Bristol Bay, 2025
a journey through space and time
The Alagnak River moves quietly through the tundra before the summer salmon run. Soon enough, many visitors will arrive. A small trickle will quickly become a steady flow, and, before you know it, the flood will commence. Five species of salmon, millions of individual fish, and thousands of other animals are en route to her warm embrace.
Welcome to early summer in Bristol Bay. Welcome to the Alagnak River.
And, most importantly, welcome to Anglers Alibi.
As I stir in my sleep, a low hum approaches. It ebbs and flows in my dreams until my internal alarm clock awakens me.
I rise and look out the window to confirm what I felt. My feet hit the cabin floor; I tug on a pair of damp work pants, a crusty sweatshirt, and my XTRATUF boots. On the way out the door, I peek at my watch—4:30 a.m., and it's bright enough to be 8:00 a.m. in the Lower 48. By the time I make it to the dock, the low hum has arrived. It’s Graham in his notorious aluminum skiff named Moby Dick. Today’s haul consists of windows and doors for the log cabins we are building. This delivery comes as a sweet relief, compared to the endless supply of logs I’ve been hauling up the hill from his boat.
As we start to unload, the boss realizes an opportunity. He’s got two boats parked in town that need to be brought back to the lodge after some repairs. He calls out, “Cliffy! Can you go to town with a couple of the boys and bring the jet boats back?”
Shit. Today of all days? I have a meeting with my real boss at 9:00 a.m. I guess I’ll be missing that.
While in college, I spent three summers at Anglers Alibi. During the first two, I was a camp hand and fishing guide in training. My jobs included collecting firewood, filleting fish, scrubbing toilets, serving dinner, making coffee, doing dishes, and taking guests fishing in the evening. My day would begin at 4:45 a.m. and wouldn’t end until 11:00 p.m. After two years of being a grunt, I got my USCG captain’s license and came back for a season as a full-time guide.
Anglers Alibi was my summer home for those three years and still holds a large piece of my soul. As I’ve written before, Bristol Bay is probably my favorite place on Earth, and Anglers Alibi is no exception. This family-style fishing camp is nestled on the Alagnak River, just a few miles from the Bay. At Anglers Alibi, guests can expect warm hospitality, incredible fishing opportunities, and the best guides on the planet.
In summer, the Alagnak blossoms with life as salmon fill the river, moose and bears come to its banks, and birds of all sorts swoop in to eat their fill. As a young man, I can’t imagine a better place to spend the summer months.
Earlier this year, owner and operator JP sent out an email mentioning that he was building six log cabins for guests. Previously, guests stayed in canvas hoop tents that were comfortable but far from luxurious. The new cabins would be an impressive upgrade that required an equally impressive amount of work to complete. There are no skid loaders or four-wheelers at Anglers Alibi, so every task is done with human strength. Every piece of material is moved by human hands, and every hole or trench (there are many) is dug with a shovel.
Immediately after I read JP’s email, I called him and asked if he needed any help. Within moments, we were coordinating travel, and before I knew it, I was being asked to head to town and bring the boats back to camp.
“Hell yeah, I can!” I replied, as I thought about how to tell my 9-5 boss that I wouldn't make our meeting.
I scribbled her phone number on a piece of cardboard and handed it to JP.
Please text my boss and tell her that I won’t make our meeting — I’ll call her as soon as I get back to camp.
I sprinted up the hill, threw on my waders, and packed a bag with the essentials: water, two Snickers bars, a bag of chips, a first aid kit, an extra layer, a headlamp, and my Leatherman.
I gathered the crew that would be joining me and shared what little information I had, given the impromptu nature of the situation. I made sure they knew this wasn’t your average boat ride—it could go sideways fast. I’d always been taught that when you leave camp, bring everything you might need to survive a night in the skiff. Bristol Bay tides are massive, and with 23+ feet of water moving around, if we misjudged the river or the timing of the tide, we might be stuck out there for a while.
With a rough idea of our mission and excitement in our hearts, my crew and I hopped into Moby Dick and made our way downriver toward the town of King Salmon. Our journey would take us down the Alagnak River, through the Kvichak, into Bristol Bay, and finally, up the Naknek River. Once in King Salmon, we would grab the boats and retrace our steps back to camp.
