I really enjoy thinking about it in those terms…the journey the meat takes. It’s even more intriguing to think about the smaller quantities of fish that take the journey back to the smokehouses of the Natives. Thousands of strips of meat hang from the racks, being smoked above a fire which must be built early every morning and late every night and tended to constantly to ensure the right heat, amount of smoke, and air flow. When fully smoked, the meat is used to subsist through the bitter-cold winter that grips this part of the world. And even a few jars make it back to the Bay the following year as gifts to remind us out-of-towners how many miles and how much work and pride are put into smoking fish every fall for the winter season. (It is candy, let me tell you.)
Those of you who have tried my pickled fish (or any pickled fish, for that matter) can appreciate the journey of this meat as well – the stern of the Odie in a strong blow to the butchering table to be filleted. Up to the net locker where I layer the fish in five gallon buckets, meat-to-meat, skin-to-skin, salting every layer up to the top. The brine is created and rises as the salt pulls the moisture from the meat and cures it. Three months later, the salt buckets arrive Seattle on the barge and make their way to the garage until around Christmas time, where large quantities of onions, lemons, cauliflower, spices, and other (secret, of course!) ingredients, passed down through generations, combine themselves with the red sockeye meat to make a gorgeous presentation. It nourishes, brings people together, tastes heavenly, and tells a unique story through the looking-glass of the Mason jar.
As my dad says, “It’s all just grunt-labor.” Well, he’s right. And it’s not just grunt labor for the fisherman, but it’s grunt labor for the cannery worker, the tenderman, the machinist, the laundry lady in the bunkhouse. But as this season comes to close, I can’t help but reflect on how pure and direct this industry is no matter how complicated the business side is. It is direct in its labor and direct in the fruit it produces, and it affects people all over the world…directly. It makes men. It makes sleazebags. It makes money; sometimes it makes tribulation and tragedy. It is farming…on the ocean.
But the fact remains: you’ve made it this far in reading my gobbledygook. Thank you so much for that. I’m the son of a 50-year veteran of the Bering Sea and its bounty, and I don’t plan on stopping; in fact, I plan on pushing the throttles forward even a little more. There is a lot of work to do in the industry, in politics, and with external forces like the prospect of the world’s largest copper mine slated to sit at the headwaters of this resource. And most importantly, whatever we do in this narrow nook of the world will inevitably serve as a model for the rest of the world and how other cultures handle their resources and industries at their disposal.
I hope you can eat some fresh salmon from Alaska and think about the journey that the meat made from slimy, writhing fish to presentation on your plate via an industry that encompasses so many facets of business, nature, mechanics, and man – all in a recurring, sustainable way. Then think about the journey that you read about through this blog on which my father and I embark every year along with the other 1,473 vessels – sometimes more, sometimes fewer – that all possess a finite number of available permits. Each boat and crew is different, but they all commonly ply the waters of Bristol Bay season after season to make a living and feed the world.
Keep checking back; I may continue to post with updates and random tidbits. My dad’s heart has been in Alaska for a half-century, and a large piece of mine is north, too. There’s a good chance he and I will fly up to the Bay one weekend soon for a helicopter tour of the proposed mine site. And I’m trying to get on board the Alaska ferry Columbia for some pilothouse time on the Bellingham-Ketchikan run, and that may happen tomorrow. So look for thoughts, reflections, and pictures if you are so interested.
Until then, cheers to making it this far in reading. Cheers to my old man for making it 50 years in the Bay. Cheers to wild salmon.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Back On Blocks Again, Part I
The season came to a close with relative success. The run did come late. According to a couple posts below, I had written right after we had a big day around the tenth of July. We were able to make a season (albeit below average in poundage) amidst extremely tough weather and a couple of late-season jam ups. We were a bit delayed by a fouled-up injector which eventually cleared itself, as well as a snapped towing bit which was put under above-average stress when the 2.6 knot open-water tidal velocity caught us with our pants down in the fog one morning. Other than that, everyone, including the Odie, is healthy and happy.
