These are the Chronicles of Famous Surf Writer Ben Marcus and his trip into the Wilds of the Alaskan Frontier.
Latest Update: September 10, 2000

22:20 SILVER SALMON RV PARK, NEAH BAY, WASHINGTON

It's almost 22:20 and I'm sleeping in the van in the backlot of the Silver Salmon, a shaggy RV park in Neah Bay, within the domain of the Makah Tribe. I have a theory about the Makah people, which partially explains why Mr. Walther is sleeping by my side this evening, but more on that later.

Today I wandered aimlessly, put in some miles, got lost, fell off a tree stump, saw some nice creeks, got lost, but ended up in the right place at almost the right time.

The day started with a nasty shock when I checked out of the Portside Inn this morning, a phone bill for $130. I was online last night looking stuff up, but I can't believe it added up to that. Oh well. Live and learn. AOL has an 800 number, maybe I better learn to use that.

I drove out of Port Angeles and headed west, toward the northwest corner of the Olympic Peninsula, and the United States. Along the way I looked for Fourth Gen Jeff, I saw a lot of cars with surboards and some little waves at Elwha River Mouth, but no Jeff. The upper parts of the Elwha are very, very fishable. Almost jumped out of the car to fish a hole under a single-lane bridge, but I didn't have a license, and pushed on.

Nice day today. Clouds moving through the Strait of Juan de Fuca, and also a lot of ships. From this side, Vancouver Island kind of looks like a Hawaiian Island: Mountains sloping up from the sea and into the clouds. I remember saying to someone that the Olympic Peninsula is a temperate version of the north shore of Kauai, and I still think that. High mountains, lush greenery and nice ocean. This drive out to Neah Bay confirmed it.

I think the swell was smaller today. I passed Lilliput Point and a bunch of other places going off at six inches. It's about 60 miles from Port Angeles out to the tip, but it can take a while to get there if you detour all the highways and byways. There is a really nice little river called the Pysht along the way. The Klallam Indians have worked to restore the river, clearing snags and other obstruction so the river and the fish can flow.

I was tempted to stop and fish numerous times. What I like about out here, and I keep saying this, is that there actually might be some real fish in these streams. They all flow into the Strait, and I'm pretty sure they all get decent salmon and steelhead runs.

I passed through Sekiu, which was loaded with boats and fishermen. Apparently the king run is the best in 20 years. I was tempted to rent a boat and go out on my own, but that really wouldn't be any fun. There are a lot of small boats on the Olympic Peninsula. If we ever go to war with Canada, they could easily pull an evacuation like the British did in World War II (mental block. What was that called? Tip of my tongue. Shoot.)

I got to Neah Bay and then made a mistake. Many years ago, in the 80s, my mom and I drove out here and stayed out near Cape Flattery, at Neah Bay, in a nice little Air Force campground near a rivermouth. I went looking for that and went the wrong bay, doubling back and ending up at Ozette Lake. It's a big, beautiful lake and another reason to have a small boat here, but I was in the wrong place.

Driving back I went along the Hoko River, a perfect little trout stream that runs all the way to Sekiu. After watching two guys dry fly fishing for little trout, and seeing lots of rises from my perspective on a bridge, I couldn't resist, even though I didn't have a license. Along the way I stopped at a nice-looking hole on the Hoko and sorted out my gear. I discovered that I don't have a fly reel. I thought I had one in my fishing vest, but I was wrong. Stupid. I'll have to buy some gear in Port Angeles, or maybe wait until Canada.

So I broke out the spinning rod and reel I bought in Norway and flailed the water with that for awhile. No action, so I packed up and headed back for Neah Bay.

From Neah Bay I found the road at the top of the village that leads out to Cape Flattery. Oops.

I drove out and followed the "Makah hatchery" signs, and found a really nice little river leading down to the sea. There were people fishing as the sun was setting and it was all pretty epic: exactly what you imagine when you dream of the Pacific Northwest. I was about as far northwest as you can go. I hopped out, grabbed my pole and ran to the river bank. It looked like kids or The Gods were plunking boulders into the water. There were fish, big salmon fish, rolling and jumping and rising and throwing up bow wakes and making all kinds of ruckus in the lagoon. It was awesome. There were about five people fishing, including one chap with a London accent. He was as agitated as I was, and we were both being teased by some pretty big fish jumping and splashing all around us.

His name was Steve and he sounded like Martin Ruddle. He loaned me a heavier lure and we both thrashed the water for an hour or so as the sun went down in front of us and the moon came up behind us. Holy shit, there were a lot of fish in that river. Steve had seen someone land a ten-pound salmon earlier in the day, and he was trying to keep his London cool as he ran up and down, worrying about his impatient wife and tying on new lures. We fished and chatted for awhile. I told him about my experience with Greg Noll and that salmon were tide sensitive and blah, blah, blah. He gave up as it was getting dark, and drove back to Forks, saying he might come back the next day. I said I'd be there for sure, and that I might try to drift the river on my surfboard, which I might.

Just after English Steve left, a guy on the opposite bank hooked a nice fish. He fought it for awhile, and then a while longer, and then a long time, walking up and down the bank as the moon rise and it got completely dark. Apparently king salmon are big and stubborn. I shouted across the river an offer to let him use Mr. Walther and he chuckled. He still hadn't brought in the fish when I left, and that was a good 20 minutes after he caught it.

Back in Neah Bay, while making a phone call, some of the local rogues heckled me. There's an air of juvenile delinquency all around Neah Bay, a little similar to North Shore or the West Wide of Oahu, and it made me a little nervous. That van is very visible and vulnerable, and a guy could start a decent pawn shop with its contents.

I had dinner at the Makah Maiden, a small eatery that said it was open until 11:00, but was closing when I got there around 9:00. The nice lady made me a hamburger and I watched Speed on the TV.

When the lady brought me a piece of cherry pie, I busted out my "Lost Polynesian tribe" theory, not for the last time: I think the Makah are a tribe of transplanted Polynesians who washed up on Cape Flattery a few centuries ago, blown there by ill winds and fate. First of all, the Makah Indians look Hawaiian. Mr. Kaopuiki at the Driver License bureau in Port Angeles thought so, too.

And then look at their name: Makah. Aha! Makah means "the generous people" a name put on them by other Indian tribes in the area. And what does generous mean in Hawaiian? Exactly. It means aloha. Their canoes look Hawaiian. Their baskets look Hawaiian.

Hey, it's only a theory.

Anyway, I loitered around the Makah Maiden until they kicked me out, then I took a spot in the Silver Salmon RV park, and settled down for the evening. I kept Mr. Walther by my side, because of paranoia. I typed this out and then watched Amadeus on the DVD.

That van is not comfortable, especially when it is 30 degrees out, which it was. I also discovered that it is very hard to sleep when you are cold. I found another blanket in my Tonga basket and that helped. But I'm going to teed to work on that. A heater, or something.

I fell asleep dreaming about fishing the Soesee River, and trying to remember how to pronounce it, and how I would spell it: Sushi? Susi?

Nice day. Lots of driving, but I ended up in the right spot after all.

Tomorrow, in the words of Steve Guzzetta, it will be time to kill fish.