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Thick mud flew from the truck tires and rattled against the wheel wells as I drove up northern Alaska’s vaunted Dalton Highway. Dirt-covered semi-trucks whooshed past in the opposite direction, hauling fuel tanks and heavy equipment. Other than industrial traffic, few people traveled the Haul Road. Fairbanks had just received its first snowfall of the season, and all my fellow Alaskans were rushing to complete autumn chores rather than heading out for ill-advised outdoor excursions.
The copilot on this adventure, my three-year-old black lab Dolly (named after the fish, not the singer) stared intently out the passenger window, looking for roadside grouse. Dolly and I were headed north towards the North Slope, a tundra plain extending from the northern foothills of the Brooks Range to the barren Beaufort Sea coast. The objective of the trip was to hike across the tundra to fish a pothole lake that contained wild Arctic char.
October is not considered an ideal time to travel the Haul Road looking for fish to catch. Typically, snow already blankets the ground, lakes and rivers are partially frozen, and shorter daylight hours mean less time hiking and fishing. However, I was determined to catch my first wild Arctic char on a fly rod, and the North Slope was the place to do it because of the limited geographic range in Alaska where these fish are found.
We worked our way north from Fairbanks along over 400 miles of muddy, slushy road, crossing the Yukon River, passing the Arctic Circle, and stopping briefly at the Coldfoot truck stop for overpriced fuel and coffee. We then entered the foothills of the Brooks Range, and mud turned to slush and ice. Gray, angular mountains in Gates of the Arctic National Park could be seen on our left, while peaks in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge were visible on our right. Slowly ascending Atigun Pass, infamous for poor weather and slippery conditions, we crossed the Arctic Divide and entered winter. Several inches of snow covered the gray shale slopes and tundra foothills north of the range. Lines of caribou stood out across the snowy landscape, some even ambling across the road in front of us.
Driving through the Galbraith Lake area, which includes lakes that hold Arctic char, I thought about the many pressures facing these fish, and how to balance the priorities of competing user groups on these public lands. The Bureau of Land Management is currently determining the future management of 13 million acres of public lands and waters in this region. As part of the Central Yukon Resource Management Plan, hunters and anglers have an opportunity to ensure that key species like Arctic char, Dall Sheep, and caribou receive adequate habitat safeguards so future generations may continue to enjoy the same hunting and fishing traditions.
Not long after passing through the Galbraith Lake area, we reached our hopping-off point where we would begin our hike.
When selecting a lake to fish, the options overwhelmed me, but I was able to rely on a skill I learned through my job as a fisheries biologist: delving through data. Luckily, if you know where to look, historic scientific reports can give you some starting points. Armed with closely-guarded GPS coordinates, I believed I had found what I was seeking.
Loading up my pack, I started hiking out across the snowy tundra. Dolly raced back and forth over the frozen grass tussocks, not realizing we had several miles to travel. We soon left the sights and sounds of the road behind. A curious band of cow and calf caribou trotted towards us, getting within 200 yards before noticing Dolly’s wolf-like shape and beating a hasty retreat. After hours and miles of hiking, we reached our lake and set up camp. Its unfrozen waters gleamed like a chunk of obsidian framed in the ivory snow.
The next morning broke foggy and cold. We stayed in the tent until 10am, when the sun started peeping through the mist and the air temperature rose. Because I didn’t want to leave Dolly behind, I decided to fish from shore and work my way around the lake rather than troll in the packraft. The lake surface was calm and the water clear.
After about a mile circumventing the shoreline, I noticed the gravel shallows transitioned into a rocky dropoff. I cast out into the deep water, pausing every fifth retrieve to break ice out of the rod guides. I was fishing with a weighted black leech, suggested by a friend. Dolly was playing along the shoreline ahead, and we were both startled by a loud swirl about 50 feet down the bank. I caught a glimpse of two yellowish shapes cutting through the shallows to deeper water. We had found the char.
