<\/a>Courtesy Photo | Triston Chaney\n Triston Chaney holds a Bristol Bay rainbow trout.<\/p><\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
Chaney is tied to his family and the land in a way that is becoming rarer in our ever-increasingly industrialized world. His first memories are of hunting spruce chickens (spruce grouse) with his grandpa — from his beginning he was harvesting wild food that he would share with family and others in his community. During the fall and winter, he studies Diesel\/Heavy Duty Mechanics at the University of Alaska Southeast. After he graduates, he plans to live in Bristol Bay year-round and do what he loves most: fish. Chaney’s favorite fish to eat is king salmon, especially the smoked bellies, though sockeye comes in a close second. His favorite fish overall is the grayling. His favorite fish to catch is a rainbow trout while using a mouse fly.<\/p>\n\t\t\t\t
“A rainbow will demolish a mouse fly,” Chaney said, reflecting on his love of fly fishing. “So much goes into fly fishing. It’s all about the intricacies. The choices. The cast. The fight is better on a fly rod.”<\/p>\n\t\t\t\t
Last year, after the commercial sockeye season, Chaney began guiding visiting anglers for Bear Trail Lodge in King Salmon — a community on the east side of Bristol Bay, about 50 miles from Dillingham. King Salmon attracts multitudes of visitors who want to experience the region’s incredible fishing, bear viewing and hunting opportunities. For many of his clients, Bristol Bay represents the fulfilment of the Alaskan dream. Whether people want to watch brown bears or catch giant rainbows, it’s a special experience.<\/p>\n\t\t\t\t
“There’s such a diversity of life here. It’s wild how many different species of fish you can catch in a day,” Chaney said.<\/p>\n\t\t\t\t
Chaney plans to further his career guiding fly-fishing trips and to chase fish on his free time. For him, there’s no better place than his people’s homeland, and that’s a big reason he’s a vocal opponent to the Pebble Mine, a massive, open-pit gold and copper mine, toxic waste dump and industrial complex proposed to be built near the headwaters of critical rivers draining into Bristol Bay.<\/p>\n\t\t\t\t
“We don’t like Pebble. We don’t want it. They couldn’t have picked a worse spot to dig a big hole. This could damage our whole lives. Life here revolves around fish and if that went away…” Chaney said, his voice trailing off into silence.<\/p>\n\t\t\t\t
Chaney has been to Washington, D.C., twice to lobby against Pebble. Both times were nerve-wracking experiences — Chaney likened it to having to speak in front of a large group of people but 10 times more intense, “because the people you’re trying to show how bad the mine could be to the region can actually make a difference. I met a lot of cool people and learned a ton. I’m glad I did it and would do it again in a heartbeat to protect Bristol Bay.”<\/p>\n\t\t\t\t
On June 16, Chaney and his grandpa launched their boat in the Nushagak River to be ready when the sockeye fishery opens. The boatyards are bustling, though Bristol Bay fishermen face even more uncertainties than normal. Chaney is concerned with low water in lakes, rivers and streams coupled with the forecast for a hot summer. Last summer the region, and much of Alaska, experienced similarly unusual patterns, and there was a massive die off of fish that were “cooked” by how warm the water became. Chaney and other fishermen noted the tide rips were full of unspawned dead salmon. There’s the pandemic, too. Fish process workers, vital to Bristol Bay’s $1.5 billion fishery, live and work in close quarters that make them more susceptible to contracting the virus. And then, there’s the Pebble Mine, which is on track to be permitted, against scientific findings and against the will of the majority of Alaskans, right in the middle of the commercial fishing season.<\/p>\n\t\t\t\t