Author’s note: The following story first appeared in the April 1997 issue of Alaska magazine. It’s been edited for brevity, but the best stuff is here.

Alaska’s outer coast can be a violent place. Winter gales pound forbidding cliffs. When the weather threatens and the surf booms, this place can give you the willies. On the right day, however, it can give you the time of your life.

On the lower Kenai River, where Dillon Kimple and I fished for silver salmon Tuesday morning, only two other boats were within shouting distance, and nobody was shouting.

For two hours, no one caught anything but an occasional hapless pink salmon. It was apparent that few silvers were in the river, but we fished on. And on. And on.

“We’re paying our dues,” I told Dillon. “It’ll get better.”

There are two kinds of fishermen: those who fish, and those who fuss.

Take your fussers. Please. Fussers are people who spend much of their lives messing with bait, tackle and petty details instead of having their lines in the water, fishing.

At one time, I aspired to be a fisherman who did everything “just right.” I woke up one morning to discover that I’d become a fusser. I survived that unhealthy phase, and I’m now content to do just a few things right. As a happy result, I now spend more time fishing and less time fussing.

(Author’s note: With humpback salmon now running in the Kenai River, this is a good time to run this story in the Clarion. It first appeared in Alaska magazine in August 2001. It has been edited for brevity.) 

When someone says the fish are so thick, you can walk across the river on their backs, they’re probably talking about pink salmon.