Alaska stands alone as a fly-fishing destination, a singular pinnacle in a world full of fish.
The diversity of species from rainbow trout to Dolly Varden, Arctic char to grayling — not to
mention salmon species — offer the angler myriad fly-fishing opportunities. Alaska’s enormity is
dwarfed only by the vastness of the Pacific Ocean which fosters many of its fisheries. To fish
here is to come face-to-face with a wildness and bounty few anglers get the chance to
experience.
I remember seeing a photograph nearly 30 years ago now. I was a college student at the
time studying fisheries biology at Montana State University in Bozeman. It could have been
published in Field & Stream Magazine or one of my text books, it matters not. What I remember so vividly was that color red. Rivers coursing with it. Sockeye salmon so thick you could walk from one bank to another on their backs. It seemed unreal that such an image could exist. It was proof of what the world is capable of, an abundance so staggering it is beyond our comprehension. I swore that one day I’d wade in one of those streams, surrounded by sockeye salmon, to witness their final journey to the place of their birth.
Fast forward to August 2025. I boarded an airplane in Bozeman. My destination: Intricate
Bay Outpost on the southern shore of Lake Iliamna. I was to meet a group of anglers from
Birmingham, Alabama, at the Lakefront Hotel in Anchorage. Together, we’d fish for big rainbow
trout in the great waters that feed Lake Iliamna. And we’d do it during the height of the sockeye
salmon run.
All Along to the Outpost
I met Charlie Watkins and the ’Bama Boys at the Lakefront Hotel on what could have
been Anchorage’s biggest day of the summer. President Trump had announced a summit with
Russian President Vladimir Putin the day of our arrival. Luckily, we all snuck into Ted Stevens
Anchorage International Airport without delay due to closed airspace. The Lakefront felt as
though we’d walked into a John le Carré novel. The hotel bar was full of Russian and American
security personnel, many in plain clothes, who had apparently booked the same hotel as us.
Signs set in the lobby were in Russian. The scent of clove cigarettes wafted in through the
sliding front entryway of the hotel. Side glances and suspicion seemed to abound, but somehow
the hotel maintained a pleasant air.
For pure entertainment value (and the closest proximity to beers), we dined in the hotel
restaurant with the spies. Charlie was accompanied by Bo Kirkpatrick (Big Bo), Samuel Bowen
(Little Bo), Greg Vedel, and Brent Hitson. The boys all grew up together in Birmingham. Greg
had made his way to Montana for a client meeting some years back and had the chance to cast
a fly rod. There was something special about fly fishing he told his buddies when he got back
south. That discussion spurred and an annual trip to Montana that has seen the group fishing
together for more than 20 years, frequently with the crew from Montana Angler. To fill out the
roster at Intricate Bay Outpost, the boys invited along Little Bo’s friend and co-worker William
Woodall (Bud), of Birmingham, and his son Dan Woodland, or Asheville, N.C. The volume of
laughter emanating from our table drew a few nervous glances from the KGB types, and it took
me all of five minutes drinking beers with the boys on the patio of The Lakefront to realize this
was going to be a pretty fun trip.
After a restless night’s sleep, we woke early to catch a regional flight southwest of
Anchorage across the Cook Inlet and the wilds of Lake Clark National Park to Lake Iliamna. It’s
hard to appreciate the grandeur of the Alaskan wilderness until you’ve witnessed it from the air.
As we crossed the Alaskan Mountain Range we peered down at glaciated volcanic peaks.
Snowfields rippled like waves of water with pressure fissures. The volcanic geology descends
from the alpine to verdant valleys stoked greener than you can imagine by the endless summer
sun.
Touchdown in Iliamna. We were met at the airstrip by Brian Harry, owner and operator of
Intricate Bay Outpost and Intricate Bay Lodge. He greeted us in hip boots with a firm
handshake. Brian’s the kind of guy that been working in Alaska long enough that its become a
part of him. He spends the off season working out to be in shape for the rigors each summer
season throws his way — and there have been a few. Expert bush pilot, lumberjack and dinner
host are of a few of the many roles he plays, all with a smile and infectious energy that drives
the momentum during a week of fishing.
