Daylight at Midnight.
Lurking shadows beneath. Sleep.
Haunted by Sheefish.
Our entire surface processes class was intrigued at the prospect of tying into large Sheefish during our outing to the Kobuk River that summer. Class discussions and passing conversations revolved around Sheefish. Would we be on the Kobuk too early or too late to catch Shee? How elusive were they? What role do these magnificent fish play in the ecology of the Kobuk River and the everyday lives of the native Inupiak people?
So many questions. After a long day of packing essentials in an old airport hanger in Bettles, we were finally on our way to Walker Lake (the headwater region of the Kobuk River) via an old Twin-Otter float plane. Earlier research indicated that we would not encounter Sheefish until we were several days into the trip. The lower canyon was the uppermost reach where Sheefish have been historically sighted. Our approach to this section of river seemed to take weeks and the collective anticipation was immense. In the meantime, we whet our appetites catching other native resident species of the Kobuk, including Lake Trout and Arctic Grayling. It turns out that fishing a mouse pattern on a fly rod is a very effective way of catching Arctic Grayling.
Day four. Finally, our first view of the lower canyon. We pirouetted through our last class three rapid of the trip and immediately began to see large fish moving upstream in the river margins. Sheefish? No. We saw several Chum salmon, but no Shee. Where were the Sheefish? Were they so elusive that we were not seeing them? Our travels down the river continued.
Day five. My days were now completely consumed by paddling, collecting insects, throwing a few casts, and most importantly, trying to sight spot fish with my polarized sunglasses. For hours I would glare into the gin clear water of the Kobuk in hopes of spotting a Sheefish. Nothing. Did we miss the run? Were the fish spawning in side channels or tributaries? Where were the Shee?
Day six. On the water again. I assumed my now standard position in the boat and began to search the water. “River left!” Out of the corner of my eye, I had noticed three large silhouettes moving upstream. I excitedly yelled “three large fish to the left and they are not Chum!” Several additional fish appeared. Paddles were tossed aside and exchanged for any available fishing rod. Within minutes three fishing rods bent in half circles. Chaos ensued. The boat spun in slow arcs, while screams of joy filled the otherwise tranquil Arctic interior. Brilliant aerials by the fish enforced the reasoning behind their nickname, “tarpons of the north.” Awestruck, we watched Josh land the first Sheefish. Finally, anticipation and desire subsided. I can still picture Josh embracing his first Sheefish and grinning ear to ear.
