The only way to meat fish sockeye on the Kenai River...

Well, I've had hold on this secret for a long time. It's hallowed ground I'm treading here, I fill my freezer with a daily limit every year, and I've had just enough beer tonight to share it with the world. (I will admit that a lot of people catch daily limits. I just don't think they catch a limit as fast as me) Many people come to the Kenai River looking to haul on Red's. It's not easy. Sockeye don't run for the color of yarn. They don't run bait or superstition. There is a skill to flipping for Red's. To give this article clout, here's my proof. I stopped counting rod caught reds at 160 for the year from july 2014 to july 2014. That's right, 1 month. That's when I stopped counting... we caught a lot more than that. My nephews come to fish every year. That's 3-6 Red's each day, between 6-8 people, depending on the limit. They are 12-16 years old. We also have family come from the lower 48 that have never fished. If they can figure it out, so can you.

When I moved to Kenai in 2000, I was introduced to dipping for food. It's big here for locals. Dipnetting involves a person standing chest deep in the surf, waiting... praying that a fish swims into your giant hoop shaped net. A lot of people do it from a boat now. Sometimes you get 'em, sometimes you don't. It's the white man's way. Don't get me wrong, you get a limit. Like 35 or more salmon in one sitting on the right day for a resident with a wife- more for a family with kids. It gets old fast if the Red's are in. But if you come to the Kenai River looking to take a pile of Sockeye home on a rod there are a few tricks you I can tell you about, but first, I have to give credit where credit is due. In 2000, I was hired as a Nurse in the local Emergency Department in Soldotna. I was clueless. Most people know Sockeye don't take a bait. They move like cow's, slowly but surely swimming up the river. It's a lot of dumb luck catching Red's. Where I was raised, we casted and reeled Pixie's. Not rocket science. In fact, you will eventually catch Red's if you throw a bare hook from a stick in the Kenai. When the run is in, it's in. I tried to catch Red's a bunch of times in the Kenai with no success. Not one fish, until... I was lucky enough to meet a Doctor in the Emergency Department that had guided on the Kenai for years. Bob Ledda runs All Alaska Outdoors lodge. Ledda gave me advice and tips, but more importantly, he introduced me to Mikey. Mikey was as big a Jap you ever saw. He was 6' tall, and a very soft man. Soft spoken, and gentle in everything he did. He cleaned fish by the thousands of pounds for All Alaskan Outdoors. We once competed, he cleaned a sockeye perfectly with a leatherman in 30 seconds before I had half done with a filet knife. We steamed together (sauna w/ MJ- not weed but a friend), we shared firepit together hundreds of times, and he taught me nearly everything I know. I can't begin to share with you the things he has taught me about fishing, but I'll try.

The first time Mikey took me out, he limited before I caught one single Red. In fact, I caught none. He had a flip that made tourists drool. It was automatic. It was perfect. Mikey was a Red Whisperer, and he didn't even like eating them. He took me out on the Kenai many times, and before long I stopped trying and starting listening. Mikey explained that there was a science to catching Red's. The length of your leader. The weight of your sinker. The feel of your weight bouncing along the bottom of the river. The vibration of your line in a Red's mouth. I took it from there to optimize my haul every time I go out.