Arctic char are autumn-spawning fish, and like many salmonids, they exhibit several physical changes during their spawning period. These typically include a shift to brighter colors for both sexes and the development of a hooked jaw, or kype, in males. In the case of Arctic char, particularly those of Alaska’s North Slope, males can adopt an otherworldly orange or yellow color that undoubtedly wins them the title of most colorful salmonid. I had seen pictures of char in that sort of regalia, and I was after one of these orange “pumpkins.”
Finally seeing these fish brought on buck fever, and it took me what seemed like an eternity to break ice off my guides and sling an inelegant cast towards the area where the char had disappeared. I wasn’t sure what to expect—perhaps they were spooked and would not now bite? I didn’t have to worry. As I stripped the leech out of the deep and up into the rocky shallows, a yellow submarine was in pursuit.
I saw the flash of a white mouth open but set the hook too early. Cursing at myself, I calmed my nerves and cast to the waiting char hovering by the dropoff. Without reserve, the smaller, drabber female grabbed the leech and I set the hook. After a short but active fight, I brought her in to the rocky shore and let her rest in the shallows while I set up my camera for a self-portrait. Dolly came up and sniffed at the fish, excited by the sudden activity. I lifted the char out of the water for the photo, its bright red belly gleaming like a ruby. I placed it back in, flipped the hook out of its mouth, and it slowly finned its way out into the deep.
My hands ached from the cold water, and I warmed them on my bare neck to regain function. After allowing myself a moment of celebration, I cast the leech back out in hopes that the more brightly-colored fish would return. And here he came, chasing the fly up to the shallow shelf. But he would not strike, only follow. This repeated a couple more times until the fish grew bored and dissolved back into deeper water. Disheartened, I kept moving along the bank, hoping to find more fish.
After another half hour of fruitless casting, I decided to double back to where I’d had action. I thought about another friend who had caught North Slope char on silvery, brightly colored spoons, and this inspired me to try a different fly. With faint hope, I tied on a flashy, bright purple articulated salmon streamer. Casting out as far as I could, I stripped the fly back in and held my breath. As the fly neared the shallows, I could see the big orange male char was following it.
This time, before the streamer cleared the dropoff zone, I felt a sharp tug and set the hook. The fish of dreams was on the line. The several-pound char dove, cavorted, and pulled strongly. I took extra care to fight the fish to ensure I wouldn’t break my leader. Several times I thought he was ready to come to shore, but as his belly felt the lake’s bottom, he suddenly rushed back out into deeper water. Finally, I brought the gleaming fish into the rocky shallows.
It was a perfect, bright orange male Arctic char. The white-edged pectoral fins added an additional accent to an already-stunning fluorescent display. I took a self-timed shot holding the fish while Dolly raced back and forth on the bank, excited about the splashing but unwilling to enter the cold water. After the shutter closed, I unhooked the fish, and it shot off to join its pal in deeper water. I ran back and forth on the snowy bank to warm my body up; I was ecstatic. After years of plotting and planning, I had finally caught the Arctic char of a lifetime on a fly rod, that perfect “pumpkin spice” specimen.
Through the morning and early afternoon, I fished a nearby transition zone where the rocky shelf met a weedbed. Here, my luck continued, and I caught another half-dozen Arctic char, plus a lone lake trout, on the salmon streamer. Just after lunchtime, I felt satisfied with the day’s work and hiked back to camp. Realizing that I couldn’t improve much on a stellar day’s fishing, I decided to pack up and hike out early rather than stay one more night as planned. The goal of a Coldfoot truck stop burger loomed in my mind as Dolly frolicked through the whiteout ahead of me on our backtrail.
The public lands extending five miles of both sides of the Haul Road—including the country we crossed on our hike, and the lake containing the char—are managed by the BLM as a critical component of our domestic oil and gas transportation system. At first blush, that may not sound like a recipe for world-class hunting and fishing opportunities.
