Anchorage Daily News

The water dripping off the eaves has thickened into crystal stalactites, and outside my window snowflakes swirl before settling into a fine dust on the frozen ground -- a welcome sign that winter, with its slower pace, is once again upon us. Still, I'm not quite ready to succumb to the torpor of these long, dark days, to hunker down indoors tying flies and watching T-shirt-clad Southerners in sandals catch strange fish on television.

So I'll call a few of my more fish-crazed friends and try to coax them away from the home fires and into layers of neoprene, polypropylene and polar fleece. All it will take is a little prodding before we find ourselves shoveling snow and chopping ice out of the bottom of the drift boat.

"This is crazy" is a familiar refrain as we hook the boat up and begin passing snowmachine trailers and see car tops framed in skis and snowboards on our way to the upper Kenai.

And I will admit that, yes, it is crazy as we quickly struggle into enough gear to outfit a polar expedition. We all know you'd have to be at least somewhat off-kilter to even consider fishing when the mercury plunges so low your glasses regularly steam and the guides on your rod are destined to ice up time and again; when the mere thought of tying a fly on is painful; and when your day is sure to be interrupted by a series of long jogs down the bank or that peculiar two-step performed by winter fishermen, the one designed to send blood to frozen extremities and jump-start your stalled circulation.

But there is reason behind this madness. Perhaps it's the hush that has fallen over the entire stream. Never mind that we have to drag the boat over gravel bars usually submerged under 3 feet of water -- now even the most heated combat zones of summer sockeye season have relinquished their hold back to the true spirit of the river. Supremely quiet until next year, it has only a few footprints encased in the frozen ground and salmon carcasses left by fallen water to tell the tale of what took place here. It is now ours.

Though most of the fish have headed to winter over in one of the nearby lakes, some stay, and the stream, usually so large, now reveals its more pronounced pockets, its occasional deep drop-offs, making it much easier to read. And we know, as the midday sun finally crests over the mountains, that the air and water will warm just slightly and the few trout that remain will become active and begin feeding. This late in the season, our best hopes might be a flesh fly, mimicking the decaying flesh of last autumn's salmon. And if we spot some of the late-run silvers that continue to trickle into the river past the first of the year, we might fish behind them with an egg pattern or woolly bugger.

It's often a game of attrition, a test of will and usually when you least expect it, when your feet have turned numb and fingers feel as stiff and cold as steel and you are finally ready to give up, that's when it happens. The fly drifts quietly over the edge of a gravel bar and disappears into the abyss of slow water before coming to an abrupt halt. All at once slack line is pulled tight, rod straining, tip twitching, as you catch the reflection of a familiar outline -- the slight blush of gill plates and the sharp chrome contours and green speckled back -- just below the surface. It's in that instant, amid the sudden sweet panic of playing a large trout, that time rushes to a standstill. Frozen appendages and frostbitten cheeks are forgotten as every fiber of your soul is tied for a moment to the stream through this fish. And you now know it's all been worth it -- the added chore of chopping ice and snow out of the boat, the weight of winter clothes, the flirting with frostbite. You realize these hardships are hardly hardships at all but simply an integral part of the adventure and the time of year, a part of the beauty of being here now.

OTHER OPPORTUNITIES FOR THE FISH-DEPRIVED

With so many accessible lakes in Southcentral Alaska, it's no wonder such a large number of anglers have turned to ice fishing. It's an activity many of us prefer to pursue in large groups and on sunny days. Having each member of the party bring a dish or beverage to pass and holding a potluck out on the ice is a great way for family and friends to gather and enjoy the outdoors.

For those new to this activity, it's best to hook up with someone who regularly ice fishes. They will have some good ideas on where to go and will have the requisite equipment, namely an ice auger. Most ice fishers use a variety of jigs or bait such as salmon eggs, shrimp or herring.

For those who want to stay fishing on water still in its liquid form, there's always the ocean. Fishing for winter king salmon out of Homer and Seward is increasingly popular. Homer even hosts an annual winter king derby, which this year is March 21.

Freelance writer Dave Atcheson lives in Sterling. He is the author of "Fishing Alaska's Kenai Peninsula." A version of this story ran Nov. 26. 2006.

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