Suddenly my host’s voice interrupted the reverie, “Careful there. He may come back to haunt you.” When I turned to investigate, Steele Davis stood astride a moss covered human skull that stared up at me.

Davis owns an adventure travel resort called “Spirit of Alaska.” Tucked away in a remote corner of Kodiak Island just off the Kenai Peninsula, “Spirit of Alaska” embodies many things to Davis. He guides hunts for Kodiak Island’s incomparable brown bear and for fishing its fertile waters for cod, halibut, sea bass and a variety of other fish including several species of salmon. Marine life there literally teems with countless varieties of terns, gulls, ducks, puffins, a Bald Eagle’s nest every few hundred yards of shoreline while otters, harbor seals, sea lions, Orca killer whales and humpback whales earn a living there as well.

Davis, a transplanted New Englander, was born and raised in New Hampshire. He spent his military service near Anchorage. After mustering out of the military, Alaska’s hold on him was too strong to return to New Hampshire. He gathered enough financial resources to build rustic camp sites deep in Kodiak Island’s interior. “The Spirit of Alaska” sprang from sweat equity wrung from his hands.

When contacting Davis to plan our excursion to Kodiak, I expressed a desire to learn as much about the cultural aspects of the native Aleuts, hereafter referred to as Alutiiq (plural) or Alutiit (singular), that once lived there and current native lifestyles that remained - as much as he could show me. Little did I realize what that request would reveal later. I was to learn that Davis’ “Spirit of Alaska” encompassed far more than just a breathtaking panorama of scenery and wildlife.

Davis gave a tour of his property laying below the snug cabin we occupied during our Kodiak stay. I saw remains of a good sized “barabara” (a pit-type ancient native residence built partially below ground-level with whalebones, tree trunks, boards and other available scavenged material to secure the dwelling above ground). It evidenced side rooms, dug off to the side of the main room, that were used for storage and separate sleeping quarters for families residing there. There was a tremendous midden, or refuse pile, accumulated on the beach punctuated with many grass and moss lined depressions revealing former excavations that may have been small shelters or storage deposits for the “Old Ones.”

All of the above was virtually within sight of a small community across Uyak Bay called Larsen Bay. Larsen Bay is a community comprised primarily of about 180 native Alutiiq. The sole source of employment is a cannery other than the subsistence lifestyle exercised by its residents.

Tiny remote Larsen Bay, led by its late former Mayor Frank Carlson, waged a fight against the Smithsonian Institution’s museum in Washington D.C. to have relics of Alutiiq human remains and their accompanying artifacts returned to them. From 1931-1936 Ales Hrdlicka, curator of the Division of Physical Anthropology at the Smithsonian Institute’s National Museum of Natural History excavated hundreds of native skeletal remains and accompanying artifacts from a dig adjacent to the Larsen Bay community. He then removed them to the museum in Washington D.C. In the 1970s, Larsen Bay posited that this was disrespectful to their ancestors and successfully demanded the relics be returned to their rightful resting place.

If I had climbed a tall enough tree standing over that skull between Davis’ feet, I could probably have seen Larsen Bay from that spot.

Davis then loaded us into his unique water craft the Shelbee Dee and boated me to another ancient midden site just down the coast and more in line across from the Larsen Bay community. It lay several miles across Uyak Bay on the opposite side.

As Davis steered his craft to a landing on the beach, it was impossible not to notice the remains of a huge midden outlining the upper reaches of a moderately high bluff paralleling the beach for more than the length of a football field. A human leg bone hung precariously over the edge of the midden in plain view.

Middens are the remains of refuse piles utilized by ancient subsistence cultures to discard refuse accumulated during the course of their daily routines. This included garbage, broken pottery, other utensils and tools and, in the case of Kodiak Island’s ancient Alutiiq, burial remains of their ancestors. Occasionally the “Old Ones” deceased were also buried under the floors of their barabaras, or nearby their homes. But more often they were simply laid to rest in shallow shale-lined coffins, or crude sarcophagi, buried in a nearby midden.

It was such an area that Davis now had me explore. I looked about with no small measure of disgust and revulsion. A shovel blade, sans the handle, lay nearby. Hundreds of excavated pits revealed countless human remains scattered on the surface and laying revealed on the bottom of some of the crudely managed excavations. It was desecration of the highest magnitude. I reluctantly took pictures accompanying this article to show the utter disregard for respect of the deceased and the hallowed ground they were placed in.

A child’s paper thin partial skull lay revealed in one hastily opened pit. While I stood capturing yet another image in another pit, Davis walked up behind me and casually picked up a stone oil lamp laying on the ground where it had been excavated out of the burial site but overlooked by grave-robbers. The lamp possibly left to light the child’s path to the afterlife was no longer in place.

Larsen Bay lay virtually within sight across the bay. The same community whose indignation at the removal of ancestral remains similar to those literally scattered at my feet brought the Federal Government to their knees and resulted not only in the return of their ancestors’ relics but helped initiate some far reaching Federal legislation.

In 1990, Congress enacted the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA). This act requires museums and qualified anthropologists to report excavations of native cultural sites to appropriate tribal councils within the country and work with those councils regarding their archeological excavation work. It is now a federal crime to remove an artifact from a native grave in this country - whether cultural or skeletal.

While Larsen Bay brought the mighty United States Congress to its knees from virtually the far side of the continent regarding the disrespect Hrdlicka’s Smithsonian work subjected their ancestors to during the 1930s, today a worse crime is perpetrated on their ancestors – still virtually within the shadow of their homes at Larsen Bay.

There is not room in this article to identify all the historical impacts highlighting Alutiiq cultural identification problems and their struggle to achieve respect for their identity as a race. That doesn’t mean they are insignificant because too many incidents perpetrated on these people down through history demoralized their culture and helped lead to the current problem. For one, when the United States took over Alaska from the Russian influence in the region, American teachers installed in the native schools forbade the Alutiiq young people to speak in their native tongue(s) - in fact, punished them severely if they did.

Today, one major stumbling block in protecting their “turf” is that, like most all North American native cultures, ownership of specific plots of land is alien to their evolutionary background. While different villages and tribes might have exercised territorial control for the tribe’s benefit over another tribe, individual possession of land was a European quirk of the white man’s they never comprehended. Land, and all that crawled or grew on it, belonged to the tribe as a whole. None owned any portion individually. The concept is totally foreign to subsistence cultures virtually world wide. That native Alutiiq trait still complicates current events today.

On December 18, 1971 the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act (ANCSA) was passed to, allegedly, once and for all settle the taking of native lands from the ancestors of living Alaskan natives. Forty four million (44,000,000) acres and $962,000,000 for distribution to registered natives with claims through tribal affiliations was set aside to “once and for all” right the wrongs in wresting Alaska lands from its former occupants. (Sarcasm intended.)

To identify how confusing this problem gets, the land that Steele showed me where the moss covered skull stared up at me from between his feet was once involved in the ANCSA land repatriation program. According to Davis, it was titled to an approved Alutiit registered on the tribal rolls at Larsen Bay. Approximately 40-acres in size, it was then sold to a non-native family that, according to Davis, now proposes to build a residence on it and take the road accessing the proposed residence right through the burial site where the skull rests atop its shallow grave.

Financial resources apparently mean more than protecting ancestral dignities on a personal basis. Historically, Alutiiq culture viewed the entire area as their collective home, “kitchen,” and livelihood as a gift from the same ancestors now being “sold” into oblivion. So much for ANCSA.

