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.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
calm before storm?
I think this is the only place where you order a pizza, take a four wheeler to go get it, fuel it up and pay $4.33 for one gallon of gas, find out the guy running the only service station around is from Cuernavaca, Mexico (mind you this is Naknek, Alaska), and go fishing all in the same day.
It has been a bit slow but all is well. Went dry on this tide and we're taking a deep breath. I'm praying for the hit of the run just like I pray for snow. You should, too.
I need a new pair of shoes!
It has been a bit slow but all is well. Went dry on this tide and we're taking a deep breath. I'm praying for the hit of the run just like I pray for snow. You should, too.
I need a new pair of shoes!
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
ael;wrkjasds9
Ten minutes to five in the AM...just pulled into the dock for a shower. Of all things to drink at this hour, I was just offered a Busch Light after having had a stiff cup of coffee on the boat on the way in. So, cheers to you and the Alaska dawn.
This thing has gone off with a bang more or less. We're running around the clock now and hitting it hard. Had a fresh water line break in the engine room but that's the most serious problem we've got. It will be repaired and we're taking off here in a few.
The weather has calmed down but the last 48 we've seen a bit of everything. In the middle of the night last night it was super...SUPER cold. Felt like it could snow. Fog, mist, wind. Radar. The stove had gone out for awhile and we had to climb into a cold cabin after working on a really cold deck, which sucked. It's back up and running, though - just had to literally beat the carburetor with a wrench!
Otherwise, so far so good. The peak of the run definitely is not here yet. But we're going steady and life is good.
A sweet tidbit - we delivered to the Bellingham-based Debra D a couple days ago out at the Y (a deepwater anchorage in the middle of the Bay). We'd never been introduced to them before, and in the midst of heaving, hissing swells, whining hydraulics, and slamming up against the tender as we were delivering, one of the crew emerged from the bow room with two ice cream cones for Dad and I. Hell yes.
"We would've had hot dogs for you, but the 7-11-style cooker we had took a flight across the room when we hit some weather coming across the Gulf on the way up," the skipper yelled across a stiff wind. We chuckled. I thought fondly of the 15 plates that weighted themselves through the latched cupboard on the Kari Marie, flew across the galley, and shattered when we hit weather on my trip down last summer.
"We wish we were in Southeast halibut fishing. We're not used to this pace up here. But this is the least we can do!"
In the middle of nasty weather and a fast-paced fishery, we get ice cream cones. That's what I'm talking about. I'm glad they're here and not in SE.
Okay, enough for now. A shower, re-stock, and go. Hope everyone is well!
yeehaw
This thing has gone off with a bang more or less. We're running around the clock now and hitting it hard. Had a fresh water line break in the engine room but that's the most serious problem we've got. It will be repaired and we're taking off here in a few.
The weather has calmed down but the last 48 we've seen a bit of everything. In the middle of the night last night it was super...SUPER cold. Felt like it could snow. Fog, mist, wind. Radar. The stove had gone out for awhile and we had to climb into a cold cabin after working on a really cold deck, which sucked. It's back up and running, though - just had to literally beat the carburetor with a wrench!
Otherwise, so far so good. The peak of the run definitely is not here yet. But we're going steady and life is good.
A sweet tidbit - we delivered to the Bellingham-based Debra D a couple days ago out at the Y (a deepwater anchorage in the middle of the Bay). We'd never been introduced to them before, and in the midst of heaving, hissing swells, whining hydraulics, and slamming up against the tender as we were delivering, one of the crew emerged from the bow room with two ice cream cones for Dad and I. Hell yes.
"We would've had hot dogs for you, but the 7-11-style cooker we had took a flight across the room when we hit some weather coming across the Gulf on the way up," the skipper yelled across a stiff wind. We chuckled. I thought fondly of the 15 plates that weighted themselves through the latched cupboard on the Kari Marie, flew across the galley, and shattered when we hit weather on my trip down last summer.
"We wish we were in Southeast halibut fishing. We're not used to this pace up here. But this is the least we can do!"
In the middle of nasty weather and a fast-paced fishery, we get ice cream cones. That's what I'm talking about. I'm glad they're here and not in SE.
Okay, enough for now. A shower, re-stock, and go. Hope everyone is well!
yeehaw
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
pre season #2
Heading out on tonight’s flood for the first fishery. The period begins at 11am tomorrow and it’s about a 6.5 hour opening. Should be good to get out and get the gear wet. I don’t know if we’ll stay out or if we’ll come back to the dock, but this could be the beginning of another season where we’re on board 20 or 25 days straight pushing, pushing, pushing.
