How I got Hooked on Fishing: Part II

Last week's blog is the story of how,  a land-lubber from got hooked on commercial fishing in Alaska.  This week we read the rest of the story.
Returning to Ohio after traveling home from my summer in Alaska, and spending all my money doing it,   I worked three jobs all winter and wondered how I was ever going to make and save enough money to make my way back to Alaska.  My cousin, who I staying with in Anchorage,  had moved back to Ohio and without a place to stay, my dream didn’t seem possible.  But, as fate would have it, after three short months of Ohio, cousin had had his fill and wanted to move back to Alaska.  This time to a small fishing town in southeast called Petersburg.  He offered to pay my way if I helped him with the drive cross country.  Come spring, I was again heading north, but this time in a Toyota minivan.  It took about a week to drive to Bellingham, Washington where were caught the ferry. Another four days later and we arrived in Petersburg, Alaska.

Arriving in the middle of the night  the town was dark, quiet and seemed little eerie.  We pulled the van off the ferry and I remember asking “what is that awful smell?”  The whole town reeked of the most fowl, appalling, disgusting odor I ever encountered.  My cousin simply replied "Fish!"  Funny we don't recognize those foreshadowing moments when they are upon us. 

We drove out the road to cousin's new job as chef at the Beachcomber Hotel, Restaurant, and Bar.  The Beachcomber was older than dirt and started off as a cannery cookhouse then converted to a bar, restaurant, hotel.  It sits on pilings, though ever so slightly slanted from years of wear,  on the scenic Wrangell Narrows a few miles south of town.    There was a dock so you could just pull right up on you boat and come in, have a cocktail, and watch the sunset on the back deck.  It was also a place where you could sit and watch the commercial fishing boats come and go.  They would head out down the Narrows and vanish out of sight only to return a few days later, loaded with fish.  I remember being so intrigued by them.

And since nepotism is alive and well in Alaska, I was the new house keeper/ van driver/ bar back/ waitress.  My room was in the attic, which the person who lived there before me to thoughtfully painted mauve and teal.  In order to keep that room, I was kind of a work slave with my four job titles.   It seems to me I worked every day and night.  Summer came and went, just like the boats.  By the time fall rolled around, I had found a boat sitting gig in the South Harbor.  A guy was going to be gone about six weeks and wanted someone to stay aboard his leaky 1945 retired Coast Guard Cruiser.  Me, not knowing any better, said yes and spent the whole time trying to keep the rain from coming in from above and the ocean coming in from below.  At the end of the six weeks, the guy returned.  I later found out he had been in jail.  Anyway, by then I had befriended some of the fishermen in the harbor.  Ron, the skipper on the other side of the slip from me needed a deckhand for the fall halibut derby. 

Before halibut went to IFQ’s (individual fishing quota) which is a set poundage you are allotted to fish, it was a derby.  Meaning you had a set time, such as 24 or 48 hours, to go out and catch as much halibut as your boat would hold.  That fall’s derby was for 24 hours.

Again, not knowing any better, I jumped at the chance.  I was so captivated by these fishing boats, I just had to find out for myself where they disappeared off to.  Next thing I knew, I was chopping bait 15-17 hours a day and eating nothing but cold cheese sandwiches, the only thing the skipper packed to eat.  We (as in I) baited gear for 5 straight days.  I grew up on a farm and was accustomed to hard work but had no idea that it was possible to work as hard or as long of hours as we did.  My hands were so sore from gripping the knife to fillet fish and piercing that fresh, hard salmon skin with a hook and I had no idea the worst was yet to come.