Is the latter a crime as defined by NAGPRA? It will take a more educated legal opinion than I can personally muster to determine the latter. However, no matter what that decision, the 800-pound gorilla sitting in the middle of the question regards a continuing lack of respect accorded Kodiak Island’s native burial sites irregardless of Larsen Bay’s singular victory over the Smithsonian Hrdlicka abuses inflicted in the 1930s.

I visited the Alutiiq Museum and Archeological Repository in the City of Kodiak prior to our departure from Kodiak Island regarding the archeological desecrations witnessed near Larsen Bay. Museum Director Sven Haakanson, Jr. was kind enough to accord valuable time from his busy schedule, with little or no notice I might add, to visit with me about the latter. I remain extremely grateful to him for that courtesy.

Haakanson expressed his opinion that commercial fishing fleets in the area were responsible for the looting of the archeological sites near Larsen Bay. He furnished a poster he stated had been dispensed to the fishing fleet, school systems and others declaring fines of up to $250,000 and confiscation of all equipment and vehicles used to commit the crime. He also claimed to have previously visited the area and caught perpetrators in the act of digging in that area.

But so far, no fines have been levied and no commercial fishing fleet boats have been confiscated for transporting stolen archeological artifacts by grave robbers.

Davis pointed out that the time of the year, May, that he showed me the various abandoned ancient Alutiiq village sites was key to us being able to see where these ancient locations were situated. As the growing season progresses, vegetation literally overgrows the sites creating a veritable jungle of impenetrable growth. This growth conceals the landscape and its secrets until winter levels the vegetation and the cycle starts again.

What I witnessed was more than mind-boggling: Remnants of red fire-scorched shale on high outlooks adjacent to pits containing human skeletons. Could they possibly have been ancient “lighthouses” guiding hunters and whalers home from dangerous expeditions to feed the village? Possibly to nourish some of the same remains now so crudely exposed to the elements? The pit-remains of an ancient barabara where ancient Alutiiq families lived out their lives and whose bones probably now lie amongst those scattered across the real estate just a few heartbeats across from Larsen Bay.

Outrage expressed by Haakanson was expected and admirable. However, responsible authorities allowing these atrocities to continue without enforcing the laws put in place to stop them is merely throwing voice to the wind. Chaining these perps to a jail cell and confiscating the equipment facilitating the rape of this country’s historical evidence is the least that should be brought to bear to bring this travesty under control.

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With that said, travel arrangements to Kodiak Island from KCI with American Airlines, both going and coming, personally offered the worst travel experience suffered in more than forty years of pleasure and business travel.

Some of it was unavoidable. Weather usually plays a part in flight delays - and for good reasons. Such delays are focused on saving lives. Yet, airlines are also in the business of moving people and helping them meet agendas that passengers paid the airlines handsomely to deliver. The airlines have more responsibility to their customers other than just showing up at the gate to greet paying fares with a smile and an “I’m sorry, we can’t accommodate our obligations to you today because … .” when bumps in the road appear. They don’t refund the price of the tickets if the customer doesn’t show. With that said, the dog had better hunt both ways.

Our travel arrangements included flying from K.C.I. in Kansas City to catch a direct American flight from D.F.W. in Dallas to Anchorage – the latter approximately a six and one half hour flight. We had two hours after scheduled arrival in Anchorage to make our connection with Era Airlines, a subsidiary of Alaskan Airlines, which was scheduled to take us on the final leg to Kodiak City that same evening. While that should have been more than ample, it didn’t happen.

D.F.W. has a history of strange and unpredictable wind shears, even during blue-sky weather painted with unlimited visibility, if certain barometric conditions pose strong winds in that area. At least one plane was lost on landing several years ago with great loss of life. Since that tragic event, current security measures often stack traffic in the skies above the airport that are trying to land and, of course, the same delay goes for those trying to take off.

Those conditions apparently existed prior to our departure for Anchorage. After finally taking off, the captain announced we were an hour and a half late on our schedule. We had a heavy two days planned touring Kodiak City’s unique historical sites, port and incomparable Alutiiq Museum and Archaeological Repository on arrival. The schedule was to prepare us for what we were to see and experience in remote isolated areas scattered down coast lines of North West Kodiak’s archipelago. I immediately tripped the light to talk to a steward. Our trip’s investment had just been put at a significant risk.

At this point, there is no blame from us with American. They were doing their job as well as they could. But, it quickly went downhill from this point on.

I tried to ask the steward (male) for help regarding our connection in Anchorage. In years past, such situations enlisted support from the flight crew, such as radioing ahead and establishing communications with their passengers’ airline connections to attempt as smooth a transition as the delay might allow. The steward cut me off in mid-sentence and, with a glare, informed me I would have to, “… straighten it out on arrival in Anchorage.” It wasn’t, “… their fault and there isn’t anything we can do to help you.” And he curtly ended the conversation and avoided my look the rest of the lengthy flight.

In all the travel years previous to this flight, I never missed a flight in such a situation – until this one. As it turned out, we missed the Era flight by 20-minutes according to Era’s employees when we charged breathlessly up to their gate.

To add insult to injury, the same steward that handled us so curtly on departure smiled “sweetly” as we hurried off the plane to try and salvage our connection, stating, “I hope you enjoy your stay on Kodiak Island.” You had to be there. But right then I fully understood stories previously aired in the media about “belligerent” passengers getting arrested for decking members of flight crews.

After realizing we had missed our Kodiak connection, we were informed the next flight was not until 7:00 am the next morning.

Stranded. No bags. We’re in our 60s and 70s. There wasn’t any way I was going to let Bev spend the night in a chair in the airport. We back-tracked to American’s ticket counter.

After explaining our predicament and asking for vouchers for meals and lodging, I ran into resistance. It, “… wasn’t their fault” “… we can’t issue the vouchers without administration’s approval …” “… administration personnel are preoccupied with …”

I finally quit asking and demanded to see the head of American Airline’s Anchorage personnel. Forty five minutes later, or longer, the same agent brought us vouchers for lodging at Anchorage’s Puffin Inn and for meals as long as they didn’t exceed $10.00 each. Anybody with travel experience in Alaska knows what a joke the meal vouchers were.

My requests for toiletries went unheeded. With no baggage, we had no way to shave, brush teeth, comb hair or any of the other necessities Bev subjects herself to before facing the public. American Airline not only did not assume any responsibility for the connection problems incurred at the moment of departure on a 6 ½ hour flight, they didn’t show the slightest courtesy for our welfare after we determined we were stranded on arrival in Kodiak. What we got out of them, we fought for because I knew it was their responsibility to provide it. Every delaying tactic they could employ was used to try and avoid what they finally did grudgingly provide.

While riding the shuttle to the Puffin Inn much later, I was laying back licking my wounds while Bev related our experience to an Alaskan Airline stewardess named Collette. Collette was laying over at the Puffin Inn as well.

After hearing Bev out, Collette quietly informed she had just resigned her stewardess job with American Airline and transferred to Seattle, Washington to sign on with Alaskan Airlines. She stated, “I had no idea how bad American’s service was until I went to work for Alaskan.”

Regardless what you might think, that statement did not make my day get any better. We were still booked to get home with American. It has virtually always been my experience that in the cold hard world of reality, leopards don’t change their spots.

Part of our trip included fishing. When planning the trip, I wasn’t sure whether devoting time to fishing would be productive. How do you get them home on the airlines?

When I asked that question, I was assured that we were each allowed 50-pounds of frozen fish on the return home. The implication was the frozen fish were allowed for in airline baggage regs to accommodate tourism to the area.