But current restrictions on industrial mining and motorized use in the Dalton Highway Corridor help facilitate some of the wildest yet accessible backcountry fishing and hunting experiences you’ll find anywhere. Savoring the views of the craggy mountains, open tundra adorned with snow, braided creeks, and gleaming lakes, I reflected on how different this landscape might look in a few years if these public lands were opened to more intensive development activities.
The future management of 13 million acres of public land in Northern Alaska—including the Dalton Highway Corridor and the Middle Yukon and Koyukuk watersheds—is currently under review by the Bureau of Land Management. The agency is in the process of revising the Central Yukon Resource Management Plan (RMP), a process that happens roughly every 20 years. The draft plan, developed under the previous administration, recommended opening approximately 98 percent of these lands to industrial mineral development.
In response, more than 500 hunters and anglers took action and urged the BLM to expand public access for hunting, angling, and other forms of wildlife-dependent recreation in the Dalton Highway Corridor. Sportsmen and sportswomen also advocated for stronger safeguards for important caribou and Dall sheep habitat in the region.
A favorite quote from wilderness advocate Bob Marshall sprang to mind as Dolly and I crossed the expanse: “For me, and for thousands with similar inclinations, the most important passion of life is the overpowering desire to escape periodically from the clutches of a mechanistic civilization. To us the enjoyment of solitude, complete independence, and the beauty of undefiled panoramas is absolutely essential to happiness.” I hoped I’d be able to continue to visit this undegraded land of caribou and Arctic char, which to me is certainly an experience “essential to happiness.”
Kevin Fraley is a fisheries ecologist for the Wildlife Conservation Society based in Fairbanks, AK, and enjoys hunting, fishing, and rafting throughout Alaska. Click here to learn more about the research Kevin leads for WCS.
Photo Credits: Kevin Fraley
An agreement signed last week to address the impacts of industrial menhaden harvest in the Chesapeake Bay falls short of limiting real damage inflicted by the fishery on recreational fishing and broader ecosystem health, based on a collective initial assessment by a coalition of sportfishing and conservation groups.
Last Thursday, commercial purse seiners announced a voluntary agreement with the Virginia Marine Resources Commission to avoid fishing in a small portion of the Chesapeake Bay, purportedly to avoid net spills near populated areas. However, the non-binding agreement is centered on the narrow goal of limiting and responding to future spill incidents, in which dead menhaden and other fish species released from nets foul area beaches, and does not address all areas within the Bay.
What the MOU does:
What the MOU does not do:
In short, the agreement does not address the concerns of Virginians regarding user conflicts and fish spills that have plagued the Bay for years.
“The menhaden MOU is a positive step, but it falls short in several ways,” says Steve Atkinson, president of the Virginia Saltwater Sportfishing Association. “The buffer of one nautical mile does not extend to the Rappahannock River area, which is a popular spot for recreational fishing. The agreement also fails to address longstanding concerns about overharvest in the Bay.”
In December 2022, hundreds of Virginians attended a VMRC meeting to comment on a proposal by the Youngkin Administration that would have established regulations negotiated over months of stakeholder engagement. At that meeting, the VMRC agreed to instead pursue the non-binding memorandum of understanding with industrial menhaden harvester Omega Protein, which became final last week.
“While the memorandum of understanding covers a similar set of issues as the regulations put before VMRC last December, there is one big difference—enforceability,” says Mike Leonard, vice president of government affairs for the American Sportfishing Association. “Whether or not Omega Protein abides by the agreement, and we hope they do, there is still much more work to be done to lessen the harm that reduction fishing is causing to the Chesapeake Bay ecosystem.”
Throughout 2022, reduction fishing boats caused multiple Eastern Shore fish spills, resulting in the waste of an estimated 12,000 pounds of red drum bycatch and beach closures on major holidays, including Independence Day weekend. As recently as 2019, Omega willfully exceeded its 51,000-metric-ton catch limit in the Bay, inspiring tens of thousands of anglers, dozens of business and organizations, and nine East Coast governors to request that the Secretary of Commerce get involved.
