One day I will look back on my life....on the internet
Sunday, June 29th 2008
Due to the 2nd Year Anniversary show and later party for Jock of the Rock I stayed in Kodiak Saturday, delaying the gratification of leaving the Rock by a day.
4pm Sunday I got to the airport via Dad to jump the J-E-T JET JET JET to Anchortown on route to the greater Naknek-King Salmon metro area. "Mack Strong" was working his TSA job and told me about the setnet sites on the island he'd just scored and that there were masses of fish around them but Fish & Feathers said talk to the hand. This was the only positive thing I'd heard about a dim season so far around the island in the Oh Eight Salmoncide.
Dad supplied me with a fresh rumor to take with me that Global Seafoods was paying $2 a pound for dead reds, a rumor I'd spread like the gospel between home and boat. With the entire west coast of 'Merica shut down it seemed believable, even coming from me. Beats the schmitt out of sixty cents a pound the plantation owners along the banks of the Naknek have offered in recent moons. Of course, I'm tendering so the pain in my cornhole is far less than that of a drifter or piggy piggy.
To be honest I'm not as pumped about going this time around. Last year was romantic in that I was reconnecting with a part of my heart that beat Bristol. The annual mental cleansing effect of the area that I'd missed for five years. This time I was just there to make mad money for my heating oil this winter or pay off some XL platinum cardness. I'm almost not here by choice considering the situation.
But there is to be some rejuvenation in the Sockeye Nation. I'm pretty burned out from The -Job-I-Can't-Talk-About. Seriously. I haven't had a break since the Seahawks sacked the Skins in January and a vacation was in order. But its a deeper burnout, one 2 weeks might not be able to cure with all the aloe in the world. I'm talkin' The Q word. Walkin'. 5000. Done. In fact this idea would dominate my mind most of the time I was there. You'll pick up on this.
My only concern is I'm in lousy shape. I quit KAC/The House That Lindsay Rebuilt in April after a flu bug and have become kinda weak. I was worried my bag was going to go over the 50 # limit but when I plopped it on the scale it read 27.5 pounds. That weak.
Somewhere over the Barren Islands I toy with an idea I've had before called Out of the Wild/Into The Mild, based on the recent Sean Penn directed movie based on the Chris McCandless story. Basically I leave Alaska and enter the generic world of the 48 Chambers of Wu 'Merica and write about it, kind of the reverse of the kid who died in a VW Bus. Ironically he died the day after I turned 21 so I could blend this with my dive bar across the continent concept for a blog or feature film. Sweet.
Wendy and Amy are the flight attendants this late afternoon. I don't think so. Alaska Airlines never wastes their eye candy in The Great Land, saving the Heather Locklear knock-offs for the more domesticated routes. This is done to prevent massive cardiac arrest when Alaskan men board one of their 737s after not seeing a women for years at a time. Not really.
Ted Stevens Is Going to Prison International Airport looks different with the middle of it under construction. I go down a long white tunnel that was modeled after someone's near death visions to the Era counter and the new but not really improved Upper One bar. I think I liked the old one better. And bring back Cheers, damnit!
I scout a couple shops in vain for a mini tripod for my Flipcam before heading to the gloomy gates of PenAir. There is a woman sitting there reading a book titles Why Men Love Bitches? Huh? We do? Lorna, is that you?
Soon I'm airborne and headed for Chinookville. At first I had a killer seat all solo in the back and then FA Carolyn decided to place in the front row like Bob Uecker next to a scared and sweaty 260 pound gentleman. Nevertheless I have the patience of a twenty year kindergarten teacher and land at AKN unbroken.
Twenty years ago I took my first steps on that runway to the terminal, now here for the 16th time since I was 16. Now I'm 36. Going on 22. My dad racked up over 40 season up there. I'd be proud if I managed half that.
There aren't any rides out front so I wander my way to the King Ko Inn bar and ask the cute (underline twice) barmaid in a funky hat if she can call me a cab.
"You're a cab," she says with a smile and then directs me to a free phone around the corner. Be there in 15. Cool. Because I'm a Kodiak boy I naturally gravitate back to the bar. Cutie asks if I'd like a beer. I say no. Barry Bonds passes a UA. Fresno freezes over. Bin Laden turns himself in. Hey, don't forget those words....
I awake to sunny skies and familiar faces pulling up along side with their catch. Slowly I start remembering little things but the Shwanee has to retrain me on the operation of the anchor wench. I mean winch. That device and I still don't get each other sometimes. I think the hydraulics need a Midol.
Baywatch has hired twice as many tenders as last year so we are already thinking maybe we'll work half as much which means I'll get twice as fat. Last year I put on seven pounds with some help from Capt. Ron's love affair with all things butter.
A kid on the Miss Laura bonks his head on the scale as he's trying to string up a bag. I swear the coasties will make us all wear helmets by 2012 (Aztec end of the world year, remember that). I actually could use some catchers shin guards because my knees and the rail are paired up a little too well. CUP CHECK! You don't see many of those Stormy Seas jackets anymore.
I dwell on the task at hand or a future without The-Job-I-Can't-Talk-About. Besides, ain't no love in Bristol Bay. Welcome to The Suck. Or The Grind if you prefer. Suck and grind, Beavis, suck and grind.
Here we go. Prime rib for dinner with sweet potatoes. Never seen bearded man in the sky I love eating on this vessel. After three bites I know my abs are going deep cover. When Capt. Ron cooks its like being on a Princess Cruise and I'm the only passenger. Hours later I have the Miracle Whip and bread out and snacking on a prime rib sandwich in the darkness of the cabin, waiting for some deliverance. SQUEAL LIKE A SETNETTER, BOY!
Tuesday, July 1st 2008
Travis brings down some hot breakfast. Its like Denny's of Naknek. Pancakes AND French Toast. Classy.
Every f-wording time we put our head down somebody wants to unload. Permit holding bastards, let me sleep! We are tied up to the Connie Lou getting pumped off and there are boats tying up to us to de-salmon, even as the tide has dropped the water level to a few feet. Amazing that nobody got stuck attempting to make room for more. Once the water recedes we finally get some shuteye.