Four days into the trip, Adam the other deckhand flew out to the boat.  He was a young guy, about 25, but had been fishing for years.  Made quite a rookie mistake though his very first day aboard.  We were running and I was, as usual, at my baiting station.  Ron, the skipper came up to me and asked me if I’d seen Adam.  “No” I replied, and not thinking anything of it, kept baiting.  Once Ron frantically started looking around for him and calling his name did it dawn that no one is every really out of ear shot, or sight for that matter, on a 4 foot boat.  Nope.  Adam was not aboard.  We whipped the boat around and searched the water with our binoculars.  Luckily, not too far in the distance, we spotted a little teeny tiny head sticking out of the water.  It waved at us.  Running full bore back to Adam, we scooped him up and brought him back aboard.  He was all macho about it stating that he needed a cold refreshing bath anyhow.  I mean, it was a relatively nice day out, but truth is, this is September in Alaska, folks.  Ain’t nothing warm about it, he must have been freezing! He changed into something dry and went back to work.  What had happened is he went up to the roof to grab some buoys and accidently stepped over board.  All I know is if it had been me, who had fallen overboard in that cold water, watching the boat getting smaller as its driving off, without me, into the horizon, I would have insisted that a helicopter or Coast Guard or something come out and take me home!  No way would I have gone back to baiting.  But, Adam toughed it out.

Not too much longer did I have my own chance to tough it out.  The next day the weather had picked up as we rounded Cape Decision and headed into Chatham Straight.   I was on the front deck baiting but as the weather got worse and it started raining buckets, I moved to the bait shed on the stern, behind the cabin.  It was almost all enclosed and stunk of diesel exhaust and the ripe smell of five day old chum salmon and squid.  Disgusting.

Before I took the job skipper asked me if I got seasick.  Well, I never got sick when I was in sailing club and we even sailed from Florida to the Bahamas, once.  So, I answered “No”.  “Good” was his reply “because if you do, I’ll feel no mercy for you.”  

Now, I don’t know how many of you are familiar with seasickness so I’ll tell you some of its triggers.  Rough weather is definitely a factor, like the weather that we just turned into.  Bad smells is another, like, for example, the combination of five day old chum salmon and squid mixed with diesel exhaust.  Being stuck in a bait shed and not being able to see the horizon doesn’t help much either.  Needless to say, I can no longer answer “No” when someone asks me if I have ever gotten seasick.  I was at the rail, barking at the sharks.  And for those of you lucky folks who have never been seasick, without going into too much detail, I’ll just say it’s worse than the worse flu and hangover you’ve ever had all rolled into one, times ten…….thousand.  I wouldn’t even wish it on my worst enemy. 

Knowing that I’d receive no mercy, I kept working.  Or, tried to keep working.  My knees were so weak I could hardly stand up.  I went from baiting one hook every 30 seconds to baiting one hook every five minutes.  But, I stayed out on deck.  A few hours later, after my toenails had even been launched overboard, we pulled into a cove where it was flat calm.  Skipper called me into dinner, cold cheese sandwiches.  I said I’d pass, that I wasn’t feeling so choice.  He insisted.  I crawled into my spot at the galley table and instantly fell asleep.  Not sure how long I was out, but when the skipper woke me, I felt right as rain.

That next day, at noon, right on the dot, we set out gear.  We set gear for about six hours then took a nap.  Or, in my case, attempted to take a nap.  I was so pumped and nervous for what was about to happen, I really couldn’t sleep.  At 10:00 pm we woke up, had cheese sandwiches (I’m not exaggerating, that is all we had.  And not yummy toasted cheese sandwiches, but cold cheese sandwiches with nothing but mustard) we started picking up our gear.  And we picked straight through the night until the derby closed the following day at noon.  Then Adam and I  cleaned halibut and scrubbed down the boat on our way to town.  I made $700 bucks in the seven days I was out.  And was jazzed about that until I found out Adam, who was only along three or four days, made roughly $4000.  Ah well, so goes it.  I now had experience on a commercial fishing boat in Alaska……….and was hooked.

Jen baiting tubs, 1993

Jen and Adam cleaning halibut

The catch aboard the f/v Spirit

How I got Hooked on Fishing: Part 1

This is the tale of how I, a land-lubber from Ohio, got into commercial fishing in Alaska. Well, I saw an add in the newspaper advertising making big money by working in a cannery.  But, I don't want to get ahead of myself.

