Salmon Fishing Naked (Well Almost)

*FAN SUBMISSION by Kraig Ehm of Lainsburg, MI. Follow him on Twitter @kraigehm.*

“Hey, what are you doing tonight? Want to have some fun?”

“I’m going to church Doug, what do you have in mind?”

“Fishing on the Russian River.”

Doug and I were high school buddies who had been involved together in a wide array of fun activities and most of them were of the law abiding variety. If you were to think landing a sockeye would not only be straight forward, but also unimaginative, think again.

“We’d have to leave now to get down there and ride the ferry across the river. The ferry stops running around 7 p.m. and doesn’t start up again till 7 a.m.” After checking with my folks to make sure that missing one Wednesday night service would not put me in a Protestant Purgatory, I packed my fishing gear lickety-split, jumped in the car with Doug and we went on our big fishing adventure.

Courtesy: Alaskasalmon.com

It was going to take us a few hours driving south on the Seward Highway in order to make it to the Russian and traverse across the river via the ferry before they quit running for the evening. We made it and hauled our gear up the opposite bank and prepared ourselves for some wonderful salmon fishing. Fishing in Alaska is second to none in terms of quality, quantity, and downright naked beauty. Well almost naked, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Doug and I spent most of the night laughing and fishing. The laughter did not keep the salmon from biting which was good news for us. Wham! Doug got a bite, set the hook and reeled in a nice looking fish. No sooner had he landed the thing, I had one coming in right behind it. We were rapidly filling our limit and the night was still young. On our right was a family of four. Dad wanted to catch and release like nobody’s business. Mom was reading a novel of some sort. The two kids, ages eleven and nine (one girl and one not a girl) were busy whacking each other with their poles. Dad was beside himself trying to keep the peace and catch the fish. The romance novel must have been good because Mom was so engrossed that she rarely lifted her eyes off her book to take in what was going on around her.

It wasn’t long before Doug and I were maxed out on fish. The poor dad looked like he could use some help so Doug and I decided to catch more fish and give it to the family. And that is precisely when the trouble began. Doug nailed a good-sized salmon and was having a hard time getting it to shore. I had on hip waders so I told Doug to reel in a little and I would go out in to the river and net the bad boy.

Just as I reached out for the belligerent fish, it zigged when I thought it was going to zag. I tried lunging out of the way to make sure I didn’t get tied up in Doug’s line. Eureka! I didn’t tangle Doug’s line! But the bad news was that I lost my balance while stepping on a slick rock and fell head first into the river.

To say it was cold does not do justice to what water can feel like just before it officially becomes ice. I went completely under and popped back to the surface like a human bobber. Water quickly filled my waders as I drifted downstream. I looked over at Doug, who was yelling, “Why did you make me lose that salmon?”

I was thinking, “Doug, would you please forget about the stupid salmon and keep me from drowning?”

Instead of drifting, I was now ripping down the river on my back like a floating Michelin man and my rear end was starting to freeze. I had read stories of people who drowned while fishing because their waders filled up with water and they sunk to the bottom. The good news was that this particular tragedy mostly occurred to folks wearing chest waders; I was wearing hip waders.

No matter. I had zipped around the curve and noticed people were watching me roar by and the looks on their faces were priceless. One older lady put her hand to her mouth. Her husband’s face contained a bewildered stare. A couple of teenage guys pointed, looked at each other and laughed. I heard a few shouts and I started paddling to shore as fast as I could. A kind man reached up as I neared the shore and helped me out of the freezing water.

“Kind of cold to go for a swim, he noted.” “Yea, I agreed.” It seemed like it took me an hour to say those three letters because my teeth were chattering in overdrive.

I’m not a very good judge of distance, but was sure I had “rolled down the river” a good three quarters of a mile. It was the fastest I had ever covered that specific length—biking, rollerblading, running, walking or booty boarding.

I asked what time it was and he said it was close to midnight. Great. The ferry would not be back to pick up people for another seven hours or so and I was cold, soaked to my skivvies and had no idea what I was going to do.

One answer came from an innocent bystander. “We have a big fire going. Why don’t you take off some clothes and let them dry out?” I looked at the guy and as quickly as I could chatter through clenched teeth said “Thanks.”

I stripped off layer after layer until I was down to my delicate unmentionables. In a package at the store the Fruit of Looms felt weightless. Having just used them to “hang ten” like a surf board, the comfortable cotton added twenty pounds to my not-so-chiseled physique. I was handed a hot cup of coffee and a blanket.

I explained how I ended up on a Russian River beach nearly naked, accompanied by a chorus of laughter from my angling admirers. I’m glad I could provide a little entertainment for the evening. They had a rip-roaring fire going and I’m delighted to say it didn’t take long for my clothes to dry. It was awesome.

I dressed, thanked the kind people and told them that if they
ever found themselves in the same position, I would like to return the favor. They laughed some more. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get around to fishing naked, but thanks for the offer anyway.”

Due to having to wear water logged tennis shoes, it was a long, hard hike back to where I saw Doug and I figured I had been gone close to an hour and a half. When I got there, Doug was still casting and laughing and the kids, still smacking each other with their fishing poles, were laughing as well.

“Where did ya go?” “Ha-ha.” “Sure were gone a while.” “Why didn’t you come look for me to see if I was alright?” “I knew you could swim and you’d be fine. I didn’t want to lose my spot here on the bank, because the fish were really biting.”