Ersatz Poem: Stopping By Bed on a Summer Evening

"But I have promises to keep,
And months of academic scheduling to finish before I...
Oh wait, I can finally go to sleep now?
But maybe I'll watch some tv drama first.
Planning is a heinously draining exercise,
And I didn't even get to read anything tonight.

Damn."

~Frost, his soul having opted--in an alternate karmic reality--to become a 21st c. grad student and failed poet instead (this one has never even *been* apple-picking, let alone had time to observe patient quiet spiders!)

Possibles

 Caution: Non-proofread material ahead!!

4:00pm, Friday August 5

It's been awhile since I felt compelled to write anything. This is due in part to some lingering sea-sickness through the last two trips, and in part to the fact that we've been either sitting on our hands in port or hauling up close to empty nets for three weeks now.

You can imagine the compounded demoralization writing about all of this would create.

And you might imagine that if I'm writing now it's because things are better....

Well, we were stuck in port the last couple of days trying to get our refrigeration fixed, and waiting for Paul's girlfriend whose flight ended up getting cancelled. Once we found out she couldn't make it Thursday, we fueled up the boat and cast off heading to the southwest section of Kodiak Island for the first time all season. The guys and I were pretty excited, as so far we had only really fished two areas, and our consistent bad luck at one of those areas (and the Skipper's consistent choice to return to said area) had pretty much made us sick of the eastern top of the island.

About four hours in to our trip, we emerged from the foc'sole to see the windmills and buildings of Kodiak. That's weird, we thought. Soon enough we were informed that, though they were catching "some fish" down southeast (one of the Skipper's favorite understatements), it was too windy and snotty seas for his liking. So there we were passing Kodiak going back towards our old unlucky haunts. On the way, about two hours out, we stopped at a bay fronted by three small islands where two other boats were fishing. Actually ended up doing pretty well here: in 5 hours we made 4 sets and probably hauled in about 4500 pounds, a decent spattering of dogs and reds mixed in with the less lucrative pinks that make up the largest runs at this time of year.

Great, we thought, we're actually catching fish. Maybe we'll stay here a few days?... Not quite. We woke up to a wind our Skipper said tends to blow all the fish out of that area leaving it completely empty. So this morning, once more, we shook ourselves up from some dozing to see we were passing Kodiak again, heading south. About one hour later we came on an area the skipper wanted to try. After a forty minute wait, he apparently got some intel about prohibitive shallows (our net is deeper than many) and away we went again.

Eff.

About three hours later, we showed up at our current location. Of course, none of us crew members have any idea where we are. We did one set and hauled up about 2,000 pounds of jellyfish. They were kind enough to leave 20 fish in our net, which we pulled paralyzed from the 22 inch deep jellyslop all over the deck. Like most areas, this one has 3-5 sites that seem the most productive to set at. Suffice it to say we moved down a few hundred yards from jellyzone to try another set where people were catching some fish. Just as we got the net laid out and the deck cleaned, Paul radioed in a problem to the skipper.

Fuel leak in the skiff. Five gallons already lost. One end of the net dead in the water. Of course.

So we backpiled the net on to the deck and waited for the bad news. I went for a beer to help take the edge off my despair. You see, I stayed on an extra two weeks—differing a trip to Portland to see a good friend, and fam time back home—as the pinks generally run strong at this time, and the guys and me could see some more $1,000 days if we ever actually find some fish. We may (Meh) have earned that much in the last 15 days.

  

Usually this sort of a radio announcement from Paul sees us securing the skiff and rigging and heading post haste back to town. We seem to have gotten lucky though. Paul looked around and figured out that one of the fuel hoses seems to have merely slipped off its fitting.

One Pabst Blue Ribbon.

One Fifteen minute fix.

Back on track?

Like so many things in this entry, that remains to be seen. We headed to the other side of this bay to see what we can find. We'll probably be setting here in a few minutes. Maybe it was a good omen that a potentially serious problem had such a simple solution. Maybe this site will produce some lucrative sets for us. Maybe the pinks will slam in and I won't regret staying on longer up here. Maybe I'll end up zooming back home for three days before heading to Mississippi and school with an extra couple grand in my pockets.

Maybe.

11:35am, Sat August 6

Last night turned out alright.

