Catch as catch can

Some weeks are more crazy than others during the fishing season and this week is no.....shit, how does that phrase go?  Exception.  This week is no exception.  The grind of fishing has begun, along with that comes sleep deprivation and that 1000 yard stare.  I got both, I'm sure of it and, like I said, the grind has only started.  The worse is yet to come.  I stared at the computer screen for a good 2 minutes before I could remember what I was doing here.  Then I deleted the first 3 or 4 attempts at this week's blog.  Think I better just post some pix and shut up!  So, here goes.

Morning set at Egg Island

The tender anchorage at Egg

my view when we are running

The whistler, marking can at Egg Island.  Doe that can have a permit?

Das net, you can see a fish!

Sunset

Boat running south

Thea running east.  Go get 'em Thea!

crowded fishing grounds

Hey, its me.   Is it red right return or green right return?

Tenders at Whitsed buying fish

Fishin' the color change

The Cost of Fish

I started thinking of what to write about a few days ago when we were getting tossed around the Copper River Flats as it was blowing westerly, which makes for a lumpy ride.  I kicked around a few ideas in my head, jotted down some notes, as I frequently do.   And, as often the case, I started with one idea, then it took a life of its own and turned into something that I didn’t see coming.

What spurred this post was hearing buddy recall his weekend on the VHF radio.  He had gone out to eat at the Reluctant Fisherman, a restaurant here in Cordova, just to enjoy a nice meal.  But half way through his halibut he started getting pissed.

There were a couple of gentlemen at the table next to him lamenting that over the high price of fish, practically insulting fisherman. Typically a bad thing to do in a fishing town, but lucky for them my buddy isn’t the head-butting kind of fisherman.  He just quietly stewed as they went on and on about how expensive fish is, especially, compared to beef. 

I laid in my bunk that evening wondering if you could compare fish to beef.  Yeah, sure, farming is somewhat similar to fishing in that it is seasonal, dependent upon the weather and markets, guys are independently employed and the like.  Farmers, like fishermen, rely on their equipment to make their harvest, but, one difference I thought of at this point is while their ground remains mostly still, ours, the ocean, is ever in constant motion, bucking and surging.

Farming can be dangerous, growing up on one, I know this.  I knew a guy who lost his arm to an auger, another one got smashed when his tractor tipped over on him, my own Dad once kicked a pig and broke his toe (long story).   So yes, there are some similarities with farming and fishing, but still,  I’m not really sure you can compare the cost of beef to salmon. 

In a fisherman’s defense, let me just say a little about our costs.  For starters, if you wanted to buy into the gillnet fishery here on the Copper River, a permit would cost you about $180,000.  A boat would run you, oh, depends what you get, but anywhere from I’d say $75,000 to $150,000 to get a decent starter boat.  $300K + to have one built.  Then you need a net, $5,000 for that.  Hope you don’t need to replace it. Or an engine.  Or a jet or outdrive.  Fuel is around $5.00 a gallon, you need that.  Plus boat insurance, raingear, something to eat, to name a few.

Then there are other costs too, unforeseen costs, like, for example my buddy Dennis, who put a gaff hook through his foot by accidentally stepping on it.  Went right through.  Woke up in the morning, out on the fishing grounds, with that dreaded red line running up your leg, tell tale sign of blood poisoning.  Better get to hospital before that hits your heart. He was out a few fishing periods but is better now.  Though Dennis had another scare last opener when he broke down near the breakers.  The tender Saturn, a beautiful old 80’ wooden boat came to the rescue to tow him out. But somehow, as the towline went out from the Saturn to the Hang Fire, Dennis’ boat, the deckhand on the Saturn got caught in the bight of the line.  She went over with the towrope.  Into the 48 degrees ocean near the breakers.  Lucky for her, it wasn’t still blowing 40 knots at the time.  The wind was clocking around and was blowing about 10 out of the west, with 2-4 foot seas.

Dennis threw her a life ring, but missed.  She was able to reach the towline and walk her self up it, hand over hand.  Ralph, the skipper of the Saturn, ran to the stern to grab her and help her aboard.  He got there, clutched her jacket and yelled at the crew to take the boat out of gear. 

By this point, we heard something was going on and tuned into the VHF channel everyone listens to on the grounds, channel 6.  Just then we heard Dennis scream over the radio “Goddammit, she can’t hang on much longer!”  There was sheer panic in his voice.

