Alaska Delivers Rich Haul of Cod, Salmon, Halibut

   KETCHIKAN, Alaska — You know you’re meeting catch-and-eat fishermen when their airline baggage includes a bundle of flattened cardboard shipping containers for the return home, and their ratings for local hotels includes whether guests can use their freezers.

   Those thoughts crossed my mind while getting to know Jamie “Fitz” Fitzgerald and Andy “Pooder” Radzialowski as we claimed our luggage July 11 at Ketchikan’s airport in the Alaskan Panhandle. Fitz and Pooder are regulars at a fish shack on nearby Prince of Wales Island.

   Fitz, Pooder and I spent the next week at the shack with the Dan and Luisa Bogan; Matt and Dan Rinella; Dan’s son, Eugene; their friends Matt Drost and Alex Nixon; Matt Rinella’s corgi, Shifty; and the Bogan’s dog, Ziggy, who boasts a certified 24% “super mutt” lineage.

Andy “Pooder” Radzialowski fillets a halibut on Prince of Wales Island in the Alaskan Panhandle. — Patrick Durkin photos

   The “fish shack” is more than just another salty, weather-beaten hovel tucked into a cove. This piling-supported complex features two cabins and a tool shed, covered porches, three-sided outhouse, and floating pier with cedar-log pontoons that rise, fall and undulate with every step and 15-foot tidal swing.

   You reach the fish shack after a 20-minute bush-plane ride from Ketchikan. As you lug your bags past the tool shed to the main two-room cabin, you confirm this place isn’t owned by catch-and-release anglers.

   A stainless-steel table below the tool shed’s porch holds three large polyethylene cutting boards. A few yards farther, on the cabin’s porch above, an even larger two-winged stainless-steel table covers the entire corner. That’s where two or three designated packers rinse, chunk and vacuum-seal all the fish and sea cucumbers after they’re filleted or stripped by the nearby three-person knife team. And just around the corner sits two chest freezers big enough to hold a black bear or monster halibut.

   Realize, too, this cove is an hour-long boat ride from Ketchikan, so there’s no underground electrical lines powering the camp’s freezers, refrigerator, vacuum-sealer or lightbulbs. A heavy-duty yellow cord snakes uphill 50 yards to a small shelter housing a Honda generator and its emergency-backup generator. And just to be sure, a neighbor left an even-larger used generator at the tool shed, pledging it only needs minor work.

Andy “Pooder” Radzialowski walks out with his fishing gear to start another day at the fish shack in Alaska.

Despite those conveniences, visitors don’t come here seeking ease, relaxation and catered comforts. They tackle every task themselves, trusting isolation and good fishing to inspire the teamwork needed to keep things clicking without annoying each other.

   To ensure newcomers (me) understand, Fitz and Pooder advised never relaxing while others work. “If you do, someone will assign you a job.”

   To that end, I took advice from Doug Duren, a three-time fish-shack guest, and volunteered in advance to wash dishes for Pooder, the camp cook. As Duren advised: “That’s about all you’re good for in a kitchen. A man’s gotta know his limitations.”

   Fitz, Drost and I arrived first at the fish shack the morning of July 12, followed by Pooder, Nixon and Matt Rinella on the float-plane’s return trip. Soon after, the group began mounting 30-, 40- and 50-horsepower engines to the camp’s two 18-foot and one 16-foot open V-hull boats. Four-stroke engines that size and weight can’t simply be muscled from the tool shed’s porch. For that job, another fish-shack friend, Ronnie Boehme, built an overhead rail equipped it with a sliding chain hoist.

Matt Drost casts for coho salmon at the mouth of a creek on Prince of Wales Island.

   Once hooking the hoist to a boat engine, the guys lift it out of storage, slide it by rail to the shed’s far corner, lower it onto the boat, and bolt it to the transom. The boat, meanwhile, rests atop small cedar logs spaced between the shed and shoreline. After testing the engine, rolling the boat to the water’s edge and launching it, the crew drags the next boat into place while others hoist and slide another engine down the rail.

   Setting up all three boats consumed most of our afternoon, with much time spent testing the engines and cleaning their fuel-filtering systems. It’s hard to keep moisture out of gasoline in the Alaskan Panhandle, given its damp climate and the need to store, transport and transfer gasoline in large barrels.

   Likewise, you can’t leave fishing reels exposed to salt-air for weeks if you expect them to operate. You wash them daily with fresh water, and pack them in your baggage when returning home. Matt Rinella loaned me a Penn Senator reel spooled with heavy braided line, and I mounted it to a stout 5½ foot jigging pole from the camp’s inventory.

A view of the cove that’s home to the fish shack on Prince of Wales Island.

   Sunday morning, July 13, I fished with him and Nixon at “the cliffs.” We had three halibut in the cooler by 11 a.m., two of which Nixon caught using a large jigging spoon. We ended the morning with three straight halibut in the 30-pound range, including two that smacked my two-hooked herring rig. Having reached our limits of two each, we motored back to the cove.

   Once in camp with the gang, Rinella, Drost and Pooder filleted our catch while Nixon and Fitz rinsed, cut and vacuum-sealed the meat. After refueling the boats, I watched all the knife-work, trying to learn the subtleties of filleting the four nearly identical meat slabs from the halibuts’ frame. As Nixon noted, halibut are divinely designed for maximum meat production. Besides their long, thick fillets, halibut grow silver-dollar sized cheeks and palm-sized collars, which make great appetizers.

Three “fish-shack” regulars head out for another day of fishing in the Alaskan Panhandle.

   Dan and Eugene Rinella arrived Monday, July 14, with the Bogans, rounding out our 10-person, two-dog group. Although we bombed on three crab-trapping sets during our stay, we caught enough large prawns in shrimp traps to supply everyone at least three large sandwich bags of tails.

   And after three mostly futile efforts to catch pre-spawn salmon at a distant creek, four of us landed nine 7- to 8-pound cohos during our final try Saturday afternoon. Those fish capped a big day, with one boat catching a batch of big Pacific cod, and two boats limiting out on halibut.

   Before catching our float-plane back to Ketchikan on Sunday, July 20, we equally divided our week’s catch. Everyone departed with a nearly 50-pound box of frozen cod, prawn, salmon, halibut and sea-cucumber meat.

   When reaching home two days later, I felt rich and miserly while stacking our freezer with the best meat Alaska offers.

 Dan Rinella prepares to unhook an undersized ling cod that hit a jig.