After a short truck ride and the first of daily float plane flights we were greeted at the
Outpost by host Katie and chef Pat. Katie is small in statue, but big in positive vibes. Her
demeanor somehow makes the Alaskan sun shine even a bit brighter. Chef Pat worked the
restaurant scene in the lower 48 until he decided for a change of scenery and brought his
culinary skills north. He’s got a laid-back character that belies the exuberance and artistry of his
cooking. Each night at the Outpost was filled with cuisine that impressed and satisfied without
the need for embellishment — just good food, done right.
After settling our affairs, we donned waders for our first venture into Alaskan waters. I
cannot tell you how nice it is to be fishing the day of arrival, and the boys excitement was
palpable as we boarded Brian’s float plane and took flight for the Copper River.
Copper River
One of the great things about fishing out of Intricate Bay is the proximity to world-class
fisheries. Lake Iliamna is fed by numerous waters, nearly all of which hold fish and see runs of
salmon at differing points throughout the season. The Copper River is one of Intricate Bay
Outpost’s home waters and our first flight over it was jaw dropping. The volume of salmon we
saw from the air on the short flight from the Outpost was amazing. Enormous schools of fish
appeared in the eddies behind boulders, in the calm pools along the edges and in the belly of
deep runs. More impressive perhaps was the volume of fish surging upstream in the shallows.
The backs of big males pushing water could be seen from the airplane. Countless red dots lined
the river from bank to bank. This is the stuff of Planet Earth and BCC nature documentaries,
and to witness it firsthand was a dream come true for all of us.
After unloading from the plane, our guides Kris and Evan assembled and inflated NRS
rafts for a run down the Copper to Lake Iliamna. I’d fish this day and for the remainder of the trip
with Charlie. Big Bo and Brent would join us each day in a separate boat with the remaining four
of Little Bo, Greg, Bud and Dan venturing to other waters for the day. Charlie rigged a 6-weight
and I rigged a 7-weight for our first day of fishing. Recommended rods for the waters
surrounding Lake Iliamna are 6- to 8-weight rods, with 6-weights preferred for the rainbow trout
and 8-weight rods the choice for salmon fishing.
Rainbow trout were our main target on this trip. While resident rainbows are present in
the Copper throughout the season, it is the migratory fish from Lake Iliamna that provide much
of the sport. These rainbows swim up the Copper River to feed on eggs dropped in the millions
by female sockeye salmon during the spawning run. The river is quite literally turned into a
massive spawning bed with fish making use of the entire river bottom to form their nests.
Fly selection is as straight forward as it can get when fishing for rainbows during the
August sockeye run: You’ll be fishing an unweighted egg pattern rigged just above a bare
snelled hook on a 10-foot leader to an indicator. The eggs preferred by guides on the Copper
River are small plastic beads in 6mm to 8mm sizes. Colors vary from red to pink to orange. The
guides have come up with creative names for each egg color. The Oregon Cheese, Montana
Roe and Tangerine were hot patterns during our week.
Functionally casting a 10-foot leader to an unweighted egg pattern with a 6- to 8-weight
fly rod takes a bit of getting used to. The idea for presentation is to have the egg pattern float
free in the current as if dropped by a salmon. Having a bit of bow in your line to maintain tension
to the fly is acceptable. The key to success is to know what the take or a trout looks like versus
the incidental hookup of a sockeye. Kris explained things well enough to Charlie and I on day
one. A rainbow take will pull the indicator down and often to the side aggressively. As the
sockeye are not feeding during their spawning run, they do not target the eggs. As a result, a
sockeye will slowly drag the indicator under as if snagged, which they often are. In practice it is
quite remarkable to cast into a sea of sockeye and have your egg pattern float free to find a
rainbow trout somewhere feeding in their midst.
