An Angler Finds Joy In Juneau

The following appears in the March issue of Alaska Sporting Journal:

BY BRIAN KELLY

While lying in a hospital bed at Ohio’s Cleveland Clinic anticipating the impending prostate cancer surgery, my thoughts drifted off to my happy place in Juneau: Sheep Creek in early September.

I swear that the unmistakable scent of the salty sea air was hanging in the hallway as I was waiting to get rolled into the operating room. As I closed my eyes, I had visions of the tide rolling in, with schools of fat, feisty coho charging up the Gastineau Channel after gorging on herring in the Gulf of Alaska all summer. After making 15 trips to Alaska since 2011, from the Kenai Peninsula to the Mat-Su Valley and a few stops along Southeast’s coast, the Juneau coho scene really stuck with me after an exploratory trip in 2016. The place felt remarkably familiar, like another happy place back in my home state of Michigan, Platte Bay.

Nestled in the northwest corner of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula, this natural gem is loaded with pines on the peaks of massive sand dunes, which seem to drop right into the depths of northern Lake Michigan. This was the birthplace of the Pacific salmon introduction into the Great Lakes, and where I first fell in love with coho.

CHILLS OF EXCITEMENT RAN down my spine when I first arrived at Sheep Creek and walked out to the channel marker at low tide. The misty mountains across the channel were stunning to me, as was the view of the snowcapped summits to the south. The very first coho I landed out there did what coho love to do: hit right off the rod tip. My spinner was less than 3 feet away when it disappeared, and all hell broke loose.

I was head over heels for this place from that very moment, along with the killer bite that materialized with the incoming tide. I found my place where I could cast spinners and jigs to stagger fish and fill a freezer when the bite fired up, thanks to the generous daily limit in the salt. It is a slice of coho heaven that, for me, would become an annual destination for myself and my group of Great Lakes salmon junkies.

My surgeon was confident we could knock out the annoying tumor that was hosting the cancer, meaning I would be back to a normal life in a few months. No chemotherapy, no radiation. Surgery, recovery, with the goal of getting back to Alaska at some point in the year. My wife Anne and I were both able to take time off from work during my recovery period, and our already strong bond was fortified even further through this entire experience, a process that involved a year of tests, scans, biopsy and visits

with a couple potential surgeons until we got to the point of figuring out a plan to deal with this issue. It is a complete gut punch when a doctor says that dreaded six-letter word no one wants to ever hear. But my wife was by my side during the entire journey, and I cannot thank her enough for all she did.

As my strength returned and good news came in the form of PSA tests that confirmed the cancer was gone, we both breathed a sigh of relief and began discussing trips we would take together. We both love to travel, but she had never been to Alaska. So, that was first on the list. We had an amazing nine days in Ketchikan in June (Alaska Sporting Journal, February 2025). The weather was spectacular for Southeast Alaska, which meant it only rained for half the trip! Whales, bears and seals were out in force. We never ate any fowl or red meat on the trip, as we adhered to a seafood-only diet. Why go to Alaska and eat chicken nuggets when you have the freshest fish in the world at your fingertips?

While I did pack some fishing gear for the trip, the hatchery kings refused to show up on time, so Anne and I did all the tourist stuff that I never get to on my usual fishing trips. And it was glorious. We both cried in each other’s arms when it was time to leave. Alaska had worked its magic on her, like it has on me.

IT GOT INTO MY thick Scotch/German head that if the surgery was a success and I was mobile by spring, a second trip to Alaska was in order. This trip would be back to Juneau, as I did not want to miss the big coho plant Douglas Island Pink and Chum Inc. (DIPAC) unleashed in 2023. I have seen what the usual million-fish plants provide in terms of returning adult coho, and an additional 300,000 could make for a special run.

I knew I would need assistance this trip, as while my mobility was back, my strength and stamina were slow to catch up. So I enlisted a pair of sherpas, my oldest son Mason and my buddy Sean. Both had fished a bit – Mason more so, as he has accompanied me on many steelhead trips around our local streams in northwest Pennsylvania. But I needed strong backs to aid with hauling fish around, so it was agreed that I would play guide on this trip and the boys would do the heavy lifting.

When we arrived on Labor Day, word around town was that the fish were in thick at Sheep Creek, and so were the crowds. I knew I could not throw my boys right into the fire, so we set up away from the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd for some elbow room and to get the boys acclimated to the rigors of casting and retrieving spinners for hours on end.

I managed a couple quick bites as the tide started to move and my crew became uneasy as dry land began to disappear. So, we packed it up and headed to the north side of Douglas Island to fish the other side of Gastineau Channel. While this area does not get the concentration of fish like Sheep, it provides a less crowded experience and some breathtaking views as you head out towards False Outer Point. As the tide began to relent, we were able to get to one of my favorite little spots on the island, which tends to fish well on a falling tide.