After being bored out of my mind my first year at the University of Toledo, Ohio I transfered to The Ohio State University (OSU), which was much, much more fun!  My grades soon reflected that is was, possibly, too much fun. It all came down to the wire, as these things tend to do.  If I  aced my calculus final, all would be right in the world and I would slide by the academic curve that I needed to stay in school.  If I didn't ace it, I would be academically dismissed for three terms.

I had always been a good student, was on the Honor Roll in high school, had been getting A's and B's at Toledo.  Not sure what really happened at OSU, but it happened in only a matter of a few months.  Well, that's not really true.  I know what happened.  Sailing club is what happened.  I can't tell you how much fun that is!  Drinking beer and racing little 12' sailing boats was way better than studying.   Maybe I don't need to tell you how much fun that is.  Needless to say, my studies fell to the wayside, until the 11th hour, at the end of the semester. Anyway, back preparing for my calculus final.  I was studying and studying and studied until my brain fell out of  my head.  I scooped it up and shoved it back in there and studied some more.  When I had neared total exhaustion, and could no longer see straight,  I slammed my calculus book shut and dramatically dropped it on the chair next to my bunk bed in my dorm, claiming that absolutely no more knowledge could fit into my head.  Continuing on with this theatrical gesture, I dropped my graphing calculator on top of my book.  It was the morning of my much dreaded calculus final.  If I didn't know it by now, I'll never know it.

For those of you not familiar with calculus, it is a branch of mathematics that focuses on limits, functions, derivatives, integrals and infinite series. According to Wikipedia, (its been so long since I took the class, I had to look up the definition of it!) calculus is the study of change as geometry is the study of shape.  Yeah, big brain stuff, which explains why I was flunking the class.  Now that I think about it, it may have even been a pre-calc class that I was in.  Either way, a graphing calculator is an integral part of the process as it is a way of saving all the formulas need to calculate derivatives and whatnot.  Getting back to my story, I had my calculator all stuffed with every formula I could possibly need, with the help of my friends, who were passing the class.  Math has never been my strong point.  Anyway, during my moment of theatrics when I slammed my calculator on top of my books it erased its  e n t i r e   c o n t e n t s!  Gone.   Wow-ouch.  Woe is me.  Flunked out is me. Needless to say I didn't ace my final.  On the contrary, I was placed on academic probation.   However, every cloud has its silver lining.  With all my new spare time I found that add in the school paper to come to Seward Alaska, work in a cannery and make $15,000 in a summer.  And with my tuition money burning a hole in my pocket I bought myself a plane ticket to Alaska.  I figured, what the heck, I have some time to kill.  And making money never hurt anybody.  Neither did a little adventure.

As luck would have it, I had this long lost cousin who lived in Anchorage.  I called him up out of the blue and asked if I could stay with him for the summer. He said he and his wife, Kim had an infant son, Alex, that life was a little crazy, but I was more than welcome to stay on their fold out couch in the living room.  Sweet!  I pulled out my trusty Atlas and promptly looked up Alaska.  I found Anchorage and quickly located Seward, about a half inch away and thought, this is perfect!  I can live in Anchorage and drive to work in Seward everyday.  When I told Matt, my long lost cousin this plan, he laughed in my face.  For those of you not intimately familiar with Alaska geography, Anchorage is about 128 miles (206 km) and about a 2-3 hour drive to Seward.  But, in my own defense, if you look up Alaska in an Atlas, Alaska,  the biggest state in the union, the state that is 1/3 the size of the whole continental US of A and it  only gets roughly 1/4 of a page in the Atlas. I never understood that.  Anyway,  in that scale, Anchorage is about 1/2 an inch (sorry, I don't know what that is in metric) away from Seward.

