.00. I'd spent almost all my money. But the knife was awesome. It had a curved blade that folds into the handle and a carrying case that fit on my belt. Best knife in the world.

"That knife," Uncle Arne said.

"What about it?" I thought he was going to change his mind.

"Don't tell your aunts what you got. Not right away," Uncle Arne said.

"You mean keep it a secret?" I asked.

"Just for awhile," Uncle Arne said.

THE CANOE

I helped Uncle Arne and my cousin Paul lift the canoe on top of the Sentra. Then they taught me hitches and slip knots.

"Had it up to 65 once with the canoe up there," Uncle Arne said. "We sailed right through."

OTTER LAKE

We stopped at the Elmendorf Air Force Base gate. Uncle Arne went in a building. He returned with a piece of white paper in his hand.

"That's my civilian pass," he said. "It's good until 2400 hours."

A white-gloved airman waved us past the gate. I saw some F15 fighters parked on the runway. Uncle Arne drove slowly through Elmendorf, then out along gravel roads for twenty minutes.

Otter Lake opened up before me. It looked like an oil painting. There were bright rolling low clouds.

I didn't mind the rain at all. As we began to set up our gear the sprinkles stopped.

The lake was wide and long. The waters were flat and reflected rolls of cloud like mercury.

RAINBOWS

"Gone canoeing before?" Uncle Arne asked. The paddles were already in the canoe. I had my life-vest on. So did Uncle Arne. He was going to let me use the bamboo rod.

I didn't want to say I'd never been in a canoe before. Sort of embarrassing. I thought up an answer I thought sounded cool.

"I can do it," I said.

"You're in the bow," he said. "Before you get in, for crying out loud don't go getting up and start walking around. Stay low, hold the sides, and let me know when you're going to shift your weight."

"Yeah, OK," I said. I only weigh 105 pounds and I didn't have much weight to shift around, but I did what he said.

He steered from the stern, using his paddle in a slick sort or way. I just paddled. At first I was holding the paddle wrong. Uncle Arne told me to cover the top of the paddle with one hand.

"Get more power that way," he said. He wanted me to work, to paddle hard.

We paddled to the other side of the lake.

I started casting. We weren't catching any. I was slashing the water behind me.

"With that rod, keep your casts short. You don't have to make a long cast from a canoe to catch fish."

I practiced awhile. No bites.

Uncle Arne and I paddled.

"See where the tall, gold grass opens?" Uncle Arne asked.

"Yes."

"We're working the canoe back there. The mergansers and loons nest there, so keep quiet."

The channel through the grass was narrow at first, but gradually it widened. A beaver swam by, heading over to its lodge. We kept going further. The channels branched. We came to a wide glassy area. There were swirls and mosquitoes all over the surface. I was getting excited.

"There's fish here!" I said.

When he started casting, Uncle Arne was as calm as the beaver. He made long casts. I tried to make mine go out far, too, but Uncle Arne kept saying no, stay with the short casts.

I caught the first fish. My first Rainbow. It was about 12 inches. I can still feel how the bamboo rod felt in my hands.

After I landed it and got the fly out of its mouth, I started casting real fast and hard, because I wanted to catch another one. I was splashing the water everywhere with my fly line.

"Be calm," Uncle Arne said. He sounded like Darth Vader.

"I can't," I said.

"I know. It's hard to be calm. So what you have to do is pretend you're calm, even if you're not."

"Why be calm?" I said. "This is exciting! I want to catch more fish!"

Uncle Arne said, "Your job is to present the fly to the fish. Your job is to make the fish excited. You must be calm."

I pretended to be calm. I made short casts and I didn't splash the water so much anymore.

I was a fly fisherman.

THE TOOL

When we got to shore, Uncle Arne showed me how to hold the trout in my left hand, belly up, and how to use my new knife. He was very strict. I had to hold the fish just so, clean them in the same way, each time. I did two, before he let me continue on my own.

"You've got it now. When you're done, clean your hands and your knife. Never let your knife out of sight. Keep it in the holster. It's an important tool you must use when we go to the Tangle Lakes."

"Where's that?" I asked. I was already cleaning the third Rainbow.

"It's almost 300 miles away, in the Interior, where the Nelchina caribou herd roams, all 45,000 of them."

"Will we see the caribou?" I asked.

"No. Too early. They come into the Tangle Lakes area when the snow flies. This is only August," Uncle Arne said.

"We going to catch more Rainbow?" I asked.

"No. We'll catch another fish. One you've never seen before," Uncle Arne said.

That night, Uncle Arne told my aunts about the knife, how I used the knife to clean fish. He told them I was careful and responsible. My aunts looked at me a long time. But they didn't say anything.

Uncle Arne said, "Always keep care of that knife, for the rest of your life. Don't let rust get in there.

Keep it sharp. It's a tool."

Later that night, I said, "What kind of fish do we catch in the Tangle Lakes?"

Uncle Arne looked off into space for a long time.

"Arctic Grayling," he said. It looked to me like his mouth was watering.

THE TANGLE LAKES

We'd been driving for hours and hours. When we got to Tangle Lake Lodge, my aunts and cousins and Uncle Arne and I stayed in a big cabin. There were 10 bunks in there and a wood stove made out of an oil drum to keep us warm at night. We were 3,000 feet up.

In the morning my cousin Paul and I fished for Arctic Grayling from the canoe, but they weren't biting.

Uncle Arne took us to Rock Creek. I wore hip boots.

"Look there in the water," Uncle Arne said.

The water was clear and flowing and bubbling over mossy rocks, real slippery ones.

"Here's where your short cast is important," Uncle Arne said. "And watch your step when you work the creek. You slip, you get wet. You get wet, and it's all over. You'll get hypothermia in Alaska if you don't watch out."

I kept dry. I almost fell once, but caught myself in time.

I caught the first Arctic Grayling. A big 11 incher. I was using a tiny fly, a Black Ant. Arctic

Grayling like small flies.

When we returned to the cabin, my Aunt Shirley started the charcoal while I cleaned the fish. Then I helped her cook them on the grill. I poured salsa on mine. Arctic Grayling are the best tasting fish in the whole world.

I would say my fishing career improved when I went to Alaska, because I am now a fly fisherman. I'm pretty darn good at it, if you ask me. I hope someday to go back there, and fish some more with my cousin Paul and Uncle Arne.

I keep my knife in my tackle box.