Its sorta windy when we awake but we need H deuce O so we hit the Delta dock for some clean water. The Good Captain mistakes the girl working on the dock for a boy. The crew snickers.
We replace a scale that isn't behaving and fix a PVC RSW pipe in the hold. Not. That. Exciting.
My throat issue is still nagging me but I have a new health concern. I haven't dropped mud since I was on island soil. It wouldn't be til after midnight when the stars would align with my bowels.
King salmon with dill sauce, broccoli, and white rice. OMGOMGOMGOMG.
Saw a bear making its way down the south side of the river. Doesn't do anything for me anymore. No racing for the biknockers or a camera, watching it until in disappears into the brush. I never thought a day would come when seeing one would be so blah.
Of the 41 boats on our "A" list, 18 deliver to us. Why? We bad, we bad. We fill the F/V Fayette faster than f-word, two hours and we're done, 2.5 tops. The only thing that slows us down are the drifter captains who what to bull schmitt. Dude, shut up, go kill some more or get some sleep, save yer lies for someone else.
With the boat loaded my mind reverts back to q***ing my land job (not sure why I can't say it, maybe that's how rumors get started). There are so many pies I'm interested I sticking my finger in as far as new careers.
1. Farming: I've always had thing for being a farmer although they are in the same boat as fishermen when it comes to higher costs and corporate takeover in their industry. The cranberry bogs in western Oregon fascinate me, that would be my number one. A hops vineyard would be cool too. I once had an offer to try growing cherry trees in eastern Washington as well so that might still be an option. Industrial hemp would be great if we could get that going in 'Merica. I can picture hemp plantations on Afognak during the long days of summer producing material for clothes, paper, and biofuel. Yes, I went to Humboldt.
2. Green Transportation: I'm no rocket scientist. I'm not even good with bottle rockets so if I were to get involved in the evolution of the nation's vehicles it would most likely be from a sales standpoint. Open an Anchorage branch of MCEV or get in with Tesla for a Seattle showroom. FYI: I still haven't put gas in my car since May 4th.
3. Entertainment: I kind of like writing, maybe you noticed, although I'd have to probably stop speaking Sandinese and go back to English assuming I can remember how. A travel blog or videos, a movie or TV series, something humorous and borderline offensive as usual. I think that Ishmael guy is on to something too, an alternative web based news and opinion source for Kodiak.
4. Recreation: I've been in this field for 20 years now starting with my summer job as a kid with City of Kodiak Parks and Rec to my current you-know-what. A seasonal state parks job would be up my alley.
5. Sugar Mama: Marry a rich chick, take up smoking, and watch the Price Is Right all morning...naked. Maybe not.
My thoughts then turn to fantasy football so I finally pull out the season preview magazine I've been saving. Marion Barber 1-2-3 is going to be my franchise keeper from last year. I know for sure. I'm mailing Larry Johnson his release papers as we speak. Carson Palmer is probably getting cut as well in favor of my stud TE Dallas Clark (whisper THROW IT TO CLARK). After reading a while I determine there is only one player I really want this year but getting him will be next to impossible. Time to get sneaky. Of course half the time I have a strong feeling about a player I hear a flushing sound around Week 5.
Hey, just found my notes from last year's Tender Moments. Its kind of weird knowing what you were doing exactly a year ago. Not a bad weird like the old man who stares at me at the Red Dog, just a plain weird.
With my throat still hurting I defy physics once again and turn down a Crown & Coke with Captain and the Shwanee. This is how Lohan must of felt during her 24 hour rehab. Or was it Paris? Britney? Cedric Benson? I forget.
Wednesday, July 2 2008
Just after sun up we find ourselves steaming out the river towards Petersen Point to rescue Capt AJ and his blue bucket of a boat that has lost power as the tide minutes away from stranding him. This would end up being the only time we'd leave the river the entire time I was there. We go by the F/V Royal Salute (of Kodiak fame) at maximum warp trying to reach "The Dub" in time. Tow line secure we yank him back to Baywatch.
A couple hours later his mooring lines snap at the Connie dock and we have to pick up the pick and go after him again as he's freefalling down stream.
I spy Lil Laura on the F/V Noah, our old partner boat. She's probably still a brat.
The cannery goes on a limit of 2000 pounds per boat and the VHF blows up with profanity from skippers, one after another. Earmuffs, earmuffs. A radio report on the news says Alaska F to the G has raised the projection from 31 million lil scaly bastards to 41 million. Bloody hell! That's a major shift which now makes one wonder, if the plant is on limit already, what are they going to do if the run is really runnin'? To quote my shipmate's favorite saying, "Its not my problem." The limits issue has a new twist this year. Some of the fishermen paid a good chunk of change to own 1% of the operation and in return they are designated as no limit boats. Of course we'll have 41 vessels claiming to be one of the eight who paid for this luxury. I believe ownership did this in an effort to prevent these same choads from suing over anything. Most of them are Californian I believe. Case closed. If I had a cannery I'd cut all the highliners greedy bitcholas and form a retirement cannery for wooden boat types and setnetters who don't produce as much poundage but don't produce as many headaches as well.
Today is also the Good Captain's birthday and the Shwanee baked a carrot cake in the galley with cream cheese frosting. Lindsay, take me away. My dry spell ends when a bottle of Steinlager appears, care of the F/V Irene A. Thanks, Holmes. Gotta love those Russians. Dinner is Cornish game hen, broccoli, and sweet potatoes. Its half thanksgiving and all good.
Another plant improvement- Baywatch is doing our laundry. I brought enough clothing to make the two weeks without, figuring that would be the case. The praise would soon end.
Thursday, July 3rd 2008
There are more tenders, the pump hasn't failed yet, the dock crew is getting us unloaded in record time, but once they fish get up the hill it seems things bottleneck and slow up. Maybe they have an inexperienced crew or they are all stoned or something but they are backed up and its not helping lift limits on the plant's fishermen. I still refuse to say fishers. And firepersons.
The game hen has been transformed into a killer soup. Capt. Ron make Emeril look like a zit poppin' teen making fries at Dick's.
We end up going to the dock to get ice for the fish we still haven't been able to get rid of because of the Baywatch logjam. Our icing goes from in the hold to on the cake as the tide disappears and strands us at a 45 degree angle to the main pilings. Stuck and staying. Sweet. Shore leave as they say in the navy (insert Village People tune).
