Roadkill Salvage Permit

It was mid-January, and I had just gotten home with my limit of hatchery steelhead. I noticed a Facebook post in a local community group regarding a deer that died next to someone's house, presumably from being hit by a vehicle. Dan Foreman, a resident that lives in a culdesac just off from Walnut Blvd in Corvallis said he had made several phone calls in an attempt to have it removed from his property and was running out of ideas. Republic Services waste removal said they don't offer that service. The Health Department wasn't interested either. Oregon State Police and the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife said they were only interested if there were signs of poaching.

After a brief exchange with Foreman, he explained that he had opened his blinds to see the snow outside in the morning and noticed a deer had expired underneath the hedges between his house and his neighbors. Knowing the area, and that it was a nice buck, I wanted to see it for myself. I'd been curious about the roadkill salvage permit process. I had also seen a nice buck in the area surrounding Foreman's address a month or so prior, and was curious if was the same deer. I rang the doorbell, and Foreman was kind enough to walk around to the side of his house and show me where the deer had died. Sure enough, it was the same buck I'd seen before driving through that part of town. I was surprised he made it that far.

"We don't normally open those blinds, otherwise I wouldn't have noticed him," he said. "The landscapers were here three days ago to trim the hedges, so he's been there for a couple days, tops." Not knowing the time of death is a bit of a gamble, but how many big game hunters have gone a day or two looking for a wounded animal and still find it in time to salvage the meat? The past few days had been freezing weather, so that was comforting. Still, I was skeptical.

I began my own amateur forensics investigation. Judging from the evidence in the immediate area, the deer had come about fifty yards from the road, jumped down from a concrete wall, and bedded down in Foreman's hedges to lay himself to rest. I noticed some droppings roughly 8 feet from the deer that appeared to have been there at least through the evening's rainstorm because there was a leaf over it, rather than under it. I felt the deer's muscle tissue, (backstraps first of course!) and it was cold, but firm, not stiff. The front left foot was swollen, and the hoof appeared to be slightly damaged. Upon closer examination of the hoof, it came right off it's foot. I checked the range of movement of the deer's extremities. The neck was very loose, no different than a fresh, big game kill. The front legs both flexed at the joint fairly easily, but the shoulder appeared to be dislodged from it's socket. Upon moving that shoulder, there was a gurgling noise in the lungs. The hind legs were stiff as a board. The side facing up was fairly dry and appeared to be in good shape. The hair underneath it was slightly matted down, but I attributed that to the storm as well.

On the fence about my decision, I called my regional ODFW office and spoke with Asst. District Biologist Anne Mary Myers for advice and a second opinion. Myers explained that if the deer had been there a while, the hair would fall out easily. "What can you tell me about the conditions of the eyes?" she asked. I told her the eyes were partly cloudy, but you could still clearly see the definition between the pupil and the iris. Myers asked if the eye was still wet and slimy. Given there was a rainstorm the night before that went through morning, it had been fair weather all afternoon and the top half of the deer was dry. The eyes were still moist to the touch, likely not due to the previous rain. "Those are good indicators, but you really just need to cut open a sample of the meat and see if there's a sour smell or discoloration."

By then, I felt obligated to do Foreman the favor of removing the deer from his property and honoring the life of the same buck I'd seen strutting down the sidewalk with a couple does only a few weeks before. It was worth the effort of due diligence to see if it was salvageable. Worst case scenario, I did the guy a favor and now have a deer to dispose of properly. At home, I took a knife to the deer's front left leg, genuinely curious about the dislocated shoulder. The meat appeared to have good color. Some of the veins were filled with coagulated blood, but overall, the meat was in great shape with no unusual odors. I noticed that the chest cavity was filled with blood. I had no intentions of gutting it, so everything stayed nice and neat. I couldn't have asked for a better situation. Neither the shoulder nor the ribs were broken, so it almost appeared as if the sheer impact of being hit had ruptured it's lungs and caused some internal bleeding, but everything was contained. With no bullet wounds, it was the cleanest deer I've ever processed. Not only that, but it was the day before trash day. After removing the backstraps and quartering the rest, I put the remains of the deer in a yard waste bag and put in the rolling cart at the curb for Republic Services.

