We followed the Seward Highway along the Turnagain Arm, where the contrast of perennial glaciers against the sea reminded us of the picturesque views of Flathead Lake framed by the Swan Range. But like everything in Alaska, the scenery here was grander and more dramatic. Tourists lined the pullouts, snapping photos of the towering Chugach Mountains, but we didn’t linger. Rainbows, silvers, sockeye, and perhaps even an early steelhead awaited us on the Kenai Peninsula.
My wife, Lauren, and I had arrived in Alaska in early August at the invitation of Mark Wackler, owner and outfitter of AK Fishology. I had met Mark 20 years prior when we both worked in the fishing department of a Missoula sporting goods store. Through a twist of fate, we had recently reconnected, and he offered us a cabin and a couple of days of guided fishing on the Kenai. From there, we’d be on our own, following a DIY approach along the route between Soldotna and the Homer Spit. A half-guided, half-DIY format had become our preferred way to experience a fishing vacation.
After settling into our cozy cabin perched on an inviting lake, we met Mark at a nearby boat ramp. The Kenai River takes you by surprise with its sheer volume and indescribable color. When glaciers melt, they release an eon’s worth of ice, infusing the river with a striking aquamarine hue. This mighty river roars from alpine heights to the ocean in just 80 miles. We rigged a couple of ALLFLYs with beads and indicators, took our seats, and watched as Mark fired up the motor on the Willie Predator. Soon, we were off on our adventure down the “World’s Greatest Sportfishing River.”
We couldn’t keep the Arctic char off our lines, and before long, Lauren landed a plump 16-inch specimen. Mark likened the egg-bloated belly of the fish to a beanbag. Everything that swims here depends on the rich protein from the sea—salmon eggs and rotting carcasses sustain not just the fish but also the eagles, trees, and people. The giant rainbows are no exception, and we set off in search of Mark’s preferred quarry on his home river.
On river-right, we passed by what locals call the “flippers”—sockeye anglers lined shoulder-to-shoulder along the traveling lanes, yanking their limits onto the shore using a unique technique. It was foreign to us, but we knew we’d become more familiar with flipping later on.
No matter where I am in the world, I am always in awe of the specialized skills of fishing guides. As a guide myself, I was particularly impressed by Mark’s ability to maneuver his big powerboat into tight, tucked-away spots and position anglers for the perfect shot. His intimate knowledge of the Kenai was on full display as he dodged old-growth flotsam, steered the boat into a side channel, and directed Lauren to cast her bead rig into a tight gap between two deadly strainers. Her bobber bounced—she set the hook—and suddenly, she was fast to the rainbow trout of a lifetime.
