The Fishing Trip

By Larry Owen

That day early in June when we drove our little blue Toyota off the ferry in Wrangell, Alaska, the weather was absolutely gorgeous! In a part of the world where the average rainfall can exceed 140 inches per year, the sky was a deep blue with wispy white clouds and there was
brilliant sunshine. It was almost hot!

My wife and I were here on break after spending 2 years in a fishing village on Kodiak Island. A friend of mine and his family lived here and my friend had a 22’ fishing boat with a halibut reel on the stern. While the women and kids stayed in Wrangell, my friend and I set out to the South down the Wrangell Narrows to fish for halibut. At least that was our plan.

In 7 days we caught 4,200 lbs. of halibut! The largest fish weighed 253 lbs. and had to be shot before it could be gaffed and dragged into the well on the stern of the boat. A fish this size can easily break arms and legs and make life just plain miserable if it is
allowed to flop around after getting it aboard.

Early one morning I spotted a big, fat black bear grazing in a meadow about 200 yards across the water near the water’s edge. My friend suggested that we launch the aluminum skiff perched on top the boat’s cabin and go check out the bear. That’s what we did. After beaching our little craft on some rocks, we walked through thick woods for about 20 minutes and emerged in sight of the meadow where I had sighted the bear. The bear was gone.

My friend handed me his wife’s .222 caliber rifle with a small scope mounted on top and a box of shells. He told me to get the bear if it came back out and that he would be back a little later to pick me up.

About 30 minutes later the bear re-emerged from the tree line along the West side of the meadow and again started grazing on the long, lush grass. I crawled on my hands and knees down through a rocky creek bed and up the opposite bank to where there was a big log. The log was arched upward in the middle so that there was a space between the underside of the log and the ground. I rested the .222 rifle across the top of the log and watched the bear through the scope. After about 5 minutes of doing this the bear started getting restless and I figured if I was going to shoot the bear I had better get on with it.

I sighted in just ahead of the left front shoulder and squeezed off the first round. The bear lurched into the air almost standing upright on its hind legs and then dropped onto all fours and started running. The meadow was in the shape of a large oval, and the bear was following the edge of the meadow, which curved around and came directly back to my hiding place behind the arched log. When the bear was going around the far end of the meadow I let him have it again. The second shot didn’t seem to phase him. He continued running and, as he ran, I could see his blue-black fur rolling forward and then back over his winter fat. As he rounded the curve that was farthest from me he was now beginning to track down the side of the meadow that led straight back to me and my log! My mind began racing and I remember reasoning with myself that if this bear keeps on coming he will run directly over the top of the log I am hiding behind. My quickly arrived at plan, if this were to happen, was to dive under the log, come up from the other side and shoot the bear again! As the bear was now headed straight at me with his head down and

mouth open, I could see his tongue hanging out one side of his mouth and I could see his white teeth! I sighted in on his tongue and squeezed off a third round. The bear was now less than 90 ft. away and coming fast. After my third shot he went about another 10 yards, made a 90 degree turn to the right and fell belly down with his four legs spread out like he was skydiving. I slowly stood up, opened the rifle, and discovered that there had only been three rounds loaded in that gun! I quickly reached into the pocket of my flannel shirt, pulled out the box of ammunition, and loaded 5 rounds. I then slowly walked over to the bear and jabbed him in the rump with the barrel of the rifle. That third shot had done him in.

About half an hour later my friend came back ashore in the aluminum skiff to pick me up. As he came onshore he said something to the effect that he did not believe that I was a bear hunter. I led him over to where the bear was lying in the tall grass and he quickly changed his mind. We skinned out the bear and, after getting back to Wrangell, laid the skin out on the floor of his basement. The bear measured 7’ 1” by way of straight measurement from tail to nose. This was a big black bear.

My friend and I loaded the bear hide in the aluminum skiff and paddled back out to the boat. We continued fishing. As my friend was reeling in one of the halibut skates (a 100 yard long nylon line with hooks snapped onto it about every 22” of its length) he was not paying attention to what he was doing and backed the boat over the line. The line caught in the prop and wrapped itself tightly around the propeller shaft, effectively stopping the engine. We were now dead in the water and the engine could not be started. We were about 30 miles South of the town of Wrangell, Alaska, on the Wrangell Narrows. There was not another boat in sight. My friend said that he did not know how to swim, so it became apparent that if we were to go anywhere soon, it would be my duty to dive under the stern of the boat and cut the line off the propeller shaft. I was a fairly good swimmer, but there was nothing that could have prepared me for getting into this water. The water temperature hovers around 42 degrees year round and, believe me, that is cold. Many people falling into this water do not survive more than a few minutes. I was young and full of vinegar, so I decided to accept the challenge. I stripped off my shirt, took off my shoes and socks, tied a rope around my waist and climbed over the stern on the little aluminum ladder. My hunting knife was in a leather sheath on my belt. I figured that I would ease into the water and hang off the ladder on the stern until I could get accustomed to the water. I told my friend that if I dived under the stern and did not come up in a reasonable amount of time to pull me in with the rope. Nothing could have prepared me for the water neither was there any getting used to it. After hanging onto the ladder for what seemed to be about 15 minutes, the water was just as cold as when I first got in. It actually was so cold that it stung like dry ice does when you touch it. I made the first dive and got no further than the bottom of the boat when I had to come back up for air. The water was so cold that it made it very difficult to hold my breath. I made a second dive and managed to get under the stern and I saw the shadowy shape of the propeller about 8 ft. back under the stern. It was a lot further back than I had thought it would be. I was again unable to hold my breath any longer and had to surface. I made a third dive and was able to get back to the propeller. I could see the nylon line tightly wrapped around the propeller shaft. I pulled out my hunting knife and hacked away at the line. I was able to get the line cut and it began to unravel off the shaft. I swam back to the surface and climbed aboard the boat. I was so cold that I could not stop shaking. I went into the cabin, turned the little oil stove in the cabin on high and crawled onto a shelf under the wheel that served as a bunk. I covered up with an old army blanket and quickly went to sleep or passed out, whichever the case was. The next thing I remember was waking up back in Wrangell at the dock where we unloaded our catch of halibut. All I can say is, when you go fishing in Alaska, stay out of the water!