With the meat hanging in a shed out back, I turned the head with antlers intact in to my regional ODFW office (required by law for either sex) and got a chance to speak with Richard Green, a state wildlife biologist with the health and population lab. You know those little envelopes you put your deer teeth in to mail them in for research purposes? Well, those self-addressed, no postage necessary envelopes come directly to his office. Green then takes a cross-section of those samples to record the deer's age. "It's just like looking at the rings on a tree," says Green. His office in Adair Village, which just happens to be minutes from my house, receives all the samples statewide. Between hunter submissions, roadkill, and poached animals recovered by OSP, his office submits ten thousand teeth for age analysis per year to a lab that contracts it's services to multiple states. Green says the waiting time for results usually takes about 8 months. "We notify hunters of their kill's age with a postcard in the mail." I made a special request for the same postcard to notify me of the age of my salvaged buck. Green said nobody had asked him to do that before, but would oblige. Along with testing for age, the head is also used to track the spread of Chronic Wasting Disease.

The permitting process was easy. You can fill out the forms online from the MyODFW website, or just do the paperwork at the nearest regional office when you turn in the head within 5 business days of recovering the salvaged animal. You submit one form, and fill out the tag paperwork on the spot, then keep the tag for as long as you store the meat. Green says that over 1,500 permits were issued in 2019 after the new legislation went into effect in January. "How many permits can you issue to one person for this?" I asked. "There's no limit, but if you show up every day with a new dent in your bumper, you're probably going to be investigated."

This article was published in the March 2020 issue of Northwest Sportsman Magazine

A Non Traditional Father's Day Story (Spring Chinook)

Like many others, my father played a pivotal role in the development of my love for the outdoors. He passed away a few years ago, and left behind a legacy of hunting and fishing adventures, and a wealth of knowledge he passed down to me. I could write a thousand stories about growing up hunting whitetail in the oaks and plains of Alabama, or chasing the sounds of coonhounds along the Alabama River at night, or all the big largemouth that tore up the surface hitting topwater lures and vanishing into thick cover and breaking my line. But he's gone, and the legacy lives within me. That's why when my mother and stepfather came to visit last spring and said, "We want to catch a salmon!" I had to try and make that happen for them.

Maybe 8 years or so before my father passed away, he flew to Oregon to visit me, and we did a little fishing on the South Santiam for steelhead. I had just caught my first one, and had the bug something fierce. He threw spinners near Foster Dam all day and cherished every little trout he reeled in. The days of him being an ambitious outdoorsman had been replaced with a great deal of contentment in his old age. My mother, who had visited me a year or so later, managed to reel in a few salmon during the fall season out on the Alsea, and it was a memorable day of catching enough fish to grade out anything that wasn't spitting scales and covered in sea lice. Needless to say, we both got our limits. On another visit, we fished Buoy10 in Astoria. The weather was so bad, and she was obviously so miserable that we called the trip before 11am after catching only one jack we had to release.

When they told me they wanted to catch a salmon on their visit in May, I explained that chasing spring chinook is not an easy task. With the decline in all of our fisheries, spring chinook have taken the brunt of the collective issues that are to blame for low returns and decreased catch rates. I wanted to avoid a significant chunk of their visit being consumed with sitting in Portland traffic, and then trolling around with a few dozen other boats for maybe a chance at a fish. Instead, I wanted to take them somewhere they could have a little more of a pro-active and hands-on fishing experience without a ton of people around. Somewhere that they could enjoy some scenery and not be disappointed if we hired a guide with no control over the bite that day. There were lots of discussions about keeping their expectations low, and just enjoying the potential "boat ride" with our guide Matt Halseth on the Santiam, a river that seemed to fit the bill, and that we both had some kind of personal connection with.

My stepfather had only recently taken an interest in fishing. Living the lake life out in South Carolina, him and my mother had become owners of a pontoon boat, and occasionally, my stepfather would get lucky and catch catfish, spotted bass and striped bass out of Lake Murray and Lake Keowee. My mother being far more seasoned with the outdoors and him still being a very green New Yorker, the dynamic created the kind of clientele that every guide has to deal with at some point. "You're going to earn it," I told Matt the day we booked our trip. My mother had gotten her feet wet on her previous visits, but this was the first time she brought my stepfather Louie Russo with her.