I use a halibut rod with 80# line and a giant hook, because I don't enjoy fighting fish. I want to fill my freezer. The only fish that counts is the one lying dead on the bank. I will warn you, this takes "the fun" out of the entire catching process, unless to you, fun = meat in the freezer. Each section of the Kenai is different. Different length leader and different weight depending on the speed of the water. To start, tie a triple swivel to your line. The line from your rod to the proximal eye, and the leader to the distal eye. This leaves the mid-eye for the sinker. I start with a 6' leader. This is obviously painfully long, but it's much easier to take a bit off than add a bit on. I start with a 1oz weight on a snap swivel. It's usually much too heavy, but easy to change with this setup. I flip my hook out- if you can't picture what I mean by flip, it's easiest just to watch everyone else fishing. There is no casting for Red's. I use about 10' of line (Red's swim close to the bank oftentimes running into your legs if you're wading) to flip my hook at 11 o'clock, let it drift, bouncing to 2-4 o'clock and give a tiny yank at the end. Feel for your sinker. If it it's floating and isn't bouncing, it's too light. If it's dragging or snagging, it's too heavy. You want a steady bounce. At the end of your drift, give a tiny yank. Don't give a big yank, because a parks ranger or fish and game will likely be watching, and yanking big is illegal. Once you have your weight happily bouncing on the bottom of the river, focus on your leader. If I'm snagging them in the belly, I figure I'm long, throw it back. Long and low. Snagging in the back? I'm short. Short and high. I take off about 6" of line at a time, and usually end up with 4-5' of leader. Now that you have your weight right, and your leader right, focus on feeling your line. When your line has crossed into the mouth of Red, it vibrates in a manner that isn't the same. Your weight still bounces, but it's different than the weight bouncing on the bottom of the river by itself. When you get use to what is normal, you'll understand. If you feel the vibration, give a little yank no matter where you are in your drift. This is usually at the end of the drift- around 2-4 o'clock, but it could be the instant your hook hits the water. Once you get the rhythm of flipping and start hooking, everyone yells "Tip up!". I disagree. Tip down. Sockeye love to jump and spin and spit hooks, but rarely jump and spin and spit hooks when you keep the tip down. By tip down I mean, down below the water. If you're snagged, Red's would rather surf (be drug along the surface of the water) than jump, when you keep your tip down below the water. TIP UP! makes for a theatrical dramatic fight with leaping fish, and many a spit hook if you're into that. Remember, I'm using a halibut rod with 80# line. I don't want to fight a fish. I want to catch a fish. Lastly, I don't use a net. Never, ever, ever. That would require dependence on another fisherman to stop fishing, and help me. He'll never catch a fish if his hook isn't wet. Instead, reel up to your sinker using your rod to fight the fish, and make a timely gentle haul right onto the bank. Now that the big Red is flopping, grab him by the head and rip his gills. He won't fight much once he's lost his lungs, and he will bleed out sufficiently. I don't use a stringer unless I have to. I throw each Sockeye on the bank above me where I know they won't work their way back into the river, then I get my hook wet as fast as I can. Because A DRY HOOK DOESN'T CATCH FISH! If you hook fish, but they pop out without reason, get a sharper hook. If you're flipping without a single fish on but everyone else is catching, check your setup. I have fished many a time without a hook on the line. The constant rubbing of rocks weaken the line, and it snaps. You are now attempting to catch fish with a floppy line and no hook. Also if you're using DEET to deter the skeeters, it will eat the line until it falls apart. (if I have rubbed DEET on my parts, I wash my hands in the river before working with my line)

Your lesson is finished. Now for stories. A Doc by the name of Zipperer (no kidding) came through the hospital, and he wanted to catch Reds for the first time. I offered to take him to a very popular spot in the middle of town after a nightshift. Once we were in the parking lot, he announced he had no tackle. No hooks. No sinker. Just one very expensive brand new rod with line. Lord help me... I saw a fellow fisherman parked alongside us and asked for a 1oz sinker, which he was happy to supply. "But where will we get a hook?" asked Zipperer. I walked him to the waters edge, found a discarded hook on the ground, and sharpened it on a stone. I tied this welfare hook to his line, and he had his first Red ever, after just a few flips! My 16 year old nephews are fishing every night in july. They literally fish a limit in the dark, sleep all day and fish another limit the next night! The Red's wait for no one! You will find that fishing the Kenai during the day is crowded. We see between 100-200 hooked fisherman a year in the ER, usually in the neck or face, all because of the crowds fishing about 4-6' apart. A Red pops a hook mid air, that weight and barb are coming back at you about 100mph! I've seen people blinded. I once saw a sinker imbed itself inside a mans head! My small group of friends (the fellowship) night fish a few times a years. It's enjoyable to fish without the crowds, drink beer, eat a snack and enjoy the company. Also, night fishing is an entirely different challenge. You can't see the Red even when he's in the water right next to you!

Last story, my wife catches more fish than everyone else on the river. Like Mikey, she doesn't even like to eat them! I have seen her limit many times when not another soul was catching. Some people just got it, and I married one!

I'm 39 years old and have loved my wife for 56 years...