Charlie and I were both dumbstruck by the sight of the salmon. They’d surge from the
water with each oar stroke, run themselves up on gravel bars, swim free in huge groups in the
most mesmerizing fashion. The transmogrification of these fish is remarkable, something
beautiful and horrific at the same time. In a matter of weeks the sockeye enter the river of their
birth chrome from the sea. As they begin their spawning run their bodies shift in hue to a bright
red, their head taking on a green tone. The males develop enormous humped backs that
protrude out of the water like a blaring beacon to grizzly bears. Elongated jaws spew a tangle of
sharp teeth. As the fish hold in the fresh water of their birth their skin begins to decay. Lesions
appear. Their eyes start to rot from their heads. Fins disintegrate to spiny nubs. The notion of
zombie fish is apt. Fortunately for us, we were at the front end of the run and most of the
sockeye were in a state of solidity. Charlie hooked into a big male that proved too powerful for
his 6-weight rod. Rather than fight an unwinnable fight, we were told by Kris to straight-line the
salmon to the boat, where he’d hand line them in for release with a pair of pliers to avoid their
protruding teeth. We each snapped a photo with a sockeye, but quickly found more engaging
sport with the Copper’s rainbow trout.
Charlie’s first hook up put a bend in his rod unlike anything he’d felt during his 20-plus
years fly fishing in Montana. Rainbows this big aren’t unheard of in the Big Sky State, but they
are certainly rare. And the charged up strength of these Lake Iliamna rainbows was something
new entirely. For whatever reason, lake run fish just seem to fight harder than their fluvial
brethren. Having built a solid skillset over the years fishing Montana trout streams, Charlie took
little time to find his groove in Alaska. By the end of our first day he’d landed a handful of solid
Alaskan rainbows. The rest of the boys from Alabama had done the same and the first evening
back at the Outpost was filled with stories of the largest trout any of our anglers had ever
caught.
Gibraltar River
The day begins early at Intricate Bay Outpost. Each morning we rose for breakfast
between 6:30-7:00am with float planes arriving to take us to the river around 7:30am. The
Gibraltar River, which flows from Gibraltar Lake into Lake Iliamna, lies southwest of Intricate Bay
Outpost. Brian picked Charlie and I up in his plane for the short morning flight across the tundra.
Touching down on Gibraltar Lake was breathtaking. The surrounding tundra extends in all
directions pocked by countless tarns and patches of white lichen that look from the air like
snowfields surrounded by seas of green. Big Bo, Brent, Charlie and I rigged up our rods on the
lakeshore as guides Evan and Justin prepared the rafts. We watched Brian throttle the engine
and lift off as the sun peeked over the horizon and cast a shaft of dawn light across the Alaskan
wild.
One thing that really surprised me about fishing the streams around Lake Iliamna is the
size of the water. The Gibraltar River, like the Copper River, is a relatively small waterbody,
approximately the same size or perhaps even a bit smaller than the Gallatin River here in
Montana. As such, the pools are apparent and the wading opportunities plentiful. On the
Gibraltar, Justin would lead Charlie and I downstream to a likely looking run and we’d hop out to
fish. Charlie really roped them on the Gibraltar and I could see by Day 2 that he was a
competent angler with a good level of skill. Even with the unwieldy egg rigs, Charlie managed
accurate casts and was able to manage his line well. The strikes began to come in bunches. By
the end of the day Charlie must have landed more than a dozen rainbows, each of which would
have been a personal best any other day.
The Gibraltar River flows stunningly clear in August. Its banks are lined with mixed forest
of deciduous and evergreen trees. And everywhere you look there are signs of grizzly bears.
Bear paths line both sides of the river, almost like tunnels in the brush. You can see spots where
bears have bedded down and spots where salmon have been half consumed and left to rot. So
it came as little surprise when we rounded a bend and witnessed our first grizzly bear of the trip.
The big sow was crossing the river in front of us and she quickly disappeared into the forest on
the far side of the river. I’d barely had a moment to raise my camera for a photograph and she
was gone. But as I glanced back downstream another bear appeared on the near side of the
river. It was up on the bank and look straight at us with a serene gaze, completely at ease in our
presence. We floated by less than 20 feet from this magnificent looking bear, happy as could be
with a belly full of sockeye.