For fifty years now my father has been surrounded by other incredible men who have made a living out of this fishery. Alaska Natives, Italians, Croatians, other Norwegians, Finns, and Washingtonians and Oregonians alike – there is a family up here bonded together by the glue of all the serious…shit…for lack of a better term that these guys and their fathers have seen over the years. Strikes so serious guns were being pulled on the scabs who fished anyway, and mafia members were being called up from California to “take care” of those scabs and their boats. (Not a joke. When logistics were realized, i.e. federal marshals were present and there was only one road/airport to get out, they decided against coming.) Weather so serious that sitting in Togiak in a 120mph blow for five days on anchor was just what you had to do before it calmed down enough to fish. Mechanical problems at the most vulnerable times on the Bering Sea. The worst prices for your fish…and the best prices for your fish. Heated disagreements between fellow fishermen and cannery personnel paired with some of the greatest nights in camp reminiscing with the old timers and newcomers alike about a part of the world that is so perfectly rough around the edges. And in the end, when every skipper and crewmember flies up and congregates before the season hits in the bunkhouse, one finds himself amongst fellow men who appreciate one another, appreciate Mother Nature, the forces of the fishery, and are simply out to keep pursuing this ridiculous passion and make a buck or two.
The past couple nights we’ve been eating razor clams, the first salmon of the year, and other good food that everyone has to contribute. The bunkhouse is a dorm-style residence. We are on the second floor of number 93. There is a bank of washers and dryers at the end of the hall with a common bathroom/shower room. On any given night when we’re not fishing you can find crock pots and rice cookers atop the washing machine and explosions of laughter careening off the walls of the hallway. Two or three of the small rooms are occupied by everyone drinking cheap beer, maybe eating a little pickled salmon, giving each other plenty of hell, and celebrating…simplicity…here. Last night Rock Haglund and Mikey and Cole Johnson of the F/V Alaskalou were set to be launched at midnight with the tide and take off for the Egegik fishing district for most of the season. It was naturally a good send off for them with aching bellies from all the laughter by the end of the night.
During the day, projects have been wrapping up and everyone is ready to go to work. “Mug-up” is a coffee and donut break for all cannery crew and beach gang at 10am, 3pm, and 9pm every day, and fishermen undoubtedly partake when not out fishing. So there’s been plenty of “mug-up” attendance and milling around with the guys and gals who will also be putting in ‘round the clock hours here on the beach once the season really hits. It definitely is not all about just fishing; rather, it’s also about the delivery and processing of the product and maintenance of the fleet and equipment which have to be tended to 24/7, on a moment’s notice.
Reidar’s conclusive words for this entry and this point in the season:
“A lot of attention is being paid to the test fisheries farther down the Aleutian Chain near Port Moller right now. Whereas not many fish were showing originally, these stations which range anywhere from 20 miles offshore to 100 miles offshore are now indicating a strong push of fish bound for our river systems here in the Bay. The numbers are shaping up to mean a season that everyone has been hoping for and anticipating.”
“It will be good tonight to get out, anchor up, and see how everything works tomorrow.”
Talk to y’all when possible.
For fifty years now my father has been surrounded by other incredible men who have made a living out of this fishery. Alaska Natives, Italians, Croatians, other Norwegians, Finns, and Washingtonians and Oregonians alike – there is a family up here bonded together by the glue of all the serious…shit…for lack of a better term that these guys and their fathers have seen over the years. Strikes so serious guns were being pulled on the scabs who fished anyway, and mafia members were being called up from California to “take care” of those scabs and their boats. (Not a joke. When logistics were realized, i.e. federal marshals were present and there was only one road/airport to get out, they decided against coming.) Weather so serious that sitting in Togiak in a 120mph blow for five days on anchor was just what you had to do before it calmed down enough to fish. Mechanical problems at the most vulnerable times on the Bering Sea. The worst prices for your fish…and the best prices for your fish. Heated disagreements between fellow fishermen and cannery personnel paired with some of the greatest nights in camp reminiscing with the old timers and newcomers alike about a part of the world that is so perfectly rough around the edges. And in the end, when every skipper and crewmember flies up and congregates before the season hits in the bunkhouse, one finds himself amongst fellow men who appreciate one another, appreciate Mother Nature, the forces of the fishery, and are simply out to keep pursuing this ridiculous passion and make a buck or two.