For my dad, this season epitomizes the dichotomy of curveballs and consistency that Bristol Bay has been for the last half a century. In one sense, every season is a new can of worms. The wind, the tides, the weather. Boat mechanics – is the engine going to start after a winter of wind chill up to minus 60? Are the hydraulics in good shape, or did something seize up during the off-season? How much gear is there to hang? What is the run prediction? When about the fourth of July rolls around, a whole new set of questions present themselves resulting from the first couple of realized weeks of weather and fishing and mechanics and business – when is the peak coming (if it hasn’t already hit)? Is this hydraulic line going to make it for another week? How old is that peanut butter in the cupboard? Three years??!!
But then, the other side of the story – the consistency. The fact that in a three to four week period, somewhere between 30 and 40 million sockeye salmon enter Bristol Bay for the river. Since 1960, ADF&G has managed this monstrosity of a natural phenomenon; and, although some seasons have been total busts, who would’ve thunk that in 2010, a river like the Kvichak has rebounded to a 6-8 million escapement to ensure future runs, so that in 2013 (unless something catastrophic happens), my boat and my crew can go harvest a percentage of this year’s newborn fry that will inevitably return as bright, adult sockeye? And the cycle repeats. The tides are always big. The weather is always unpredictable. The business aspect is always changing. But the product is sustainable. No added preservatives. And it keeps coming back, as long as we take care of it.
The different groups of fishermen who show up every year recognize this. The Norwegians, the Finns, the crazy Italians, and especially the Natives know that the redness of the meat of a fresh Bristol Bay sockeye signifies making a living, working with and against some of the craziest elements in the world, and augmenting the deep camaraderie between men and with the earth. Furthermore, that bright red meat makes a journey from the sea to the working hands of the fisherman, from the fisherman to the cannery, and from the cannery to the world. What happens when it reaches its destination? It nourishes and feeds those among us with fresh, organic product, harvested sustainably, high in Omega-3s, and rich with history.
See Part II.
For my dad, this season epitomizes the dichotomy of curveballs and consistency that Bristol Bay has been for the last half a century. In one sense, every season is a new can of worms. The wind, the tides, the weather. Boat mechanics – is the engine going to start after a winter of wind chill up to minus 60? Are the hydraulics in good shape, or did something seize up during the off-season? How much gear is there to hang? What is the run prediction? When about the fourth of July rolls around, a whole new set of questions present themselves resulting from the first couple of realized weeks of weather and fishing and mechanics and business – when is the peak coming (if it hasn’t already hit)? Is this hydraulic line going to make it for another week? How old is that peanut butter in the cupboard? Three years??!!
But then, the other side of the story – the consistency. The fact that in a three to four week period, somewhere between 30 and 40 million sockeye salmon enter Bristol Bay for the river. Since 1960, ADF&G has managed this monstrosity of a natural phenomenon; and, although some seasons have been total busts, who would’ve thunk that in 2010, a river like the Kvichak has rebounded to a 6-8 million escapement to ensure future runs, so that in 2013 (unless something catastrophic happens), my boat and my crew can go harvest a percentage of this year’s newborn fry that will inevitably return as bright, adult sockeye? And the cycle repeats. The tides are always big. The weather is always unpredictable. The business aspect is always changing. But the product is sustainable. No added preservatives. And it keeps coming back, as long as we take care of it.
The different groups of fishermen who show up every year recognize this. The Norwegians, the Finns, the crazy Italians, and especially the Natives know that the redness of the meat of a fresh Bristol Bay sockeye signifies making a living, working with and against some of the craziest elements in the world, and augmenting the deep camaraderie between men and with the earth. Furthermore, that bright red meat makes a journey from the sea to the working hands of the fisherman, from the fisherman to the cannery, and from the cannery to the world. What happens when it reaches its destination? It nourishes and feeds those among us with fresh, organic product, harvested sustainably, high in Omega-3s, and rich with history.