We drove across the bay to another set site where the Kilokak was doing some work. Had four or five solid sets (800-1200 pounds) and worked till just after ten. Last set was a heartbreaker. We just had the powerblock* teeth re-welded to beef up its gripping power, and until some of the metal added to the teeth wears down it tugs extra-strong on the leadline, outstripping the corkline as we pile the net on deck. This has been leaving us with extra corks in the water at the end of some of our sets--and extra corks in the water means the fish can spill out when we're hauling up the last few fathoms to dump the fish on the deck. So that last set was a heartbreaker because we lost about half of a 1200-2000 pound set that way.

Today has been scratchy but productive. Made our first set a little after 6 am, and did 3 or 4 decent scratch sets averaging 100-120 fish (400-500 pounds). I guess our last set got the captain thinking the fish were dropping off because we lit out across the bay right after. Drove around for about an hour checking out potential set sites and met up with the boat we were fishing next to. Sure enough they pulled in 20 fish on their last haul.

Skipper radioed down from the tophouse to let us know we were going to anchor up so he could take a long nap, and to make sure I knew how to spell "useless" when I describe him in this blog entry. I think he's a little miffed that he hasn't put us on major fish today.

C'est la vie. Of course, we'd always rather be slaying lots of fish, but I wanted some time to work on a couple projects anyway. I might even do some illegal sports fishing (the other two crewmembers bought sports fishing licenses; as long as there's only a total of two lines in the water, I have a hard time being concerned about which of us is jigging them).

Well, having finished a novel while performing the sacred morning rituals today, I guess it's time for...

Novel Opinions!

Cormac McCarthy is, or at least has been, one of my favorite writers. Earlier in the year I finished Blood Meridian (19--), which many call his masterpiece, and found myself rather underexcited. For me, it didn't measure up to his work in Child of God (19--), The Road (19--), or even All the Pretty Horses (199-), all of which are powerful books. The latest read is called The Orchard Keeper (197-). It's one of his first published books, and reads like it. The action and character work—when any of either manage to sneak into the novel—are engaging despite being quite experimental. However, nearly half of any given page is filled with overwritten landscape descriptions pertaining to locations in which the reader has no clear stake. Additionally, these descriptions read as if McCarthy was preoccupied with using every archaic descriptor, meteorological term, and rare coinage he could, perhaps to cross them all off some list for pretentious writers.

Set in the Appalachian backcountry surrounding Knoxville, TN—and occasionally venturing into the city itself—The book is principally concerned with three or four characters: Marion Sylder, a local whisky-runner; John Wesley Barrett, a pre-adolescent befriended by Marion; and Arthur Ownby (Uncle Ather), an aging intriguing character from whom the novel takes its name. There are quite a few journalistic moments—detailing a Knoxville crowd on market day in the '40's, lengthy discussions of the mountain region, etc—that add to a sense McCarthy was attempting to encapsulate a particular moment and culture in order to preserve its memory.

For my money, I call Eudora Welty's Delta Wedding—set in the same interwar period—a much more even, compelling, and altogether successful attempt.

A lot of people say southern writers of any ambition have to write through Faulkner in order to arrive at their own voice. That definitely rings true here as the tone, literary devices such as italics to represent memories that interrupt the "present" action, and even the purposely obtuse plotlines call to mind a lot of Faulkner's Absalom! Absalom! and The Sound and the Fury. So, at the end of the day, I was hoping McCarthy might be an exception to the rule that the early work of great authors is often rather dull and I was disappointed. Still, if you like McCarthy, the novel is a fascinating place to see him working with a lot of the devices he would later hone to craft much more powerful works (i.e. an acute sense of place, more useful coinages, judicial use of archaic wording, intriguing obtuseness in plot and character development rather than near-opacity).

Meanwhile, back in Alaska...

The guys are napping, and the alarm just beeped on some fresh coffee, so it looks like a perfect opportunity to tackle some other writing.

Including today, I've just got three more days of fishing left. We've sort of adapted dear, sweet, 8 pound, 11 ounce Baby Jesus [link: Taladega Nights] as our patron this summer. Hopefully, once the sleepers awake, he'll come through with a few big sets to boost my summer paycheck.

*suspended from the boom, the power block is a large—about 28 inch diameter—aluminum wheel run with a hydraulic motor that we use to pull the net back on to the deck.

Fizzlers

8:30 am, Sun July 17

Currently on the tail end of a five day trip up to Malina Bay. Pretty scratchy fishing. After a day or so in port last week, we did laundry, showers, and shopping; filled up with ice at the cannery; and drove out around 8pm.