The past couple nights we’ve been eating razor clams, the first salmon of the year, and other good food that everyone has to contribute. The bunkhouse is a dorm-style residence. We are on the second floor of number 93. There is a bank of washers and dryers at the end of the hall with a common bathroom/shower room. On any given night when we’re not fishing you can find crock pots and rice cookers atop the washing machine and explosions of laughter careening off the walls of the hallway. Two or three of the small rooms are occupied by everyone drinking cheap beer, maybe eating a little pickled salmon, giving each other plenty of hell, and celebrating…simplicity…here. Last night Rock Haglund and Mikey and Cole Johnson of the F/V Alaskalou were set to be launched at midnight with the tide and take off for the Egegik fishing district for most of the season. It was naturally a good send off for them with aching bellies from all the laughter by the end of the night.
During the day, projects have been wrapping up and everyone is ready to go to work. “Mug-up” is a coffee and donut break for all cannery crew and beach gang at 10am, 3pm, and 9pm every day, and fishermen undoubtedly partake when not out fishing. So there’s been plenty of “mug-up” attendance and milling around with the guys and gals who will also be putting in ‘round the clock hours here on the beach once the season really hits. It definitely is not all about just fishing; rather, it’s also about the delivery and processing of the product and maintenance of the fleet and equipment which have to be tended to 24/7, on a moment’s notice.
Reidar’s conclusive words for this entry and this point in the season:
“A lot of attention is being paid to the test fisheries farther down the Aleutian Chain near Port Moller right now. Whereas not many fish were showing originally, these stations which range anywhere from 20 miles offshore to 100 miles offshore are now indicating a strong push of fish bound for our river systems here in the Bay. The numbers are shaping up to mean a season that everyone has been hoping for and anticipating.”
“It will be good tonight to get out, anchor up, and see how everything works tomorrow.”
Talk to y’all when possible.
Monday, June 21, 2010
pre season #1
Greetings from the Bay, everyone. I’m sipping on a stiff cup of coffee brewed here in our small room in the bunkhouse, trying to figure out how to get even a sketchy internet connection so I can copy and paste this text from Word into my blog. This could be interesting.
It has been a good first couple of days. My flights were fairly flawless except for an hour and half delay in Anchorage which wasn’t all that unusual. The Pen Air flights leaving Anchorage for King Salmon, Dutch Harbor, Cold Bay, etc. are always late. Upon arriving King Salmon I grabbed a cab and made the jaunt to Naknek with all of my gear. As soon as we pulled into the AGS camp and I had killed almost all of the mosquitoes which infiltrated the inside of the van when loading, I was home. (It’s VERY buggy up here when there’s no wind.)
Dad is doing exceptional. He is at ease up here. The boat is purring like a kitten. We’ve been eating well. Father’s Day treated him well yesterday – a ton got done on the boat and in our net locker, and I took him to dinner at the only real restaurant in town, the D & D. We took the four wheelers down to dinner and afterward went for a cruise on a dirt road out into the tundra to a high point which looks over the town, river, and Bristol Bay. We then came back and kicked the crap out of Paul and Doug in a fierce game of best out of three cribbage. The night was rounded off by some priceless rowdiness and jabbering in the bunkhouse.
Projects have been as follows:
• Add a flow control valve (needle valve) to the hydraulic anchor winch
• Hang leadline on two fifty-fathom shackles of gear
• Install satellite radio on board
• Load nets on the boat before we launch
• Pass the Coast Guard safety inspection
Consider all of these items checked off the list. We are going to launch on this morning’s tide and will probably go out and have a shakedown cruise. At the beginning of every season there is continuous fishing around the clock before the season really starts – sometimes there are fish but most times there isn’t much to see – however it’s a good opportunity to go figure out what works and doesn’t work on the boat, get the gear in the water, etc. Starting Wednesday at 9:00am the free period ends and we go onto emergency order status. But today we may go try and catch dinner.
Plenty more to come. It’s beautiful up here. Hot and sunny, actually. I hope the weather’s good where you are.
It has been a good first couple of days. My flights were fairly flawless except for an hour and half delay in Anchorage which wasn’t all that unusual. The Pen Air flights leaving Anchorage for King Salmon, Dutch Harbor, Cold Bay, etc. are always late. Upon arriving King Salmon I grabbed a cab and made the jaunt to Naknek with all of my gear. As soon as we pulled into the AGS camp and I had killed almost all of the mosquitoes which infiltrated the inside of the van when loading, I was home. (It’s VERY buggy up here when there’s no wind.)