See Part II.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Two Interesting Pieces of Info
Yardarm Knot cannery paid out at $.96/lb base price for Bristol Bay reds, reflective of a couple of market forces stemming from 7-8% lower harvest in the Bay and probably some South American farmed salmon collapse effects.
Also, as per a conversation with the skipper of F/V Timber Country, Ocean Beauty tagged 20 of his fish per delivery and tracked them through the cannery. He does NOT have refrigeration nor slush ice on board; he's a dry boat.
The quantity of number 1-graded fish off the Timber Country? 72%.
Yet another heavily-weighted argument against the investment of RSW systems in gillnetters. The business model for such an investment simply doesn't exist yet, and data collected like these also are contrary to the argument for RSW.
Also, as per a conversation with the skipper of F/V Timber Country, Ocean Beauty tagged 20 of his fish per delivery and tracked them through the cannery. He does NOT have refrigeration nor slush ice on board; he's a dry boat.
The quantity of number 1-graded fish off the Timber Country? 72%.
Yet another heavily-weighted argument against the investment of RSW systems in gillnetters. The business model for such an investment simply doesn't exist yet, and data collected like these also are contrary to the argument for RSW.
Monday, July 12, 2010
red gold
They're here...it's 3:40am ADT and we came in for a sec. But the west side opened yesterday and we put in a hell of a day in terms of fish and weather. It was blowing hard southwest and we got pounded real good but finally got some fish aboard!
Out to keep giving it hell! The wind has laid down but it's foggy and will be radar-vision getting out of the river.
That's all I got, slinging the backpack on and back to the boat.
Out to keep giving it hell! The wind has laid down but it's foggy and will be radar-vision getting out of the river.
That's all I got, slinging the backpack on and back to the boat.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
July…10th? Or something like that. I’ve honestly lost track of the days. I hear it’s hotter than a goat’s ass in a pepper patch down below. I hope you are enjoying that. Meanwhile, a screaming low pressure system blasted through here today with gale warnings and sustained easterlies at 35kts gusting 50. Had the pleasure of rolling around out in it today, but upon reeling a whopping 27 fish aboard, we pointed it for the river and ended up cleaning those fish for our home pack and to top off my salt buckets.
As my dad says, “I can’t believe how shitty it is outside!”, I tend to get a little romantic when the weather gets like this. It makes everything so real, so precise, so…grounding. When Mother Nature’s crib is loaded, she’s going to peg out. And it’s all you can do to work with it and be humble. Dad and I cleaned those fish in the cannery’s cleaning room today and I took my few fillets up to the net locker to add them to the bucket. I turned on the transistor (yes, transistor) radio from probably the late sixties or early seventies and listened to NPR and the local Bristol Bay fisheries report over the crackling airwaves as rain clattered on the tin roof above. All else was quiet. I couldn’t help but think good thoughts. Life is about certain things, simple as they may be. (The simpler, the better.) And that little situation was textbook for me. As nasty and challenging and sparse as the fishing may be, how can you beat a little soul cleansing like that?
And…does the 50th anniversary skipper find the romance in that like I do? Or has he been through the worst and best and had enough of the gale warnings and dreary, quiet days in the cannery?
Yes, fishing is still sparse. All indications still point – yes, they still point – to a late run. The eggs in the female king salmon are immature. The weather has blown the opposite direction that we need it to. Test fisheries offshore still indicate big numbers. Escapement is on par. The fish are running deep? Running to the beach where we can’t get to? If this run still comes, I may gladly still be here until the 22nd or so.
I just had a 28 hand in crib. Four fives in my hand and a cut jack. And I couldn’t count the damned thing because we were pegged out and beaten. I believe that this is the second-biggest hand possible in cribbage. Uncle Birg had the famous 29 hand that’s posted on the wall in our room in the bunkhouse, back in 1989.