As we worked our way downstream Charlie continued to put on a clinic. At one point we
stopped with Big Bo and Brent, all three hooking into healthy rainbows and having the best day
of fishing any of us could imagine. For the remainder of the trip, every time we’d round the
corner and see Big Bo it would seem he’d be hooked into a fish.
Toward the end of the day Justin pulled the boat over in a particularly picturesque run.
There was a line of riffles and runs that provided plenty of spots to wade fish for rainbows.
Charlie hooked into and released a few good fish. Just as we were ready to get back in the boat
and head downstream we noticed a dark fish among the sockeye. “That’s a silver!” Justin
exclaimed. Silver salmon move into the Gibraltar following the sockeye run, so this was an early
fish. Charlie got a good look at the silver and moved himself into position to make a cast. The
silver took! Charlie managed to sight and catch the only silver salmon we saw on the entire trip.
The fish put up a solid fight and came to the net. We captured a few photographs and a bit of
video footage before releasing it back to the Gibraltar. I could see the thrill Charlie got catching
that fish. There is nothing quite like sight fishing!
The Little Ku
Day 3 saw Charlie, Big Bo, Brent and I off to the tundra. We were to fish the day on foot
on a small stream called Nanuktuk Creek, aka The Little Ku. The Little Ku is a tributary of
Kukaklek Lake, which holds a different strain of rainbow trout than Lake Iliamna. Brian landed
the float plane on a small lake about a mile distant from the creek. We had lunch packed for the
day would fish the creek down to the lakeshore. Watching Brian disappear in the plane over the
horizon really left us with a feel of being the only anglers on the river.
The Alaska tundra is like a giant sponge. When the rains come, the tundra soaks up and
holds moisture. Composed of mosses, lichens and various tundra plants, it's an incredibly
unique and fascinating environment to experience. It’s also very difficult to move through. Each
step in the tundra feels like five. You sink down into the lushness of the tundra like beach sand
on steroids. It can be exhausting. Our first few steps onto the tundra felt as though we were
walking on a water bed. Each footfall sent a ripple across the ground such that we could feel
each other moving. Fortunately, the ground firmed up after a couple hundred yards and we were
able to follow a bear trail. Along the way we stopped to eat a few blueberries that had ripened to
perfection under the long Alaskan sun.
The Little Ku was a lot further along in the sockeye run than either the Copper or the
Gibraltar. As such, there were many more dead salmon along the bank. The scent of dead
sockeye, at least to my nose, smells less like rotting fish and more like the ocean. The guides
said it can become pretty overpowering in the late weeks of the run, so if you’re adverse to the
smell, try to book your trip in early to mid August. Being a tundra stream, there were a lot of
mosquitos on The Little Ku, but their numbers seemed to drop to a manageable level when we
were on the water. The Little Ku was the only river where mosquitos were a concern during the
trip. A good bug spray or a head net would be advisable for anglers fishing The Little Ku or other
tundra streams in Alaska.
Fishing together with Big Bo and Brent was good fun. Both anglers shared Charlie’s
experience on Montana waters and that skillset served them well on The Little Ku. While there
are plenty of first-timers that catch heaps of fish in Alaska, building some fly-fishing skills before
your trip will certainly add to your enjoyment of the experience.
The Little Ku is set in a small valley framed by distant mountains that cuts through the
tundra before reaching Kukaklek Lake. Imagine it as a small stream covered in dense brush
surrounded on either side by a bench. This is the kind of stream you might fish somewhere off
the beaten path in Montana. The kind of place with enough willows and forage and cover to
draw in moose and grizzly bears. The kind of place you’d want to be alert, but where the fishing
is so good it's worth the risk.