Just then, the gal fell back into the water.  Turns out, the crew inadvertently hit the wrong lever and instead of pulling the boat out of gear, push the throttle forward to wide open.  Neither Ralph nor the gal could hold on and she fell back into the water.  She went under a few minutes this time and no one could see her.  She ended up travelling under water under the Hang Fire and popped up about 150 feet away.  Luckily, Dave on the Rocky Point had heard the commotion and started to run over there.   When she came up, he as able to scoop her up out of the water and bring her aboard his boat.  Though I’m sure a little banged up and shaken up, I heard the gal is OK.

So I got to thinking, how do you figure that into the price of fish?

A few weeks ago the tender St. Joseph with a crew of 5 was crossing the Gulf of Alaska coming up from the Seattle area to Cordova to work the season.  In 20-foot seas the boat lost it’s steering and the crew had to abandon ship.   They had made the MAYDAY call with enough time for the Coast Guard chopper to come get them and bring them safely to town.  The boat though, washed up on shore some 80 miles southeast of here and is breaking apart with each wave.  The weather has been too severe to make a safe rescue of the ship.

How do you figure that into the cost of fish?

A few months ago, fellow fisherman and blogger Tele Aadsen who write Hooked (www.nerkasalmon.wordpress.com) posted an old article from the Portland Oregonian in one of her blog posts entitled the “the Price of Fish”.  I copied it here for you. 

The Price of Fish

“The deep sea fishing boat ‘Republic’ will never sail out for the tuna again, nor for the salmon – out of Astoria into the green swells from westward. Part of her bow has drifted ashore near Long Beach, and some of the forward deck – and where the hulk of her is, only the sea can tell. Her last port of call was the storm. And the fishermen who sailed her, and looked to her fishing gear, and harvested the sea? Where are they? Perhaps the gulls know, or the cormorants. Only this seems certain – that they and their boat will fish no more.

You walk through the market and glance at the fish stalls heaped with limp silver. Only a day or so ago these fish, most of them, were out where ‘the low sky mates with the sea.’ Now they bear price tags. Even fish, so we say, is high priced. That is true. Fish are high priced – and the least of the price is reckoned in coin.

Men who would rather fish at sea than work ashore sail out on the fishing boats to seek and follow the fish. It is a glad, hard life, and they love it well – but they stake their lives on the catch. It isn’t often that the boats don’t come back to port, for their oil-skinned skippers and crews to shout to their friends on the dock with word of their luck – but sometimes they don’t. The ‘Republic’ was one that didn’t. And how are you going to figure that into the price of a pound of fish?”


Good question, how do you factor men’s lives into the price of fish?

When we were out on this last one, we heard about the tragedy on the Northern Mariner, a boat that was making a long-line trip for halibut out of Cordova.  Among the crew was a young man of 34, Sean Johnson, on board.  I don’t know the whole story,  but sometime during the trip Sean had hit his head.  He complained of a headache and went below to sleep it off in his bunk.  When the crew tried to wake him a few hours later for his wheel watch, he was dead. 

Again, how do you figure that into the price of fish?  


My heart goes out to the friends, family, and loved ones of Sean Johnson and to all of those he left on shore.   The season's over, its time to go home.

I drove through the Yukon and all I got was this lousy metal shard in my tire

Metal shard in my tire

 Lucky for me, I stopped and got it fixed before I had a flat tire in the middle of the Yukon in the middle of the near blizzard I was driving in.  But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

The Yukon, near the AK border, May 7, 2012

Fishing season is upon us!  It starts next week actually, we got a 12 hour opener May 17th for the Copper River.  Fish on!  The fish buzz is in the air as we all gear up for yet another season.

It was time to make my way back up to Alaska after visiting family in Ohio.  I packed up the car and headed north.  Well, west first, around Chicago then north. 

I entered Canada from North Dakota, drove across the plains with their lovely old wooden grain elevators and their old farm equipment turned into statues and endless fields.  And, of course, their larger than life statues of Paul Bunyan and a disturbingly large beaver statue about 25 feet tall.

Once I hit Edmonton, the road goes more north again and skirts the mountains.  The landscape become more rustic along with the buildings.

Camp ground in Fort Nelson where it costs $37.00 to pitch a tent.  Showers are extra.

Who knew they even allowed guns in Canada

Rustic justice. 

 I also saw a picture of a revolver that said "we don't call 911". 

 Soon, if you are not shot first, you are passing more wildlife of the roads than cars.

Stone Sheep in BC & Yukon

Caribou, aka Boo

Stone sheep 

Ewe

Wild bison littered along the highway

Boo

Moo

Little black bear in the Yukon

More boo outside my window

In between dodging wild animals on the road, snow storms and metal shards, I did get to enjoy some local R&R at Liard Hot Springs in BC and local sign post forests like this one outside of Whitehorse.

