In Praise of the Smooshed Sandwich

My wife and I were upstream wading the Russian River, a tributary of the Kenai River in Southcentral Alaska. We were among the small crowd of fishermen loitering on the banks, not catching sockeye salmon during the first of the river’s two runs. We hiked past the power line where it crosses the river, a landmark where most fishermen turn around and fish their way back to camp. The canyon walls rise here, the trail narrows. The rocks are sharp and the footing unsteady.

We found a flat rock where we could sit and eat lunch. Fishing can be a spectator sport and we settled in to watch. A few fishermen flossed the water, coming up empty. A black bear sow and her cub ambled down the steep incline on the opposite shore, snagged a salmon carcass, and galloped back uphill through dense alders. We marveled at the speed of her ascent that erased all confidence we could ever outrun a bear, even under the influence of adrenaline.

I pulled our lunches from the bottom of my rucksack. As I handed my wife hers, she said, “There’s nothing better than fishing and eating smooshed sandwiches.” Sometimes revelations strike at strange times. Smooshed sandwiches, indeed.

These were simple concoctions, 10-grain wheat bread layered with pressed deli ham and a square of Tillamook cheese, mayo oozing out the edges. The sandwiches, now half their original thickness, lay beneath raincoats, a camera, a tackle box jammed with Russian River flies, and a fistful of one-ounce, lead sinkers.

When I opened the bag, the aroma reminded me of eating lunch at my desk in elementary school. Everyone’s sandwiches were mom-made, spread with gobs of peanut butter, or layered with bologna and American cheese stacked on Wonder Bread, yeasty, soft, and gooshy. We washed lunch down with a half-pint of milk that cost a dime, made better on the rare and joyous occasion the milk ladies offered the option of chocolate. Yes, please.

Our lunch of smooshed sandwiches on the Russian River was a convergence of all things good—living in Alaska, wandering this stream together, Alaskans and visitors alike—overjoyed to be fishing, whether or not they were catching fish.

On other fishing expeditions I’ve packed foot-long Subway sandwiches and even a few jumbo Snickers bars, sweet and half melted. Convenience is a beautiful thing, especially during that last minute crush as you review your equipment checklist. But nothing store bought matches the homemade smooshed sandwiches and the memories they evoke. If you can tie your own flies, you can make your own sandwiches.