That night took watch with the Skipper and drove north through Whale Pass and the Narrows to anchor up in a bay at the top end of the Narrows. Next day arrived in Malina to rolling and choppy seas. Made a couple sets before we anchored up to wait for the weather to come down.

Shitty sleep throughout this trip began that night; after the weather and a few sets, we anchored at the exposed mouth of the bay rather than drive in to one of the smaller coves. Rocked and rolled all blessed night. Woke up groggy to more scratch fishing. Tendered that night, then two more days grinding it out to today.

Yesterday actually showed some promise—a couple of 150+ fish hauls. But those dropped off pretty quick. We tendered again last night; the boat was called the Kendra D. The crew was more chummy with us than any of the other tender crews, and the guy running it chatted with us as we sorted fish up on the line. His name is Val and he owns a place called the Rendezvous a few miles past the airport. Skipper said it's a nice little tavern; hope to check it out some time.

Today is pretty meager like the others. We've been at it for about 5 hours. Misunderstood the Skipper and thought we'd be heading back to town today. Terrible fishing hasn't made that disappointed expectation any better.

11:00 pm, Sun July 17

Fishing didn't get any better, though we did pull in a bunch of kings, including one massive, beautiful 30 pounder (unfortunately, we don't get paid for kings, so most of these we field dress for personal use). We tried a different area of the bay in the afternoon though, and on the way over I caught about 20 minutes of bunk time that made me a brand new man. As the afternoon dragged on, the Skipper finally decided that 100 lb. hauls didn't justify missing the tide and our chance to get into town tonight, so we beat feet back to Kodiak, dumped the fish, picked up some ice for our Kings and tied up at the dock.

So it's back to the old moorage. Back to our charter boat neighbor on one side, and pungent wafts of ganja from the beer-slammers on the other. Back to cell service, fresh water in abundance, and cannery showers.

Home sweet...something.

Ronnie Dunn single we love to shout along with (don't knock it till you try it! ...And a couple 14 hour days and cans of American Flag Budweiser might help): Bleed Red

10:50pm, Tues July 19

Leaving from a two day town visit to go back out tonight or tomorrow. Hope some of the runs are picking up for the last mandatory opener here. We'd all really love to go out and catch a few boatloads of fish and see these rumors of a Biblical season come true. Especially after all that scratch fishing. Vamos a ver...

Four-Day Opener

10am, July 8

Just finished our second set in a six boat line. Left anchor at 4:30 am this morning and showed first at our spot. Yesterday was a good day: nearly 9,500 lbs of fish, and over 3,000 of those reds (which go for twice the price of the dog salmon that are also running right now). The first set today was respectable—probably about 300 fish (about 1,500 lbs). Second was just 184.

Spirits are good, but we're all pretty whipped. Only had about four hours for sleep last night, and that was spotty since our sleeping quarters are right next to the engine room. We had to go the whole night with the engine on to keep the circ. running (that's the circulation system for the Refrigerated Sea Water [RSW]). This last set also hit us pretty hard on deck: had to deal with a lot of kelp and some tangled lead lines.

We're about to finish a movie and hopefully get some solid naptime, as we've got nearly a two-hour wait before we can set again. Which brings us to....

Movie Deets!

Today we're talking about Outlaw Justice, an early 2000's film (?) featuring Travis Tritt, Willy Nelson, and some of the worst acting combined with the most self-indulgent "star" control I've seen. It may rival The Polar Bear King on the slop-scale, if you're at all familiar with that winner. Someone should've fired whatever flopped sitcom screenwriter they got to write this thing. Speaking of writers, here's...

Novel Opinions!

Finished a novel, Inherent Vice (2010), by Thomas Pynchon a few days back. Not a bad read, though there's plenty of drugs and sex. Set in L.A. in the early 70's, it's sort of a stoner-detective fiction novel, riffing on the hard-boiled genre. I think Pynchon—a fairly serious, and for many a very important writer—wanted to capture the 60's as a moment/era of possibility that is fading from the screen, to be followed by corruption (think Charles Manson, Richard Nixon & company...) in the present day of the novel.

Funny enough, as certain "evil" characters turned out to be just as much played as playing, and just as susceptible to forces like love and intimidation, the thing actually reminded me a hell of a lot of Chesterton's The Man Who Was Thursday, and I wonder if Pynchon had that in mind. That'd be a weird/interesting pairing.

Anyway, P.T. Anderson (dir. Boogie Nights, Magnolia) is supposed to be making it into a movie currently, which I'm stoked to have heard about from a friend, as I thoroughly dig what I've seen of his work.