But before I head for the taverns we get a surprise in the form of apple pie and vanilla ice cream courtesy of a set net family the Shwanee cut a secret deal with. Captains Father and Son #2 decide we should eat it immediately so Son #1 and I have some just to make sure we get our share despite my plans for D&D pizza within the hour. Although it is "Jessica Biel good" pie I still think my mom's is better. This is a matter of fact. I've yet to meet one person who doesn't think the Mother Frances Shelter produces the best pie in the archipelago. Of course this turns into a bet and now I must get mom to make a pie for the Fayette crew to prove her superiority in battle.
In the dessert-first frame of mind now we go to the bar before the greek spot. Ah, the Fisherman's Bar (PBR), the perfect Tony's substitute. I sit next to the owner's wife and her little dog and just like last year starts talking about the parade and the Fishtival. One day I will make it to Fishtival. The cardboard salmon are back on the ceiling but I can't find my JOCK OF THE ROCK creation amongst the masses of fish above. There must be at least two hundred up there now. She asks me if I've seen the mermaids painted on the floor in the game room. Nyet. I unlock the door at sure enough they have a pair of chickfish on the floor. My fetish satisfied we finish our drinks and head to Hatfield's.
No wait, I had to photograph the urinals for my collection first. Obamaonyermama, what the f-word is this?
Yes, someone tore the urinal from the wall.
At Hatfield's (Mirror Pond, $4 special of the day) the Shwanee pulls up a seat next to one of the skippers from our cannery I'm not familiar with who he calls "J", a surfer-type from Hawaii who runs the F/V Marie. "J" tells us about tuna fishing down there and how we were too white to be accepted there unless we had the island spirit. Whatever.
Alan walks in. The drunkest fisherman I've ever seen and that is saying something considering where I'm from. We can't believe he's still alive. Fortunately he doesn't have a boat and isn't on the water. Its honestly very sad to see someone who has found a way to get below rock bottom but there isn't much you can do. I just can't picture him ever getting help, he's the dead man walking.
Hatfield's has ice in the trough-style urinal. I assume it is to control odor. When you pee on it the ice caves in and you feel like you are controlling the falling blocks in Tetris. Better than writing "Nicholas" in the snow.
Next door for pizza and I spot Alicia right away who seems completely thrilled to see a familiar face after her first year of college and then going straight up the The Bay to wait tables for Greek George. She shows me pictures of her boyfriend but we don't have much time to discuss her past year in Humboldt. We get a Hawaiian pizza (cheers, "J") and drinks (Budweiser x 2).
The skipper of another Baywatcher comes in. Mr. Peterson. Best story teller I've heard up there since Ernie. Rattles off how he got a speeding ticket not too far from here and had a loaded pistol on his lap, ended up in jail, dates a girl in Seattle with a radio tracker on her ankle, his son-in-law should be in the NFL, and on and on and on. He's wasting his time fishing, a.m. talk radio needs this man.
Any more Buds and I won't make it down the ladder safely so we head back to the boat bellies full. The Wilghtnee is tied up by us and Capt. AJ's first and really only mate (because the other guy never showed up), Manslut, shows us the awesome paddle he made out of a pallet board. Not a paddle for a boat, a paddle for dat arse. I want one in case we come across any naughty mermaids. He also shows me his plans for an Adirondack chair, also made from pallets. Dude is going to put Total Interiors out of business by mid-season.
Friday, July 4 2008
The holiday that never is. Finally get some long sleep. The fleet is on a 5000 pound limit now. The tender F/V Ocean Pearl arrives and Rainier Hat Jeremy is on board, a fellow mall crawler from the Rock. He seems surprised to see me and I remind he we had a conversation a few weeks before at Anthony's Bar and No Grill we were both tendering for the same backwards outfit. What's said at Tony's stays in Tony's...because people forget.
To make up for the fact I'm eating every 90 to 120 minutes I read an issue of Men's Health before slipping back into my bunk. Bunks are great, they are shelves for humans. I plan to have one in my Connex dream house along with a life-size Mermaid Babrie. After a nap I take a shower up at the bunkhouse which is repulsive even by my homeless standards.
Watch most of X-Men III before another night in Naknek. By 9:30pm I'm back at the Fisherman's (Redhook ESB) watching Sportscenter. I try calling The Walsh but no answer. The place is dead so I go to Hatfield's where it is equally devoid of people. Damnit.
This leaves one more option. The Red Dog. Bark at the moon, I'm going. By reputation its not somewhere I like to go alone but I'm not wasting the birthday of our nation not wasted. There are lots of cars out front when it comes into view and once inside there is a duo on stage pickin' strings and almost every seat at the bar is taken. I squeeze in a spot (Budweiser x 2, not much selection). There are three seriously attractive young chickadees to might right mobbed in layers of d-bags both foreign and domestic. The bartender for Hats who served me yesterday has the most prime for sexy time one on his arm. He has a needle-found-in-haystack twinkle in his eye. Good luck with that, Pimpsocks. The barmaid is named Haley and she's got a fun rocker personality about her. I consider recruiting her for Pattie and George but something tells me she's got bloodties to the Dog, owner's daughter vibe. Still, I should have asked.
It dawns on me that this is about as good as it is going to get and that it isn't good enough so I get out. I miss those times with Sellout, Hartford Howie, or Chef Boy, playing pool at the Fisherman's or just hanging out during a closure. Good f-wording times.
Saturday, July 5 2008
I wake up from the most erotic dream I've had in 15 years. Amazing I'm not stuck to the sleeping bag. Ironically we a near a boat called the F/V Premo Lai. The dream might have well been real as I skipped around the back deck with a smile. Before we know it we are already 80% full. Are we going to end up waiting a day and half to unload again? This is way too easy.
6. Fisheries: Another career move I'd consider is getting in the fish business. Without a boat. Work for the Dark Side, learn the insides and middlemen of the salmon biz, find new markets and rip them off, sailing dirty capitalist schmitt, yaknowwhatimsayin'.