Just as a warm-up, I decided to take them for a walk into the Siletz gorge the day before our trip with Halseth. I wanted to give Louie a primer for reading water, how to cast, deal with snags, all the basics that a guide would probably have to instruct a newbie on to get things dialed in. It was still a little early for summer steelhead to show upriver, but there had been several days of rain that spiked the river levels up a notch, and the weather was a bit overcast. I explained that the conditions were perfect, but we should still keep our expectations low. As we crept down to one of my favorite holes, I could see the faint movement of a chrome summer right where I would expect one to be. I took a cast or two to explain where to aim, the line to run a presentation through, and when the reel back up and start over again.

"You can't hold the rod like that, these fish don't mess around, they will kick your ass," I told Louie as he held the spinning reel on top and started reeling backwards, a cardinal sin for any angler that would make the hairs stand up on the neck of even the most intermediate beginner angler. "But I'm not used to reeling with my left hand!" I explained the best way to learn is to have a fish on the line and reel in your hand with the handle opposite of what you're used to. This was my way of preparing him for taking my rod if I managed to hook a fish with it.

In the meantime, I grudgingly switched the handle to the other side and handed him back his rod. As I was doing all of this, an ugly "cheesehead" sore back winter steelhead backed into the hole, and disturbed the chrome summer we had seen earlier. They seemed to be doing this docey-doe dance around the hole. "That fish is gonna get pissed enough to bite soon," I said. After getting my stepfather Louie dialed in with the handle on the right, he took a cast that went a little far on the other side of the seam I had been telling him to fish. He let it go to the end of the drift and I watched the fish charge at his bead as the float went down and began moving upstream. "YOU GOT HIM! REEL-REEL-REEL!!!" In a panic, he still managed to do exactly what I had instructed him to do earlier, "reel 'til you feel!" The drag was set low so that he wouldn't try to horse the fish in like a Lake Murray largemouth, and that summer took off out of the hole, down a tailout, and into the next hole, then down another tailout and started jumping in slackwater trying to shake the hook as it burned down to the backing. "Gimme the rod, we gotta go! We gotta go!" I yelled as he stumbled over the wet cobblestone in his New Balance dad sneaks getting drenched in oregon rain in his Canadian tuxedo of denim jeans and jacket. I scurried along to gain back a few feet of line so we didn't get spooled and yelled for him to come get the rod. "I can barely turn this damn crank on the right side, you need to get your ass down here and land this fish!"

As he stumbled close enough for me to hand him the rod, he got the fish in close enough I could almost reach it. "You're gonna have to move a few steps closer to swing him in," I said. He took a step and then slid down some ledge rock and wedged his foot in a bad spot. Being stuck and frustrated, he started barking back at me, "Quit yelling at me to reel! I AM reeling! I can't move!" Maybe it's the bratty sadistic stepson in me that got some kind of enjoyment out of his suffering, but I just started smiling and laughing hysterically. "Welcome to steelhead fishing! Now let's get this guy on the bank!" In spite of all the lost footing, nicks and bruising, he managed to keep the rod tip high and the line tight. Eventually, the fish got close enough I could tail it, and I went for it. That's when it slipped out of my hands and swam between my legs. I remember thinking, "Oh no, this is it. This is bad. This is how he gets away." As that thought entered my mind, I saw him turn the crank on the reel a couple more times and the fish finally just gave out and turned belly up long enough for me to grab it again. get on the shore, notice the lack of an adipose, grab the nearest rock and put it to sleep.

I couldn't believe it. He caught "the fish of a thousand casts" in less than a half an hour. Not even twenty minutes from having the reel upside down. Not just any steelhead, but an ocean fresh, chrome summer steelhead. My mother, who never wet a line that day, was happy to see him catch a fish, any fish. Having only caught a couple fall salmon, she might have even been a little jealous. "Well, I guess you guys can just get back on the plane now, because there's nothing left to see here," I joked. The primer mission was a success, and our expectations had already been exceeded. There's no way they weren't going to enjoy getting back out on the water again the next day.