While it took a little coaxing to get my team to wade through waist-deep water to get to our destination, it paid off with an immediate bite for Sean. His first coho landed in Alaska led to hugs, cheers and pictures. Mason followed up with a trifecta of chrome in short order, while Sean landed the biggest fish of his life just before the tide cleared out.

Getting everyone on the board on day one was a fantastic way to kick off the trip, and it also meant it was time to break out the filet knife and get to work. The routine was much the same the next few days, with a few groups of friends from Michigan and Texas flying in to join the fracas. The morning bite for the next couple of days was on fire, which allowed everyone to fill their stringers and load up on the bright orange-fleshed filets we all crave in our group. We spent the afternoons at the local breweries to celebrate and trade stories from the day, and there were stories. Oh, the stories.

Maybe the highlight of the trip was watching my pal Hunter from Texas realize that his mother was about to be stranded with the incoming tide, so he stopped fileting and high-stepped it out to the end of the peninsula to make sure Mama Tex got back in one piece. We all applauded his effort upon their safe return to dry land, as we stood around our makeshift cleaning tables laughing our heads off at what had just transpired.

ON THIS TRIP, WE put together a six-pack halibut charter at the end of the week. Since I had a couple of newbies and Hunter had some relatives who had never fished halibut before, it was a good time to get everyone together and see this great area from the water.

Our run out of Auke Bay was a short one, and it did not take long for my son to point west and ask, “Was that a whale?” Sure enough, a pod of humpbacks was moving up the far shoreline, and we could see their spouts in unison. Soon, they were close enough where we could see their entire tail as they dove back to the depths.

The weather was ideal, and the bite fired up right on the first drop. Sean had the hot rod and even landed a double! Then came the guessing game: Do we keep throwing back smaller fish in hopes of a larger one? Ahh, yes, the age-old nonresident halibut charter fishing dilemma!

We eventually put a 30-incher in the box and started to keep whatever came over the rail, as the clock was quickly becoming our enemy. Team Texas was able to land a pair of sizable Pacific cod late in the trip, so we were all assured of having a few filets to take home.

As the time came to reel up the lines, our captain came out on deck to inform us of a special treat during the ride back to the dock. I had a feeling what was about to happen and sure enough, after a short, quick boat ride, there they were – orca dorsal fins! Talk about a treat! It was an incredible sight as a pod of three orcas made its way down the channel, slowly rising to the surface, spouting and diving back down. To be able to see these magnificent creatures on this outing with my son and my friends was truly a treat that I will long cherish.

I TEND TO GET strange looks when I tell people Juneau is my favorite place to visit in Alaska. “Isn’t that the capital?” Yes. “Aren’t the streets crowded with (cruise ship) people?” Yes.

But away from the politicians and bewildered throngs of tourists lies a place that holds a special strain of coho, thanks to some genius work by the folks in charge of the DIPAC hatchery. The Taku-strain coho they have developed are mean and nasty, like no other coho I have known before.

The sights and sounds around town are also like no other. From the hungry seals awaiting a free meal from the cleaning tables at the hatchery, to that enormous chunk of ice in the mountains outside of town, Juneau checks a lot of boxes for me.

I enjoy your town immensely, Alaska. I miss the place and people already. ASJ

Sidebar: PROCESSING FISH WITH A LITTLE SASS

Scott Perkins is the owner of Jerry’s Meats and Seafoods in Juneau. The place is one of those local institutions where customer service is served Alaska style and doesn’t always mesh with Lower 48 expectations. For as long as I have been going to Juneau (2007), Jerry’s has been the place for processing fresh and frozen seafood from all over Alaska, plus featuring smoked meats aplenty. 

For the most part, Scott is a pretty happy-go-lucky fella, but he tends to develop an attitude when they get busy/overwhelmed with processing requests. Last fall, the coho were late. Typically, they show up around town and stage in the outer waters where the locals can troll and fill freezers to their heart’s content. 

But the fish didn’t follow suit last season and instead they all showed up at once right around Labor Day. So the whole town’s residents and seemingly all the visiting anglers were hammering fish on a daily basis and dropping off fillets to be processed. 

Scott got to a point where he couldn’t take it anymore and turned away business, including members of our group and even yours truly. That is, until I showed up asking for our fish when we had another processor lined up. Our pal quickly changed his tune and went about his business handling our fish. It all worked out in the end, and usually does, but sometimes you just gotta put up with the Alaskan attitude from time to time. -BK