Lookin' Fly (I think) while Fly Fishing

You haven't experienced Alaska until you've seen the salmon run. Every summer the crystalline rivers flash crimson with the vibrantly-scaled fish struggling upstream, while the riverbanks are crowded with fly fishers, clad in bulky waders and casting their lines in hopes of catching one of the thousands of salmon. Alaskans are very proud of their salmon. (In fact, they're pretty much obsessed.)

Well, I finally convinced my super-fun brother, Zac, to come up and work here in Alaska with me. The week he arrived, our tiny town was hosting its annual SalmonFest, a collaboration of local chefs who each submit a salmon dish of their own creation. You pay $10 to get in and basically have all-you-can-eat salmon.

DOES IT GET ANY BETTER THAN THAT?

Zac doesn't really like salmon (which is why he can never be a true Alaskan) but I eventually convinced him to go to the festival with me. We sat at one of the crowded long tables beneath the lodge ceiling and tried every dish at least once. Even my hater brother had to admit it was delicious. Also, there was coleslaw. Like I said: perfect and very Alaska-y.

My [super-hot and all-around awesome] boyfriend, Blake, just loves fly fishing. He goes fishing nearly every morning and probably enjoys being out there in the river almost as much as he enjoys being with me. Almost.

Determined to figure out what, exactly, is so great about fly fishing, I asked him to take me on one of his trips. Fishing, to me, has always appeared pretty boring. I mean, you stick a worm on a hook, drop it in the water and wait to catch something, right?

Not really. Blake picked me up after work, we geared up and marched down into the river. I'm not a terribly graceful human, so stick me in waders and Houston we've got a problem; I nearly went down several times, stumbling on the slick rocks and awkwardly regaining my balance with the help of Blake.

The water was frigid and the bank was littered with the rotting carcasses of salmon which did not smell as appetizing as the salmon we ate at the SalmonFest––but it was a cool, lazy afternoon with a light breeze and gentle dose of sunlight. Blake was a very patient teacher, and after a lot of practice, I felt that promising tug on my line and was able to land a rainbow trout, my very first Alaskan fly fishing conquest!

And then, feeling completely satisfied, I was over this whole fishing thing.

At one point, I was alone for several minutes, just squatting at the river's edge. A gray jay called in the distance and the wind rustled the leaves. The only other sound was the water sliding around my legs and over the rocks. It was wonderfully peaceful, that moment by myself––surrounded only by the stillness––outside, secluded, free. An Alaskan fisherwoman. Well, sort of.