Well, I didn't end up working in a cannery that summer.  Instead, I worked at a restaurant called The Sourdough Mining Company, http://www.sourdoughmining.com/.  Cousin gave my his little Geo Tracker car for the summer and I would explore as far as I could get in my two days off a week. I hit Seward, Homer, Hope, Denali, Fairbanks and everywhere in between. I had a blast!  At the end of the summer, I ended up selling my plane ticket home (you could do that back in 1992) and traveled south with Sevilla, a gal I worked.  We were going to hitch hike the 775 miles to  Haines, but at the last minute her folks decided it was best to just drive us.  From there, we took the Alaska Marine Highway, http://www.dot.state.ak.us/amhs/index.shtml otherwise known at the Ferry to Bellingham, Wa.  The 2300 mile trip took 5 days and we pitched our tent on the floor of the ferry and slept there.  We Grey Hounded it to San Fransisco, where we caught up with the Green Tortoise Bus Southern Dream Route  http://www.greentortoise.com/adventures/cross.country.southern.dream.html.  14 days of travel though the sunny southern states.  There were 41 of us crammed into that bus and only 7 of us were Americans.

The Green Tortoise can best be described as a hippy bus service.  The back half of the bus is relieved of its seats and mattresses take their place.  The front half has seats and tables that all convert into beds.  Passengers are packed in there like sardines and the bus travels pretty much 24/7, except to eat and hike.  We carry and prepare our own (vegetarian) food and sleep on the road.  Unless it was a nice night, then we would stop at a National Park and drag the mattresses out onto the dirt and sleep under that stars.   This was an eye opener for a 20 year old gal from Ohio!  But what fun.  I saw Joshua National Park, Big Bend National Park, hot springs, New Orleans, gators in Florida, wild pigs in Texas.  It was  quite an adventure!

After finally making my way back to Ohio, and spending every dime I had made over the summer to do it, I was broke.  But, not having school to attend to, I worked three jobs all winter to try to make my way back to Alaska, which I did that next spring.   Tune in next week to hear the rest of the story.

eBook readers!

Howdy all!

This has been an exciting week for me.  First off, I found all sorts of new gadgets on my blog that I added, such as a search, a view counter and you can now check a box at the end of each blog if you think the blog is (1) cool, (2) interesting, or (3) funny.  Sorry, if you think it was awful, no easy way out for you, you will just have to go out of your way and post that in the comments section. I would love to hear your feedback about these new gadgets.  If you like them, if you noticed them, that type of thing.

Secondly, I am trying a new thing, to post on a regular basis, every Friday.  For those of you in the Western Hemisphere, you know that didn't last because today isn't Friday, yet. Hey, rules are meant to be broken. Besides, yeah for me. I'm usually a day late and a dollar short. Anyway, one step at a time.  I'm just so excited about my new idea and can't wait one more day.

Some of you readers already know that I am working on turning Fish Tales into a book, a memoir.  It will be a collection of short stories of my ventures and mishaps commercial fishing.  The writing style will be similar to the blog (only I plan to have a professional editor on board to catch the typos!) and also will have a full night's sleep and hopefully won't be writing gibberish, unlike last summer when I tried to write after a fishing opener.  Turns out, I'm not a genius on only two hours of sleep, I just think I am.   At any rate, a few of these stories are already polished and finished and just sitting around collecting dust, patiently waiting for the rest of the book to be finished before they can make their debut.  Well, the stories may be patient, but I am not!  I want to get them out there for the world to read them!  I want this for a few different reasons.  Foremost, for your enjoyment. My dear reader as been hearing for over a year now that a book is in the works.  I feel that I should reward you with something for sticking by me this whole time.  I can't afford to buy you all pizza, so a story will have to do.  Besides, less fattening.

Secondly, as an unpublished writer (I guess I'm not an author until I'm published, but I think that's like saying you are nobody until some body loves you.  Hello, can we say co-dependent?) e-publishing is a good way to get some notoriety and gain a following.  Or, note if there is a lack there of and that I need to go back to the drawing board.

