Mens Journal

TRAVEL& ADVENTURE

abandoned McDon-

ald’s and you can some-

times rent a f ire truck

to drive around in. It’s

weird. I was sold.

Our lack of camou-

flage stands out on the

government-subsidized

737 f light from Anchor-

age which f lies in only

on Sundays and Tues-

days. Visitors to Adak

these days tend to

come in two varieties: caribou hunters and

military contractors. The former attempt to

thin a herd that was introduced in the 1950s

whose numbers have since exploded due to

the lack of natural predators; the latter clear

unexploded bombs from the north side of the

island which was used as a test range during

the Cold War and where hiking is not advised.

We land in a fog and step out of a small

airport to see identical blue roofs stretching

down to the sea a shipwrecked boat in a bay

f illed with PCBs from old military ordnance

andthe McDonald’swhichhasadrive-

through with faded signs promoting appro-

priately enough the originalJurassic Park.

The homes are one or two stories with square

lawns and straight driveways the remnants

of postwar American dreams. Now the drive-

ways are empty thelawns areovergrownand

the windows are dark or crashed in. A few

shining trucks navigate the silent maze — the

Navy contractors. One such man we meet

likens Adak to “prison.” Adak isn’t prison. It

is rather an America lacking any semblance

of law and order f latscreens and football — a

wild reclamation project and testament that

given an inch nature roars back.

Here you can f ill ziplocks with nagoonber-

ries sweet fruits of the tundra that do well

insidepancakes.Youcanwatchseaotters

their population once decimated by Russian

fur traders playing in empty bays. You can

search fordoorsin old spybuildings. You can

open a dumpster outside the only restaurant

in town — a good Mexican joint — to f ind the

recently severed head of a bull caribou. You

can leave town walk west and discover a pris-

tine lake feeding a stream that empties into

the Bering Sea.

Wecampontheshore ofthe lake forfour

days following a strict schedule that goes

as follows: Wake up. Walk to the river at the

edge of the sea. Catch a salmon. Cook it. Walk

over a small mountain to another bay. Catch

more salmon. Walk back. Observe the vol-

cano to our west in the setting sun. Repeat.

One day while casting to bright eager

Dolly Varden trout in a three-foot-wide

stream we look up to see guests: the herd of

caribou cutting through the fog lunching

in the tundra.

Upon our return to town Elaine takes us

f ishing then hosts a salmon-smoking gather-

ing at her place. A few friends join in includ-

ing one of the only teenagers on the island a

dreadlocked kid named Freedom. Beyoncé

blasts through the house — music being one

of the few cultural connections to the Lower

48 — and the conversation turns to a long-lost

treasure hunter whose corpse was recently

found in a hole in the tundra. Elaine serves

caribousausagewhileFreedomplaysvideo

games on his phone. I wonder about all those

broken windows. If I were one of four or f ive

teenagers living in an abandoned naval base

500milesfromthenexthighschoolImight

break some windows too. Or maybe it was the

windwhichregularlyhits120milesperhour.

“Freedom” I say. “Do you have parties in

those abandoned buildings?”

“We would” he says “if there was anyone

to party with.”

ON OUR LAST MORNINGin town my girl-

friend and I borrow an old bass rod and rig

it up with my f ly reel. We head to another

stream at another beach. After a few min-

utes large gray shapes begin to dance in the

waves just offshore: The silver salmon run

is coming in. I start to cast hurling a blue

fly as far as I can with the jury-rigged setup.

The line pulls taut. Rather than reel in I

just play the f ish until it slows a bit which

takes a long long time. Eventually I start to

walk backward pulling the coho toward the

beach. A shadow f ills the sky — our plane

arriving to take us back to the world. I take

one more step back the line goes slack as f ish

hits sand and there on the beach f lails 10

pounds of wild silver salmon. My girlfriend

rolls it up the sand pops its gills and bleeds

it out. We fillet it throw it in the cooler and

sprint to the plane covered in sea salt and

fish guts and laughing aloud.Q

Just a handful of

residents on Adak

means ditching

them isn’t hard.

Remnants of

better days

The island’s

brawny

salmon run

GETTING THERE:Alaska Airlines has two

weekly flights both in and out of the island

on Sundays and Tuesdays.alaskaair.com

WHERE TO STAY:Little Michael Lodge

from $175 per night.littlemichaellodge.com

WHAT TO BRING:Bombproof rain gear —

it’s nearly impossible to avoid a downpour.

And if you’re fishing bring an eight- or

10-weight rod — as well as a backup just in

case yours breaks like ours did.

SEPTEMBER 2016 27 MEN’S JOURNAL

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: NATHANIEL WILDER; ADAM EDGERTON; JOEL SARTORE/GETTY IMAGES