That turned out to be only partially correct. My fault in this was the various airline regs were conflicting and I ASSUMED this statement resolved the confusion. Bad mistake. We were maxed out per American Airline’s checked baggage regs (two properly sized bags each at 50-pounds or less) when departing by American for Alaska.

Alaskan Airlines (Era’s parent) baggage regulations include one 50-pound box of frozen fish gratis per paying fare on return flights home (keyword here) WITHIN the state of Alaska or to any airport their flights terminate at. The latter could be Seattle for instance. I assume (careful with that word!) that would also include Alaskan’s new flights into Chicago’s O’Hare Airport.

Take the following as a disclaimer: All airline passengers should investigate baggage regs for themselves without taking mine or any other word on the subject, print them out and carry them in the same folder they carry their tickets in to avoid the problems we ran into.

When checking baggage at Kodiak’s airport for the return home, the agent took one look at all our luggage, including the boxes of fish, and then, slyly, offered us a concession. That should have been my tip-off trouble was brewing. Someone with an airline appeared to be actually trying to help us get somewhere.

He booked us on an earlier flight to Anchorage. We thought that would help preclude any chance of missing the American leg back to D.F.W. and help us avoid any chance of the same nightmare we experienced on our arrival, so we accepted the offer. While it did that, we ended up facing new challenges because of the changed flight.

Kodiak’s security immediately impounded all our luggage, boxes of fish and us for a complete search. When I asked why, they stated that one of the main ploys terrorists use to attack airlines is to divert to different flights other than those they were originally scheduled to fly.

Also, by booking a different flight, the Era agent stated we must reclaim our baggage at Anchorage, then get it to American check-in and rebook it there for the trip home. While I thought that strange at the time, I now strongly suspect the Era agent foresaw a coming problem and passed it on to American rather than face the issue in Kodiak.

When we claimed our baggage from Era in Anchorage and delivered it to American, the agent there demanded excess baggage fees for the frozen fish to the tune of $80.00 a box or $160.00 total excess baggage charges. It was pay or give them the fish.

Some alternatives to the excess baggage fees for frozen fish for passengers from the Midwest might be Southwest Airlines to Seattle with connections with Alaskan Airlines from there to Alaskan destinations. American Airlines baggage limits are a restrictive two checked bags of proper dimensions and 50-pounds or less to avoid excess charges. Southwest and other airlines permit more ample three-bag check-in limits per paying passenger. This would have avoided the excess fees American charged us to get the fish home. There was no baggage fee charged by Era to get us to Anchorage.

A recent flight to LAX in Los Angeles was scheduled round-trip with Southwest out of K.C.I. Bags were checked curbside both at K.C.I. and LAX by redcap service. Boarding passes were handed to us curbside also. There is no seat assignment with Southwest. Seating is by A,B,C divisions with first come, first served when getting on the plane. There is no first class. After departure, free care-packages are handed out with three bags of snacks in each box. Soft drinks are dispensed free – the entire can – not just a plastic tumbler full. Alcoholic beverages require payment.

Southwest’s curbside service was prompt, from curbside redcaps to on-board stews, with smiles, thankyou’s and handshakes all around. Obvious concerted efforts were made to get passengers onto the aircrafts with on-time departures. It renewed our faith in acceptable airline services designed for passenger comfort and, most importantly, a commitment to getting them there on the schedules Southwest committed to as to departures and arrivals.

Would I go to Alaska again? Absolutely!

But, if the only travel choice was American Airlines, I would strongly advise scheduling enough time to drive the Alaskan Highway to Anchorage. Otherwise I would book a comparable people-oriented airline, such as Alaskan Airline’s systems connected with, say, Southwest, without hesitation. Personally, American Airlines would not rate the slightest consideration.

A final word: It is astute to not take anyone’s word about creative baggage arrangements to Alaska without checking and printing out each airline’s baggage policies prior to scheduling a trip there. We discovered, quite crudely and expensively, virtually not one airline flying in and out of Alaska offers the same baggage allowance. When transferring between airlines, the importance of such planning surfaces when reviewing the example we experienced checking in with a different flight on Kodiak Island than one originally scheduled to start us on the final legs home.

Et Caveat Emptor! (Let the buyer beware!)

The timing of our May adventure, unfortunately, was too early for whales. But, we saw bears daily in addition to glassing Rocky Mountain goats by the hundreds, at times we seemed over-run by Sitka deer, red foxes bedded literally outside our cabin and the wealth of marine life from sea lions, orcas, harbor seals, sea otters and a myriad of marine birds from horned puffins to kittiwakes underscored the area’s estimated 400 mating pairs of bald eagles virtually nesting every few hundred yards along the beaches we toured.

Access to “Spirit of Alaska” on Kodiak’s northwest side of the archipelago was by Sea Hawk Air’s float plane service from Near Island in the City of Kodiak. Commercial airline service got us from KCI in Kansas City to Anchorage, Alaska. Original connections via ERA Air to the City of Kodiak’s airport on Kodiak Island were trashed due to an almost two hour late arrival in Anchorage - more on this later. (See sidebar.)

Kodiak Island is actually an archipelago of various sized islands from an acre or more up to three major islands that range up to several hundred square miles each. ERA was scheduled to get us to Kodiak on the last leg of our departure flight by 10:30 pm Alaska time the same day we departed KCI. That didn’t happen.

The City of Kodiak boasts approximately 12,000 residents. Major employment is divided between the fishing industry (more than 650 commercial fishing vessels are registered at The Port of Kodiak, the third largest U.S. fishing port, with about another 120 commercial fishing vessels ported in various Kodiak Island fishing communities), United States Coast Guard (largest U.S.C.G. base in the U.S.) and the tourism industry. Kodiak’s public atmosphere is small-town-how-can-we-help-you everywhere you turn – after once getting there.

We planned our trip to include two days touring the historic City of Kodiak before departing by float plane for the ultimate destination on the NW side of the archipelago. Missed airline connections caused by American Airlines’ 1 ½ hour delay getting off the ground at D.F.W. in Dallas ate up the first day programmed to tour historic City of Kodiak.

The good thing was: Our itinerary had a cushion of two days that prevented us losing time from an irrevocable booking with “Spirit of Alaska.” The only part of the trip offering serious bumps-in-the-road came from airline bookings with American Airlines. Fortunately, they were not disastrous to the inland trip, (other than we missed seeing and sharing the history and culture of one of the oldest and most historic communities in our country’s far north) but they created the worst, and ugliest, travel situation(s) I’ve faced in more than 40-years of business and pleasure travel. (As stated earlier, see sidebar.)

We finally arrived in the City of Kodiak. Our accommodations for the night were at Kodiak’s Best Western – a facility also offering fine dining menus from breakfast continuing through the evening meal. It was an excellent place to stay.

I used a rental car from the airport to get our grocery shopping done while Bev settled into a hot shower and a nap. Our agenda at “Spirit of Alaska” included cooking our own meals. After securing 10-day’s supply of groceries, I took off for Fossil Beach west of town. While I found no fossils on a much tracked-up beach, I did stumble across several bison herds posing with the ocean’s surf in the background. A newborn calf nursed so vigorously, its mother’s leg flew up involuntarily every time the calf butted her udder. While humorous to watch, I commiserated with that poor cow. She was taking a serious beating fulfilling her matronly duty.

The bison are reportedly raised under the auspices of the Burton Ranch. Raising cattle on Kodiak Island, where Kodiak brown bears treated them as an oft-sought snack, proved unprofitable at best. Marketing bison proved much more astute. Besides great demand at higher prices than beef, bison fair much better in fending off bears than cattle. The ox-like animals maintain close knit family/herd alliances. When Mr. or Mrs. Bear challenge a bison, they usually face the rest of the herd as well. When aroused, a single bull bison is absolutely formidable to watch in action – let alone a herd of them.