Sign Post Forest of the Yukon

Liard Hot Springs

Some of the drive was just breath-taking, like this lake the just disappears into the mountains and the road, that goes right through it.

BC

After 4000 miles and about 8 straight days of driving, I made it to Alaska.  Ah, it was good to be home where there are glaciers along the side of the road.  And planes parked at rest stops, also along side of the road.  How did it get there?

plane parked on turn-out along the Glenn Highway

Matanuska glacier

Tune in next week to hear all about the Copper River's first opener of the season.

Until then, eat fish, live longer.

Trailer Turned Submarine: Part II

Howard could be found each morning having breakfast at the CoHo until 7:30 AM.   We caught him just as he was leaving.  Howard owned the one and only boom truck in Cordova and he was pushing 80 years old the summer this all happened.  Howard always dressed as a logger, wearing Carhart jeans with buttons for suspenders, suspenders and a wool vest.  He was a cheerful man, had a smile for everyone but was a deaf as a door-knob. 

I told him that while trying to haul my boat out,  my trailer unattached itself from the truck and went in the drink. 

“Did the truck go too?” he inquired, sounding a little like Mr. Magoo.  

“Naw, the truck stayed dry, just the boat and trailer went in.” 

“That’s good, I’ve seen the truck go too.  Salt water ain’t too good for those trucks, ya know”

“Yeah, I suppose not.”

“Well, I can’t do nothing for a few hours, til tide goes out.   How’s ‘bout I meet you down there at 11 AM?”

“Sounds good.  Thanks Howard!”

11 AM sharp Howard comes around the corner with his boom truck.  The same time the NAPA BBQ started.   The same  NAPA BBQ that the whole town shows up for.  Well, I guess that day they got more than they bargained for, they got a free show.  Nothing like have the whole town witness your mistakes. 

Howard backs his boom truck down to the bottom of the ramp where the cement is slick with moss and salt water slime.   And since Howard has a commercial truck, it beeps the whole way down the ramp grabbing everyone’s attention incase they didn’t notice the big truck in the first place.  I was standing on the dock, mortified.  At low tide the trailer is mostly out of the water but not close enough to the ramp that a pick-up would be able to back up to it without going in.

Howard got the truck into positions, set the feet, and stabilized it.   By now, there is a line of by standers, all munching on hotdogs, lined up along the water’s edge for the show.  Howard reaches out with his boom and hooks the trailer.  His truck picks up my several thousand pound trailer like it’s a Tonka Toy and proceeds to raise it a good thirty feet into the air for everyone to see.

I hear from somewhere in the crowd “Hey Pickett!  That your trailer?”  I nod.  “Truck go in, too?”  I shake my head.  Everybody seems to be asking me that today.

Howard seem to hold my trailer up in the air for an eternity, giving the towns folk their money worth, I suppose.  If it were possible for a person to die of embarrassment, I would have.  Willingly.  After Howard was certain everyone at the BBQ was entertained, he put my trailer down on dry land where Lenny came with the pick-up.  “Better let me hook it up this time”

Though thoroughly embarrassed, I was grateful for Howard and his boom truck.  I don’t know how else I would have gotten my trailer out of the harbor.  I asked how much I owed him, figuring my bill would be anywhere from $100-$200 bucks.  Howard smiled and said “A cup of coffee, if you argue, it’ll be two.” 

In memory of Gloria Clarke

And

Howard Johnson

Happy Friday the 13th!

This is a contradiction, isn’t it?  What’s so happy about a day that is cursed with bad luck?  Well, I beats me.  I was just trying to be optimistic.  

Vince doesn’t believe in bad luck and thinks these superstitions, like the ones I mentioned in last week’s blog, are hogwash.  Then Vince accidentally kicked his shower kit and broke a mirror; 7 years bad luck.  That same day, he broke his toe (possible the same one he kicked the mirror with).  How can he still claim that superstitions are hogwash?  I don’t know either.  

We are sailing down the east coast this winter, trying to get to the Bahamas.  Currently, we are stuck in Stuart, Florida.  It’s a nice enough town and all.  Folks are real friendly and helpful, the marina is very nice, but the water is cold and brackish and we want to go snorkeling.  We planned to come here for a week or two to get some work done on the boat then keep heading south.  That was a month ago.  And we still don’t know when we are going to be able to leave.  We just keep getting held up, we wait for parts, we fix one thing, another thing breaks, then the weather turns, etc.  You name it.   It looks like the wait is finally coming to an end and we should be able to leave here in the next day or so.  But, despite how badly I want to get going again, we can’t leave port on Friday.  I won’t do it.  Especially, Friday the 13^th.  We can go as late as 11:59 on Thursday or as soon as 12:01 on Saturday.  But. Not. On. Friday.  Do you know what boat left of Friday and sunk?  Yup.  The Titanic. 

