A fly fisherman casts his line in an Alaskan river. The state is a study in contrasts: a haven for sport fishers seeking the ultimate wilderness experience, and an incubator for some of the most aggressively managed and limited recreational fisheries in America.

Day Six: Friday, March 29, 1996 Paradise pushed to the limit Power shifts to sport fishing The big one that didn't get away 'I'll stop fishing when I die' Northwest salmon fading fast

The big one that didn’t get away

By Bob Marshall,
Staff writer

DESHKA RIVER, Alaska

The line of king salmon waves slow ly in the clear water like a long red ribbon moving in a gentle breeze, first right, then left, but always pointed upstream.
  They are huge fish, some pushing 40 pounds, enough to make the heart of a fisher race with excitement — especially after spending big bucks just to get to this spot in the Alaska wilds.
  But the two Louisiana anglers on the bank can only watch.
  ‘‘We can’t even fish for them on this section of the river,’’ said Dennis Kosocek, an Oregonian leading the trip. ‘‘A little farther down we can catch and release. We can play with the silvers and the rainbows all we want, but we can’t do much with the kings on the Deshka this year.’’
  No one is surprised. This is how things work here.
  Alaska may be the world’s most coveted sport fishing destination, an almost mythical symbol of wild abundance, the place many anglers consider the final frontier.
  But it also is the most tightly regulated fishery in the nation.
  Fishers and fishery managers say that’s no coincidence.

A sport fisher's dream, chum salmon move toward spawning grounds near a hatchery on Baronof Island in southeast Alaska. The hatchery, financed by commercial fishers, provides way for the commercial industry to sustain itself without further depleting natural stocks.

  While other states wrestle with tough management decisions in often-ugly political fights, Alaska stands as an example of management that works. In recent years it has both prevented problems from happening and moved aggressively when resources were threatened.
  ‘‘We’ve been blessed in Alaska in that we don’t have the habitat problems many of our friends to the south are facing,’’ said John Burke, deputy director of the Division of Sport Fish for the Alaska Department of Fish and Game. ‘‘Our major challenge is managing people, the fishermen.
  ‘‘Generally the fishermen in Alaska — both commercial and recreational — accept the need for, and importance of, management.’’
  That doesn’t mean it’s been easy. The state’s unique wilderness heritage poses special challenges. Managers often must develop plans that satisfy four groups: commercial fishers; recreational fishers; and native peoples and others who rely on the resources for survival; and ‘‘personal-use’’ fishers, state residents who have the right to catch fish for the freezer.
  But in some cases the job has been a manager’s dream. Rainbow trout, considered one of the world’s finest freshwater sport fish, was placed under highly restrictive management in 1990 at the request of sport fishers, even though the species was not in trouble. Large regions of the state are restricted to catch-and-release fishing, and some areas restrict the type of gear or method that can be used: fly fishing or single barbless hooks only, for example.
  ‘‘The fishermen in this state decided on their own they wanted to manage for quality,’’ said Kevin Delaney, director of the Division of Sport Fish. ‘‘It was certainly a smart idea. Rainbow trout are a long-lived species, and you can overfish a stream in a hurry if you begin taking out a lot of the older fish.

Unlike in many fishing states where commercial interests have bitterly opposed management, commercial fishers in Alaska believe in tight controls, and they've seen harvests steadily increase since limited entry began in 1974.

  ‘‘But we really hadn’t reached that point. This was a choice made by the fishermen.’’
  The goal of the plan is to produce trophy trout while protecting the state’s native wild strain. To satisfy subsistence users and catch-and-eat fishers, some streams are open to catch-and-keep. And for fishers living in urban areas, hatchery-raised fish are stocked in lakes.
  The state’s success in managing its resources can be seen in the steady increase in the number of sport fishers. Last year a record 409,686 fishers bought licenses, including 236,720 nonresidents, 53,000 more than 1990. The number of fishers is increasing because the fishing remains good.
  ‘‘Those license sales figures are a good reason why it was smart to act when we did,’’ said Mac Minard, Fish and Game biologist for southwest Alaska. ‘‘As pressure has increased even in the remote areas, we’ve had a plan to deal with the impacts. In most cases we can keep ahead of the problems.’’
  That wasn’t the case with salmon, which was fished close to ruin in the 1970s before Alaska officials launched an aggressive recovery program that may serve as a model for other states.
  Salmon runs that once blocked the entrances to rivers had been so heavily overfished by 1974 that some streams were almost empty of the fish. The total salmon catch by the state’s huge commercial fleet had fallen to 21 million fish from 68 million in 1970.
  The next year intensive management took effect, including a program to limit the number of fishers in the commercial fleet. By 1994, the catch climbed to 196 million and then it soared to 214 million last year, the sixth record catch in seven years. The harvest is so great this year that the government has agreed to buy the surplus to protect fishers from depressed prices and wasted catch.
  That improvement came to a species that is among the most challenging to manage because its life journey crosses so many political and user-group boundaries. Alaska has succeeded with comprehensive management that covers the fish from the cradle to the grave in a remarkable combination of regulations and technology:
The species’ journeys in the open ocean are monitored to judge the size, strength and timing of the run.
The Fish and Game Department determines how many salmon must be allowed to reach the spawning grounds on each river to maintain the stock. The total catch on each river is limited to the surplus.
  ‘‘For instance, if 200,000 fish return to the mouth of the Deshka, and we determine we need 75,000 spawners, then we allow 125,000 fish to be caught from that group,’’ Minard said.
  It’s more complicated than it sounds. The agency uses sonar and human counters to estimate the number of fish passing through a river’s mouth. Commercial boats wait in the bays for the signal for an ‘‘opening’’ to start fishing. There usually are several openings because the agency also tries to assure genetic diversity of the spawning stock.
  ‘‘Different fish spawn in different sections of the river, and at different times,’’ Minard said. ‘‘If we take all the fish off the front end of the run, we may wipe out one group of fish. So we try to pace it so we get a good cross-section.’’
  Commercial fleets aren’t the only users. If there is a big enough surplus, the unusual tradition of ‘‘personal-use days’’ kicks in. Then city residents are allowed to catch fish for a day or more using almost any gear they want, from gill nets to a hook and line. Subsistence users also are allocated a percentage of the fish. Finally, sport fishers get their share, and unlike rainbow fishers, salmon anglers almost always want to bring fish home.
  In cases where a run has been in trouble — such as on the Deshka — the agency continues its management efforts upstream. It constructed a mesh dam at a choke point on the Deshka so it could get an accurate count of how many king salmon made it upriver. And agency planes flew over key spawning grounds checking on the run’s progress.
  Because the state is so huge, the agency is spread thin. But the intensive effort pays off. While there are various problems from year to year, Alaskan salmon stocks remain strong, and fishers continue to travel to the state — even if, in some cases, they can only watch.