All is well, taking some time to breathe and sleep. We’re heading out at the crack of dawn in the morning to continue fishing this eastern district, but we are really waiting and anticipating the west side opening. Big water, big fish, all gunning for the big Kvichak river system. The Kvichak has the escapement – ADF&G is just not opening it for the drift fleet yet. (While the Kvichak set netters are delivering 11,000 pounds a tide.)
I would post pictures, but I forgot my camera cable in Bellingham. Perhaps I can scrounge one from my friend Lindsey up here.
Again, I hope the nice weather finds you well. The wind here is veering to southwest and calming down. Should be a little more tranquil for the next few days. And hopefully good fishing.
As my dad says, “I can’t believe how shitty it is outside!”, I tend to get a little romantic when the weather gets like this. It makes everything so real, so precise, so…grounding. When Mother Nature’s crib is loaded, she’s going to peg out. And it’s all you can do to work with it and be humble. Dad and I cleaned those fish in the cannery’s cleaning room today and I took my few fillets up to the net locker to add them to the bucket. I turned on the transistor (yes, transistor) radio from probably the late sixties or early seventies and listened to NPR and the local Bristol Bay fisheries report over the crackling airwaves as rain clattered on the tin roof above. All else was quiet. I couldn’t help but think good thoughts. Life is about certain things, simple as they may be. (The simpler, the better.) And that little situation was textbook for me. As nasty and challenging and sparse as the fishing may be, how can you beat a little soul cleansing like that?
And…does the 50th anniversary skipper find the romance in that like I do? Or has he been through the worst and best and had enough of the gale warnings and dreary, quiet days in the cannery?
Yes, fishing is still sparse. All indications still point – yes, they still point – to a late run. The eggs in the female king salmon are immature. The weather has blown the opposite direction that we need it to. Test fisheries offshore still indicate big numbers. Escapement is on par. The fish are running deep? Running to the beach where we can’t get to? If this run still comes, I may gladly still be here until the 22nd or so.
I just had a 28 hand in crib. Four fives in my hand and a cut jack. And I couldn’t count the damned thing because we were pegged out and beaten. I believe that this is the second-biggest hand possible in cribbage. Uncle Birg had the famous 29 hand that’s posted on the wall in our room in the bunkhouse, back in 1989.
All is well, taking some time to breathe and sleep. We’re heading out at the crack of dawn in the morning to continue fishing this eastern district, but we are really waiting and anticipating the west side opening. Big water, big fish, all gunning for the big Kvichak river system. The Kvichak has the escapement – ADF&G is just not opening it for the drift fleet yet. (While the Kvichak set netters are delivering 11,000 pounds a tide.)
I would post pictures, but I forgot my camera cable in Bellingham. Perhaps I can scrounge one from my friend Lindsey up here.
Again, I hope the nice weather finds you well. The wind here is veering to southwest and calming down. Should be a little more tranquil for the next few days. And hopefully good fishing.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
rolling along
2am. Just tied up, ran up for a shower and a couple of things. I'm typing as I'm putting socks on and shirts and rain jackets. The rain is pelting our faces on deck and as we walk up through camp. This weather will not give a break. The last sun we saw was June 22nd-ish.
Still sporadic fishing. The night tide sees some more solid hits; the daytime fishing is sparse. Spirits are high, though, and life is good. The blues on XM sound oh, so sweet about this time of night.
That's about all I have to say right now. I'm looking forward to a cold beer pretty soon downtown and the development of post season plans. But hopefully we have a ton more fish to catch before that comes.
I'm in good spirits; I hope you are too. Off to anchor up and catch a couple Z's - 6:00 am opener on its way.
Still sporadic fishing. The night tide sees some more solid hits; the daytime fishing is sparse. Spirits are high, though, and life is good. The blues on XM sound oh, so sweet about this time of night.
That's about all I have to say right now. I'm looking forward to a cold beer pretty soon downtown and the development of post season plans. But hopefully we have a ton more fish to catch before that comes.