Thirdly, because I can.  The days of sitting on a gold mine master piece waiting patiently by the phone for a publisher to call you is over.  That's like waiting for a guy to call you.  I like to take the bull by the horn and create my own destiny.    I just learned of this possibility this week (not the possibility of taking the bull by the horns but about e-publishing one single short story. I'm slow on the uptake on all this technology stuff.  The manuscript itself is written in coal on stone.  I'm researching the different options of where to publish, like Amazon, Scribd., Smashword, iBooks etc.  I would love to hear any input on this or if you have any biases to any of these sites.  I'm finding, like most of life in general,  there are pro's and con's to each.  Also, I've created a survey that you are more than welcome to take (hint, hint) to see if people would by one single short story at a time.   It will only take about two minutes and is right here, if you feel so inclined. http://www.surveymonkey.com/s/K6SRQ8J. Huh, that didn't come up as a link, did it?  Did I mention I'm technically challenged?  Maybe that is why I like commercial fishing, we still fish the same way Jesus did back in his day.  You may have to cut and past that to get it to go somewhere.  I appreciate you taking the extra step and taking the survey.  Please feel free to join in on this discussion, which, without you, is just a mono-log. 

Chinook Winds & Ice Fog

We made it over the hump!  The holidays are over and the days are getting longer.  We are gaining about 2 minutes of daylight everyday!  Sunrise today was at 10:06 and sunset is at 4:10.  We are on the upswing.  Good.
Last week the Chinook Winds hit the state of Alaska and temperatures went from 7 below to 44 in the matter of two days.  We went from winter wonderland to spring break-up like mush.  Though most complained about the soggy messy conditions, I personally enjoyed a few days reprieve from the sub-zero temps.  35 felt balmy.  But now we are back to normal and it's 10 degrees out.  Since the ground had  a few days to warm up before the temperate dropped again, ice fog forms.  The whole Anchorage bowl was pea soup for a few days and hoar frost was created covering every branch and limb on every tree.  It's beautiful, really though we couldn't see the sun for days.  However, the skies have finally cleared and we can go about winter again ice skating and what not.  Though, we could use some new snow to improve cross country ski conditions.

While winter is whiling away the days the salmon are out milling around.  And can you hear them?  All those salmon out sniffing around in the ocean, sniffing their way back home to AK waters.  Even the little humpies are making their way back.  I wonder if they feel like they have made it over the hump.  If they have made it to their turn around point.  If they have this innate "turn around"  point.  "Hey Charlie, this is it.  We turn around here."  Or perhaps it's a turn around date.  1/1/11 time to turn back.  Either way, they are coming.  And I am waiting.  We all are.   

I feel as though I have made it over the hump too.  I'm starting to count down the days until fishing season again.  I'm gearing up to head back to Cordova in a few months for another round of net mending and fish slaying.  Videos like these get me all pumped for another season.  Plus it's just fun seeing all my buddies on camera.  I hope this gets you excited about salmon, too!  Fish-on!

Aloha

As I settle in for my 16th winter in Alaska, I notice the novelty of it all is starting to wear thin.  I can't decide, though, which is worse the cold or the dark.  Granted, 6 degrees isn't that cold, but 5 hours of daylight isn't that much either.  So, what do I when it gets cold and dark?  First, I grumble.  Then I go to Hawaii!

This year I decided to try getting out early. Usually, I wait until after the holidays.   Granted, November is full on winter here, but the gamble here is that when I return, the days will still be getting shorter.   And there will still be a good 4 months of winter left.  Hey, if we get 2 feet of snow at the end of April, I'm calling that winter.  Time will tell if this is a good move or not.  But mark my words, this will be my last winter in Anchorage.  (Please, someone mark my words.  And if I'm here in Anchorage this time next, someone  please hit me with a largest cast iron frying pan within arms reach).  Call me what you will,  a wimp, a snow bird, whatever. I don't care.  I need sunshine.

Speaking of sunshine, there is tons of it in Hawaii!  It was great!  I woke up at 6:30 every morning (OK, 7:00) and the sun was already up and the birds were chirping. With the fragrance of Plumerias hanging in the air,  I'd grab a cup of coffee and head down to the beach, I wondered down to check out the morning colors and the waves. I'd shoo the wild turkeys milling around out of the way as I made my way across the out of business golf course that is now, instead of green and lush, brown weeds and red dirt. On the bright side, no worries of a concussion before breakfast from a soaring golf ball.

