Coffee Point – the end of the world

Coffee Point isn’t the kind of place you stumble upon. This remote stretch of beach in Southwest Alaska feels like the end of the earth. Off-season, the only “locals” are bears and wolves roaming the tundra. In summer, that changes — small fishing boats appear, crewed by families like Tony Neal’s, who come to catch wild sockeye salmon.

Luuk’s journey starts at Amsterdam Airport Schiphol. From there he flies via Minneapolis to Anchorage — and then on to King Salmon, a fishing village where time seems to stand still. For nine months of the year, nothing happens. But when salmon season approaches, the place comes alive. Fishing for salmon in Alaska is a centuries-old tradition. Along the many rivers, small “fish camps” spring up — where people gather to eat salmon, meet up, and teach the next generation about this traditional way of fishing. King Salmon is an important hub; from there, fishermen travel on to even more remote areas where the real work begins.

“Luuk! Luuk de Haan!” a woman calls out in a thick American accent at the makeshift baggage claim in King Salmon Airport. Luuk knows he’s in the right place. His bag goes into the hold of a Piper — a tiny plane that’s more like a van with wings. In Alaska, that’s just how you travel.

When the pilot asks who wants to sit up front, Luuk’s hand shoots up first. Shoulder to shoulder with Pat the Pilot, he flies for half an hour over the endless tundra. They spot bears, a moose — and finally, below them, a narrow strip of beach: Coffee Point. No runway, no asphalt — Pat just lands right on the sand. Alaska-style.

Fishcamps

Along Alaska’s rugged coasts and wide rivers, traditional fish camps pop up every summer. Families, fishermen, and curious kids all come together — learning how their (great-)grandparents have fished for generations. It’s where salmon is shared, stories are told, and traditions stay alive.

Luuk arrives at his fish camp: a handful of old shipping containers converted into living spaces. A shared kitchen where hot meals are cooked three times a day. And the toilet? Outside, of course — a classic outhouse. There’s no running water, so the camp hauls crystal-clear ice-cold water from the nearby permafrost.

Since the nearest grocery store is hundreds of miles away, everything is stocked up ahead of time. Tony’s daughter and granddaughter handle all the supplies — food for two months. From coffee and rice to canned soup and vegetables, everything is packed, flown in, and stored cold. The only thing that’s truly fresh? Wild sockeye salmon, straight from the water.

The start of the season

In Alaska, nature decides when fishing begins. There’s no set calendar saying “the season starts now.” All summer long, the state carefully monitors how many salmon swim upriver to spawn. Only when enough fish have entered the river to sustain the population does the green light turn on. Sometimes that means no fishing for weeks; other times, only a few days at a time — it varies by river, by day.

This strict management keeps salmon stocks strong and allows traditional fisheries to survive. Thanks to this stewardship and fair fishing practices, Alaska’s wild sockeye salmon is MSC-certified — a global example of how sustainability and tradition can go hand in hand.

While waiting for the season to open, Luuk helps Tony and the crew with whatever needs doing: getting quads ready, sorting nets, keeping the camp running. His roommate, Lyle, shows him how things really work in Alaska. And then, on June 16, the signal comes through: fishing is open.

With small boats, they head out to sea to set their “set nets” — standing nets anchored in spots where the salmon pass by. Every fishing area is strictly regulated; without an official permit, you can’t catch a single fish here.

Luuk's first wild salmon

While the crew sets the nets, Tony keeps watch from his lookout. From his cabin overlooking the sea, armed with two massive binoculars, he monitors the nets. Wild salmon fishing is a passive method — you wait for the fish to swim into the net on their own. No chasing involved. Tony doesn’t have to wait long.

The crew jumps into action. They head out in small boats, hauling the salmon out of the nets by hand, one by one. Luuk lands his very first salmon — a moment he won’t soon forget. The fish goes straight on ice — it doesn’t get fresher than that.

Rain or shine: The fishing goed on

In Alaska there’s one rule: the weather doesn’t decide if you fish — only how you fish. Rain, wind, cold — it’s all part of it. Darkness barely falls this time of year, throwing day and night completely off balance. Between fishing sessions, there’s room for jokes, bets, and a bit of downtime. Luuk plays cards with the crew, helps with repairs, and — after losing a bet — walks around for days sporting a black-painted mustache.

Fish Tales & the Neal family

At Fish Tales, we don’t just work with any fishermen. We choose our partners carefully — people who fish with heart, soul, and courage. Families like the Neals are exactly that.

For generations, they’ve braved wind, cold, and waves on the same stretch of coast: the legendary Coffee Point. Not a big industrial operation, but one built on dedication and care. Tony, his wife, children, and grandchildren do everything themselves — from setting the nets to cleaning the fish. For Luuk, being part of that for six weeks — eating, working, laughing, and living within such a close-knit community — left a deep impression. And when we asked if he’d go back next year?

“Oh yeah, absolutely!”

Want to know more about Coffee Point & the Neal family? Check out the fishery page.