When I was 31 years old, my heart and mind had settled on the fact that I would never find a girl that could handle me, or my family. I had been married, had a son, gotten divorced, and dated a handful of women. I had a lot of fun, and learned many things- how most women want to be treated, and more importantly, what scared them off. Some of the girls I spent time with found me difficult and obnoxious, and some I found undesirable traits in, either way, the idea of being alone was something I was finding comfort in. I had spent 6 years trying to figure out what my priorities were, always dreaming and hoping that I would someday find someone who wanted me, and I them. When you peel all the layers of crazy away from a human being, we all just want to be wanted. But in 2005, I was done trying. I hadn't cried a tear in a very long time. I was all dried up. I had worked as an ER Nurse in the same small hospital since 2000, and knew most everyone. I had helped a handful of friends navigate the most efficient way of finding employment, and in June of 2006 found a young girl emailing me, asking what I thought would give her the best chance. She was a local girl, and wanted to be close to family. Kimberly was volunteering with a local ambulance as an EMT/ Firefighter, but had recently graduated from Nursing school. I had seen her from time to time in the past. She was nice, quiet, and beautiful. After dropping patients off in the ER, she would sit off to the side waiting for her co-workers to finish paperwork. I don't remember her ever speaking to me, but I did remember her. I responded to her emails by inviting her on an adventure we had planned. My friend Joshy was taking a group of us down the Kenai River in a driftboat. Drifting the Kenai is a great way to spend a day, and an exceptional first date. I sensed she enjoyed the day, and soon after, called her for another outing on the next beautiful Alaskan day. My son Porter and I took her way out swanson river road for a fishing trip on nest lake. I paddled, they caught, and we all had a great adventure. Kimmy kept me around for 2 years. She was the girl of my dreams, prettiest woman I ever saw, but my past was an open book, and my reputation was not as golden as she deserved. I can remember asking her (and myself) why a nice, pretty 26 year old girl was still on the open market. She said she didn't know why. I made her a hoodie that said "Too good for the bad boys, too bad for the good". I realized a while ago we all have a crazy thing in us, and it's the way two crazy's combine that make two people love each other. Her crazy was well within the normal range and she tolerated my crazy like no one had before. For two whole years. It wasn't easy on her. I have a beast in me that in my youth, liked to peek from within now and then. Perhaps it was the weight of my past, or the lifestyle I was living prior to meeting my Kimmy. The beast was not only peeking out from within, he was stepping out and dancing a little jig. We did have a great time for the most part. It wasn't a hurricane of teeth and fists(ZH) all the time, in fact in those two years, Kimmy had pulled me out of a dangerously rutted path that was leading nowhere. I once again enjoyed going to church weekly. I started praying daily. I was eating and sleeping like a normal person. I felt like Kim was making me a better human being. Way back then, I got to thinking about Fannon wives. We three brothers aren't perfect. We three have our own strengths, but... Ornery, difficult, stubborn. All the shit you read about in articles titled "What an asshole might be", we do most of them. I enjoy proclaiming that I'm the best of the three, yet that doesn't mean life loving me is easy. What I realized about Fannon wives was that living with a Fannon man could be scored in dog years. Those two years that my Kimmy spent with me probably felt like 14 years. There were bad days. I can remember one spectacular argument while working on her house. The particular trigger has been lost, and the thing that starts a fight doesn't usually matter because it is rarely the seed of the problem. The seed was rooted in the fact that I am an asshole deep down. During that argument, she was tired of my voice, and I couldn't stop yelling, so I left. A while later she called and said she'd thought about calling it quits. I felt the familiar pain in my heart, my eyes welled up with tears, and I saw that this girl had taken my dried up sponge of a heart, and saturated it once again, and I hadn't even realized it. I asked why she wasn't taking off on me, she responded "You have potential". From that point on, I put effort forth. I made her the investment in my future, and I wanted to be hers. We were married in 2008 and were quickly fruitful and multiplied and have lived happily ever after. Together for 56 years today, and I'm only 39. We still argue and there are days that need to be spent alone, but in total, Kimberly is my everything. Still the prettiest girl I ever saw.