While traveling through the bison ranch, I passed by the entrance to the Kodiak Launch Complex owned and operated by the Alaska Aerospace Development Corporation - the United States’ only state maintained and operated aerospace launching facility comparable to Cape Canaveral and literally situated at the opposing end of a diagonal line stretching virtually across the entire North American Continent to Florida.

Later, there was time to unwind with an excellent early evening seafood meal at Henry’s opposite the Port of Kodiak where most of the fishing fleet’s vessels were moored. After the hassle and stress of a late arrival with the missed airline connections survived at Anchorage the night before, Bev and I needed little urging to hit the sack early in preparation for a 9:30 am departure via Sea Hawk Air’s float-plane service.

The next morning, after breakfast, Sea Hawk’s shuttle service picked us up in a light rain. Their driver followed me to the airport where I returned the rental car. Then Levi generously returned us to an impressive full line Safeway Grocery Store to get several items forgotten the day before. Once delivered into the bush on the backside of Kodiak Island, we were on our own till returning to “civilization.” Sea Hawk personnel literally bent over backwards to make sure we had everything on our list before departing Kodiak.

Kodiak’s Safeway store even had a Starbucks in it. But the one thing we will best remember it for is the “sticker-shock” experienced there. For example: We paid $5.19 for a loaf of seven grain bread – and all other items were priced accordingly. To be fair, nothing is “trucked” into Kodiak. It is either flown in by air or delivered by that proverbial “slow-boat-to-China” that incidentally stops off at Kodiak. Freight factors in big time on Kodiak City’s retail store shelf prices.

At Sea Hawk Air we met Rolan Ruoss (pronounced Ross) and his partner Jo Murphy. Rolan had our gear loaded and secured in short order in addition to the groceries delivered the day before and held in Sea Hawk’s walk-in coolers till our departure. Both partners could not have greeted us more graciously nor been more solicitous of our preparations for departure.

Bev was about to make her first bush plane flight. After the nightmare arrival in Anchorage with American Airlines, the excitement and thrill looked forward to with this adventurous trip was finally getting us past that initial horrible experience. We were off for the “Wilds of Alaska!”

Rolan held the flight path to between 1000 and 1500 feet MSL (mean sea level). He pointed out isolated communities as we flew over them: Ouzinkie, population 191, Port Lions, population 220 (named after Lions Club International that helped relocate that city when it was destroyed by the 1964 tsunami), and Larsen Bay, population 97, near our final destination.

As Rolan brought the De Havilland Beaver in for a landing in a cove near Larsen Bay, I never recognized when the plane quit being a bird and became a boat. I hold a private pilot’s license and that particular landing on water was technically the best I’ve ever experienced – whether in a commercial aircraft or a private one – on land or water.

Two couple’s waited to load and fly out after our “Spirit of Alaska” host, Steele Davis, and Rolan unloaded our gear from the DeHavilland. The departing guests were bear hunters. Unsuccessful at filling hunting tags, they had four 50-pound cartons of frozen fish they were taking back. They couldn’t quit raving about their experiences.

Steele used a six-wheeler to get our gear several hundred yards up a steady incline to a solitary cabin built well above the beach. It was not visible by air unless directly over it. We discovered we had the entire area virtually to ourselves. Steele’s accommodations were a mile and a half across the bay. While connected by a two-way radio, other than that, we were as isolated as you get in any wilderness location. No phones. No electricity. No radio nor T.V. Propane powered stove and range (nice), propane gas-lights and an oil-stove for heat were the major utilities tucked into one of the most secluded and beautiful settings I’ve ever spent a night in.

We adapted quickly to Cajun style pots of rice combined with shrimp, meat balls, chicken, or turkey slow-cooking on top of that oil stove. Meals were literally served on-demand. This allowed maximum attention to the business at hand – fishing, game viewing and photographing.

We regretfully kenneled Tonga, our Carolina Yellow dog, prior to departure. There was simply no way to consider taking her on this trip. However, we quickly discovered pseudo replacements for her. Three red foxes bedded nightly just outside the cabin’s door. Previous residents had apparently habituated them to people.

Steele named them: Bailee, Reesy (short for Reese’s peanut butter cups), and Misha. Reesy was a cross between the red and black phases.

They often followed us from the beach to the cabin and back again. Bailee and Reesy were virtually there daily while Misha was slightly more irregular. None showed any fear or hesitation about joining our company when they appeared on the scene. I often saw them combing nearby beaches for clams and mussels and whatever other edible they could attempt to claim including when we brought fish back with us.

If not visible when we first arrived back at the cabin’s beach from one of our excursions, the sound of Steele’s voice often brought one of these three critters into view within minutes – if not sooner. I strongly advised Bev to refrain from attempting to touch or pet them in any way. In truth, they are wild animals. It was a strange but delightful situation providing a rare window of observation on such a usually secretive critter.

While Steele adamantly held to a don’t-feed-the-foxes rule, I can’t vouch for what Bev did while Steele and I were off stalking brown bears and other neighbors. As close as those foxes held to her during the entire stay, I have my suspicions. Davis growled at one point about a previous female client that baked biscuits for them. True story!

Bev didn’t always ride with us on fishing and game viewing trips. The chill dampness that prevails during May often encouraged her to stay in the cabin near her new found fox companions while reading. (Unfortunately, both of us contracted chest colds about this time.)

However, our best bear viewing afternoon (counted nineteen) fortunately occurred when Bev rode with us. Steele located a sow combing a beach – with four three-year-old cubs trailing along. As we approached, they held long enough in the brush for them to get a good look at us while we stretched our necks at them. The cubs were about three fourths their mother’s bulk. She obviously did a good job raising them.

Kodiak’s brown bear boars notoriously single out bear cubs. By killing them, the sows come into heat faster. Steele indicated this had become a major problem depressing Kodiak’s brown bear populations.

My past experiences with nature usually revealed that various wild animals’ traits offered solid biological reasons for animals doing what they do to survive. Similar to mothers running off their previous young when it’s time to feather the nest again. But it is difficult to understand why mother-nature wired boar bears to kill their own young at every opportunity.

Occasionally, we took a break and fished. Cod were plentiful. I reeled them in till the activity caused an old injury to my left hand to ache so badly, at times I braced the heavy salt water rods on the boat’s frame in order to keep cranking in fish. Steele had us bumping bottom from 250 to 375 feet down with cut bait.

Often the cod were so loaded with parasites, sometimes to the point they evidenced open sores, we released them. Ten pounders were common and twenty pounders frequented the stringers. We released as many as we kept. It’s a lot of work winching 20-pounders to the surface from such depths only to throw them back!

Twice, I caught a weird looking Irish Lord. It looked like a king sized version of a small fish called sculpins that I’ve seen seined from remote Ozark streams back in Missouri. Steele called them a “mother-in-law” fish – “All mouth and no “south-end.” (I cleaned that up a little.)

We also caught sea-bass. Our venture into Steele’s pet sea-bass hole paid off with a catch that caught even Steele off guard – sort of.

Steele is a bewhiskered, sternly practical, New England transplant to Alaska originally from New Hampshire. A free spirit, he loves his adopted home and the history it embraces along with the bountiful plenty flowing from fertile straits and bays surrounding Kodiak’s archipelago. He revealed some of the area’s ancient Alutiiq Eskimo village sites in addition to the remains of an old trapper’s dugout-cabin with his final resting place marked nearby it.