 Days were spent on the beach snorkeling and soaking up as much vitamin D as possible. And if I got too much sun, I just marched over to the aloe plant and applied liberally. By the next day, I was good to go.

In the evening, we would all scramble to grab an adult beverage and bamboo mat to head back down to the beach to watch the sunset. This was the only time in our day that we actually had to rush.  Sunsets are quick in winter in  Hawaii.  Opposed to Alaska where they start at sunrise and last all day long. Though short, they are sweet.  Hues of orange and red melting into gold and peppered with shadows of palm trees, as we wait, hoping to witness the green flash that only occurs with sunsets on the ocean.  Shortly after, Venus would appear, followed my countless other stars, all visible with the lack of light pollution. It was magic.

And my oh my, the fruit.  We had fresh papayas, mangoes, bananas, oranges, limes, Tahitian  limes, lemons, star fruit, and passion fruit, to name a few. Everyday! Then we had fresh kale, arugula, cilantro, cilantro pesto, cucumbers, avocados, and mixed salad greens.  And  Poke, which is one of my favorites.  Poke (pronounced pou,k'ei) is a traditional Hawaiin dish that consists of cured  ahi sashimi (raw yellowfin tuna) marinated in sea salt, soy sauce, sesame oil, and chili pepper with some Maui sweet onion, seaweed, and garlic.  It's typically eaten with chop sticks and is dee-lish!  Other gems I tried were cilantro-pesto, made with cilantro, lime, garlic, olive oil, and pine nuts.  It was great on pizza or pasta salad with sun-dried tomatoes, feta cheese, and olives.  Massaged kale with tamarind and avocados washed down with Hibiscus, lemon grass and mint iced tea made the favorites list.  As well as Coconut Porter from Maui Brewery.  Yum.

Thanksgiving dinner was a real treat for me.  We had dinner outside on the porch over looking the ocean.  I think that was my only Turkey Day dinner eaten out of doors. I loved it. Until a felt a centipede scamper across my foot.  I still enjoyed it after that, but wouldn't put my feet down.  I may be a tuff fisherman, but I don't like creepy crawly things on my toes.

After about 10 days on Molokai, we flew out on a Cessna Caravan, which held 7 passengers, on our 25 minute flight back to Maui.  Due do wind conditions, which were about 25 knots out of the North, we flew over the north shore of the island.  It was spectacular!  We went right over Kalaupapa, the Leper Colony (http://visitmolokai.com/kala.html) and next to the tallest sea cliffs in the world, rising over 2000 feet from the ocean with some truly magnificent views of the 1, 750-foot Kahiwa Falls.



After that, just a few more short days in Maui were spent soaking up rays on the beach and snorkeling checking out the many varieties of coral and fishes.  Below is a photo of Ahiha-Kina'u Natural Area Reserve near Makena on the south shore of Maui.  Great clear water and old lave flow that goes right into the beach!

All in all, it was a spectacular trip, just what the doctor ordered, fun in the sun.  Now, I'm back in Anchorage, refreshed and busy writing.  Until next time......

Mele Kalikimaka

Happy Holidays

Anchored Down in Anchorage

After spending the last five months or so in Cordova, I'm back in the big city.  It's quite a transition to be back.  Driving here is the hardest to get used to.  Compared to other cities, Anchorage is relatively mild to drive around, we don't even have any freeways.  However, compared to Cordova, where there isn't even one traffic light, Anchorage might as well be the moon.  I feel like I'm racing around like Mario Andretti, yet cars are passing me like I'm standing still.  And I miss the beauty of Cordova.  But, I don't miss the rain.  Don't get me wrong, it is good to be back, it's just taking some getting used to.