As we met Matt at the I-5 ramp on the mainstem of the Santiam, he explained a little about his program and approach to fishing the river system he grew up on. We started by backtrolling a little diver and bait on the mainstem to get their feet wet. After a few trout and my parents becoming visibly bored with me playing deckhand and backing out their presentations, he motored up the South Santiam and we did a little bobber dogging. Halseth helped work out the kinks of casting, lining up everyone's presentations, and leaving them in the water. We started hooking pikeminnow left and right, which even if we couldn't find a springer or summer steelhead, was good practice for reading water, hooksets, and fighting fish.

After they grew tired of feeding pikeminnow to the eagles, we motored back downstream to the fork, and headed up the North Santiam. I could see that look of contentment on my stepfather's face as we dodged downed trees and jetted through sharp curves. Halseth could probably navigate the North Santiam in his sleep as long as he knew the dam flows and which channel to run, which was a little different than Louie was used to cruising the lake in his pontoon boat. We did a little more bobber dogging, and I missed an opportunity on something that felt a little larger than a trout. We went back up and floated through again, this time my mother pulled back on something big in the same slot. "I don't know what this is, but it's too heavy to be a trout," she said. As the weight began to move and dump line off the reel, I tried to explain that a steelhead is just an ocean-going trout. We floated with the fish and it made several screaming runs before getting close enough to put it in the net. Once we noticed it was wild, Matt and I kept in the water until we could get to shore for a quick grip-n-grin. "This is a special fish, these wild steelhead are endangered," Halseth told my mother. I added that it was also her first steelhead, which made it all the more special.

After capturing a photo or two, we sent her on her way to the long journey back to the salt, wishing her luck with the sea lions at Willamette Falls. With the recent changes in management and lethal removal of sea lions, that fish might actually stand a chance at returning to the Santiam to spawn again someday.

"I still want to catch a salmon," said Louie. Seemingly unsatisfied with his miracle feat of landing his first steelhead, he was still hellbent on telling the rest of his family that he caught a salmon. And even though we were still on high from the adrenaline of mom's first steelhead, he's right. That's what we were there to do, so went back at it. After landing a few whitefish, it seemed like we had worked over that area pretty good and moved on to a fast-moving deep hole with lots of boils and crazy hydro action. It was a spot that Matt had a lot of confidence in. We backbounced up a beautiful resident rainbow trout that I immediately released and went back at it. One of the rods started to move, and the bend began to bounce as Matt lifted it out of the holder and handed it to Louie. "REEL-REEL-REEL!" Matt said as he handed Louie one of his brand new Shimano Tekota lefties. "I'm not used to the reel being on this side," he said. Of course, as the sadistic stepson, I let out another maniacal laugh as I said, "You gon' learn today!" After some epic line-peeling action, Louie started to gain line as the boat floated downstream to a fallen log, where the fish was held up on and rubbing the line against. "We need to get him out of there," Matt said calmly. He pulled the boat away from the fish, and the change in the angle of pressure made the fish react by turning and burning back towards the next tailout and away from the fallen tree. As the cottonwood blooms began to collect on the surface, Matt started singing with the net his hand, "Cottonwood falling like snow in July, sunset, riverside, four wheel drives..." You could tell that in that moment, him being out on the water with me and my family, he was in his element as a guide. Not long after, the fish was within reach of the net and the bonker.

Two days, back-to-back, my stepfather landed his first steelhead and first salmon, both hatchery fish, both the least abundant of their species and the best table fare. Louie was a shining example of it being better to be lucky than good, but Matt was reveling in the fact that he was able to introduce two incredible firsts to his clients, in the same day. We floated back downstream doing some more bobber dogging, and I landed a hatchery springer on the way to add to our creel. Icing on the cake, and meat in the freezer, I couldn't have been happier with exceeding everyone's expectations, including my own. As we packed everything up in the truck, I had a moment with Louie and told him that I would have given anything for my dad to have had that experience with me before passing away. I wanted my stepfather to know how much it meant to me to be able to share that experience with him, and how much I appreciated his determination. My father always talked about visiting again after retirement, and died two weeks after retiring. As my stepfather is approaching retirement, he's gained a new appreciation for every moment, which is the kind of zen we're all fishing after when we hit the water.