He recently downed a Rocky Mountain goat with a muzzleloader – because most everyone else said he couldn’t. I witnessed, firsthand, his expertise at tracking and spotting game from extreme distances from his remarkable custom built boat modeled after a WWII LST. He has a feel for his backyard that is a marvel to watch. His backyard, while beautiful beyond belief, can be an unforgiving hell when pushing beyond appropriate limits such as: Approaching dangerous game, handling the boat on the North Pacific’s frigid waters or just landing toothsome fish reeled to the boat.

I quickly learned: There was a right way, a wrong way - and Steele’s way.

Once, after, catching several sea bass, Steele suggested moving to a more productive spot. If we didn’t crank a fish in every few minutes or so, he moved seeking more productive spots. In this case, we began reeling up our lines from a relatively shallow 60-foot bottom so to move to a better location. I got my lure in the boat but Steele hung up about halfway up and couldn’t budge his lure.

We were fishing Shakespeare “Ugly Sticks” with high capacity salt-water reels filled with only 20-pound test line. About what weekend warriors fish with on mid-western bass lakes. With Steele’s rod tip bent down to his hands, whatever was on the other end was obviously more than the rig was designed to usually handle.

Eventually, he somehow managed to pump the huge fish up to where we could see its shadowy outline below the boat – halibut. It looked like a huge manta ray slowly waving its huge fins just under us. Several times in bringing the brute up, he asked if I wanted to take the rod. I kept telling him, “You hooked it, you land it.” Besides I wanted pictures of this fun!

When Steele finally had the huge fish below the boat, he uncharacteristically pleaded, “I can’t land this fish and control the rod too!” I took the rod and followed his directions in maneuvering the “creature from the deep” to his gaff. Finally, he struck with it. He struggled holding the gaff against a huge thrashing fish of obviously more than a hundred pounds while striving to get it on a rope stringer at the same time. Steele stands about 5’10” and, when standing sideways, doesn’t throw much of a shadow. He had his hands full.

Then the fish twisted off the gaff.

Now I had my hands full with a wildly bucking rod. The reel’s drag screamed in protest as a wounded mega-fish streaked for the bottom taking with it more than two-thirds of the spool’s 500-yards of line. With a toothpick of a rod, I carefully, but steadily, led the 100-pound-plus halibut back to the surface. After what seemed an interminable time, it neared the boat again. Apparently recalling what happened its last visit there, it abruptly headed for the bottom once again with the reel’s drag protesting shrilly. Then, we both started over – once again.

This time, the fish eventually came to the boat. Steele again positioned himself with the gaff and prepared to land the fish. When he struck, the rodeo was on again – incredibly with the same frustrating results.

The fish headed for the bottom. The first time it appeared, I took pictures of it just below the boat. At this stage, I remember thinking: “Those are the only shots I’m going to get of this fellow.” But this fourth time that it ran, it only managed to wrestle off 60-75 yards of line against the drag before stopping. It was obviously tiring. The battle approached two hours in length at this point.

I steadily pumped it back the fourth time applying just enough pressure to lead it back to the top – not literally pull it back. Horsing this fellow was not an option on the minimal tackle we had him lassoed with. This time Steele managed to make the gaff hold until he got the fish on a rope stringer. It then thrashed and beat its sizable hulk against the boat’s hull. Spray flew everywhere until it finally calmed down.

It measured 62 ½ inches and weighed approximately 115-pounds. We landed it on a rod and line more appropriate for fishing for bass on a mid-western bass lake. By the picture above, Bev wants all her friends to know that not only was it “taller” than her but it was wider as well.

Steele then showed me the gaff. The fish twisted its steel hook completely out of shape and straightened it each time he sank it in the fish. It was a great fish compared to the minimal tackle used to secure it and by all rights should have escaped. Davis stated he had caught halibut before on light rigs when fishing his pet sea bass holes but this one was the heaviest he managed to land on this light equipment.

I viewed and photographed seals basking on isolated rocky islands in sheltered bays, sea lions cased the boat several times, sea otters played tag with us, Bald Eagles were everywhere, horned puffins, kittiwakes by the thousands, glaucous winged gulls, golden eyes, harlequin ducks, bank swallows, arctic terns, American black oyster catchers and more.

The last day offered one of the most spectacular viewing opportunities of the trip. Bears were scarce that grey overcast day. I was recovering from a severe chest cold and physically spent from the week’s intense action on and off the water. Steele beached the boat so we could glass surrounding beaches and mountains for wildlife.

I remember lying back on a soft bed of moss and drifting off. When I awoke, I glassed a snow covered mountain, across a narrow neck of water, that was slowly revealing its dark undercoating of black shale as spring gnawed away at its snow cover.

Suddenly I realized that many isolated white specks scattered across its face were alive and moving. There were more than a hundred Rocky Mountain goats scattered across the face of that mountain. The Nikon Field Scope scanned it from top to bottom. The mountain was literally covered with goats.

A pair of young kids played king of the mountain. As they worked their way up a rocky outcropping, the larger one in the lead turned and butted the other off the outcropping. It fell some distance before landing heavily on its side. Amazingly, it lit on its feet on the first bounce and charged back up to fall nonchalantly in behind the other one as they continued their climb upwards.

The day before, Steele spotted two bears in some brush some distance away. He focused the spotting scope on them and demanded I take a look. The two bears wrestled and playfully bit each other’s ears and necks. It was obvious it wasn’t a serious fight. It was a form of play. Suddenly one belly-flopped to the ground and the other covered it.

I had just witnessed the mating ritual of two Kodiak brown bears.

Steele’s comment when it ended was, “Now, wasn’t that something!”

Yes Steele. It was. All of it was – at the very least – “something!” Including countless human bones strewn across former ancient native village sites that lie abandoned along Kodiak’s coastlines - another installment for later.

SIDEBAR

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With that said, travel arrangements to Kodiak Island from KCI with American Airlines, both going and coming, personally offered the worst travel experience suffered in more than forty years of pleasure and business travel.

Some of it was unavoidable. Weather usually plays a part in flight delays - and for good reasons. Such delays are focused on saving lives. Yet, airlines are also in the business of moving people and helping them meet agendas that passengers paid the airlines handsomely to deliver. The airlines have more responsibility to their customers other than just showing up at the gate to greet paying fares with a smile and an “I’m sorry, we can’t accommodate our obligations to you today because … .” when bumps in the road appear. They don’t refund the price of the tickets if the customer doesn’t show. With that said, the dog had better hunt both ways.

Our travel arrangements included flying from K.C.I. in Kansas City to catch a direct American flight from D.F.W. in Dallas to Anchorage – the latter approximately a six and one half hour flight. We had two hours after scheduled arrival in Anchorage to make our connection with Era Airlines, a subsidiary of Alaskan Airlines, which was scheduled to take us on the final leg to Kodiak City that same evening. While that should have been more than ample, it didn’t happen.

D.F.W. has a history of strange and unpredictable wind shears, even during blue-sky weather painted with unlimited visibility, if certain barometric conditions pose strong winds in that area. At least one plane was lost on landing several years ago with great loss of life. Since that tragic event, current security measures often stack traffic in the skies above the airport that are trying to land and, of course, the same delay goes for those trying to take off.