“This memorandum of understanding with a foreign-owned, industrial-scale fishing operation in the Chesapeake Bay does little to address conservation of menhaden as a vital forage fish for striped bass and other sportfish,” says Whit Fosburgh, president and CEO of the Theodore Roosevelt Conservation Partnership. “While it is our sincere hope that the Commonwealth of Virginia will work to minimize user conflicts and fish spills in the Bay, this non-binding framework relies on the state’s ability to trust cosigners to abide by the rules. The reduction fishery hasn’t earned this trust.”
Last year, more than 10,000 anglers and conservationists from Virginia and up and down the East Coast signed a petition asking Gov. Youngkin to move industrial reduction fishing out of the Chesapeake Bay until science could show that the fishery was not having a negative impact on the ecosystem or the economy. The petition was delivered to Youngkin and the VMRC in October 2022.
“It is our hope that the signing of this MOU is only the first step toward increased conservation measures for this staple forage fish species,” says Chad Tokowicz, government relations manager for the Marine Retailers Association of the Americas. “As we inch toward the May openings of Maryland and Virginia’s respective striped bass seasons, it will be obvious the importance menhaden have for this keystone recreational species.”
Anglers remain engaged and anxious to see more meaningful action to safeguard menhaden, sportfish, and the Bay economy. The conservation community looks forward to working with the Youngkin Administration this September on the implementation of a menhaden study that would fill gaps in the data about the impact of the reduction fishery on Bay health and sportfish populations.
Virginia continues to be the only East Coast state allowing reduction fishing of menhaden—a practice where millions of pounds of these forage fish are turned into fishmeal, fish oil, fertilizer, or similar products—in its waters.
Photo by Gaelin Rosenwaks. Follow her on Instagram @gaelingoexplore.
At its 15th annual Capital Conservation Awards Dinner, the Theodore Roosevelt Conservation Partnership proudly celebrated the conservation achievements of Senator Joe Manchin (D-W.Va.), Representative Blake Moore (R-Utah), and CEOs Becky Humphries of the National Wild Turkey Federation and Howard Vincent of Pheasants Forever and Quail Forever, who will both retire in 2023 after many years of outstanding leadership in our community.
The gala event was hosted by MeatEater’s Steven Rinella—a TRCP Board member—at the National Building Museum in Washington, D.C.
“We proudly honor these leaders whose commitment to conservation has had real and lasting on-the-ground results for hunters, anglers, and all Americans,” said Whit Fosburgh, TRCP president and CEO. “Senator Manchin and Rep. Moore have been instrumental in clinching recent legislative victories for habitat, access, and conservation funding that will impact hunting and fishing opportunities for years to come. Our gala event is also a fitting way to celebrate two deeply appreciated colleagues in conservation, Becky Humphries and Howard Vincent, who have been part of the fabric of TRCP and this community for many years.”
As chairman of the Senate Energy and Natural Resources Committee, Senator Joe Manchin championed the Great American Outdoors Act in 2020 to provide full and permanent funding to the Land and Water Conservation Fund and reduce the maintenance backlog at federal land management agencies. More recently, Manchin negotiated the Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act and the Inflation Reduction Act, securing major new resources for forest management, climate-smart agriculture, drought mitigation, and coastal resilience. He is a lifelong hunter and angler and continues to prioritize conservation and outdoor recreation legislation in Congress.
Since entering Congress in 2020, Rep. Blake Moore has quickly developed a reputation as a pragmatic lawmaker and champion for hunting, fishing, and outdoor recreation. Moore worked closely with the TRCP and our community to secure passage of the Modernizing Access to Our Public Land (MAPLand) Act, to digitize access data for millions of acres of our public lands. He’s also led efforts to expand access to public shooting ranges, remove barriers to outdoor recreation, and address the management needs of the Great Salt Lake ecosystem.