Which brings me back to why fishermen are so superstitious.  My theory is this.  Commercial fishing is unpredictable at best.  There’s no real denying that.  So, you are careful as can be, then just hope for the best.  And while a lot of being successful has to do with skill, a lot also had to do with dumb luck.  See, there it is again.

I mean, sometimes, your net is just in the right place at the right time.  And you load up, for no reason that you can reasonably take credit for. I over slept one morning, my ass dragging behind me.  I stumbled down to the docks, got aboard my boat and ran out to the fishing grounds, late.  The beach was crowed, as it usually is 10 minutes before an opener, so I kept running east to get on the other side of the fleet.  I stopped when no one else was to the east of me.  I thought, this is ridiculous, I’ll never catch anything out here.  But, the opener had started and if I’ve only learned one thing from fishing, it’s that if you net is not in the water, you don’t catch anything.  So I set my gear.  I had 300 my first set (which is a really good set!)  Dumb luck.  It doesn’t take skill to be lazy and over sleep. 

Which brings me to my other point.  There is just so much about fishing that is out of our control.  I mean, you get yourself a good boat, the best you can afford, take care of it, get yourself some nets, some fowl weather gear, a survival suit, and the rest is up to chance.  The weather is out of your control, so are tides, tsunamis, other boats, and the amount of fish you catch.  All these things can and have sunk boats.   Men have died on perfectly calm, blue bird days. 

Its only human nature to try to control something, anything, when we have no control over what happens to us.  So we don’t whistle on board or we’ll whistle up a storm.   

Good luck!

The first time I ran over my net, Part I.

I ran over my net the first time on a nice sunny blue bird day.  There was not a puff of wind or a cloud in the sky.  The visibility was perfect, the water crystal clear. 

I was gillnetting for salmon on my 28’ bowpicker, the King-N-I, over in Main Bay in the Prince William Sound.  Its truly beautiful there with blue water enveloped green old growth evergreen trees and glaciers.  Marine mammals play in the water below while Bald eagles play in the sky above.  Fisherman look down into the water at their nets  and see the whole thing almost all 30 feet, all the way to the leadline at the bottom.   Fisherman can also see each gorgeous shiny salmon that is caught in the net.  It looks like a glowing flash of silver suspended in the water.  Its one of the reasons I love fishing in the Sound.  I love to run my net and look down at all the pretty salmon. 

I like to count them as I go.  Gillnetters always count salmon as they get caught in the net.   Each set, one, two, three………..one hundred and forty five.  One hundred and forty……..where was I?  One hundred and sixty?  That sounds good.  One hundred and sixty one……See, we don’t mean to exaggerate every catch, it just happens. 

Anyhow, I like to count the salmon I catch.  Then I run inside and grab my calculator.  I take the average weight of the species of salmon I’m catching (reds = 6lbs, chums = 8 lbs, silvers = 10-12 lbs, etc)  Today, I’m catching reds.  So I take the six pound average, multiply by how many I caught and multiply that number by the price I am getting.  The price varies throughout the season and sometimes, isn’t even known.   It can go up during a fishing period.  Sometimes it isn’t even announced until well into the period.  But, I make a guess.  I like the instant gratification of knowing how much money I’m making.

I was running my net and looking at all the pretty fish in it.  All the sudden, my boat stopped.  Engine died.  “What the hell!?” I wondered aloud.  I ran inside and heaved up my engine hatch to look at my engine.  I think funny that I do this because even if something is broken, everything usually looks fine in the engine room.  But, it’s my reaction non the less.  I try to start my boat, nothing.  My gauges work, so I know it’s not the alternator, but, at this point, it's all I know.   I’m dead in the water.  And, of course, I start drifting over my gear.  

I call Lenny on the radio.  “My boat just stopped” I explain.  “It won’t start”.  He starts with a list of questions  “Do you have fuel?” “I should, let me check”, I retort.  At this time I have to open my drawer and scrounge around for my fuel key.  I find it and flip up my rug.  Dried fish scales scatter like confetti.   I insert the brass key, greenish with age and give it a twist.  I then grab my yard stick  I use as a fuel gauge since mine doesn’t work.  It has old magic marker marks marking various stages of fuel.  Top on is full, but I never fill it up.  Why push around all that diesel?  Then there are two or three that measure empty.  I pull out the homemade dipstick and the wet diesel line is about 5 inches above empty, which means I don’t know how much fuel I have but I know I have enough. So a task that should take .2 seconds takes me several minutes.  And after all that, I still don’t know exactly how much fuel I have, I just know I have enough.  Nevertheless, that’s not the issue.  I have fuel.