Started yesterday on McCarthy's The Orchard Keeper (1965). So far so good, though—predictably—it's pretty grisly. The style is engaging and he seems to be working out his attention to scenery and seasons: Appalachian setting, bootlegging, a mysterious old man who guards some woods, a concrete cistern with a dead body inside it, events only half told. Interesting stuff. Maybe good source material for my buddy Bret's Thunder Road/moonshine movie script?

That's it for right now—time for crappy cinema. Here's some miscellany...

Quote of the day (so far):

Skipper (as he turns to a crew member, vegetable in hand, following the crew's delayed response to his request for a chips and salsa snack): "Good, I thought you had forgot; you almost made me eat a ****ing carrot."

Vid List (what the crew are currently telling each other they gotta see):

Leroy Jenkins Halo

Chronic of Narnia Rap

12:00pm, July 10

Yesterday we made our biggest set yet—potentially in the range of 6,000 lbs. Combined with our work on the 8^th we dropped off over 22,000 lbs at the tender last night. A steak dinner (courtesy of our 18 inch Cabela's propane grill) was a fitting end to a day that saw us haul in upwards of 12,000 lbs. of salmon, despite being in a seven boat line all day and making only four sets.

Today, the 10^th, has been strong, but doesn't seem to be of quite the same magnitude. We arrived first to our spot this morning and had a very nice first and second set. After our second set, the skip decided to go straight out and try one on the "outside."*

It was not a success.

We saw salmon jumping as we lay out and everything looked good, but the current seemed to push our cork line around, our leads were a little jumbled, and we had to stop repeatedly to pull kelp out of the net. Final count on the set: 3 fish.

At least one was a silver.

Spirits are still good though; it looked fishy and we gave it a shot. If the set had come in, the line would be moving faster (always two boats setting rather than one) and everyone would be catching more fish. We lost nothing but energy. Um, lots of energy...

Speaking of which, it's getting harder to get mobile in the mornings.

And while it is frustrating to have a boat line like ours, it can also be a mercy when you're rolling out of bed at 5am to pull the release cord on the skiff and clean the deck before you've had a chance to swallow down a gulp of coffee or cereal.

It's during these early sets that the boat line you loath, the line that ties your hands after you've just made a giant haul, the line of boats you wish would get sick of milling about so you don't have to wait so long to dip back into your honey hole, that two hour line becomes a godsend. Because that's two hours for odd jobs, necessaries like cooking and cleanup, and—most generously—sleep.

Just get on shoes and sweater so you can pull the release cord. Just clean and prep the deck. Just plunge a little. Just get your raingear on. Just plunge a little more. Just get the net stacked and hauled in. Just get through this set. Just do this and you can shuck off your neoprene exoskeleton, dry your face, crawl down the stairs and back into your bunk. You might even slip into unconsciousness before the skipper comes on to the PA and announces it's time to pick the anchor.

Mornings are tough, but we seem to fall into a rotating sleep schedule. One night we'll come in around 7:30pm. After dinner, clean-up, odd prep work for the next day, we slip into the bunks by 10:30 or so. Then it's up at 4:30am. Conditioned by repetition, you can make your body roll out of the bunk before you're even conscious enough to realize how silly the idea of "awake" is at this point. That night we might work later. Make one more set. Eat dinner at midnight. Get up again by five. Work through the day. By the third night, batteries drained, we'll sleep in; maybe miss the first turn and show up at our spot near 7:00. Then we're juiced up for another round.

Like the two-hour line, repetition is a mixed mercy. You may feel like a lead sack start to finish, but already, with less than a month of deck work, once the hands touch the net, the body starts working without asking questions.

*Most purse-seiners set with the boat or skiff along the shore of a bay or point and the other end of the net laid out to catch the fish as they school at the set spot. In the Kodiak fishery, the general rule lets a boat tow for half an hour to allow the fish to stack up. As the boat and skiff turn in toward each other to close the circle of the net, the next boat in line will lay out its own net, either in "front" of the closing net, or "behind" that set. With a long line, the fishermen might decide to follow this "inside" set along the shore with an "outside" set, just beyond the far end of the boat after them. Thus boat A sets inside, closes, boat B sets inside, boat A sets right after them, boat B closes, boat A closes and anchors up in line, boat C sets inside, boat B sets outside, etc... I know. Riveting. You can hardly wait for more details. If you're very (un)lucky, sometime I might explain to you how our diesel stove works...