One of the setnetters from last season ties up with their red for green and I remember her face and vaguely what she does for a living but not her name. For lack of creativity I shall refer to her from here on out as "Andrea". This isn't her first delivery to us this season but I always feel different when she shows up. She has a smile that rivals the most beautiful sunrise over Cape Suworof or field of Forget-Me-Nots. The Shwanee busts me quick.
"Yer in love," he says.
I snap back with a laugh. "How do you know?"
Without pause he says frankly "I can read you like a book."
Now love is a pretty strong word but I had no rebuttal that this woman definitely had my attention in a way I hadn't crossed paths with in awhile. And she is a woman, not a girl, which might have something to do with it. It seems no matter how many times the 17th of August comes around I still end up with human females who are around 23-25 years old. I'm not complaining but I'm not progressing either. I want to get to know this Andrea person but it will be slow going five minutes at a time and the persistent ribbing I know I will endure from the Shwanee everyday until I depart.
Lenny Boy gives us some home made (or boat made) authentic spaghetti sauce. Spirideon slips us some fry bread. Bad Boy Joe tosses us Budweisers. It must be Luv Yer Tender Day and everyone is celebrating. Thinking we have seen our lot of deliveries for the day the Shwanee and I take care of those newly acquired brewskis. Of course then boats start showing up again and I'm moving around the deck minus my A-game. It reminds me of the time I drank just one Coors Light during a softball game and couldn't hit the ball and never cracked one again until the final out. Same deal here. But did you already forget?....
Highlight of the week: After downing the Budweiser I look at the Shwanee and say "Man, that was good. I wish Joe would come back and give us another." Five minutes later Joe came back. I swear I'm not making this up. And yes, he gave us another beer. I looked up to the sky and said "thank you."
With the boat almost full we have room for just a couple thousand pounds that we are reserving just in case for some of our regular setnetters when the F/V Miss Laura pulls up. About the same time the setnetting family Clan Mitchell comes up on the port side. We end up bending the truth about our capacity to the drifter and wait for him to f-word off so we can unload the skiff but he hangs around forever waiting for a second tender to show up.
Half an hour later the F/V Millennium shows up and he unties to unload to them. We soon offload the fisher family even though the Miss Laura could still see us from where the Millennium anchored. Whatever. Jeff, the chronic last delivery of the day guy, comes about the starboard side and before you know it we have deck chairs out and a party on the stern which would make a great line for a cougar...there's a party in my stern and yer invited. Sorry.
Sunday, July 6 2008
Just after midnight we watch The 13th Warrior. Too sexy, too sexy. How about a cheer?
I say CLUSTER
You say F-WORD
CLUSTER!
F-WORD!
CLUSTER!
F-WORD!
The Ocean Pearl's anchor isn't big enough for the strong pull of the Naknek and in out effort to assist we let them hang behind us. When the tide changes in the middle of the black they end up along side us bumpin' bumpin' and we have a Italian fire drill seiner tango in the only hours one could call night. An unpleasant experience but not as bad as it seemed at the time.
At 5am we go in for ice and while loading it in the back hold I nearly fall in the hatch, filling my boot with fresh frozen crystals. But this is nothing compared to my gas. It is beyond methane, closer to mustard. The Shwanee arms himself with a canister of Lysol spray but its powers are no match for me when I've got my arse groove on. I will be victorious. I will.
We get word that the cannery not only shut down yesterday from a brief power outage in the area but the Turks declared a mini strike to challenge how they were being treated. I predict no educated foreign workers in 2009.
With lots of free time again I pull out the wedding vows for Cy and Paige's wedding, coming up with ideas and one liners. I still can't believe they wanted me for this. I tried to talk them out of it but they insisted. I come up with a "pregame" wedding show concept:
I walk in dressed in my Capt. Seahawk uniform (which is on display currently here) with some hottie like Miss Danielle on a dog leash wearing a Catholic school girl's outfit, a la Opps, I Did It Again video, you know it. From there I do the whole DEVIL BE GONE routine on her to get the naughty out, then put a Packer fan Tillamookhead on for communion. Cheese-Its and a 40 of PBR, the blood of Favre. From there I go into Ray Lewis mode and we do some crowd participation "Who's House?!/What Time Is It?!" chanting and flexing before I strip to my underwear before everyone and change into the regular clothes for the actual ceremony. On three, ready, BREAK.
Salmon Tacos, the Good Captain's specialty. Sorry Rubio's, can't touch this.
We here a lady screaming on the radio that Alan has stolen her boat with her dog on it and that she's going to call the Coast Guard if he doesn't come back.
Today's feature presentation is Silverado. Kevin Costner's first film I believe and his performance was an inspiration for Brokeback Mountain. Not really.
4pm Sunday I got to the airport via Dad to jump the J-E-T JET JET JET to Anchortown on route to the greater Naknek-King Salmon metro area. "Mack Strong" was working his TSA job and told me about the setnet sites on the island he'd just scored and that there were masses of fish around them but Fish & Feathers said talk to the hand. This was the only positive thing I'd heard about a dim season so far around the island in the Oh Eight Salmoncide.
Dad supplied me with a fresh rumor to take with me that Global Seafoods was paying $2 a pound for dead reds, a rumor I'd spread like the gospel between home and boat. With the entire west coast of 'Merica shut down it seemed believable, even coming from me. Beats the schmitt out of sixty cents a pound the plantation owners along the banks of the Naknek have offered in recent moons. Of course, I'm tendering so the pain in my cornhole is far less than that of a drifter or piggy piggy.
To be honest I'm not as pumped about going this time around. Last year was romantic in that I was reconnecting with a part of my heart that beat Bristol. The annual mental cleansing effect of the area that I'd missed for five years. This time I was just there to make mad money for my heating oil this winter or pay off some XL platinum cardness. I'm almost not here by choice considering the situation.
But there is to be some rejuvenation in the Sockeye Nation. I'm pretty burned out from The -Job-I-Can't-Talk-About. Seriously. I haven't had a break since the Seahawks sacked the Skins in January and a vacation was in order. But its a deeper burnout, one 2 weeks might not be able to cure with all the aloe in the world. I'm talkin' The Q word. Walkin'. 5000. Done. In fact this idea would dominate my mind most of the time I was there. You'll pick up on this.