Becky Humphries started her career in wildlife conservation as an employee of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service before joining the Michigan Department of Natural Resources in 1978. Her 32-year career with the agency saw her move from field biologist to Wildlife Division chief and, finally, director—she was the first woman to ever hold the position. In 2011, Humphries left public service and joined Ducks Unlimited as director of conservation programs before joining the National Wild Turkey Federation as chief conservation officer in 2013. She became chief operations officer in 2016 and CEO in 2017. Since its founding in 1973, NWTF has invested more than $500 million into wildlife conservation and has conserved or enhanced more than 22 million acres of critical wildlife habitat. Humphries retires this year.
Howard Vincent started with Pheasants Forever in 1984, two years after the organization’s founding, and became CEO in 1990—he will step down this year. During Vincent’s tenure, Pheasants Forever has grown into one of the most respected wildlife conservation organizations in the country, dedicated to habitat conservation, education, and advocacy. The organization has more than 400 employees and 400,000 members, supporters, and partners. In its history, the organization has been responsible for delivering more than 22 million acres of habitat.
Vincent and Humphries have both served as TRCP Board members for many years. They will be introduced onstage by conservation giant Steve Williams, who is also retiring this year from the Wildlife Management Institute. Williams received TRCP’s conservation achievement award in 2015.
For more information about the CCAD, click here.
Photo by Jon Fleming
A new Theodore Roosevelt Conservation Partnership film, to be released on Saturday, April 15, unpacks the complexity of public land access in collaboration with Eastmans’ Hunting Journal, onX, Savage Arms, SIG SAUER, and Kenetrek.
With an October 2022 Wyoming pronghorn antelope hunt as a backdrop, Paper Trails and its characters uncover the challenges hunters and other outdoor recreationists face when accessing and navigating their public lands and describe what’s being done to improve that access.
“Hunters know from firsthand experience that public access can be difficult, and even confusing to figure out, but many people don’t know why it is so complex or what to do about it,” said Joel Webster, TRCP vice president of Western conservation. “Recognizing this challenge, TRCP and several of our partners created Paper Trails to uncover several issues surrounding public access that have never before been explored on film—such as difficult to retrieve public easements and inaccurate or absent public signage—and offer solutions to the problem moving forward, such as the MAPLand Act.”
The film highlights the reality that the U.S. Forest Service and Bureau of Land Management have 90,000 road and trail easements scattered across the nation, of which 50,000 remain on paper file and have not yet been digitized or made readily available. The film further explores the need for better information to be made available about the location of county roads, which are also open to the public. The status of BLM travel management plans are also discussed.
“For many of the lines that people see as roads on our maps, there isn’t a designation between public and private,” said Lisa Nichols, senior access advocacy manager at onX. “And the reason for that is there are very few road data sets that exist in the whole country that classify roads as public or private.”
Paper Trails also features the MAPLand Act, which was passed into law in April 2022 and requires federal agencies to digitize and make information publicly available about recreational access to public lands. This process is presently being implemented and will provide greater transparency to all Americans about the location of public land access easements—unlocking more public land.
“Every state is a little different. Every access issue is a little different. I think the MAPLand Act is going to be a huge benefit to sportsmen,” said Brandon Mason of Eastmans’ Hunting Journal.
“Accessing public land is one of the biggest challenges hunters face,” said Beth Shimanski, Savage Arm’s marketing director. “Public roads, access points, and easements are not always clearly marked or known to the public. This film shines a light on the problem and highlights what needs to be done today to protect public land access for future generations of hunters,”
“SIG SAUER is extremely proud to help support this amazing project in partnership with Eastman’s and the TRCP,” said Jason Wright, SIG SAUER’s vice president of marketing. “The challenge of maintaining the rights of landowners combined with providing access to America’s public lands is immense, and this film demonstrates the incredible work the men and women of the Bureau of Land Management and U.S. Forest Service are doing to ensure the interests of both parties are met and the tradition of hunting the vast expanse of the western U.S. is maintained.”
“Hunting access to public lands is one of the most challenging problems facing our industry today, and Kenetrek is happy to provide support for this important documentary,” said Jim Winjum, president of Kenetrek LLC.
Watch Paper Trails here. Full film to be released April 15.
Photo Credit: Eastmans’ Hunting Journal
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