Free Parenting vs Helicopter Mama's

It's been a long time since I've written a single thing down. It's not because of a lack of adventures, but rather a lack of time. Kids, wife, work, friends, fishing, hunting and living all leave little energy for making our adventures public and permanent in this place. But I read an interesting article today regarding the societal tilt towards helicopter parenting and felt driven to share my own experiences and opinions in the hopes that someday, my own children will google my name, and come across this. I was spawned by hardworking parents. Mom and Dad were both raised with less, and both worked hard to improve our standard of living so that my younger brothers and I would not FEEL poor. But for the times, we were poor. We had all we needed, and a few things we wanted. If my parents read this now, I hope they know (yes, I have told them) that I have never once wished that I had been brought up in any other way. My parents were successful in their efforts. We did not know we were poor. Until I was about 10 years old, we lived in a house in the middle of the Idaho desert with a lot of gaps and cracks, sided in multicolored plywood and surrounded by sand and sagebrush. We had friends with less, and some with more, and I don't remember being judged by anyone. And it is here that my purpose in this article is accomplished. We were latch-key kids. Around 8 years old, I clearly remember my mother waking me up before heading to work at 6am, putting me in her bed and telling me, "When the alarm goes off, dress and feed your brothers, and meet the bus at the end of the driveway". Our typical breakfast consisted of instant oatmeal and milk. It's tough to mess that up, even at 8 years old, and we occasionally changed the meal by adding more or less water. Soupy oatmeal and dry oatmeal are two entirely different things. When the time came, we walked the long driveway to the road where we waited for the bus. Sometimes we hid koolaid packets in our pockets to eat while we walked. The koolaid powder stained our mouths, and so in hindsight, I assume it was not as secret as we had hoped at the time. There was a huge growth of sagebrush where the driveway met the highway that we crawled under while waiting for the bus when it was cold. On the bus, I would nap for the hour drive to school, because getting up at 6am is tough on an 8 year old. My Grandma was a janitor at the school for well over 20 years. She was hired when my father attended the same school as a child. She once told me she asked a group of his classmates, "Has anyone seen Duwayne?", but no one knew a boy named Duwayne. My father had told the other children his name was Charlie because he liked it better. She was the only janitor for K-12, and worked long days. I would see Grandma now and then throughout the day, walking by the windows of my classroom or on the playground at recess. When school was out, the bus dropped us off at the top of the long driveway. We were expected to have certain things done before mom and dad returned home from work. Our chores consisted of feeding the animals, cleaning the house, and watering the garden. Instead, sometimes we packed a lunch, grabbed the bb gun, hopped on the Honda 90- an old irrigation bike dad had bought for us, and headed into the desert for adventures. We had located an old ranch dump that was no longer used, and frequently returned to it to dig through the treasures of someone else's garbage. There was a hotspring that we found hidden in a small valley that we waded in. It stank of sulfur, but we didn't care. We found arrowheads dropped long ago, caught lizards, snakes, scorpions, and pollywogs, and shot every single bird we saw... we were boys. Sometimes, the three of us didn't feel like hiking for miles through the desert, so we watched cartoons, waiting until the last moment to complete our list of duties. Thundercats, GI Joe, Scooby Doo, Heman and Shera lasted until 5pm. We could get everything done in about 30 minutes if we ran from one chore to the next. When my parents returned home, we played catch with dad, shot the bb gun, or worked around the house. The next morning, it started all over again. Sometimes bad things happened when we were home alone. I can remember walking outside late in the day to find an old dresser that had been sat out back beside the house on fire. It could have easily spread to the house. We were around 8, 7, and 5 years old and we were home alone. Believe it or not, we three little boys grabbed a blanket and put that fire out. One day after departing the bus, we decided to walk straight across the desert home instead of the long curved driveway. It wasn't something we did often, and I cannot remember why we decided this, but it likely saved our lives. Dad worked as a jailer at the local courthouse. He had made a bad man mad, and that bad man told his friends to do bad things to us. I remember getting home from our desert trek and seeing dad talking to a group of men halfway up the driveway. When he got home, he told us who the men were, what they had intended to do, and warned us to run to the nearest neighbors house if we saw strangers between us and the house. Knowing my father now, I can imagine lives were threatened. The bad mans friends never returned that I know of. Once mom and dad went on a date night. While they watched ET in a town 2 hours away, we three boys were scared to death sitting on the couch together with my dads shotgun in my hands because a coyote was scratching at the door. We had chickens, and one of our chores was to feed them and collect eggs. My middle brother Josh, figured it would be fun to carry a long arm of metal from a combine to the roof of the coop- half sitting on, half hanging off, and while he stood on the end that remained on the coop, Link and I would jump on the far end- the end with nothing supporting it's weight. In theory he would fly through the air landing on his feet like a cat. Link and I half heartedly fulfilled our end of the deal, but without our full enthusiasm and effort, the heavy metal arm twisted, throwing Josh to the ground. It landed on his arm. It looked bad. He cried a bit, but when mom and dad got home we didn't say much. A few days later, Josh explained what had happened, and that his arm continued to hurt. They took him to the ER. His arm was broken. We burned our legs on the muffler of the Honda 90. We got lost in the desert. We shot each other with the bb gun. We