Those conditions apparently existed prior to our departure for Anchorage. After finally taking off, the captain announced we were an hour and a half late on our schedule. We had a heavy two days planned touring Kodiak City’s unique historical sites, port and incomparable Alutiiq Museum and Archaeological Repository on arrival. The schedule was to prepare us for what we were to see and experience in remote isolated areas scattered down coast lines of North West Kodiak’s archipelago. I immediately tripped the light to talk to a steward. Our trip’s investment had just been put at a significant risk.

At this point, there is no blame from us with American. They were doing their job as well as they could. But, it quickly went downhill from this point on.

I tried to ask the steward (male) for help regarding our connection in Anchorage. In years past, such situations enlisted support from the flight crew, such as radioing ahead and establishing communications with their passengers’ airline connections to attempt as smooth a transition as the delay might allow. The steward cut me off in mid-sentence and, with a glare, informed me I would have to, “… straighten it out on arrival in Anchorage.” It wasn’t, “… their fault and there isn’t anything we can do to help you.” And he curtly ended the conversation and avoided my look the rest of the lengthy flight.

In all the travel years previous to this flight, I never missed a flight in such a situation – until this one. As it turned out, we missed the Era flight by 20-minutes according to Era’s employees when we charged breathlessly up to their gate.

To add insult to injury, the same steward that handled us so curtly on departure smiled “sweetly” as we hurried off the plane to try and salvage our connection, stating, “I hope you enjoy your stay on Kodiak Island.” You had to be there. But right then I fully understood stories previously aired in the media about “belligerent” passengers getting arrested for decking members of flight crews.

After realizing we had missed our Kodiak connection, we were informed the next flight was not until 7:00 am the next morning.

Stranded. No bags. We’re in our 60s and 70s. There wasn’t any way I was going to let Bev spend the night in a chair in the airport. We back-tracked to American’s ticket counter.

After explaining our predicament and asking for vouchers for meals and lodging, I ran into resistance. It, “… wasn’t their fault” “… we can’t issue the vouchers without administration’s approval …” “… administration personnel are preoccupied with …”

I finally quit asking and demanded to see the head of American Airline’s Anchorage personnel. Forty five minutes later, or longer, the same agent brought us vouchers for lodging at Anchorage’s Puffin Inn and for meals as long as they didn’t exceed $10.00 each. Anybody with travel experience in Alaska knows what a joke the meal vouchers were.

My requests for toiletries went unheeded. With no baggage, we had no way to shave, brush teeth, comb hair or any of the other necessities Bev subjects herself to before facing the public. American Airline not only did not assume any responsibility for the connection problems incurred at the moment of departure on a 6 ½ hour flight, they didn’t show the slightest courtesy for our welfare after we determined we were stranded on arrival in Kodiak. What we got out of them, we fought for because I knew it was their responsibility to provide it. Every delaying tactic they could employ was used to try and avoid what they finally did grudgingly provide.

While riding the shuttle to the Puffin Inn much later, I was laying back licking my wounds while Bev related our experience to an Alaskan Airline stewardess named Collette. Collette was laying over at the Puffin Inn as well.

After hearing Bev out, Collette quietly informed she had just resigned her stewardess job with American Airline and transferred to Seattle, Washington to sign on with Alaskan Airlines. She stated, “I had no idea how bad American’s service was until I went to work for Alaskan.”

Regardless what you might think, that statement did not make my day get any better. We were still booked to get home with American. It has virtually always been my experience that in the cold hard world of reality, leopards don’t change their spots.

Part of our trip included fishing. When planning the trip, I wasn’t sure whether devoting time to fishing would be productive. How do you get them home on the airlines?

When I asked that question, I was assured that we were each allowed 50-pounds of frozen fish on the return home. The implication was the frozen fish were allowed for in airline baggage regs to accommodate tourism to the area.

That turned out to be only partially correct. My fault in this was the various airline regs were conflicting and I ASSUMED this statement resolved the confusion. Bad mistake. We were maxed out per American Airline’s checked baggage regs (two properly sized bags each at 50-pounds or less) when departing by American for Alaska.

Alaskan Airlines (Era’s parent) baggage regulations include one 50-pound box of frozen fish gratis per paying fare on return flights home (keyword here) WITHIN the state of Alaska or to any airport their flights terminate at. The latter could be Seattle for instance. I assume (careful with that word!) that would also include Alaskan’s new flights into Chicago’s O’Hare Airport.

Take the following as a disclaimer: All airline passengers should investigate baggage regs for themselves without taking mine or any other word on the subject, print them out and carry them in the same folder they carry their tickets in to avoid the problems we ran into.

When checking baggage at Kodiak’s airport for the return home, the agent took one look at all our luggage, including the boxes of fish, and then, slyly, offered us a concession. That should have been my tip-off trouble was brewing. Someone with an airline appeared to be actually trying to help us get somewhere.

He booked us on an earlier flight to Anchorage. We thought that would help preclude any chance of missing the American leg back to D.F.W. and help us avoid any chance of the same nightmare we experienced on our arrival, so we accepted the offer. While it did that, we ended up facing new challenges because of the changed flight.

Kodiak’s security immediately impounded all our luggage, boxes of fish and us for a complete search. When I asked why, they stated that one of the main ploys terrorists use to attack airlines is to divert to different flights other than those they were originally scheduled to fly.

Also, by booking a different flight, the Era agent stated we must reclaim our baggage at Anchorage, then get it to American check-in and rebook it there for the trip home. While I thought that strange at the time, I now strongly suspect the Era agent foresaw a coming problem and passed it on to American rather than face the issue in Kodiak.

When we claimed our baggage from Era in Anchorage and delivered it to American, the agent there demanded excess baggage fees for the frozen fish to the tune of $80.00 a box or $160.00 total excess baggage charges. It was pay or give them the fish.

Some alternatives to the excess baggage fees for frozen fish for passengers from the Midwest might be Southwest Airlines to Seattle with connections with Alaskan Airlines from there to Alaskan destinations. American Airlines baggage limits are a restrictive two checked bags of proper dimensions and 50-pounds or less to avoid excess charges. Southwest and other airlines permit more ample three-bag check-in limits per paying passenger. This would have avoided the excess fees American charged us to get the fish home. There was no baggage fee charged by Era to get us to Anchorage.

A recent flight to LAX in Los Angeles was scheduled round-trip with Southwest out of K.C.I. Bags were checked curbside both at K.C.I. and LAX by redcap service. Boarding passes were handed to us curbside also. There is no seat assignment with Southwest. Seating is by A,B,C divisions with first come, first served when getting on the plane. There is no first class. After departure, free care-packages are handed out with three bags of snacks in each box. Soft drinks are dispensed free – the entire can – not just a plastic tumbler full. Alcoholic beverages require payment.

Southwest’s curbside service was prompt, from curbside redcaps to on-board stews, with smiles, thankyou’s and handshakes all around. Obvious concerted efforts were made to get passengers onto the aircrafts with on-time departures. It renewed our faith in acceptable airline services designed for passenger comfort and, most importantly, a commitment to getting them there on the schedules Southwest committed to as to departures and arrivals.

Would I go to Alaska again? Absolutely!

But, if the only travel choice was American Airlines, I would strongly advise scheduling enough time to drive the Alaskan Highway to Anchorage. Otherwise I would book a comparable people-oriented airline, such as Alaskan Airline’s systems connected with, say, Southwest, without hesitation. Personally, American Airlines would not rate the slightest consideration.

A final word: It is astute to not take anyone’s word about creative baggage arrangements to Alaska without checking and printing out each airline’s baggage policies prior to scheduling a trip there. We discovered, quite crudely and expensively, virtually not one airline flying in and out of Alaska offers the same baggage allowance. When transferring between airlines, the importance of such planning surfaces when reviewing the example we experienced checking in with a different flight on Kodiak Island than one originally scheduled to start us on the final legs home.