Lenny calls me back on the radio to ask what I was doing when the engine stopped.  I reply “I was running my net and it just stopped.  There are a few fish in there, too.”   He then asks the next reasonable question “Did you run your net over?” “NO! Of course not! I was a good five feet away from the cork line.”  “Well………..your net bellows out under the water depending on current and if it’s touching bottom or not.  It sounds like you ran over your net.”  My buddy suggests.  “Shit” I retort to myself, no need to push the mike and announce that on the radio, I’m content just swear to myself.

That’s all the time we have for today, folks.  Tune in next week for the rest of the story.

I’m out.  

P.O.C.?

You've heard of P.O.W., right?  Prisoner of Whittier.  A term used when you could only leave Whittier once a week by throwing your car on the train.  This was back in the day, about 10 years ago, of driver licenses valid without photo because Whittier didn't have a camera.  But, now days, you can drive though that tunnel and into Whittier any old time you want, between the hours of 6 AM and 10 PM.
Cordova, on the other hand, you cannot drive to any old time you want. Or, anytime for that matter. Not only does our 52 mile of road not connect anywhere, but currently, there is a bridge out at 36 mile and is as far as you can go.  No, we rely on plane or ferry to escape.
We have this new fast ferry, and she's a beaut.  Will take you to the other side of the Sound at 37 knots in 3 hours.  But, she has these nice weather limits.  Weather usually isn't nice this time of year.  She didn't run for three days last week leaving folk stuck on both sides.  Waiting to get in and waiting to get out.  Shops were closed or had shortened hours.  The hair dresser didn't make it back and I had to run around town with my uneven hair cut for one more week (but that, really, is neither here nor there)
My own ferry escape was all planned for Wednesday, Sept 21.  Monday's forecast was for a 50 knot blow.
I spend the weekend schlepping my shit through rain and wind, packing up the truck.  Sunday gave me a break in the weather and made it hard to believe it was to blow 50 the next day.  But, blow it did.  Gusts to 65, actually.  Rain.  Wind.  Repeat.
It was supposed to come down on Tuesday and be blue birds by Wednesday, escape day. I finished packing in the rain.  Nothing like packing wet bags and boxes for a 4000  mile road trip.
Then the rain really came down. I mean, it didn't just rain cats and dogs, it rained elephants and hippos.  The cap on my truck started to leak.  Now my wet stuff was getting even wetter.  Nothing like starting a 4000 miles road trip with a cap that leaks.
And it blew. All day Tuesday and all night Tuesday.
The wind woke me up about 3 Am. It sounded like a freight trian coming through the cabin.  A freight train that was going to take the roof right off!  As I lay awake in bed, I kept thinking that I needed to get back to sleep.  I start my 4000 mile road trip from Cordova, Ak to Ohio tomorrow.  Then the other part of my kept thinking, I can lay awake here all night and it doesn't matter.  There is no way the ferry is going to leave.  Then it would calm down and get real quiet.  I'd think, maybe I can leave tomorrow.  It's been quiet for about 20 minutes now.  Blamo, the freight train would come back.
5:45 AM.  My alarm goes off.  I have  a few more things to do, like finish this blog and a few more things to gather up, like my cat, Hunter.  I find outmy fate, whether I can leave today or not, in 15 minutes when the ferry terminal opens up. Wish me luck!

Oh Come on Irene....

Oh, come on Irene

I swear on my knees

At this moment

You mean everything to me.

Does anyone else think of this song when they read about the hurricane that is about to blast the east coast? Or is it just me?

Maybe it’s because she does mean everything thing to me. 

Fall.  Fall is a dangerous time of year according to Guido.  (For those of you readers not in Alaska, August is very much considered fall).  Fall is dangerous because you are just coming off the huge surf of energy, adrenaline, high emotions, and downright craziness of fishing.

For me, I’ve been working my butt off since April.  Actually since February.  That’s when I started gearing up to come over here to Cordova from Anchorage.  Getting rid of things I don’t need, cleaning and renting out my condo, packing, buying and fixing up, then selling and buying another camper to live in (see blog post: http://bit.ly/qkQfQp), provisioning for the 5 months I’ll be here, etc. On arrival to Cordova, I hit the ground running.  Vince and I got the camper set up then I started work.  Between crewing on a gillnetter and mending gear, I was putting in over 100 hours a week those first few months.  Now that things have (finally) slowed down, I have a chance to think about my fall plans.  After coming off all these pent up emotions from the summer, one might wonder if it’s really a good time to be making plans?  Hence the danger. 