Dad is doing exceptional. He is at ease up here. The boat is purring like a kitten. We’ve been eating well. Father’s Day treated him well yesterday – a ton got done on the boat and in our net locker, and I took him to dinner at the only real restaurant in town, the D & D. We took the four wheelers down to dinner and afterward went for a cruise on a dirt road out into the tundra to a high point which looks over the town, river, and Bristol Bay. We then came back and kicked the crap out of Paul and Doug in a fierce game of best out of three cribbage. The night was rounded off by some priceless rowdiness and jabbering in the bunkhouse.
Projects have been as follows:
• Add a flow control valve (needle valve) to the hydraulic anchor winch
• Hang leadline on two fifty-fathom shackles of gear
• Install satellite radio on board
• Load nets on the boat before we launch
• Pass the Coast Guard safety inspection
Consider all of these items checked off the list. We are going to launch on this morning’s tide and will probably go out and have a shakedown cruise. At the beginning of every season there is continuous fishing around the clock before the season really starts – sometimes there are fish but most times there isn’t much to see – however it’s a good opportunity to go figure out what works and doesn’t work on the boat, get the gear in the water, etc. Starting Wednesday at 9:00am the free period ends and we go onto emergency order status. But today we may go try and catch dinner.
Plenty more to come. It’s beautiful up here. Hot and sunny, actually. I hope the weather’s good where you are.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
The Bay 101
72 hours until I peace out for the Bay. Not much to write about thus far, but I want to give my followers a bit of Bristol Bay 101, in case you're not familiar with what/where/when/how and all that jazz.
Geographically, Bristol Bay and the Bering Sea are synonymous. Generally, the "Bay" is more used as describing perhaps a distance 50-100 nautical miles seaward from the coast of Southwest Alaska. But the names are used interchangeably. The Bay is north of the Aleutian Chain/Alaska Peninsula and juts itself into the cranny where the coast turns north-northwestward as the arm of the Chain meets mainland Alaska. The Bay is fed by five major river systems: the Naknek, Kvichak, Egegik, Nushagak, and Ugashik. These rivers are fed by countless tributaries which also support the fishery as a whole, and, in the end, are headed by the countless lakes that make pockmarks in the Alaskan tundra. Two major lakes which feed the Naknek and Kvichak systems are Naknek Lake and Lake Iliamna, the latter being the largest freshwater lake in Alaska and the eighth largest in the United States.
There are a couple of things that make Bristol Bay unique in terms of how Mother Nature behaves. Tidal changes range anywhere from eighteen feet to thirty-two feet between high and low water. (Compare this to Puget Sound--maybe a ten foot change at the most.) Current velocities can push six to eight knots in the peak of an ebb or flood. At low water, the Naknek River goes dry except for one "hole" on the south side of the river which serves as an anchorage for gillnetters and tenders. Sandbars also show out in the Bay at low water. If you are tied to the dock or anchored in the wrong spot, you WILL go dry at low water, 32-foot gillnetter and 130-foot crabber/tender alike. Sometimes this is necessary and part of the day; other times...it just isn't. This fishery takes place in anywhere from sixty feet of water out west to three feet of water, right on the beach. It's a fast and furious multi-faceted environment with respect to what a skipper and crew work with/against as they are in the process of harvesting sockeye salmon.
The Alaska Department of Fish and Game took ownership to the management of this fishery in 1960. Since then, we have seen a sustainable, impeccably-regulated, and completely wild stock of king, sockeye, and silver salmon (among other species, these being the major) return to the Bristol Bay drainage year after year. Fisheries biologists monitor the escapement of fish into the river systems for healthy numbers to ensure future runs. Through observations from actual towers placed on all of the rivers, hourly and daily numbers of escaped fish are compiled and then reported. At this point, it is determined whether enough fish have escaped based on a historical curve to allow commercial fishing in the district. If daily escapement is behind the curve by too large a factor, we stand down and continue waiting for healthy numbers. Harvest is also reported by the canneries and tracked. Escapement, harvest, total run, and the makeup and age of fish are all closely recorded for historical purposes, but most importantly to gauge, forecast, and allot future harvests and escapements. Ultimately, this year's newborn fry will return as future adult salmon to be harvested or to spawn. Since regulation by the ADF&G began in 1960, the fishery has only stayed shut down one season for lack of returns. (I need to check facts on this. I can't remember the year.)
Our 32-foot gillnetter, the Odie, goes fishing as soon as the ADF&G announces an opening on the VHF radio or the Bay's AM station, KDLG. The above link is a verbatim copy of what is read over the airwaves. I don't know about you, but hearing these crackling announcements come over the radio gives me goosebumps, especially early on in the season. With large tide fluctuations and going dry at low water, it is often necessary to go out, anchor up, and wait for an announcement if it looks like a possible opening will begin when the river is dry or too shallow to leave.