Et Caveat Emptor! (Let the buyer beware!)

At my request, Robert Magee reached for a trailing stringer and, with his partner’s help, hoisted a string of white bass aloft. He and his First Mate, Clarence Hackleman, hailed from Eldorado Springs, Missouri. I took advantage of the photo-op before Magee’s arm gave out.

My hosts were Jack Rowland and Cocoa (an Australian Shepherd), managers of Green Mill Campground on J Road West of Greenview, Missouri. Actually Rowland manages the campground. Cocoa manages Jack.

This trip had been on and off for a month. A late spring crossed up nature’s usual order that year and white bass spawning activities werecounted among the many resultant delays.

Once, I cautiously waded a hundred yards out on a submerged gravel bar in hip waders with expensive camera and lens dangling from the neck. The current’s persistent pressure constantly warned of impending disaster but a scene begged to be recorded.

A nameless fisherman, floating down-river in a tube, expertly fly-cast quiet back water pools on the opposing bank. He hooked and released several white bass while I shuffled/staggered closer.

The youthful smile under the snow on his roof was quite evident as he hoisted a white bass aloft. His exuberant visage belied his late 60’s or early 70’s in age. I watched as he released it and then, with a wave, continued his float downriver. When the white bass run in the Ozarks, boys will be boys.

An old Chinese proverb alleges time spent fishing is free time. Hours and days so spent do not subtract from one’s life span. Therefore, one is encouraged to participate as often as possible. Confucious alledged that the experience fed the soul as well as the body.

Whether the proverb is credible or not, the “old fellow” tubing down the Little Niangua’s chilly Spring waters made a good case for practicing more of it.

Fishing was actually slow that afternoon. Winds gusted to 30-miles-per-hour but had a warm comfortable feel. Wind chill wasn’t a factor that day. The sun peeked through the occasional cloud cover. Air currents carried promises of Spring commingling scents of the various blooms surrounding us.

For the present, fish on a stringer were not high priority. Emotions were focussed on views through the camera’s lens until, fortunately, recalling previous sharp instructions from home about a scarcity of fish in the freezer.

Rowland’s spring white bass technique saw him fishing one-thirty-second-ounce crappie jigs (mostly white though occasionally with different colored collars and red heads) under a white top water lure. The technique reduces hangups while drifting over the Little Niangua’s shallow gravel bars and submerged snags and rootwads where fish congregate.

He casts into backwater pools, slowly twitching the rig into the current allowing it to drift naturally until starting to drag. The action of the top water lure easily signals a pickup. Visibility is the reason he prefers that part of the rig white or some bright fluorescent color.

White bass often strike the top water lure. Rowland leaves the center treble hooks on it for that reason and removes the rear hooks to tie the jig there.

His homemade anchor, a farm machinery disc welded onto a good sized window sash, was remarkably efficient in the Little Niangua’s gentle but persistent current. Holes blown in the disc with a welding torch reduced resistance permitting water to pass readily through when drawing it up.

When heaved into the river, the disc bit into gravel and mud bottoms. When tiring of a spot, we tugged the disc out of the bottom material and drifted to a new view and renewed fishing action.

Cocoa sounded the alarm with severe vocal disapproval if drifting into shallow water or too near a bank. Bumping either disturbed her peace and she, in the best fish-wife’s tradition, threatened ours if we interfered with hers.

This annual trip would not be the same without Cocoa.

When under way, she navigated balancing her front feet on a forward gunwale occasionally reaching precariously outward to drink from or bite a wake exploding from under the bow - whichever mood suited her at the time. When fishing, she usually lay quietly beside Rowland or on him - once again depending on her mood.

Towards sundown, my lady had her fish fry and I washed my soul with an experience sorely needed. As we approached the takeout point, ospreys wheeled and hovered overhead.

Suddenly, one peeled from its hover, folded its wings and plummeted into a steep twisting swan dive from a hundred feet up finally crashing into the river.

It emerged from the spectacular dive with supper in its grasp. It struggled to get airborne with its weighty prize and flew to a snag on a nearby bluff to dine. (A table with a great view I might add.)

I set a course for home to do the same.

Missouri impoundments stocked with white bass offer unique stream fishing during spring spawning runs. Jack Rowland, manager of Green Mill Campground on the Little Niangua River East of Climax Springs, proved why one blustery day some years ago.

Jim Low, Missouri Department of Conservation Director of Information Services, his partner John Stabbot and I were guests at Green Mill Campground on J Road. Jack Rowland and Cocoa, an Australian Shepherd, were our hosts. Jack steered his V-bottom up narrow channels above Green Mill with Cocoa navigating while balanced on a gunwale. A canoe trailed silently behind on a long tether, its pilot steering gently with a paddle now and then.

We found male white bass stacked around Little Niangua gravel bars. Once, Jack landed three fish in as many casts. John and I struggled to keep up but managed to string our share too. Jim’s hefty stringer hung off the trailing canoe.

Dogwood blooming, morels pushing out of leaf litter and white bass spawning up feeder streams of Ozark impoundments are strong signs of Spring. Yet we wore jackets and sweaters and vowed to put gloves and snow mobile suits on our Easter lists. The temperature had fallen into the mid 40s with winds gusting to 30 mph. Wind chill tested our resolve.

White bass (Morone chrysops) are members of the sea bass family. Pflieger’s “Fishes of Missouri” states they were formerly abundant only in the Mississippi River and its tributaries. Increasingly large gizzard shad populations encouraged stocking white bass in Missouri impoundments that offered acceptable spawning tributaries. Namely, ones with clear flowing water interspersed with gravel bars, riffles and deep pools.

Pflieger writes major white bass spawning runs from the Mississippi occur in the Salt and Cuivre rivers. The North Fork River hosts white bass runs out of Lake Norfork. I recall memorable past spring white bass spawning runs up Swan Creek and Beaver Creek out of Bull Shoals.

White bass school in groups composed of one sex during this event. Pfleiger states males mature first and move into the tributaries initially. Females seek deeper water near the spawning grounds. About a month after males move up the tributaries, females follow.

According to Pflieger, spawning usually completes within 5 to 10 days after females begin to spawn. He states, “The eggs are very small and a single large female may produce nearly a million eggs in one season.”

Pflieger credits white bass, during years of peak abundance, with 40% or more of fish creeled in various Ozark reservoirs.

We eventually beached an island about three quarters of a mile above the campground and cast riffles on either side. Jack had us cast Tiny Torpedoes (forward hooks removed) with 18 inch leaders trailing sixteenth or thirty second ounce jigs tied to the back hook.

The topwater lure floated the jig above the rocky bottom. Twitching the former firmly every few feet imparted erratic action to the jig resembling wounded prey as the river‘s current propelled it downstream.

We also caught fish retrieving against the current - twitching it back. Lure and jig produced best when showing lots of white color on them. Occasionally, fish struck the topwater lure instead of the trailing jig.

The boats were dragged over shallow riffles as we proceeded upstream. Since it was my lot to handle this chore while the others walked the bank, I wore Jack’s borrowed chest waders. After reaching the island, I spent a pleasant interlude wading and casting pools further upstream. The draft was too shallow to drag the boats over these rocky shoals.

A lack of boats and bank fishermen gave an illusion of remoteness off Missouri’s busiest boating impoundment. It soon became obvious few white bass had traveled above the riffles guarding the island.