My only concern is I'm in lousy shape. I quit KAC/The House That Lindsay Rebuilt in April after a flu bug and have become kinda weak. I was worried my bag was going to go over the 50 # limit but when I plopped it on the scale it read 27.5 pounds. That weak.
Somewhere over the Barren Islands I toy with an idea I've had before called Out of the Wild/Into The Mild, based on the recent Sean Penn directed movie based on the Chris McCandless story. Basically I leave Alaska and enter the generic world of the 48 Chambers of Wu 'Merica and write about it, kind of the reverse of the kid who died in a VW Bus. Ironically he died the day after I turned 21 so I could blend this with my dive bar across the continent concept for a blog or feature film. Sweet.
Wendy and Amy are the flight attendants this late afternoon. I don't think so. Alaska Airlines never wastes their eye candy in The Great Land, saving the Heather Locklear knock-offs for the more domesticated routes. This is done to prevent massive cardiac arrest when Alaskan men board one of their 737s after not seeing a women for years at a time. Not really.
Ted Stevens Is Going to Prison International Airport looks different with the middle of it under construction. I go down a long white tunnel that was modeled after someone's near death visions to the Era counter and the new but not really improved Upper One bar. I think I liked the old one better. And bring back Cheers, damnit!
I scout a couple shops in vain for a mini tripod for my Flipcam before heading to the gloomy gates of PenAir. There is a woman sitting there reading a book titles Why Men Love Bitches? Huh? We do? Lorna, is that you?
Soon I'm airborne and headed for Chinookville. At first I had a killer seat all solo in the back and then FA Carolyn decided to place in the front row like Bob Uecker next to a scared and sweaty 260 pound gentleman. Nevertheless I have the patience of a twenty year kindergarten teacher and land at AKN unbroken.
Twenty years ago I took my first steps on that runway to the terminal, now here for the 16th time since I was 16. Now I'm 36. Going on 22. My dad racked up over 40 season up there. I'd be proud if I managed half that.
There aren't any rides out front so I wander my way to the King Ko Inn bar and ask the cute (underline twice) barmaid in a funky hat if she can call me a cab.
"You're a cab," she says with a smile and then directs me to a free phone around the corner. Be there in 15. Cool. Because I'm a Kodiak boy I naturally gravitate back to the bar. Cutie asks if I'd like a beer. I say no. Barry Bonds passes a UA. Fresno freezes over. Bin Laden turns himself in. Hey, don't forget those words....
One is too many and ten is not enough
I go back to use the phone and call The Good Captain. He informs me the tide isn't high enough to retrieve me yet and to go have dinner somewhere. Halfway to Naknek (I'm claimin' Northside, mudderphutters!) I realize I could have stayed in KS with Cutie and Co. before my cab or even better hit Eddie's Fireside Inn for a taco burger and those shoelace fries I adore.
Instead I get out at the D&D, home to my favorite pizza on Earf. I have a burger (mushrooms and bacon, fool). Had six pieces of Big Al's the night before during the JOTR par-tay. I'm also there in hope of catching an ex-employee of mine who is waitressing there for the summer but she went home early.
Soon I'm lumbering down the dusty road with my big blue rubber bag on my back to Baywatch, same backwards operation as 2007. To my left I spy sandbars still in the river so I still have some waiting ahead of me. From the dock I see the fine Hansen seiner I will be replaying my role as Deck Animal on, using my super powers to pull a yellow cord and determine the fate of hundreds of boarding brailer bags. JC and side of rice, I'm important.
I go back up the hill and wait on a bench by the laundry room listening to Turks and Ukrainians in their native Borat-like tongues and dragging menthols like their last name was Burch. Finally my ship arrives. Let's get started.
Monday, June 30th 2008
The Naknek is 100,000 oncorhynchus nerka (latin flavor, yo) ahead of projections and the fleet isn't in the river for once. The scene is unusually calm. The differences between last year and now become apparent immediately, particularly at the dock. Felicity and Amanda have been replaced by a dude named Travis who was actually a fisherman last time he was seen. The dock is tidy, the pump is working fine, there is order in the universe. Like night and day from Oh Seven.
Also missing Is Antwaan Randy El. The man who loves a good peanut butter sandwich isn't joining the force this go around and will be missed for his massive entertainment value and as the prime target of my snowballs made from tote ice.
Instead I get out at the D&D, home to my favorite pizza on Earf. I have a burger (mushrooms and bacon, fool). Had six pieces of Big Al's the night before during the JOTR par-tay. I'm also there in hope of catching an ex-employee of mine who is waitressing there for the summer but she went home early.
Soon I'm lumbering down the dusty road with my big blue rubber bag on my back to Baywatch, same backwards operation as 2007. To my left I spy sandbars still in the river so I still have some waiting ahead of me. From the dock I see the fine Hansen seiner I will be replaying my role as Deck Animal on, using my super powers to pull a yellow cord and determine the fate of hundreds of boarding brailer bags. JC and side of rice, I'm important.
I go back up the hill and wait on a bench by the laundry room listening to Turks and Ukrainians in their native Borat-like tongues and dragging menthols like their last name was Burch. Finally my ship arrives. Let's get started.
Monday, June 30th 2008
The Naknek is 100,000 oncorhynchus nerka (latin flavor, yo) ahead of projections and the fleet isn't in the river for once. The scene is unusually calm. The differences between last year and now become apparent immediately, particularly at the dock. Felicity and Amanda have been replaced by a dude named Travis who was actually a fisherman last time he was seen. The dock is tidy, the pump is working fine, there is order in the universe. Like night and day from Oh Seven.
Also missing Is Antwaan Randy El. The man who loves a good peanut butter sandwich isn't joining the force this go around and will be missed for his massive entertainment value and as the prime target of my snowballs made from tote ice.
I awake to sunny skies and familiar faces pulling up along side with their catch. Slowly I start remembering little things but the Shwanee has to retrain me on the operation of the anchor wench. I mean winch. That device and I still don't get each other sometimes. I think the hydraulics need a Midol.
Baywatch has hired twice as many tenders as last year so we are already thinking maybe we'll work half as much which means I'll get twice as fat. Last year I put on seven pounds with some help from Capt. Ron's love affair with all things butter.
