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The enthusiasm of early visitors convinced the Brigmans that they had something good in Hidden Basin. In 1990 he bought out his partner and began expanding the lodge.

"It was in '92 that we decided we were going to make a run for it, after I'd really gotten to know the place better and realized there was a lot more than hunting here," he said.

Though goat, deer, bear and duck hunters fill the lodge in early spring and late fall, fishermen have become equally important to the business. From late April through june, clients troll for king salmon. The red salmon run peaks in july, and from late August through mid-October silver salmon, Dolly Varden, rainbow trout and steelhead can be found in the bay's streams and rivers.

I arrived at Hidden Basin in early August along with Brigman's 22-yearold son, Brian, and his friend Orlando Gonzales. My sights were set on early silvers but Dollys and rainbow trout were all Brian and Orlando could talk about as we waited in the lobby of Andrew Air in Kodiak. It was a spectacularly clear day for the 20-minute flight and our pilot, Dean Andrew, took advantage of the conditions, circling and dipping among the rugged mountains above Ugak Bay to point out bands of mountain goats and sapphire lakes glittering among the barren crags.

Nick and Theresa were waiting when the plane splashed down at the lodge. Once our gear was stashed, they showed me around the multilevel spruce building, Nick's enthusiasm peaked when we stepped out on the deck and he gestured toward the basin.

"The way I look at this place, it's a gift," said Brigman. "Not for the guests, but for me. As long as I keep that in mind, I figure we'll do well."

It was foggy the next morning when we set out for an unnamed stream on the southern arm of Ugak Bay. Brigman guided the open aluminum skiff through the gap and poked along the coast he has come to know over the past dozen years. A half-hour later we were anchoring in a tidal estuary near a small stream that tumbled out of a stand of cottonwoods and alders. Above the trees the land rose abruptly and a narrow ravine cut the hillside, marking the stream's course and our path for the day.

We followed a trail marked with big paw prints and salmon- and berry-rich bear scat along the lower creek until we reached a pool filled with shadowy shapes hovering near the bottom. Brian and Orlando never took their eyes off the water as they flicked their fly rod tips and began stripping line. But lodge guest Steve Shepherd beat them to the cast when he plunked an orange egg pattern pixie into the far end of the pool and began a slow retrieve.

As we moved upstream through a steep-side ravine lined with mountain ash, devil's club and cow parsnip, the canyon narrowed and the fog turned to drizzle. In some places the stream wrapped around tall boulders, forcing us to wade through hip-deep water with our faces to the rocks, clutching cracks and divots for leverage against the current.

We spread out where we could, wading up boulder-strewn runs of white water and hooking Dollys as large as 16 inches in the deep-blue plunge pools that punctuated falling water. Brigman, along with guides Mike Sikora and Jeff Becker, pushed ahead while the rest of us moved more slowly. It was tough going but the promise of even better fishing and more striking scenery kept us motivated. Our climb ended at a long pool with a tall cliff rising above its upper end. Brigman had scaled it and was perched on top, trying to direct Brian and Orlando toward a large Dolly by yelling above the din of cascading water. I joined him at the top of the rock. Soaked by rain and sweat he turned to me, smiled and said, "This isn't for everybody, but the reward is worth the effort."

Brian and Orlando each caught 30 fish on fly gear, "I went from beads, to nymphs to dry flies," Orlando said, "but the beads worked the best." Shepherd said he'd lost count of the fish he'd reeled in on his spinning gear.

Early the next morning we were skimming east across Ugak Bay under overcast skies heading toward the Saltery River where Brian, Orlando and I would make the 45-minute hike to the headwaters and then walk the riverbed back to saltwater. Within an hour, all three of us hooked large red salmon even though we could see just a handful of them among the legions of pink salmon moving inexorably upstream.

With three nice reds filleted and bagged, we switched to egg patterns on strike indicators and targeted Dollys and trout in the long, unriffled runs and deep water beneath cutbanks and overhangs. The egg pattern was effective but the strike indicator made the difference. It took me most of the day to learn the difference between a true strike and a bob caused by the moving water.

My companions had no such learning curve and bantered with each other as they reeled in small rainbows and Dollys up to 20 inches. "These rainbows must be wondering how I can be so lethal," Brian called out. Orlando just laughed.

Time Out for Naps

Saltwater silvers were our quarry on day three. Brigman's longtime guide, Roy Lesher, rigged our gear as we headed toward the mouth of Ugak Bay after dropping Brian and Orlando back at the Saltery. The wind blew ragged holes in the low clouds and pushed 6- to 8foot rollers into the bay. We dropped the downriggers but had no luck. At Gull Point, we peeked into the Gulf of Alaska, saw nothing but big seas stacked up to the horizon and turned back to look for calmer water.

Crossing back to the north side of the bay we slipped into a saltwater marsh at the head of Portage Bay, dropped anchor and walked inland with our fly rods, intending to eat lunch and then cast for red salmon. I'd almost forgotten that Eddie, Nick's teacup poodle, had been with us the whole time, nestled in Roy's coat. he shared our lunches and stayed behind when Roy went off to fish and Nick and I stretched out on the grass for a nap. When I awoke, Eddie was sitting on my chest, apparently taking advantage of the added elevation to enjoy the scenery.

Each night we dined on fresh salmon, halibut or crab taken from a pot just a few hundred feet in front of the lodge. Showers were available but the sauna-known locally as a banyawas lit each night and the hot steam became something to look forward to after long days in the wind and weather. The guest rooms were spacious but spartan. When we weren't fishing or sleeping, we were usually in the great room lounging on the couches and comfortable chairs discussing the day's events or perusing the books and magazines kept on hand.

I had planned to stay only three days and Brigman had worked hard to show me as much as he could in that time. At the end of the third day I was tired, but he reminded me that not all his clients wanted to maintain such a strenuous pace.

"I want clients who aren't in a hurry, who are out here to enjoy the resource, not to catch their limit," he said. "I don't mix groups. If J get a group of four, I'll stop. If I have six, that's great, if I have eight, you better know each other. When you're paying that kind of money, you shouldn't have to compromise. My goal is that when the plane comes you don't want to get on."

The weather closed in the next morning, making flying impossible. I welcomed the rest and lounged around for a good part of the day. Only when it was clear that the plane would not be returning did a couple of us skiff across the basin to try our luck in Hidden Basin Creek and explore a cave that Brigman had discovered several years earlier.

It seemed that there was a never-ending list of activities if one had the time to pursue them. I still hadn't seen any silver salmon, and wondered if I'd have another opportunity to catch a few. I lived on Kodiak for several years in the late '80s and early '90s, and saw the weather close in for weeks at a time. I began to picture the basin in autumn when the landscape turned from green to gold, and in winter when snow dusted the beaches and hills and lay thick on the high mountaintops.

"I don't have to leave the basin for duck hunting," Brigman had told me, "and deer come right down on the beach." And there were still many places he had yet to explore, "That was the first time we'd ever been up to that pool," he said referring to our jaunt up the unnamed creek. "I'm sure there are a lot of other places like that. I just haven't found them yet."

ANDY HALL is editor of ALASKA magazine.