Nothing comes easy, especially in Alaska.
From the Publisher: “After the death of his father and fishing partner, twelve-year old Jack Cooper unwillingly travels with his mom from Pennsylvania to Alaska to meet his grandfather, Fly Bob, for the first time. Over the summer, Jack challenges himself to do something his father ‘Redds’ Cooper had never accomplished. He attempts to catch the Alaskan Salmon Slam, all five species of Pacific salmon in one summer.
While chasing after the Red, the Chum, the Pink, the Silver and the elusive King, he’ll need the assistance of his so-called grandfather and veteran fishing guide, Fly Bob, to teach him the secrets of fishing for salmon in Alaska. As Redds used to say, ‘It’s not called catchin’, it’s called fishin’.'”
More info About the Author: “A native of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, Christian A. Shane is a huge fan of the Black-n-Gold. He lives in the ‘Burgh with his wife, three kiddos, black lab, three geckos, and a turtle.
Christian also teaches Life Science to Seventh Grade and writes the Tying Together articles for the PA Angler & Boater Magazine.”
Author Site Book Launch: Christian A. Shane will be celebrating the launch of Salmon Survivor on Saturday, August 27th from 2 – 4 PM at Discovery Church in Mars PA. All ages welcome, join for “fly tying, refreshments, discussion, book signing, and even Mini Golf!”
Book Event
PROLOGUE:
Shades of Green, Shadows of Black
The Elk Hair Caddis drifted smoothly on the stream’s surface like a sailboat.
My dad hand tied the caddis using the hide hairs of a real Pennsylvania elk. The artificial fly’s legs undulated on the water.
“He’ll take it…just wait and see,” Dad whispered.
This fly fishing game is all about stealth and patience. I controlled the fly line in the currents like Dad taught me and held my breath waiting for the fish to hit.
“I’m telling you, Jack-O, the bite is on. Can you feel it? Take another cast up
there.”
I set another cast upstream, and my fly flopped into the bubble line.
“Great cast, buddy. Right where you want it. Just a little longer… come on, eat it.” The fly floated under a large overhanging bush.
Slurp. Splash!
“Set, set, set,” Dad got louder with each word. I set the hook with a flick of my hand.
“Fish-on!” Dad’s voice echoed through the valley.
“Fish-on!” I yelled back.
“He’s a feisty one.” I laughed and struggled to get him out of the currents.
As I reeled it into shore, Dad cradled the trout carefully in his hands. Wormy lines created mazes along its back and colored spots spanned its body.
“Wow Jack, that is one beautiful Brookie,” Dad beamed.
I took a picture as this would be one to remember. A trophy for us both.
Dad removed the fly from its mouth and held it in the current.
Then it tailed away into the shadows.
“Couldn’t have done it better myself, boy! I’m really proud of you. You are one amazing angler.”
“Hold your hand out,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
Dad turned my right palm downward and held it in his large hand.
“There, if you look down at just the right angle, you can make the shape of Alaska with your hand. We’re headed to that little stretch on your thumb called the Kenai Peninsula.”
I stretched my fingers out and imagined the state of Alaska fitting in my hand.
“Can’t wait to catch some salmon with you, Jack!”
I couldn’t wait, either.
There’s nothing I wanted more than catching a salmon….
I was wrong.
Chapter 1
Salmon.
This was supposed to be an epic summer, a summer of catching fish.
My dad had already deemed it, “The Great Cooper Alaskan Salmon Slam.”
Salmon.
I couldn’t wait. My family would explore the mountains and rivers of Alaska together. Three generations of Coopers would fish for all five species. My dad, Redds Cooper, would finally achieve his lifelong dream of writing an Alaskan fi shing guidebook and become nationally recognized. And me, I would finally meet my grandfather.
Salmon.
The word crashed over and over like waves in my skull.
Instead, Dad will never finish his book, and I have to spend the summer with a grumpy old man in waders.
This could be the worst summer of my life.
I’ve worked all month trying to get out of going on this trip. Tonight was my last chance, so I pleaded.
“Mom, can’t we just tell him we’re not coming?”
“Jack, I know it’s hard to leave Pittsburgh for the summer, but everything’s already planned, and your grandfather is looking forward to meeting you.”
“Yeah right. Some grandfather. Fly Bob – what kind of name is that? He couldn’t even fly down for the funeral. More like ‘No-Fly Bob’ if you ask me.”
“Well, look on the bright side. You’ll see some sights you’ve never seen before – the beautiful Alaskan scenery and wildlife. Plus, you can fish for salmon to your heart’s content. Bob is really looking forward to meeting you and teaching you how to fish, Alaskan-style.”
Another grown-up telling me what is good for me, just what I need.
“We shouldn’t even give him the satisfaction of going up to visit him. He never took time to come down and see us.”
As Mom washed the dishes, wearing jeans and Dad’s old Penguins jersey, the kitchen light over the sink spotlighted her olive complexion. Her feathery brown ponytail swayed back and forth. We joked as a family that her hair was the same color as the elk hide we used to tie the caddis fly. Dad used his fingers, pretending to cut off her ponytail. He said that she shook it when she was extremely happy or on the verge of crying. I could tell which one it was tonight, but I still had to push.
“What if I stayed with Aunt Tinny and Uncle Max for the month? They wouldn’t mind. Or maybe Charles,’ Peter’s, or Ken’s house?”
“Come on, Jack. You know this trip isn’t easy for me, either. I want to finish what your dad started with his book. We are going to stay where he was born.”
“…but Mom, I’m going to miss baseball camp. The guys will be so much better than me by the time school starts, and I’ll miss the Kennywood picnic, too. This stinks!” I knew I was whining by this point, but I had to do something.
“Aren’t you the least bit curious? Your dad was so excited for us to go on this adventure together, as a family.”
“Dad’s not here, and we’re not a family anymore,” I murmured.
The kitchen remained silent. I’d crossed the line.
She ignored the comment and continued drying the dishes without giving me the look, yet I could feel her blue eyes locking with mine.
“Well, unless you plan on wearing the same clothes for a month, I suggest you get to packing. We’re leaving for the airport tomorrow at five AM.”
“Whatever.” I shoved the chair and stormed out the back door.
The gray clouds blanketing the sky reflected my dismal mood. Trudging to the rusty red shed out behind our house, I grabbed Dad’s vest, camo hat, and bamboo fly rod. Then I filled my backpack with fly gear and headed to the stream.
The valley provided the usual lush green sights Dad and I enjoyed every summer. Enormous evergreens still towered over the forest floor supplying coolness and shade. Lime green ferns lined the trailhead like lights on an airport runway, and the water rushing below drowned out the bird calls from high above. I inhaled a full breath of pine and sighed.
The bamboo rod bounced on my shoulder as I tramped down the trailhead path, but I couldn’t stomp away the fact that Mom wouldn’t budge on this one. We were headed to the forty-ninth state without my dad. She thought it would be good for us both to get a change of scenery, and my opinion didn’t seem to matter.
Boots squishing into the mud, I paused at the trail’s end, closed my eyes, and focused on the sounds of the creek. Dad’s trick to cooling off. But even the rushing water sounded flat this time, like when my buddy, Denny, played his guitar out of tune.
This excerpt is published here courtesy of the author and should not be reprinted without permission.
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