This article was published in the July 2020 issue of Salmon & Steelhead Journal

Institute for Applied Ecology Virtual Native Plant Farm Tour

Native plant restoration projects require many plants and seeds. Learn from Ian Silvernail, IAE Restoration Ecologist and Farm Manager, about production of Oregon iris, naked stem lomatium, tarweed, lupine, and more. In honor of Natural Areas Celebration Week, join us for a tour of these flowering native plants from the comfort of your own home. Thursday, May 7 at 3:30 pm* LIVE on IAE's Facebook page

*There may be a slight delay due to uploading and cell service.  'See' you out there!

"Shelter-In-Place" Wild Game Cooking Competition Categories and Judging Material

Categories:

1. Creativity - On a scale of 1-10, how original is each dish based upon the preparation and forethought that went into each meal.

2. Resourcefulness - On a scale of 1-10, how resourceful is each chef in regards to sustainability, self-sufficiency, and the use of "Pandemic-Ready" ingredients or cooking tactics.

3. Presentation - On a scale of 1-10, how appetizing does each dish appear to be?

The following material will be made 

available to judges for each category:

1. Creativity - A brief explanation on the focus of each dish, why it was chosen, and insight into the historical, and/or traditional, and/or current relevance of each dish, as well as some purpose of conservation awareness.

2. Resourcefulness - A list of ingredients that were caught, hunted, foraged, or cultivated. Also anything in regards to preservation, storage, or alternative cooking methods.

3. Presentation - Three posts total with text and photos, one explaining their creative concept for the dish, another based upon the resourcefulness of the dish, and a final post with the finished product, explaining (as best we can) the flavor profile, what we learned from the challenge, and an honest explanation of what we would do differently if we had to do it again.

Rules:

1. Participants must agree to "Shelter-In-Place" and use only ingredients currently available to them in their homes, or on their property.

2. No time limit, but the meal must be completed by Saturday night before midnight (Pacific Time) and submitted to judges so that a decision can be reached by noon on Sunday, and broadcast Sunday evening.

3. (This one is more of a guideline) Promotional cooperation between chefs and judges, including social media mentions to respective audiences to collectively promote each other's brands. Because judges are volunteering, this rule is required of chefs, but not required of judges (although it would be cool if you did anyway). Judges will be tagged on social media and thanked by both chefs prior and after competition.

Prizes:

1. Pride.

Siletz Anglers Association

In January of 2019, guides Scott Ammerman, Mike Kelly, and Grant Scheele, formed a volunteer organization to generate funding for improvement projects on their home river. The Siletz Anglers Association is a non-profit organization designed to raise money and awareness for the Siletz wild broodstock program. With a goal in mind to improve infrastructure at the Alsea Hatchery and projects pertaining to the broodstock program, they've accomplished a great deal in a short amount of time and with limited resources. "Tillamook area guide Jack Smith (who helped build the foundation for the Hatchery Wild Coexist) walked me through getting SAA started. I consider him a mentor through the whole process," says Mike Kelly. Smith runs the North Coast Salmon and Steelhead Enhancement fund, and adopted the SAA as a subsidiary.

Through it's primary fundraiser, the North Coast Salmon Rendevous, the NCSSEF has provided recirculation pumps and screens for raceways at the Trask hatchery, habitat restoration on the Necanicum river, livewells for transporting wild broodstock on the Nestucca and Wilson rivers, and a portable liberation tank for the Tillamook district, primarily used for recycling steelhead. "Anyone who fishes for salmon and steelhead in Northwestern Oregon owes Jack Smith a thank you for all the work he's done," says Scott Ammerman. Ammerman attended the first Rendevous as a teenager when it was hosted by the Oregon Wildlife Heritage Foundation. "The model for the SAA and support for our wild broodstock program is built from the work of the NCSSEF." Ammerman sat beside Smith during the development of the Nestucca and Wilson wild broodstock programs.

