![]() Or they reverse that, spawning in Alaska and overwintering in Russia. They spawn in Russia, swim out to ocean waters of the arctic getting fat on the same sort of rich diet as salmon, move back into the fresh waters of northern Alaska where they feast on the eggs of spawning salmon and overwinter, and then return to Russia to start the next generation. ![]() One northern strain of particular interest has dual citizenship. Like brook trout of New England, they can be found in large fresh water lakes as well as small beaver ponds, in little mountain streams far from the ocean, and in coastal rivers where some move back and forth between salt and fresh water. When the populations became isolated from one other, they adapted into distinct strains or subspecies. Others turned south and found their way down the coast of British Columbia. Some turned north and made their way along the coast of what is now the Chukchi Sea. Originating in Japan or eastern Russia, they most likely found their way to North America along the land bridge formed during the last ice age. The most ubiquitous and adaptable of the Alaskan char, Dolly Varden have a evolutionary history almost as interesting as their name-which comes from a character in a Charles Dickens novel. Like brook trout, their Vermont cousins, Dolly Varden are not true trout they belong in the char genus Salvelinus along with two other native Alaskan species: lake trout and arctic char. I had come to the river to research a book on Alaskan char, and some of the environmental problems now threatening them. He dropped his fat-tired vehicle down on a riverside gravel bar that served as a 75-yard long landing strip, dumped us out with our camping gear, provisions, bear spray, and shot-gun loaded with slugs, and told us he’d be back in three days to get us-weather permitting. After a long fog delay, a local outfitter had then flown us inland in his small bush plane. The afternoon before, I, my friend David O’Hara, and my nephew Michael, had taken a commercial flight from Anchorage to the small city of Kotzebue. I was at the end of my first full day north of the Arctic Circle. ![]() ![]() But then it went aerial, showing off its silvery green sides and bright magenta spots, and my hopes were confirmed. I’d been fighting it for a few minutes, without much progress, and not completely sure what I’d hooked. That is, it would become my first if I could land it. My heart was pumping with adrenaline because I’d just seen that the big fish at the end of my fly line was not another chum salmon, but my first ever sea-run Dolly Varden trout. But at the moment, I was not aware of the pain. So I was standing barefoot, knee-deep in the icy waters of an arctic river flowing across tundra toward the Chukchi Sea. I’d been in leaky waders all day and didn’t want to put them on again. ![]()
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