A kid on the Miss Laura bonks his head on the scale as he's trying to string up a bag. I swear the coasties will make us all wear helmets by 2012 (Aztec end of the world year, remember that). I actually could use some catchers shin guards because my knees and the rail are paired up a little too well. CUP CHECK! You don't see many of those Stormy Seas jackets anymore.
I dwell on the task at hand or a future without The-Job-I-Can't-Talk-About. Besides, ain't no love in Bristol Bay. Welcome to The Suck. Or The Grind if you prefer. Suck and grind, Beavis, suck and grind.
Here we go. Prime rib for dinner with sweet potatoes. Never seen bearded man in the sky I love eating on this vessel. After three bites I know my abs are going deep cover. When Capt. Ron cooks its like being on a Princess Cruise and I'm the only passenger. Hours later I have the Miracle Whip and bread out and snacking on a prime rib sandwich in the darkness of the cabin, waiting for some deliverance. SQUEAL LIKE A SETNETTER, BOY!
Tuesday, July 1st 2008
Travis brings down some hot breakfast. Its like Denny's of Naknek. Pancakes AND French Toast. Classy.
Every f-wording time we put our head down somebody wants to unload. Permit holding bastards, let me sleep! We are tied up to the Connie Lou getting pumped off and there are boats tying up to us to de-salmon, even as the tide has dropped the water level to a few feet. Amazing that nobody got stuck attempting to make room for more. Once the water recedes we finally get some shuteye.
Its sorta windy when we awake but we need H deuce O so we hit the Delta dock for some clean water. The Good Captain mistakes the girl working on the dock for a boy. The crew snickers.
We replace a scale that isn't behaving and fix a PVC RSW pipe in the hold. Not. That. Exciting.
My throat issue is still nagging me but I have a new health concern. I haven't dropped mud since I was on island soil. It wouldn't be til after midnight when the stars would align with my bowels.
King salmon with dill sauce, broccoli, and white rice. OMGOMGOMGOMG.
Saw a bear making its way down the south side of the river. Doesn't do anything for me anymore. No racing for the biknockers or a camera, watching it until in disappears into the brush. I never thought a day would come when seeing one would be so blah.
Of the 41 boats on our "A" list, 18 deliver to us. Why? We bad, we bad. We fill the F/V Fayette faster than f-word, two hours and we're done, 2.5 tops. The only thing that slows us down are the drifter captains who what to bull schmitt. Dude, shut up, go kill some more or get some sleep, save yer lies for someone else.
With the boat loaded my mind reverts back to q***ing my land job (not sure why I can't say it, maybe that's how rumors get started). There are so many pies I'm interested I sticking my finger in as far as new careers.
1. Farming: I've always had thing for being a farmer although they are in the same boat as fishermen when it comes to higher costs and corporate takeover in their industry. The cranberry bogs in western Oregon fascinate me, that would be my number one. A hops vineyard would be cool too. I once had an offer to try growing cherry trees in eastern Washington as well so that might still be an option. Industrial hemp would be great if we could get that going in 'Merica. I can picture hemp plantations on Afognak during the long days of summer producing material for clothes, paper, and biofuel. Yes, I went to Humboldt.
2. Green Transportation: I'm no rocket scientist. I'm not even good with bottle rockets so if I were to get involved in the evolution of the nation's vehicles it would most likely be from a sales standpoint. Open an Anchorage branch of MCEV or get in with Tesla for a Seattle showroom. FYI: I still haven't put gas in my car since May 4th.
3. Entertainment: I kind of like writing, maybe you noticed, although I'd have to probably stop speaking Sandinese and go back to English assuming I can remember how. A travel blog or videos, a movie or TV series, something humorous and borderline offensive as usual. I think that Ishmael guy is on to something too, an alternative web based news and opinion source for Kodiak.
4. Recreation: I've been in this field for 20 years now starting with my summer job as a kid with City of Kodiak Parks and Rec to my current you-know-what. A seasonal state parks job would be up my alley.
5. Sugar Mama: Marry a rich chick, take up smoking, and watch the Price Is Right all morning...naked. Maybe not.
My thoughts then turn to fantasy football so I finally pull out the season preview magazine I've been saving. Marion Barber 1-2-3 is going to be my franchise keeper from last year. I know for sure. I'm mailing Larry Johnson his release papers as we speak. Carson Palmer is probably getting cut as well in favor of my stud TE Dallas Clark (whisper THROW IT TO CLARK). After reading a while I determine there is only one player I really want this year but getting him will be next to impossible. Time to get sneaky. Of course half the time I have a strong feeling about a player I hear a flushing sound around Week 5.
Hey, just found my notes from last year's Tender Moments. Its kind of weird knowing what you were doing exactly a year ago. Not a bad weird like the old man who stares at me at the Red Dog, just a plain weird.
With my throat still hurting I defy physics once again and turn down a Crown & Coke with Captain and the Shwanee. This is how Lohan must of felt during her 24 hour rehab. Or was it Paris? Britney? Cedric Benson? I forget.
Wednesday, July 2 2008
Just after sun up we find ourselves steaming out the river towards Petersen Point to rescue Capt AJ and his blue bucket of a boat that has lost power as the tide minutes away from stranding him. This would end up being the only time we'd leave the river the entire time I was there. We go by the F/V Royal Salute (of Kodiak fame) at maximum warp trying to reach "The Dub" in time. Tow line secure we yank him back to Baywatch.
A couple hours later his mooring lines snap at the Connie dock and we have to pick up the pick and go after him again as he's freefalling down stream.
I spy Lil Laura on the F/V Noah, our old partner boat. She's probably still a brat.
The cannery goes on a limit of 2000 pounds per boat and the VHF blows up with profanity from skippers, one after another. Earmuffs, earmuffs. A radio report on the news says Alaska F to the G has raised the projection from 31 million lil scaly bastards to 41 million. Bloody hell! That's a major shift which now makes one wonder, if the plant is on limit already, what are they going to do if the run is really runnin'? To quote my shipmate's favorite saying, "Its not my problem." The limits issue has a new twist this year. Some of the fishermen paid a good chunk of change to own 1% of the operation and in return they are designated as no limit boats. Of course we'll have 41 vessels claiming to be one of the eight who paid for this luxury. I believe ownership did this in an effort to prevent these same choads from suing over anything. Most of them are Californian I believe. Case closed. If I had a cannery I'd cut all the highliners greedy bitcholas and form a retirement cannery for wooden boat types and setnetters who don't produce as much poundage but don't produce as many headaches as well.