As the river flew past, I scanned left and right, trying to remember the route from over three years ago. Alagnak literally means “making mistakes” in the local tongue, because the river channel is constantly changing.
As we made our way, I noticed new channels and branches had appeared, with many of the crossovers lying in different places than they used to. It would be a sporty ride home.
When we entered Bristol Bay, it was choppy, to say the least. With the tide tearing out and the wind blowing in, my teeth chattered as the aluminum skiff throttled along. All the while, a smile stretched across my face as I remembered my time fishing at a set net site just a few miles across the bay. Long rides in an aluminum skiff might hurt the shin bones, but they're good for the soul.
After a forty-five minute ride, we hit the beach in Naknek and loaded Moby Dick onto Graham’s trailer. I was lucky enough to get a spot inside the cab of his truck as we made the twenty-minute drive to where we would pick up the boats. The other boys rode in the back of the truck as we tore down the Alaska Peninsula Highway toward King Salmon, passing coastal brown bears, hitchhikers, and clouds of mosquitoes.
King Salmon is a small town that is vital to the commercial and sportfishing industries, as it is one of only two airports in Bristol Bay that can land a jet. These towns (Dillingham being the other) serve as hubs for the $2.2 billion industry that blossoms in the summer months, thanks to wild salmon. Despite their importance, it still feels like a foreign country when you land out here. Each town has the necessities, but nothing more. The people who live here year-round are hard-core Alaskans, and the folks who travel here for the summer are downright unique. These little towns are just another reason I love Bristol Bay.
Graham dropped us at the boatyard, and we were on our own. After fueling the boats, and with the tide turning in our favor, it was time to begin our journey down the Naknek River. We had about fifteen miles to go before we would enter the Bay. While the Alagnak is a muddy river with an ever-changing channel, the Naknek is full of car-sized boulders hovering inches below the water's surface, just begging an overconfident skiff man to hit them at full throttle.
We took our time in the river, avoiding boulders, taking in the sun, and feeling grateful that we weren’t at camp digging holes or schlepping logs up the hill. Eventually, the river opened, and the water looked like chocolate milk—a telltale sign that Bristol Bay was close. We jumped up on step and headed northwest toward home.
Bristol Bay is known for its mud, and the slick, never-ending deep brown mixture has been the death sentence of sailors and boats for centuries. Combined with massive tides, the mudflats around the Bay appear and disappear as if controlled by a menacing dictator. On the way in, the journey was a simple straight shot. Now, there were mudflats the size of an NFL stadium in our path.
Thankfully, we had the tide at our back, and with our jet sleds able to cruise through shallow water, we should be all right.
It was smooth sailing until we encountered our first flat. I banked right toward the shore, hoping to find an inner channel. After four minutes of going this way, my search for an inside channel was denied. I stopped the boat and made a U-turn, hoping I could get around the outside. I got the same result as before—until we hit a tiny inlet that the water had just started to flow over. We waited a few minutes while the tide pushed in and were able to punch it over the top of the shelf in just three inches of water.
Twenty minutes later, we came upon another massive mudflat. This time, we got sucked into a horseshoe bend with no outlet. At the whims of the tide again, we waited for the water to flood over before we could escape.
After this final muddy obstacle, it was smooth sailing as we continued onward to Anglers Alibi. A quick right turn out of the Kvichak River, and we were in the Alagnak River, heading home.
As I made my way through the lower river, I was confronted with the most sublime memories. Memories of spending every day on this magical river, of witnessing the last remaining wild salmon runs, and of living out many people's dream job. As this feeling of pure freedom blew across my face, my eyes began to twitch. The tears built behind my sunglasses and rolled off my cheeks into the water below.
I cannot fathom a life in which I hadn’t spent those three summers at Anglers Alibi. To say I learned a lot would be an understatement—every day on the Alagnak contained unique experiences, people, and conversations that helped craft the man I am today.
I’ll never be able to repay the debt I owe to Bristol Bay, but I am eternally grateful for all that she gave me.
Another great piece. To sit and read and picture where u were, amazing.
Certainly one of my favorite pieces you’ve written