And I have been writing more.  Writing lots, actually.  And reading and writing and  rewriting and rewriting and rewriting.  I'm also pleasantly neurotic now, so I must be making headway as a writer.  I keep thinking "who would ever want to read this shit?"  So, from what I understand from other writers, I'm right on track.  Unless, I am actually right and every word that I have ever uttered is all garbage, then what?  Well, this is when I lie to myself and say it's not that bad and keep writing anyway.  I try to ignore the little voice in my head that tells me, with every letter that I type, that its all horse shit. I continue to ignore that little voice that gets louder, also with every letter I type, until it sounds like Tom Waits is singing with a megaphone and I hope the neighbors don't call the cops on me as I'm sure this voice is real and making quite a ruckus.    But then I think if the cops did come and arrest me, that would be a welcome distraction from this cycle of nonsense I am engaged in.  Oh sure, there are times when I am at peace with all of this, like the other night when I got so drunk I couldn't remember my own name.  I was quite pleasantly oblivious of that little voice then. :)  Anyway, I'll keep typing and keep yelling "Shut-up!" until they come to take me away.

Good news!  I found a mentor.  Though, he doesn't know he is my mentor, unless he reads my blog.  He is an old boss, well, I only worked for him for about 4 days.  It was back in about '94 or '95 when Prince William Sound opened up for herring for the first time since the 1989 Exxon Valdez Oil Spill.  Everyone was all excited and everyone showed up.  Everyone, except, unfortunately, the herring.  It was a total bust and the Alaska Department of Fish and Game shut it down and has not reopened it since.

The boat I worked on was the Quinn Delta and the skipper's name is Mark.  As fate would have it, I bumped into Mark this summer while in Cordova.  I think it was the first time I'd seen him since that dismal herring opener.  We visited and caught up with each other.  Turns out, Mark and his wife Nancy have been sailing all over the place for the past ten years or so and writing about it.  They even sailed around Antarctica. You can check out their blog for yourself at: http://www.krillroye.blogspot.com/.  Its good stuff.  Anyway, I told Mark what I was up to, writing and what not.  Since then he's been kind enough to give me advice on writing, trying to point me in the right direction and the like.  He even did some editing for me!  Check it out.

A FISHERMAN’S COMMUTE

It’s obscenely early on a Monday morning, what’s likely to be a typical fishing day.  My alarm sounds-off at 4:00 am, but it barely gets in a single ring before I bound from the bed, my feet landing on the cold wooden floor of my tiny rented room at the old abandoned cannery now known as Fisherman’s Camp.  Stumbling around as quietly as possible so as not to disturb my neighbors on the other sides of the paper-thin walls, I gather up the clothes I’d laid out the night before: a blood stained sweatshirt and course brown-duck Carhart jeans, oil stained and rent with holes from battery acid, a product of the endless maintenance that is much of a fisherman’s daily work.  Cold as I pull them on, my simple raiment puts me in the fishing mood as I tip-toe down the dark oiled wood hallway, willing my footsteps to be silent.  Silent not in consideration of my neighbors, but of stealth.  Just as one pulls up the anchor as quietly as possible to steal away from the anchorage, I slip out the door, hoping to leave unnoticed in order to get a head start.

My car, a well traveled ‘82 Subaru with faux zebra-skin seat covers and luminescent stars pasted on the headliner that I’d bought from a sixteen year old girl whose dreams of luxury could never be satisfied by such conveyance, starts instantly with the push of a button.  The faulty ignition switch had long since been replaced by fisherman’s ingenuity.  But my concerted efforts at stealth prove futile.  The engine roars to life, greeting the day’s work through an exhaust system nearly as full of holes as my jeans. I put it in reverse and hear the rumble of the wooden planks of the pier on which the old cannery has stood for decades.  Fearing I’d just awakened the entire camp, I finally turn on to the paved road and head for the harbor in the pitch dark, a full constellation of paste-on stars glowing above my head.  This is the time I love the best because of the stillness. I find it  consuming and comforting.  I pause and savor the tranquil moment, knowing that all too well my world will soon be in constant motion from the instant I step onto my boat until I tie up again secure in my slip.    But for now the succlent moss and trees of the dense forest of Prince William Sound are an eerie, unnaturally dark green.    The town remains still and quiet.  Mount Eccles stands above me on the left, the ocean lies beside me to my right.............

Old Fishing Pics