Today is also the Good Captain's birthday and the Shwanee baked a carrot cake in the galley with cream cheese frosting. Lindsay, take me away. My dry spell ends when a bottle of Steinlager appears, care of the F/V Irene A. Thanks, Holmes. Gotta love those Russians. Dinner is Cornish game hen, broccoli, and sweet potatoes. Its half thanksgiving and all good.
Another plant improvement- Baywatch is doing our laundry. I brought enough clothing to make the two weeks without, figuring that would be the case. The praise would soon end.
Thursday, July 3rd 2008
There are more tenders, the pump hasn't failed yet, the dock crew is getting us unloaded in record time, but once they fish get up the hill it seems things bottleneck and slow up. Maybe they have an inexperienced crew or they are all stoned or something but they are backed up and its not helping lift limits on the plant's fishermen. I still refuse to say fishers. And firepersons.
The game hen has been transformed into a killer soup. Capt. Ron make Emeril look like a zit poppin' teen making fries at Dick's.
We end up going to the dock to get ice for the fish we still haven't been able to get rid of because of the Baywatch logjam. Our icing goes from in the hold to on the cake as the tide disappears and strands us at a 45 degree angle to the main pilings. Stuck and staying. Sweet. Shore leave as they say in the navy (insert Village People tune).
But before I head for the taverns we get a surprise in the form of apple pie and vanilla ice cream courtesy of a set net family the Shwanee cut a secret deal with. Captains Father and Son #2 decide we should eat it immediately so Son #1 and I have some just to make sure we get our share despite my plans for D&D pizza within the hour. Although it is "Jessica Biel good" pie I still think my mom's is better. This is a matter of fact. I've yet to meet one person who doesn't think the Mother Frances Shelter produces the best pie in the archipelago. Of course this turns into a bet and now I must get mom to make a pie for the Fayette crew to prove her superiority in battle.
In the dessert-first frame of mind now we go to the bar before the greek spot. Ah, the Fisherman's Bar (PBR), the perfect Tony's substitute. I sit next to the owner's wife and her little dog and just like last year starts talking about the parade and the Fishtival. One day I will make it to Fishtival. The cardboard salmon are back on the ceiling but I can't find my JOCK OF THE ROCK creation amongst the masses of fish above. There must be at least two hundred up there now. She asks me if I've seen the mermaids painted on the floor in the game room. Nyet. I unlock the door at sure enough they have a pair of chickfish on the floor. My fetish satisfied we finish our drinks and head to Hatfield's.
No wait, I had to photograph the urinals for my collection first. Obamaonyermama, what the f-word is this?
Yes, someone tore the urinal from the wall.
At Hatfield's (Mirror Pond, $4 special of the day) the Shwanee pulls up a seat next to one of the skippers from our cannery I'm not familiar with who he calls "J", a surfer-type from Hawaii who runs the F/V Marie. "J" tells us about tuna fishing down there and how we were too white to be accepted there unless we had the island spirit. Whatever.
Alan walks in. The drunkest fisherman I've ever seen and that is saying something considering where I'm from. We can't believe he's still alive. Fortunately he doesn't have a boat and isn't on the water. Its honestly very sad to see someone who has found a way to get below rock bottom but there isn't much you can do. I just can't picture him ever getting help, he's the dead man walking.
Hatfield's has ice in the trough-style urinal. I assume it is to control odor. When you pee on it the ice caves in and you feel like you are controlling the falling blocks in Tetris. Better than writing "Nicholas" in the snow.
Next door for pizza and I spot Alicia right away who seems completely thrilled to see a familiar face after her first year of college and then going straight up the The Bay to wait tables for Greek George. She shows me pictures of her boyfriend but we don't have much time to discuss her past year in Humboldt. We get a Hawaiian pizza (cheers, "J") and drinks (Budweiser x 2).
The skipper of another Baywatcher comes in. Mr. Peterson. Best story teller I've heard up there since Ernie. Rattles off how he got a speeding ticket not too far from here and had a loaded pistol on his lap, ended up in jail, dates a girl in Seattle with a radio tracker on her ankle, his son-in-law should be in the NFL, and on and on and on. He's wasting his time fishing, a.m. talk radio needs this man.
Any more Buds and I won't make it down the ladder safely so we head back to the boat bellies full. The Wilghtnee is tied up by us and Capt. AJ's first and really only mate (because the other guy never showed up), Manslut, shows us the awesome paddle he made out of a pallet board. Not a paddle for a boat, a paddle for dat arse. I want one in case we come across any naughty mermaids. He also shows me his plans for an Adirondack chair, also made from pallets. Dude is going to put Total Interiors out of business by mid-season.
Friday, July 4 2008
The holiday that never is. Finally get some long sleep. The fleet is on a 5000 pound limit now. The tender F/V Ocean Pearl arrives and Rainier Hat Jeremy is on board, a fellow mall crawler from the Rock. He seems surprised to see me and I remind he we had a conversation a few weeks before at Anthony's Bar and No Grill we were both tendering for the same backwards outfit. What's said at Tony's stays in Tony's...because people forget.
To make up for the fact I'm eating every 90 to 120 minutes I read an issue of Men's Health before slipping back into my bunk. Bunks are great, they are shelves for humans. I plan to have one in my Connex dream house along with a life-size Mermaid Babrie. After a nap I take a shower up at the bunkhouse which is repulsive even by my homeless standards.
Watch most of X-Men III before another night in Naknek. By 9:30pm I'm back at the Fisherman's (Redhook ESB) watching Sportscenter. I try calling The Walsh but no answer. The place is dead so I go to Hatfield's where it is equally devoid of people. Damnit.