Not long after we started downstream we encountered a massive sow grizzly in the
middle of the river feeding on salmon. She was a good 50 feet from us when we saw her and
she seemed completely unbothered by our presence. It’s quite a different feeling to be in the
presence of such an animal on foot rather than in a boat, but whatever tension we may have
initially felt faded quickly as she slowly moved downstream and disappeared into the brush. We
waded alongside keeping an eye in the brush and following her in parallel as she navigated a
side channel downstream. We appeared below her and watched her fish for salmon for a few
moments before continuing to fish. With the grizzly less than 100 feet from us, Big Bo hooked
and landed what was at that time the fish of the trip, a stunning 25-inch rainbow trout that fought
like the monster it was. Brent was next to hook up, landing a strong Kukaklek-strain rainbow of
his own.
The day ended with a scenic flight back over the tundra to Intricate Bay Outpost. We
were greeted with what would become a standard evening treat: cookies fresh from the oven by
chef Pat, and another wonderful dinner hosted by Katie.
Back to the Copper
Intricate Bay Outpost fishes several reaches on the Copper River and you can explore
the full length of the river during your stay. Perhaps the most scenic stretch of the river is in its
upper reach, which begins above a twin-tiered waterfall. The waterfall acts as a fish barrier, so
the first part of the float is strictly scenic. Charlie, Bo, Brent and I couldn’t have asked for more
dramatic scenery. Guides Kris and Trace rowed us through a narrow canyon with towering walls
of volcanic stone. The water here is luminously clear and it really instills the feeling that you’re
deep in the Alaskan wildness.
After a short float, Charlie, Bo, Brent and I disembarked above the first of the two major
falls on the upper river. These first falls flows over a chute that plunges into a deep pool. Kris
and Trace secured the boats before dropping the falls, a clear thrill for our guides.
After another stretch of rapids the roar of the lower falls echoed up the canyon. We
pulled the rafts to the shore and gathered the gear to portage. These falls were much more
significant than the first. The plan was to drop the boats unmanned over the falls and retrieve
them below. Overlooking the brink of the falls, we could see hundreds of sockeye salmon
staged in the pool. The fish would leap from the river and vanish into the falls, trying in vain to
reach the river above.
Once we’d reached the bottom, Trace and Kris hiked back above the falls to release the
boats. We watched them glide smoothly to the precipice and tumble over the brink. Charlie,
Brent and Bo waded out into the pool to collect the rafts as Trace and Kris navigated the hillside
to join us. We watched the salmon leap into the surging midst at the base of the waterfall as we
rigged our rods for what would be one of our best days of fishing.
Charlie got things going in short order. The water below the falls was as clear as any
we’d seen on the trip and we spotted several nice rainbows swimming in the midst of the
sockeye. Charlie hooked up with a pair of nice fish, the first of which came free and the second
which he landed in the river just below the falls pool. These were big, strong Iliamna rainbows
and each fish put a solid bend in Charlie’s rod.
With excellent water clarity, we began to look for rainbows within the masses of sockeye.
Occasionally we’d spot the blue-gray back of a rainbow trout as we’d drift through the red tide of
salmon. It became a little game akin to Where’s Waldo of picking the one rainbow out of the
bunch. As Charlie and I fished together for the remainder of the week, we’d hone our sight-
fishing skills, working together to target specific fish. We stopped for lunch with Big Bo and
Brent at a particularly productive run that held more than half a dozen actively feeding fish.
Charlie and I spent an hour working the rainbows, eventually hooking a few. Sight fishing would
be our method of choice for the rest of the trip.
Moraine Creek
Katmai National Park is a short flight from Intricate Bay Outpost. The park is remote with
no vehicle access. The only way to reach Katmai is by airplane or boat. The park is home to the
largest protected population of grizzly bears in the world. An estimated 2,200 brown bears call
the park home. A chance to fish in the presence of Alaska’s grizzlies is a unique experience and
one I was looking forward to.
We boarded the plane with guides Evan and Justin for the flight into Katmai. We’d be
fishing Moraine Creek, which despite its name would be the largest water we’d fish on the trip.