The SAA is still in it's infancy. However, it's the ambition of young, energetic guides that depend on their home water to make their living that has made the SAA a formidable and cohesive group, hyper-focused on make big changes within a small region. In it's first year the SAA raised $18,000 in donations by spring. "We contacted ODFW and asked what we could do to help. They said the area of greatest need was improving the acclimation ponds," says Grant Scheele. Two dozen guides donated trips, selling roughly 60 seats for the event between $250-500 a seat. The Original Siletz River Shuttle Service provided free shuttles during the event as well. White Oaks Construction provided catering for the event with raffle donations from Oregon Rod Reel & Tackle, Clackacraft, BnR Tackle, & LURED. Sandy River Marketing designed a SAA logo and provided hats and t-shirts. Table Mountain Forestry, Dahl Sanitation, Peterson CAT rentals in Salem, and Knife River Building Materials were among the major donors whose efforts went towards upgrading the acclimation pond near Palmer Creek on the Siletz. Rearing smolts at an acclimation site increases the number of adults that "home" and return to that site.

Next on the SAA's radar are constructing a second lower river acclimation pond on the Siletz, and partnering with the Rock Creek Hatchery (owned by the Siletz Tribe) which is beginning a program raising 5,000 smolts this year. They are hopeful that this number will increase in the future. Also on the to-do list are upgrades to the Alsea hatchery, where the Siletz wild broodstock are spawned and hatched. "If we get all of our coastal rivers having great returns, it will spread out people and create that much more of a chance for people to catch a fish," says Scott Ammerman. Upgrades to the facility could benefit both sides of the mountain that separate the two major river basins.

Historically, the Alsea Sportsman's Association has generated funding for projects related to the wild broodstock program at the Alsea Hatchery. More recently, the SAA has gathered fresh ideas, bodies, and funding to make upgrades and improvements to existing infrastructure. This year, the Alsea Hatchery is trying to transition away from using tubes to collect wild fish for the broodstock program by boat on the Alsea River. Instead, ODFW approved livewells are being introduced to the program. Each boater participating in the program must apply for a permit to transport wild steelhead back to the Alsea Hatchery. Assistant District Biologist Paul Olmsted says the number of these permits will be "kept to a limited and manageable number to minimize wild fish impacts and mortalities." Meanwhile, the SAA is lending a hand to the neighboring system by contributing batteries to operate the aerators on the new livewells, and nets to ease handling of fish during their transition from the livewell to the raceway or the new collection pen that is being installed at Mike Bauer Wayside.

"Jack, Grant, Mike, and I are all members of CCA, and support the work they are doing at the state and federal level. Our small organization aims to fill in the gaps at a local level, focusing on the Alsea and Siletz," says Ammerman. As the SAA continues to foster growth with the local community, the three founding members intend to form a board. "The work of the SAA will quickly outgrow the work that Mike, Grant and I can manage."

The next SAA fundraiser is set for March 8th at the Logsden Grange. The SAA is expecting to have 30 boats sell their seats for this year's event. If you'd like to contribute to the SAA, you can make tax deductible donation via the NCSSEF website salmonrendevous.com (leave a note the donation is for the SAA). The North Coast Salmon Rendevous is set for October 28th, 29th, and 30th at the Old Mill Event Center in Garibaldi.

This article was published in the February 2020 Issue of Northwest Sportsman Magazine

Corvallis Indoor Winter Market

Benton County is well known as an agricultural destination for farmers and foodies. The multitude of organic farms and farm-to-table restaurants has created an appreciation for local foods that makes Corvallis an acclaimed area for locavores and culinary creatives. Winter is a slow season for these industries, with the valley flooding with rich nutrients from the rising banks of the Willamette River and it's tributaries. However, if you're longing for the experience of mozying downtown through a sea of local vendors, you don't have to wait until summer. The Corvallis Indoor Winter Market provides a unique opportunity for local food vendors to continue operating year-round!

Founded in the early 90's by a group of artisans and farmers who wanted to provide the public with a market during the off-season, the Corvallis Indoor Winter Market is a non-profit organization governed by a board of directors, with each position serving two year terms and elected each year in the Spring. The board reserves the right to accept or reject applications at their discretion to assure that only top-quality foods, local farm products, and handcrafted items are sold at the market.