With a solitary fish on a trailing stringer, I waded back to where the others lorded it over me. Their stringers were heavier but their level of enjoyment reached no higher plane than mine. (This was before wind chill lowered my body temperature into a region loosely referred to as hypothermia.)

Jack used a unique homemade anchor. He welded a disc from farm machinery to an old iron window sash centered on the concave side of the disk. He then cut holes in it with a blow torch to reduce water resistance when pulling it up.

The thin blade readily bit into gravel shoveling rock onto the disc and holding us against the current. It enabled us to fish various pools drifting back down river from the island with the boat held stationary against the current.

Low trailed in the canoe dragging a small anchor that easily anchored it in the current. The competition between boats was noticeably vocal and congenial. Cocoa refereed all disputes and her decision was final. She said so. The cold air shocked our lightly clad bodies but frostbite was forestalled by fishing action that kept blood coursing at a feverish pitch.

As we drifted back downstream, we found several anglers wading the pool under J Road=s Little Niangua bridge just above Green Mill=s campground. Stringers hooked to chest waders trailed in the current behind them. A prominent display of white teeth framed wide grins while chattering from wind chill.

Heavy stringers do that to you. They force grins from clenched teeth while wading windy frigid waters with wind chill threatening to lock up every joint in your protesting body. But, each fish keeps you hanging on till the stringer fills.

Another name for it is temporary insanity.

Several sources reported spawning fish the last few weeks and Garrett repeatedly stated it was not so. This was the third bass of the morning and - no bloody tails.

Muddy water alters the fishing technique for spawning bass from that of a clear water environment. Two of Lake Ozark’s top guides offer words of wisdom on catching fish in liquid mud.

Garrett stated, “the mud makes them braver. They aren’t intimidated by a presence they can’t see and that gives an angler the edge.”

He fished pea gravel banks for spawning bass using “Twitch Assassins” - a plastic jerk bait. He called them “do nuthin’” baits. Casting to the bank, and slightly beyond the beds, he slowly inched it back a twitch at a time. There is no weight other than the lure on the line and no other hardware. His line was tied directly to a 4/0 hook.

This is one bait you delay the hookset after the first tap. Garrett advised letting a fish run before, “breaking its neck.”

Ed Hutchison, Lake of the Ozarks fishing guide, stated muddy water created a mental challenge. “You can’t see fish on the beds. You can’t see one pick the bait up and carry it to one side. He emphasized, “Muddy water eliminates the sight game.”

Hutchison advised using knowledge of where the fish should spawn (such as pea gravel banks) and have the patience to coax non-feeding bass into striking. “Use baits that make more noise, attract fish to sound and create a reflex strike,” Hutchison advised.

He further stated you may not feel a strike. Watch for the line to move slightly, maybe just a few inches or several feet. Spawning bass, normally, do not feed. Often, they merely mouth a bait and remove it from the area of the nest. An angler must initiate the hook set before it drops the lure.

Hutchison reminded, “Not all fish spawn at exactly the same time. Besides spawning fish, there are post-spawn and pre-spawn bass holding on structure slightly deeper than the spawning beds.”

These are not aggressive fish and the presentation should be slow and methodical. “Big Ed’s” favorite lure this time of the year is a six-inch plastic worm backed up with the smaller sized crawdad crank baits. The smaller crankbait sizes parallel similar sized live-bait available naturally now.

Garrett’s favorite post-spawn lure is the “Twitch Assassin” or plastic jerk bait. He fishes it slow enough to smoke half a cigarette between casts.

(If you practice catch and release, both guides strongly suggest playing a fish quickly to the boat and releasing it ASAP to minimize stress.)

A good way to fish muddy water during the bass spawn, and cover the area thoroughly, is to pull directly into the bank. Hold the boat at a 90-degree angle with the trolling motor. Cast straight down the bank fanning successive casts farther out. Work both sides of the boat. When completed, quietly back the boat out and move down the bank repeating the above action.

This technique allows an angler to blanket available cover and increase the chance of dragging his lure over a spawning bass’ bed.

Hutchison advises post-spawn and spawning season is the best time of year to catch a trophy bass. He stated, “A six and one half pound bass may weigh eight pounds full of roe. The temptation to keep such a fish is tremendous but if that bass is released it will return to its bed to spawn.”

Hutchison also advised that plastic lizards provoke spawning bass into savage strikes during the spawn. Salamanders this lure imitates prey on spawned roe. Bass guarding their nests know this and often react violently to a threat from one.

Joe Garrett, former member of Bass Cat’s Regional Fishing Team guided. At the time, we were shaking out his new 1993 Pantera II Bass Cat before a weekend bass tournament.

While he semi‑immersed himself in a deck compartment rummaging for gear, I tried bringing the bruiser nonchalantly to the boat. When fishing with a pro, do not let anything like a heavy bass destroy your outward cool ‑ right? Even if it is the best bass you caught all year (make that several years) - don’t lose face appearing overly emotional about a common ordinary BIG BASS!

It plowed water while shying from the boat just as Garrett raised his head. Startled, he grabbed the net exclaiming, “Man, that’s a FISH!” His reaction afforded great relief. No longer concerned at the image my heart created dancing wildly behind my shirt, I focused on landing the furious lunker.

Lake of the Ozarks enjoyed outstanding bass fishing that summer. Invariably, it’s weekly fishing reports indicated bass the most active species next to the sunfish action.

That is, until I planned this trip with Garrett. The day before, he suggested reconsidering our original night fishing trip. The lake dropped six‑inches in three days and bass moved off structure close to shore seeking deeper water. It was the old “YASHUDABINHEREYESTIDDY” story.

We fished ledges and structure 10‑15‑feet deep near 40‑70 foot channels. Lots of hits but the short strikers showed little enthusiasm for feeding. One‑13‑incher totaled the action for several hours work until we changed our pattern.

We moved onto a rocky flat 35‑feet deep near even deeper water in the main channel. Garrett quickly received several savage hits tearing off his worm. It was while he repaired that damage I tied into the lunker. The luck of the draw was with me for a change. I tried hard not to gloat. Maybe not all that successfully but I made a weak attempt. When you get a good man down, stomp the heck outta him! And Garret was one of the best bass guides I ever fished with.

South Central Missouri’s 1992 summer on LOZ was among the coolest in memory at that time. The lake avoided usual water fluctuations due to Bagnell’s reduced power requirements resulting from cooler seasonal weather.

However, just before this maiden voyage in Garrett’s new boat a hot spell contributed to a slight drawdown as Bagnell went into power production mode and the lake fell six‑inches in three‑days. Sounds insignificant but bass moved away from the docks and their submerged beds seeking deeper water.

I asked Greg Stoner, MDC Fishery Biologist, why small fluctuations in water levels could generate such caution in bass. He stated, “A bass’ lateral line is extremely sensitive to barometric pressure changes. When they sense the slightest reduction in pressures from the surface, they may instinctively seek safety in deeper water.”

He also said (emphasising there was no scientific basis for the assumption) the reaction could stem from original instincts derived from their stream origins. Spring’s floods and an arid summer’s exposed mud flats teach surviving bass to respond quickly to varying surface levels in wild rivers and streams. At first hint of dropping water levels, stream fish seek the deeper channels avoiding a life threatening “stranded high and dry” syndrome.

Garrett and net crouched at the gunwhale awaiting my fish. Three times it frantically evaded him. Finally, he scooped it for pictures and a release that showered us in the act.

Often, a successful day weighs more from knowledge gained rather than what hangs on the stringer. However, it is infinitely more satisfying when you outhit the guide in the process.

I remain optimistic it offered no permanent damage to our friendship.