crawled inside the wheel well of a tractor tire and rolled each other down pig pen hill. We collected natural asbestos crystals in the desert, piled them in coffee cans and gave them to mama because they were pretty. We jumped off the haystack hoping the garbage bags we held in our hands would gently parachute us to the ground. They didn't. Memories are rarely perfect, but this is how I remember it. The article titled "Helicopter Parenting" described parents punished for committing far less offenses. Leaving a 9 year old to watch a younger sibling at the park. Allowing an 11 year old to walk to school with siblings. One of the criminal parents said "The park is a safe place for my child. There are a lot of other parents there". Although a judge agreed with the mother, an official from Child Protective Services responded by saying it is not the responsibility of others to keep a strangers child safe. That one sentence bothered me. It is the responsibility of all of us to instill independence in our youth, teach them to respect limitations, and that we humans should attempt to keep each other safe from imminent danger. In no way do I mean to imply that we should hover and herd our children away from every potential danger, or to criticize another parent because we don't agree with the way the are teaching their own children. It is not possible to stop all bad things from happening, and an upbringing without failures or fear produces a young adult with little knowledge of what the world will try to do to them once they leave the protection of mommy and daddy. This one statement made me think children of helicopter parents may not develop an instinct- that little voice that tells us, I've seen this before and something bad is about to happen, so I need to fight or run. That little voice is important! It is what enables us to prepare for the worse, and defend or escape potential dangers. If you see a man or woman haul a kicking, screaming kid off at the park, your instinct tells you to pay attention, and judge whether it deserves intervention. I'd rather a parent be angry with me for questioning their actions rather than stand by uncaring, and learn later that I had watched someone's kid get kidnapped. I like to take my own kids to the park during the summer. It tires them out, and they get the opportunity to learn to socialize and make new short-lived friends. Oftentimes, I see one kid bully others, pushing smaller kids, telling them they aren't allowed to play near him, like he's the Big Dick in town. I don't give a shit who his parents are. I don't even ask around or look for them. I tell that little bastard to stop or leave. I don't care whether the other parents present approve or disapprove. Maybe I'm wrong to do it my way, but it's my way and it's worked for me so far. I feel I am first, showing my own children that they are important enough to me to defend them, second, that unsavory behaviors in people around us need not be tolerated, and third, that no matter what age, most bullies are pussies. Insecure human beings who feel the need to belittle others apparent weaknesses. I'm also teaching the bully that the next time he sees me, or someone like me, he'd better be a good little boy. I may have I felt driven to write this down so that I could think it through for myself. My wife and I let our kids run free in the yard. We have instilled limitations and when they break the rules, the are disciplined, but as long as they aren't fighting or dying, they have a lot of freedom. The play on a trampoline without a net. They climb things and jump off of things and throw things and chase each other with sticks. We allow them to be children. My oldest son, Porter was babysitting his three younger siblings when he was 8 years old... just like me. I have friends that didn't agree with this, and even Porter was unsure of it at first, but I hold him to a high standard. I have raised him to be responsible and capable. I have given him instructions for the worse case scenario since the beginning of his still young life. Porter is now 12 and much more mature than most of his peers. He still plays and has fun and gets in trouble, but he has the knowledge and capability to fight or run. My brothers have raised their own in the same manner. Fannon kids appear rough around the edges. They might say bad words and fight and argue and they might appear like bad kids, but I can depend on them to have the knowledge and capability to fight or run. We three brothers don't raise our kids the same in all respects, but they will likely all turn into useful human beings. I have dwelled on this for years. If parents don't hold children to a high standard, they will not respect limitations, and they will rarely rise to the occasion when a demanding situation confronts them later in life. If we demand excellence, our children will strive to succeed, because what our children want most in this world is to make us proud. As they grow, they do it less for the approval of parents, and more because it's the right thing to do. A friend and first time mama recently made a statement on social media that she couldn't shower because the baby monitor was broken. One comment made by a woman that I hold in high esteem was, what did mothers do before baby monitors were available? I have a feeling the parental act of instilling limits and independence starts at birth. As long as baby is safe, butts are clean, belly's are full... what is the harm in accomplishing something that needs done, even if the baby monitor is broken? I think that maybe even at such a very young age, babies learn something of independence. If your 6 month old does something you wish them not to repeat, why not give a soft swat on the butt to get their attention, and a simple no? There are many studies that suggest infants are excellent at understanding body language and tone long before understanding language. Sooner than later, our babies will understand that chewing on the Christmas lights will make mama mad. The outlet across the room might be the most tempting little treasure they've seen in the last 5 minutes, but sticking your fingers in it will make daddy run at you like a bull. If I attend a social function, and I see a fat little baby that I've never met grabbing the dogs tongue and using it as a bungie cord, I will stop them. And so should you, because it is all of our responsibility to keep all of our children from imminent danger. It takes a village...