Freedom Fishing

7:00 pm, July 3

Left port yesterday late afternoon and arrived at Ruth Bay near 7pm. Whales all over the place so capt. decided not to set. Guys & I chilled and had a few beers. Watched The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence. Big surprise, John fell asleep within five. Paul stayed up till the end with me though. P-Dubs said it was one of the few John Wayne movies he hadn't seen; neither of us much impressed (A soundstage for a highway robbery? Really John Ford? You know you could have done better); even so, it was interesting to see Wayne and James Stewart playing together.

Woke up this morning at 4:10 am to the engine starting. As usual, John (on our boat—not Wayne) rolled out of his bunk cursing in eagerness to winch up the anchor before Paul or I were even coherent enough to realize how godforsaken early it was. I actually did pretty well this morning. Fell out of my own bunk and straight upstairs trading night shorts for the pants I've worn the last four days—and a shirt looks like I've been working in it the last four weeks. After pulling clothes and boots on, we generally sit around slack-faced pouring coffee down our faces and eating cereal. Today was pretty much the same—me slightly more energized by the thought and awe of Alaskan summer daybreak.

Sunrise was pretty enough that I snapped some pics during the first set; boats silhouetted against the horizon hauling in their nets and all that. Did pretty well on our first few sets. The fourth was possibly our largest yet. We estimated upwards of 400 fish (approx. 1800-2000 lbs).

Later in the day, a giant kelp monster assaulted us. For some reason there's all kinds of shit floating in the bay today. We threw one giant log and plenty of smaller drift logs over the net. But this kelp monster: we had already avoided two huger floating islands of the stuff, our Skipper dodging around them in our less-than-sporty 88,000 lb. trawler. But this thing managed to swamp into the net, costing us nearly an hour of exhaustion slamming around giant balls of slimy tentacle and tail before we could shuck it from the boat. For our pains, the monster shit behind it 64 fish onto the deck. Thanks a lot mother eff—uh, Mother Nature... Chalk it up to a coastal karmic return.

I said we made what was probably our largest haul this morning; ironically enough, our haul in on the kelp catastrophe was much heavier than that set.

Suffice it to say, three sets later we haven't seen a dramatic increase back to that othwer stellar set. It's getting late and we're pretty friggin exhausted. I'm finishing this entry while we tow on what will be our last set unless we have a large enough pay off to warrant one more go.

It occurs to me that words like "haul" "set" etc. might not make much sense yet since I haven't described the basic process of what we do as commercial salmon fishermen. I'll give a brief run-down of how the job works in the next entry.

Just made that "maybe final" set. 161 fish = here we go for another round. We've been at it for over 15 hours today, but a haul like that most def keeps you motivated.

5:45 am, July 4

Today I imagine a slightly modified Neil Sedaka hit as our morning anthem. Because "Waking up is Hard to do" ::groans from the audience::, even with the sound of a 400 lb. lunk of cast iron and 750 lb. chain chain screaming just over your head as John raises the anchor. This morning I actually covered my head with my arms as I heard the thing clanging up into its rest right above the foc'sole, simultaneously reflecting how useless those arms would be if the the anchor should somehow break through its housing and the steel deck to crash our sleeping quarters.  

Such morbid considerations only go so far towards getting me mobile in the morning (I have nearly as strong a tolerance for alarm clocks as the Dread Pirate Roberts had for iocane powder, ask my former roommates). It did help when the Skipper barked for someone to winch up the skiff (usually my chore). Paul beat me to that one. I got the Skipper's bagel and took first deck prep to feel like I was contributing to our little wake up routine.

Besides, I gave the guys a little serenade. Chasing cereal and coffee with my breakfast cocktail (multivitamin, ibuprofen for hand de-inflammation, adderall), I grabbed the iPod right before the first set. When all else fails, nothing beats a little Italian Opera  for getting the brain and bones moving. As a bonus, my machine shuffled out some ocean-appropriate Jack Johnson.

And before you know it, I'm humming along to a glaring Alaskan sunrise over Afognak Island, then I'm typing a mile a minute, then it's time to go out and haul in our first set...

Good morning Independence Day.

Memo: Good news on the crimped hands front! About ten days ago John and I were feeling the tendinitis through our wrists down to the elbow and all through our hands. In addition to the bald, not-let-you-sleep-more-than-a-couple-hours-at-a-stretch pain, there was the tingling and eventual numbness in most digits and through the palm to get excited about. Boss consoled us that it would go away in three or four years, that we were pansies anyway, but that a wrist brace might help (wrist brace: alternately referred to as a bowling sleeve—John says it's sort of inspired him to join a league when he gets back home).

Four days ago I realized I was waking up in the middle of the night more from the sound of the engine than from the ache. Two more days and I got really excited when I realized I could feel my pinkie and ring finger. Mostly it's all in the fingertips now: it's the little things.