When we ponder upon the activities of a summer in Alaska, the words hectic, ebullient, and circus atmosphere come to mind.  And when its all over, you look around and say to yourself , "Where did everybody go?"  The streets were crowded a week ago, the parking lots were full and the lounges were jammed with fisherman in new Cabela togs, comparing notes on a series of salmon conquests for the past two months.  And now the streets are bare and the restaurants are quiet.  All the King Salmon and Sockeye Salmon that can be legally caught have been processed and vacuum packed for the folks back home.  And the balance of the runs have proceeded upstream to seek an amorous rendezvous as their grand finale.
   But, let's not forget that the best is yet to come.  In September, amidst the golden alder and birch umbrellas that line the Kenai shores for miles in each direction, we have the somewhat exclusive right to participate in the most exciting experience of all - the scheduled board meeting with a wild and crazy guy - the Kenai Coho; old Silversides.
   Generally, this experience has another thing going for it as well.  The crowds are gone and we have the river almost to ourselves. There are few experiences more satisfying than standing knee deep in the Kenai River with rod in hand and the early morning sun spreading a golden hue to the maples and birch trees that dwell endlessly up the shoreline.
   This is the cherished time of the late fall Coho.  A time that is for the most part, a pastoral if not a languid time on the river with only a few boats parading up and down, maybe one per hour.  And the remaining time you are alone in the sun, with the rushing sound of water cascading over the huge rocks just upstream from the quiet pool where the silvers are resting.
   I have seen these fish swim past my legs, lazily and without any apparent urge to move on.  They will eventually, of course, but this is the time for their rest period between onslaughts to the obstructions to come further upstream.
   And if you're lucky enough to get on the water close to dawn, which in September is not much earlier than 8:00 a.m., you will roust them out of their slumber with your bright flashing spinner with a red body.  At this time and if early enough they will often surprise you and instead of the slashing attack that we all know and hope for, they will gently take the spinner and sulk for a moment or two, seemingly oblivious to their having a hook nudging their jaw.  But soon the early reverie is gone and they awaken to a strange resistance which is not to be tolerated.  Then the eruption begins and the chase is on, a battle royal between man and beast, and man is quite often not the winner, which adds to the consummate respect we pay these gallant creatures.  And if you're lucky and have hooked into a solid citizen of 15 pounds or greater, then you will have a story to tell, for these heavier silvers almost always contribute to an adventure worth sharing.  Particularly if they get away.  How many times have we wondered how big it was when an unseen creature of the deep attacks our lure and peels line with a whine until the spool dwindles and the fish unhooks himself unseen.  And just as often they will hit your lure with a smash and instantly become acrobatic, dancing and shaking their entire body in a very valiant attempt to escape - reminiscent of the mighty tarpon of southern waters.   
   Its a never-ending and forever-surprising kaleidoscope of action.   And you should feel special because its all for you.  #
                                                                                                            Don McKay