This leaves one more option. The Red Dog. Bark at the moon, I'm going. By reputation its not somewhere I like to go alone but I'm not wasting the birthday of our nation not wasted. There are lots of cars out front when it comes into view and once inside there is a duo on stage pickin' strings and almost every seat at the bar is taken. I squeeze in a spot (Budweiser x 2, not much selection). There are three seriously attractive young chickadees to might right mobbed in layers of d-bags both foreign and domestic. The bartender for Hats who served me yesterday has the most prime for sexy time one on his arm. He has a needle-found-in-haystack twinkle in his eye. Good luck with that, Pimpsocks. The barmaid is named Haley and she's got a fun rocker personality about her. I consider recruiting her for Pattie and George but something tells me she's got bloodties to the Dog, owner's daughter vibe. Still, I should have asked.
It dawns on me that this is about as good as it is going to get and that it isn't good enough so I get out. I miss those times with Sellout, Hartford Howie, or Chef Boy, playing pool at the Fisherman's or just hanging out during a closure. Good f-wording times.
Saturday, July 5 2008
I wake up from the most erotic dream I've had in 15 years. Amazing I'm not stuck to the sleeping bag. Ironically we a near a boat called the F/V Premo Lai. The dream might have well been real as I skipped around the back deck with a smile. Before we know it we are already 80% full. Are we going to end up waiting a day and half to unload again? This is way too easy.
6. Fisheries: Another career move I'd consider is getting in the fish business. Without a boat. Work for the Dark Side, learn the insides and middlemen of the salmon biz, find new markets and rip them off, sailing dirty capitalist schmitt, yaknowwhatimsayin'.
One of the setnetters from last season ties up with their red for green and I remember her face and vaguely what she does for a living but not her name. For lack of creativity I shall refer to her from here on out as "Andrea". This isn't her first delivery to us this season but I always feel different when she shows up. She has a smile that rivals the most beautiful sunrise over Cape Suworof or field of Forget-Me-Nots. The Shwanee busts me quick.
"Yer in love," he says.
I snap back with a laugh. "How do you know?"
Without pause he says frankly "I can read you like a book."
Now love is a pretty strong word but I had no rebuttal that this woman definitely had my attention in a way I hadn't crossed paths with in awhile. And she is a woman, not a girl, which might have something to do with it. It seems no matter how many times the 17th of August comes around I still end up with human females who are around 23-25 years old. I'm not complaining but I'm not progressing either. I want to get to know this Andrea person but it will be slow going five minutes at a time and the persistent ribbing I know I will endure from the Shwanee everyday until I depart.
Lenny Boy gives us some home made (or boat made) authentic spaghetti sauce. Spirideon slips us some fry bread. Bad Boy Joe tosses us Budweisers. It must be Luv Yer Tender Day and everyone is celebrating. Thinking we have seen our lot of deliveries for the day the Shwanee and I take care of those newly acquired brewskis. Of course then boats start showing up again and I'm moving around the deck minus my A-game. It reminds me of the time I drank just one Coors Light during a softball game and couldn't hit the ball and never cracked one again until the final out. Same deal here. But did you already forget?....
One is too many and ten is not enough
Highlight of the week: After downing the Budweiser I look at the Shwanee and say "Man, that was good. I wish Joe would come back and give us another." Five minutes later Joe came back. I swear I'm not making this up. And yes, he gave us another beer. I looked up to the sky and said "thank you."
With the boat almost full we have room for just a couple thousand pounds that we are reserving just in case for some of our regular setnetters when the F/V Miss Laura pulls up. About the same time the setnetting family Clan Mitchell comes up on the port side. We end up bending the truth about our capacity to the drifter and wait for him to f-word off so we can unload the skiff but he hangs around forever waiting for a second tender to show up.
Half an hour later the F/V Millennium shows up and he unties to unload to them. We soon offload the fisher family even though the Miss Laura could still see us from where the Millennium anchored. Whatever. Jeff, the chronic last delivery of the day guy, comes about the starboard side and before you know it we have deck chairs out and a party on the stern which would make a great line for a cougar...there's a party in my stern and yer invited. Sorry.
Sunday, July 6 2008
Just after midnight we watch The 13th Warrior. Too sexy, too sexy. How about a cheer?
I say CLUSTER
You say F-WORD
CLUSTER!
F-WORD!
CLUSTER!
F-WORD!
The Ocean Pearl's anchor isn't big enough for the strong pull of the Naknek and in out effort to assist we let them hang behind us. When the tide changes in the middle of the black they end up along side us bumpin' bumpin' and we have a Italian fire drill seiner tango in the only hours one could call night. An unpleasant experience but not as bad as it seemed at the time.
At 5am we go in for ice and while loading it in the back hold I nearly fall in the hatch, filling my boot with fresh frozen crystals. But this is nothing compared to my gas. It is beyond methane, closer to mustard. The Shwanee arms himself with a canister of Lysol spray but its powers are no match for me when I've got my arse groove on. I will be victorious. I will.
We get word that the cannery not only shut down yesterday from a brief power outage in the area but the Turks declared a mini strike to challenge how they were being treated. I predict no educated foreign workers in 2009.
With lots of free time again I pull out the wedding vows for Cy and Paige's wedding, coming up with ideas and one liners. I still can't believe they wanted me for this. I tried to talk them out of it but they insisted. I come up with a "pregame" wedding show concept:
I walk in dressed in my Capt. Seahawk uniform (which is on display currently here) with some hottie like Miss Danielle on a dog leash wearing a Catholic school girl's outfit, a la Opps, I Did It Again video, you know it. From there I do the whole DEVIL BE GONE routine on her to get the naughty out, then put a Packer fan Tillamookhead on for communion. Cheese-Its and a 40 of PBR, the blood of Favre. From there I go into Ray Lewis mode and we do some crowd participation "Who's House?!/What Time Is It?!" chanting and flexing before I strip to my underwear before everyone and change into the regular clothes for the actual ceremony. On three, ready, BREAK.
Salmon Tacos, the Good Captain's specialty. Sorry Rubio's, can't touch this.
We here a lady screaming on the radio that Alan has stolen her boat with her dog on it and that she's going to call the Coast Guard if he doesn't come back.
Today's feature presentation is Silverado. Kevin Costner's first film I believe and his performance was an inspiration for Brokeback Mountain. Not really.
Due to a Flipcam malfunction there are no pictures at this time. Hopefully they will be extracted and posted soon.