Well, probably not.  But I did anyway.  My plan of fleeing to nice weather is the only thing keeping me going during this dreary 3 week stretch of 53 degree temperatures and rain.  There are as follows.  

Come September 9-11 I’ll be performing at the Kenai Fisher Poets Gathering in Kenai, AK.  After that I’m back in Cordova for a few weeks to pack up, etc.  Then I’m arranging my escape late September.  The plan is to pack up the cat and drive down the ALCAN highway to Ohio, hitting hot springs along the way of the 4000 mile journey. I’ll visit the family in Ohio, meet up with Vince and drive south to his beautiful new sail boat the Flight Plan,  a Seawind 1000. 

A Seawind 1000 catamaran

She's a 33’ cat that we plan on sailing south to Florida and the Bahamas for the winter.  It is currently on dry dock in a historically safe place that is supposed to be north of the hurricane zone, in North Carolina.  Yes, North Carolina!  Right in the path of Irene.  The boat is up river somewhere some 20 miles from the coast.  Hope hope hope hopefully, it will survive this weekend.  Hopefully everything and everybody survives this weekend. 

I see that Irene is losing speed, even if ever so slightly. We’ve done what we can, took the sails off, all the rigging we could. Now we just wait and wish for the best.

Wish us luck. 

1st Copper River Opener of 2011!

This is a PSA.  Due to technical difficulties (my blog host was down yesterday) this blog is a day late and a dollar short.  Must be a Friday the 13th thang.  My apologies for any inconvenience.  With that said, let's get started.

It's here!! It's here! It's almost here!  The 1st commercial fishing opener is Monday, May 16th at 7:00 AM!  The whole town is a buzz.  Everyone is scurrying around (or running around like a chicken with it's head cut off, depends how you look at it) gearing up for the season.  Last minute things like fixing broken valves on hydro's, repairing nets,  attaching out-drives, launching boats, or, simply even just arriving town. It's all gotta get done.  It seems every year this date sneaks up on us and there is never enough time to pull it all together. But, we usually all manage anyway and usually make it out there on Monday.  Though I already heard of two guys that just aren't going to make it.  One guy, his boat sat for a few years before he bought it.  A unused boat is not a good thing.  Things seize up, rust, break, etc.  In his case, I think it's a prudent move to wait.  The Copper River Flats is no place for a shake down cruise to find faulty equipment.  It's too dangerous for that type of thing.  But, I digress.  The other guy, and this has got to be frustrating, a store clerk dropped the ball on ordering his part and that delayed its arrival by 5 days..........so he'll miss the opener.  Sometime, its just not up to us.  Me?  I'll be heading out on this one.  It will be nice to get out on the water again.  I ran my raingear and survival suit down to the boat yesterday.  A strange familiarity came back the instant I stepped aboard.  I'll go fish and report back next week.

A good place to keep up with the excitement is Copper River Salmon on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/CopperRiverSalmon. They even have a count down 'til the opener.  If you want to keep up with the official news you can check out the Alaska Department of Fish and Game (ADF&G) at http://www.adfg.alaska.gov/index.cfm?adfg=commercialbyareacopperriver.salmon.  More info here: http://aprn.org/2011/05/12/first-salmon-opening-of-the-year-starts-monday/.  And, if you are looking for ways to cook your fresh Copper River Salmon, check out this site.  I think the King Salmon with Lemon Caper Butter looks divine.   http://start.tastespotting.com/tag/wild+salmon.


The sun is shining here in Cordova for three whole days now The sunrise is 5:17 and sunset is 10:37 giving us tons of daylight (sorry to make you do your own math there, it's about 17+ hours of day). And...........SHOREBIRDS!  Shorebirds are here.  These little critters land here every year on their migration from some place like Chili to the Arctic Circle.  I think its the longest migration on earth.  Anywho, they land out at Hartney Bay and gobble up some bugs before taking off again.  I was lucky to catch them on a nice evening and got a few pics.

Shorebirds at Hartney Bay

Shorebirds

Until next week, eat fish!!

Cordova Update

A few photos of my view from the camp ground and around.

Queen's Chair, the view from my trailer

Inside Large Marge the Land Barge (aka my camper)

Otters in Orca Inlet

Hunter enjoying the sunshine

Cordova

Finally, I made it! Now I feel like I can get on with my life. And I no longer have to say “Hi, my name is Jen and I live in a camper….in my boyfriend’s driveway.” Now, I live in a camper in a trailer court. I got my very own spot right on Lake Eyak and everything. It’s beautiful here. I wake up to the morning sun beaming in my windows and look out to see Queen’s Chair in the Heney Range I’m so happy to be back in Cordova, it feels like home.