Our chance to reach the creek was a bit dicey with morning fog creating visibility challenges for
Brian. The fog created an ethereal scene as the dawn light cast a golden glow over the tundra.
Brian circled the plane around the landing area. A couple other float planes were already on the
water, so he needed to line up a safe spot to land. After a pass we came in for a smooth
landing. “Never a dull day in Alaska,” he told us as he pulled back the throttle and eased us into
shore.
Reaching Moraine Creek from the landing area requires a short walk across the tundra.
With boats, oars and fishing gear in tow, Big Bo, Brent, Charlie and I set off for the creek. The
fog made for a memorable walk and the boys excitement for the day was apparent. Moraine
Creek was meant to have not just big bears, but big fish as well. After inflating the boats and
rigging the rods, we began our float. The first bear of the day appeared in minutes, fishing in the
shallows of a side channel. We saw several others in the first half hour, which set the tone for
the day.
Moraine Creek is a diverse piece of water. It has broad flat sections, riffled runs, boulder
gardens and deep pools. In short, it’s got something for everyone. Who knows if that’s why the
bears like the fishing here so much, but I’d wager it’s a solid bet. We didn’t keep count, but over
the course of the float we must have seen more than 40 grizzly bears. Each bear had its own
unique method of fishing. Some bears would snorkel just beneath the surface of the water
looking for fish. Others would sit on the creek bank eyeing fish from above. We saw a big boar
watching for the backs of salmon in the shallows before chasing them down and tackling them.
In all, it was an exceptionally entertaining way to spend the day.
The rainbows in Moraine Creek seemed to exceed the size of the fish in the other rivers
we’d explored. Big Bo landed the biggest trout of his life, and the biggest fish of the trip, in a
riffle a short distance from a sow and cubs. Bo put everything into the fight and Evan did a great
job with the net to land the fish. The rainbow taped an amazing 27 inches!
Charlie picked up two stunning rainbows on the Moraine. Colored up in deep pinks and
greens, these fish must have been resident to the creek, rather than the chrome lake runners
migrating up from Iliamna. Dinner back at the Outpost was filled with plenty of laughs as we all
recalled an amazing day on the water.
Over The Rainbow
Alaska had been good to us. The ’Bama Boys had all caught their personal best trout
many times over. The hospitality and dinners at Intricate Bay Outpost had exceeded all
expectations. The bear viewing was out of this world and the scenic float plane flights with pilots
Brian and Roy had opened our eyes to expansive beauty of Alaska. When Charlie and I set out
for our last day of fishing on the Copper River, it was hard to imagine anything could top what
we’d already seen.
That all changed with the final fish of the trip. We were floating the lower section of the
Copper, which flows in Lake Iliamna. We’d had a great day with a number of good rainbows
brought to the net. Justin had been great at the oars all day, putting us on fish. Together we’d
sighted a number of good rainbows and managed to catch a few.
As the day grew long we pulled the raft onto a gravel bar. Charlie and Justin worked a
run near the boat and I headed downstream. A small side channel of the main river dipped
below some brush and plunged into a pool. Beneath an overhanging branch I eyed a rainbow
moving side to side in the shallows. I signaled to Charlie to come over and pointed out the fish.
“You going to cast to him?” Charlie asked. “No,” I said. “I want to see you catch him.”
The fish was in a tough spot. It would require a good cast to land the egg deep enough
beneath the branch to present to the fish. The drift wouldn’t allow time for the indicator to come
into play. “Just keep an eye on the fish,” I told Charlie. Charlie’s first drift was a bit shy, but he
managed a deeper cast on his second attempt. The fish shifted out and we watched its mouth
open to take the egg. Justin and I shouted “Set!” in unison as Charlie raised the rod tip. The line
came tight and rainbow rushed out from beneath its hide. Charlie fought the fish toward the
gravel bar and Justin got the net beneath it. It wasn’t the biggest rainbow of the trip, but it was a
great team effort and a wonderful moment to watch the entire scene play out — the perfect fish
to end a perfect trip to Alaska.