Located in Guerber Hall at the Benton County Fairgrounds, the Corvallis Indoor Winter Market is open every Saturday from mid-January until the end of March. It has everything you would expect from a typical seasonal farmer's market, only with a roof over it's head to keep patrons warm and dry while they browse. Live music, baked goods, crafts, and of course locally grown produce all create the ambiance of the farmer's market with a unique opportunity to purchase seasonal items that you might not be able to find in July. Whether you want to fill your root cellar with potatoes, beets, carrots and turnips, get some seasonal yellowfoot chanterelles, truffles, black trumpet mushrooms, or fresh leeks and greens, you don't have to wait until summer and the clouds clear. You can enjoy the farmer's market experience in Corvallis, rain or shine.

Auerlia Skipwith, Clean Water, and the LWCF

I had the opportunity this weekend at the Portland Sportsman's show to question our USFWS director Aurelia Skipwith on the current administration's deregulation of clean water protections that ensure healthy ecosystems for our fish. She simply responded that "the USFWS makes the best decisions they can based on science." What science says dumping mining waste into rivers isn't good for fish? That question I never got the chance to ask, but whether it's waste from coal mining in the Appalachian Mountains threatening trout streams or paving the way for a pebble mine in Bristol Bay, Alaska, these issues need our attention, and the attention of the US Fish and Wildlife Service.

Oddly enough, it was the next day that the Trump administration proposed to eliminate nearly all funding for the Land and Water Conservation Fund (LWCF) in its Fiscal Year 2021 budget. The President’s proposal to wipe out funding for LWCF, repeated from his prior year budget requests flies in the face of extremely popular bipartisan legislation in the House and Senate that would provide full

dedicated funding for the program.

The Land and Water Conservation Fund is America’s most important conservation program, responsible

for protecting parks, wildlife refuges and recreation areas at the federal, state and local level. For 50

years, it has provided critical funding for land and water conservation projects, recreational construction and activities and the continued historic preservation of our nation’s iconic landmarks from coast-to-coast. 

LWCF does not use any taxpayer dollars – it is funded using a small portion of revenues from offshore oil and gas royalty payments. Outdoor recreation, conservation and historic preservation activities

contribute more than $887 billion annually to the U.S. economy, supporting 7.6 million jobs.

The LWCF Coalition is the umbrella group of more than 1,000 state and local land owners, small

businesses, ranchers, sportsmen, veterans, outdoor recreationists and conservation organizations

working to protect America’s public lands and safeguard our shared outdoor heritage for future

generations. The Coalition is united in its advocacy for the reauthorization and full funding of the Land and Water

Conservation Fund, which will ensure the continued conservation of our national parks, forests, wildlife refuges, wilderness, civil war battlefields, as well as state and local parks.

For more information on LWCF and the places in each state that have been protected using LWCF funds, visit www.lcfwcoalition.org

Let director  Skipwith know what you think about conservation of our salmon, steelhead and trout streams that need clean water. 

Yakutat - First Alaskan Experience 2018

This article was featured in the April 2019 issue of Alaska Sporting Journal. To view photos from the trip, the article is featured on the ASJ website here: http://aksportingjournal.com/steelhead-sweetness-on-first-alaska-trip/

Having never visited Alaska, Glacier Bear Lodge in the small town of Yakutat has left a lifelong impression on me. Traveling solo with my Australian cattledog "Wrangler," I booked the trip only a couple weeks in advance without a plan and flew by the seat of my pants. I've always thought of steelhead anglers to often be a bit of a grumpy bunch, but with the plentiful numbers of the Situk River, the atmosphere of the community and it's visitors is a completely different story. Drivers of every passing vehicle wave at each other in this relaxed rural environment, yet there's still several flights that come in and out of the small Alaskan Airlines airport daily.

After getting a ride from the lodge's shuttle, I had a couple drinks at the bar at Glacier Bear Lodge, where I ran into Jared Cady of Get Em Dry Jigs and Lael Johnson of Bait Ballz, who were preparing to fish the tidally influenced lower end of the river and invited me to tag along with them. Speckled belly geese flew overhead, as bald eagles towered over us in the trees, and greater yellowlegs roamed the gravel shorelines, a welcoming scene of abundant wildlife that set the tone for our evening quest for chrome. 