This winter in Anchorage was good enough and all, I enjoyed having lots of time to write. However, I felt like I put things on hold. I found myself saying things like “I’ll have a job when I get back to Cordova. I’ll be able to hike more when I get back to Cordova. I’ll …(fill in the blank) when I get back to Cordova. I’ll move out of my boyfriend’s driveway when I get back to Cordova.” And, now I can finally stop nix that broken record because I’m back in Cordova!

This past week was pretty hectic, actually, more like the past 10 days. Actually, more like the past month. First, it was a mad rush to get things together to get to Florida. Once I got back from Florida, I hit the ground running after an 11 hour red eye flight. I put my fisherman’s endurance to use and put in 18 hours days, starting at 4 am. I rented out my condo for the summer, so I had to pack up things to bring to Cordova, pack up things to put in storage, pack up the rest for the garage sale, and clean the condo. I never even knew how much crap I had until I have to box it all up! Then it was time to clean the camper, vacuum up the 50 or so flies that sprung to life this spring, then pack up the camper. After that, time for provisions. A sweep or two through town buying all the things that, either I can’t get here in the ‘Dova or that are just cheaper in Anchorage. That entailed getting about 4 months worth of food, beer, and wine, plus new shoes, camper parts (potable anti-freeze, light bulbs, new pooh-pipe, etc) a new BBQ and pink duct tape. Two full days of shopping then we threw it all in the camper and headed to Whittier. The drive was uneventful (unless you were Hunter, my cat. He didn’t dig the truck ride so much) and only one piece of the camper flew off going 60 mph down the road. I couldn’t stop and could only hope I could either replace it in Cordova or it wasn’t important. We discovered later that it was the anti-sway bar, about a $150 item. Good news is I won’t need it here.

For the first time in my life, was early at the Whittier Tunnel, a 2.2 mile tunnel originally built for a train but since has been paved and open twice an hour for car traffic. Since we were early and I had plenty of time for dinner before the ferry for a Buffalo Burger at the Inn at Whittier and a beer. It was a great 12 hour ride across Prince William Sound, it was as flat as a mill-pond. We arrived Cordova on a beautiful blue bird day. It’s always nice to arrive in the sunshine, opposed to arriving in the normal weather, gale force winds and sideways rain. That always makes me wonder what I was thinking but arriving in sunshine make for no regrets.

We got the camper all set up and level with no problems. Ran around town doling out deposits for the all the utilities, met the neighbors (whom I already knew) and settled in. Grabbed Rockfish Taco’s at Baja Tacos and began the greetings and welcome backs. Actually, the greetings began in Whittier before I even got on the ferry, but they hit full swing at Baja Taco. It was there that I found out that I am mentioned in an article in the latest issue (May, 2011) of the magazine National Fisherman, page 18, http://www.nationalfisherman.com/.  The article is called Winter’s chill can’t keep Fisher Poet fans away. There is a picture of me, quotes, and everything! I ran into about 5 people telling me they saw me in the magazine before I got my hands on one. I was beginning to worry if I could continue to show my face, not knowing what the article said!

That’s Cordova for you. It’s great to be in a place where everyone is so friendly and knows you, however you do need to budget that in your time. I was at the post office for 20 minutes before I even made it inside. And that’s is one of the reason’s I love it here so much.

That’s the haps here. Catch ya on the flip side. Until then, eat fish!

The Calm Before the Storm

Ever wonder what fishermen do to get ready for the season?  If I were to guess, I'd say they would do bench presses, sit-ups, warm ups to reduce carpel tunnel, Zen out on a lotus leaf,  and that type of thing.  Maybe. Maybe that's what other fishermen do. But I find myself doing are all those projects that I've been meaning to do all winter.  Finishing the kitchen re-model project I started over a year ago.  Go to the dentist and have a cavity filled. Have lunch with old professors.   Get my eyes checked at the eye doctor.  Get my studded tires removed and put the summer ones back on.  Get an oil change, clean out my storage unit, have a garage sale, get a hair cut, eyebrows waxed, rent out my place, pack up and move,  etc.  All in the last week before I leave.