I'm in good spirits; I hope you are too. Off to anchor up and catch a couple Z's - 6:00 am opener on its way.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
exhaustive anticipation
I'm going to try to make this quick, as I'd really like some sleep. But I wanted to drop a line, as it has been at least a couple of days.
We're going dry on the night tide to come in and re-stock, shower, etc. It is still somewhat slow. It's been interesting because the last two or three seasons (even more) have shown big fishing by the 28th or so of June. But up to this point (Happy Fourth of July), it's a scratch fishery.
Fisheries biologists, both hired by the ADF&G as well as those from the University of Washington are observing unseasonably cold ocean temperatures - 4 degrees Celsius out by Port Moller where the test fisheries are conducted. These temps are just rising now, some areas showing 6-8 Celsius. This is one of the main hypotheses to try to explain officially a...late run.
The last two tides, however, have shown some more consistency in terms of catch and the way the fish look. We are seeing the big, meaty, turquoise-backed "Naknek Slabs" as we like to call them, which signifies the first part of a healthy run. They are absolutely stunning fish - works of art by Mother Nature. We'll see.
The boat and skipper are well. Just tired. The brake on our hydraulic reel has failed. One of those things that you really notice when broken and take for granted when operational. We're making do without for now, but it will need to be resolved soon. Good spirits all around, though. Dad is dropping some good one-liners.
Area M fishermen are on a "refrigeration strike" - Peter Pan dropped the price of sockeye to $.85/lb from a dollar for refrigerated fish. Fishermen invested tens of thousands of dollars for RSW systems, suggested by the big canneries, to provide a more "quality product". Now a major player is no longer playing by the rules when all signs show a hot market for wild sockeye. Go figure? And as for the Bay, tenders aren't even measuring temperatures of chilled fish versus dry-hold fish. And those fisherman who installed RSW are getting $.15 more per pound. So this argument for investing in RSW systems is pretty up in the air as far as I'm concerned. Those Area M fisherman on this refrigeration strike - well, they've shut down their chilling systems until the cannery bucks back up to its original promise.
Anyways, bedtime. Happy Fourth to everyone and talk soon. Sorry for typos; I'm in a hurry.
We're going dry on the night tide to come in and re-stock, shower, etc. It is still somewhat slow. It's been interesting because the last two or three seasons (even more) have shown big fishing by the 28th or so of June. But up to this point (Happy Fourth of July), it's a scratch fishery.
Fisheries biologists, both hired by the ADF&G as well as those from the University of Washington are observing unseasonably cold ocean temperatures - 4 degrees Celsius out by Port Moller where the test fisheries are conducted. These temps are just rising now, some areas showing 6-8 Celsius. This is one of the main hypotheses to try to explain officially a...late run.
The last two tides, however, have shown some more consistency in terms of catch and the way the fish look. We are seeing the big, meaty, turquoise-backed "Naknek Slabs" as we like to call them, which signifies the first part of a healthy run. They are absolutely stunning fish - works of art by Mother Nature. We'll see.
The boat and skipper are well. Just tired. The brake on our hydraulic reel has failed. One of those things that you really notice when broken and take for granted when operational. We're making do without for now, but it will need to be resolved soon. Good spirits all around, though. Dad is dropping some good one-liners.
Area M fishermen are on a "refrigeration strike" - Peter Pan dropped the price of sockeye to $.85/lb from a dollar for refrigerated fish. Fishermen invested tens of thousands of dollars for RSW systems, suggested by the big canneries, to provide a more "quality product". Now a major player is no longer playing by the rules when all signs show a hot market for wild sockeye. Go figure? And as for the Bay, tenders aren't even measuring temperatures of chilled fish versus dry-hold fish. And those fisherman who installed RSW are getting $.15 more per pound. So this argument for investing in RSW systems is pretty up in the air as far as I'm concerned. Those Area M fisherman on this refrigeration strike - well, they've shut down their chilling systems until the cannery bucks back up to its original promise.
Anyways, bedtime. Happy Fourth to everyone and talk soon. Sorry for typos; I'm in a hurry.
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