Lael and Jared hooked a couple fish swinging flies, and I brought in my first Alaskan steelhead on a spinner. Having thought I was just going to have some beers at the lodge, I had only been in Alaska since lunch and  at the river for an hour before smooching an oryncus mykiss hen and sending her on her way upstream to spawn. A brown bear ran across the road in front of us on the way out, as if it was chasing our report and heading to the river. A sign at the ramp warned visitors of an aggressive bear in the area recently, so seeing my first grizzly from the safety of the vehicle was satisfying. I was in awe of the beauty of this place and the diversity of wildlife species. Being my first day in Alaska, I felt as if mother nature rolled out the red carpet for me.The next day, I caught a ride with some friends to the boat launch and explored the river on foot. I hooked some of the biggest steelhead I've ever been witness to, and lost them to snags at my feet struggling to keep them under control. I redeemed myself by shaking hands with a few fresh fish later on, as well as my first dolly varden and a rare resident rainbow trout. I continued catching fish until the sun began to fall and it got too cold for comfort. I stood at a popular river crossing attempting to hitch a ride back to the lodge. The first two anglers were camping near the river, and although they weren't headed to the lodge, invited me back to their camp for a beer. However, I was eager to return to the lodge (where there's a roof, heat, and a bar), and the next angler politely obliged me and my canine companion with a ride.Back at the lodge, I met Tony "Famous" Davis and Kristen Dunn from Kodiak Custom Tackle. They were headed out for a float trip the next day, but were staying with a couple friends, Shannon and Kate, that wanted to stomp the banks and indicator fish with beads. They offered me a ride to the river the next morning, where Shannon started the day with a couple beautiful hens right out of the gate, including one that broke the handle on her net. We mozied upriver and settled in at the spot where I hooked most of my fish the day before and we landed several more. We were using just the basket of the net at that point, which was an awkward and exciting experience. The amount of wood snags is intimidating, but with every fish, I seemed to get better at keeping them pinned and getting them close enough for pictures.Tony and Kristen from Kodiak Custom Fishing tackle, and Ty Wyatt, Glacier Bear Lodge's halibut captain took me along with them for a fun trip walking along the banks of the Situk. While wandering upstream in belly-button deep water, I hooked a hen early in the morning that caught the attention of a large otter that swam across the river to steal it from me. I found a small perch tucked into some willows where I could get out of the water and try to quickly land the fish. As I was leaning down to grab it by the tail, the otter popped it's head up only a couple feet away to my left. I tried to boot it in the head to send a message that I wasn't giving up my fish that easy. It showed it's teeth like an angry dog and leaped back into the water, swimming upstream. I managed to land the fish downstream and safely release it away from the otter, but it was definitely humbling to know I was meddling with the local wildlife's territory.In the evening, we headed back to tidally influenced water, and on my first cast, I landed my first ever tidally influenced steelhead on a bead, a mission I wanted to complete purely out of curiosity how soon the feeding instincts of steelhead kick in as they enter the river and begin viewing eggs as a food source. Shortly after, Ty and Tony, who happen to be lifelong friends from Philomath, Oregon, doubled up on a pair of bucks fresh from the salt. Tony's fish was a redeeming note to end his visit, having been out-fished by his partner Kristen most of their time in Yakutat. As we continued to push the limits of the rising tide and a hot bite, we eventually turned around to notice the ground we were standing on was underwater, and so was our gear, so it was time to head back to the lodge.

Dinners at the lodge every evening were incredible, but being able to put in an order for a sack lunch to take to the river the next day was truly a convenience worthy of appreciation. Complimentary breakfasts in the morning were nothing short of any diner as well. A quick stop at the airport's fly shop on the way out to pick up some souvenirs, and I left Yakutat with my head in the clouds, obsessing over returning someday to do it again. The target-rich environment of the Situk is the steelhead stream dreams are made of, offering the experience for a novice to cut their teeth on steelheading, for the tinkering tackle-crafter to experiment with new methods, and for the advanced angler to challenge themselves, marking the last few checks off their list. A mix of younger trout bums packing into rooms and vehicles like sardines and wealthy, retired businessmen sipping scotch and smoking cigars in the lodge all convene on the river to live the same dream, and have the kind of experience that never leaves them.