Finally, I stopped tripping over those kitchen cabinets and hired someone to install them.  I was going hang them myself, but, then came to my senses and I realized I'd better leave that one to a professional.  Or, more exact, a friend of a friend who does that stuff on the side.  I decided I'd better re-caulk the tub.  That one I decided I can do myself.  I mean, I like DIY projects and fixing things. But in reality I made a mess, the tub looks like shit and I got caulk in my hair.  I have to be honest with you folks, I really didn't enjoy that.  I guess I just want to want to enjoy DIY projects. When I'm not under the gun, that is.  I did enjoy staining all my cabinets.  But I didn't leave myself enough time to do it.  I rushed and ended up with bubbles in my varnish.  But no time to fix it now.  My renter moves in Friday and it still looks like a bomb went off in there.  Seriously, I would take a picture but it's too embarrassing.  But I'll tell you it sure doesn't look like someone is moving in here in a few hours. And I hope my renter doesn't read my blog!

I've been getting up at 4 am (thanks to still being jet lagged from the four hour time change spending last week in Florida) and putting in 14-18 hour days.  Packing, cleaning, getting rid of stuff.  Doing things like finally changing out the shower curtain rod after looking at an ugly one that didn't match anything for 3 years.  I have to wonder why  I do that for someone else, but not for myself.   No time to psycho-analyze my actions now, the clock is a ticking.

The renter moves in Friday (holy crap, that's today!)  We are having a garage sale on Saturday.  I have to pack up the cat and the camper yet and stock up on groceries and all the things I can't get in Cordova.  Then catch the ferry next week.   Fishing season starts in about 6 weeks.  So, I'm frantic now in order to have plenty of time to settle in, mend nets and be Zenning on a lotus leaf next month!

Eat fish and I'll catch ya on the flip side. 

Ha ha ha.......An Egg?

Anyone remember that at the end of some Ozzy Osborne song?  Well, it's become a reality for me.  I call it "Project Egg".  I recently purchased (gotta love Craigslist, best thing since sliced bread, if you ask me) a 1971 12'x7' camper. However,  I'm doubting this thing was built even that recently.  Maybe mid 60's?  Anywho, the plan is to remodel  it, throw some creature comforts and necessities in there, drag it over to Cordova  and call it home sweet home for the fishing season.

Chris, the gal I bought it from had gutted it, insulated the s*!t out of it, made a few rudimentary necessities, threw a in a heater and lived in it in her friend's driveway in East Anchorage all winter.  One  fact I like to point out whenever someone tells me I'm crazy for planning to live in this thing for the next 5 months is that she lived in it in the winter!  If someone calls me crazy first thing I do is point out someone else slightly more crazy than I am. It helps take the heat off.  The second fact is that this camper in a foot wider, thus bigger, than the cargo trailer I lived in last summer in Cordova.  And, unlike that trailer, this one has insulation.  Thereby proving, that while I may be crazy, I am slightly less crazy than I was last year.  You see, we all live and learn. This is what it looked like when I first got it.

My idea is to re-do some of the insulation and tack up some sort of covering over it.  If I don't I fear eating the insulation will become Hunter the cat's favorite past time.  I decided to go with 1/8" mahogany plywood.  It's not too heavy, expensive and is somewhat flexible.  Next, we designed a bunk, dinette, closet, and sorta designed a kitchen space.  That part is still a work in progress.  Well, ok, the whole thing is a work in progress.
First thing we (I roped my guy, Vince, into helping) did was rip out the second layer of insulation.  About half way through this project I realized this whole thing undertaking is indeed a bit more than I initially anticipated.  But, I'm committed now and too stubborn to turn back.  This is our progress.

 Next, we set about melting the glaciers in the corners.  At first, we made very little headway with the electric heater we had in there.  Turns out, its hard to warm up a trailer when its 10 degree out.  We needed bigger guns.  How about a heat gun?  Me tackling glaciers in the corners.

That worked well, but the novelty of that wore off in about an hour.  We turned to the Mr Buddy propane heater that came with the trailer.  It worked great! Who knew there was all that ice under the insulation?  Until....wait a minute.  Was the ceiling black before turned the heat to high? Probably not. Settling on medium heat and some fans, we went this that. Not quite as effective, but less likely to burn the Egg down.  A few days later, I think we've finally made some headway, but not enough.  As luck would have it, the outside temps went from 10 degrees to about 35 and we were able to open all the windows and just let it air out. And, finally,  it looks dry inside.  Then I sprayed some mold and mildew killer, just in case.  In the meantime, I'm varnishing the panels with Minwax Polycrylic  and deciding on fasteners to use that aren't too hard on the eye. Aesthetics are everything! Such is the case with this Chicken Air tee-shirt screwed to the door as a curtain.
All the panels are now varnished and we will be hanging them this weekend and starting to build the bunk.
Tune in next week to check out our progress.