Fishing - Kamchatka 1

Since my original post did not show up on my server (I believe it was
too big), I will post it again in two parts.

If Petropavlovsk is an example of the old Soviet Union, it is easy to
see why we won the Cold War. What a dreary place. Our Tupolev 154
landed in Petro after a four hour flight from Anchorage. It took us
30 minutes to get off the plane. Instead of all passengers leaving at
once, a small bus load at a time were taken less than 50 yards to
immigration. The Russians are still paranoid, thinking that ALL
Americans are CIA agents. Hell, there is nothing in Petro that any
American would want. On second thought, Wayno would want the
beautiful Russian women. Two hours in passport control was even worse
than waiting on the plane. Two hours! Once you got through all the
red tape (no pun intended), you were greeted by your Russian host and
required to wait on another bus until all had passed through passport
control and customs.

It was a bumpy and loud 45 minute drive through the outskirts of
Petro to the helicopter "pad". If an American entrepreneur wants to
invest in a product/service in Kamchatka, I would recommend
"Weed-be-Gone", "Round-Up", or any weed whacker. The trouble would be
to convince the Russians to use it. Every house and apartment block
had a weed field surrounding it.

The helo "pad" was a potato field. With the clamshell doors open, the
MI8 (HIP) helo looked enormous. Hell, it *was* enormous. It
swallowed 20 people and all their gear, and lifted off like a giant
bird. A cramped and noisy flight (everyone wore earplugs) took us to
the Zendzur Lodge where we deposited eight
happy-to-get-off-the-helicopter folks. Lift off and a less crowded
flight of 25 minutes and we dropped off the second group of six weary
souls. They would float the Zhupanova River behind us by one day.
The flight to our starting camp took about 10 minutes and was somewhat
enjoyable because we at least could open the porthole windows, get
fresh air, and enjoy the scenery.

All the camps looked alike. All of them had an octagonal cook/dining
hut with a canvas roof. The sports stayed in a canvas Quanset hut or
a small two man cabin. The bunks were comfortable. Most of us
brought self inflating mattresses to sleep on, but I got tired of
deflating and rolling it up each day as we moved to a new camp. Flush
toilets and hot showers were also provided. The toilets may have been
the flushing type, but that did not help the latrine smell that
permeated each one. Or the flies. If the Olympics had a category for
biggest and baddest house flies, the Russians would win hands down.

I'm a fussy eater. I don't expect New York cut steaks or lobster or
prime rib at any of the meals when in a camping situation, but
cleanliness would have helped the appetite. The dishes were washed in
cool water, and the flies were over everything on the table. I ate
very little that first meal, but it was enough to give me the trots
for three days. Fortunately I brought a big jar of peanut butter, a
small roll of hard salami, and Power Bars. I lived on porridge, fresh
fruit and my cache of goodies. I also lost ten pounds, but some would
still consider me a fat ass. d;o)

The fishing was fabulous. My first fish was the smallest of the trip
- a 14 inch Dolly Varden. It was followed by hundreds of Dollies over
the next five days, some as big as 26 inches. On the first day of the
float, I managed eight rainbows in the 22 - 24 inch range and so many
Dollies I gave up counting. (One must never count fish to begin
with!) All fish were caught on streamers. This would have been a
terrific place for Peter. He would have mopped up with his gazillion
foot two-handed seven weight. d;o)

Dave