We fish using a gillnet which is unreeled and set in the water from a giant hydraulic drum or reel in the stern of the boat. When completely set, the net stretches out behind the boat at a length of 150 fathoms. (One fathom = six feet.) It extends down 29 meshes deep, and each mesh is roughly 5 inches across. The net itself, or web, is attached to a leadline on the bottom for weight and a corkline on the top which floats on the surface of the water. When it's time to "pick", or haul the net, Dad and I stand in the stern of the Odie operating hydraulics and picking each fish out of the net simultaneously.
As we're picking, we are placing the fish in one of six holds aboard the Odie, each with at best a 3000-pound capacity. Inside the holds are brailers, or giant bags, which are used as vehicles to contain the fish on our boat and hoist the fish out of the holds when delivering to a tender. Once we're full or the fishing period is over, we'll run and tie up to a tender which lifts the brailers out of our holds and empties our fish into their giant, refrigerated holds. Once at capacity, (some bigger tenders which are king crabbers by fall and winter can hold up to half a million pounds) the tender will go to the cannery and deliver the fish for processing and shipment to the market.
After a fishing period which can last anywhere from four hours to days at a time, Dad and I will anchor up and get some sleep and eat; or, if the tide allows us to get to the cannery and we have time, we'll head in and grab a shower and make a phone call home. Every season is so different in this regard. Last season we spent 21 consecutive days aboard, catching naps and a shower whenever we could. Other seasons we're in the bunkhouse at the cannery, sitting...waiting for those crackling announcements.
Some key facts to leave you with:
Long post, but thank you for attending Bristol Bay 101.
Geographically, Bristol Bay and the Bering Sea are synonymous. Generally, the "Bay" is more used as describing perhaps a distance 50-100 nautical miles seaward from the coast of Southwest Alaska. But the names are used interchangeably. The Bay is north of the Aleutian Chain/Alaska Peninsula and juts itself into the cranny where the coast turns north-northwestward as the arm of the Chain meets mainland Alaska. The Bay is fed by five major river systems: the Naknek, Kvichak, Egegik, Nushagak, and Ugashik. These rivers are fed by countless tributaries which also support the fishery as a whole, and, in the end, are headed by the countless lakes that make pockmarks in the Alaskan tundra. Two major lakes which feed the Naknek and Kvichak systems are Naknek Lake and Lake Iliamna, the latter being the largest freshwater lake in Alaska and the eighth largest in the United States.
There are a couple of things that make Bristol Bay unique in terms of how Mother Nature behaves. Tidal changes range anywhere from eighteen feet to thirty-two feet between high and low water. (Compare this to Puget Sound--maybe a ten foot change at the most.) Current velocities can push six to eight knots in the peak of an ebb or flood. At low water, the Naknek River goes dry except for one "hole" on the south side of the river which serves as an anchorage for gillnetters and tenders. Sandbars also show out in the Bay at low water. If you are tied to the dock or anchored in the wrong spot, you WILL go dry at low water, 32-foot gillnetter and 130-foot crabber/tender alike. Sometimes this is necessary and part of the day; other times...it just isn't. This fishery takes place in anywhere from sixty feet of water out west to three feet of water, right on the beach. It's a fast and furious multi-faceted environment with respect to what a skipper and crew work with/against as they are in the process of harvesting sockeye salmon.
The Alaska Department of Fish and Game took ownership to the management of this fishery in 1960. Since then, we have seen a sustainable, impeccably-regulated, and completely wild stock of king, sockeye, and silver salmon (among other species, these being the major) return to the Bristol Bay drainage year after year. Fisheries biologists monitor the escapement of fish into the river systems for healthy numbers to ensure future runs. Through observations from actual towers placed on all of the rivers, hourly and daily numbers of escaped fish are compiled and then reported. At this point, it is determined whether enough fish have escaped based on a historical curve to allow commercial fishing in the district. If daily escapement is behind the curve by too large a factor, we stand down and continue waiting for healthy numbers. Harvest is also reported by the canneries and tracked. Escapement, harvest, total run, and the makeup and age of fish are all closely recorded for historical purposes, but most importantly to gauge, forecast, and allot future harvests and escapements. Ultimately, this year's newborn fry will return as future adult salmon to be harvested or to spawn. Since regulation by the ADF&G began in 1960, the fishery has only stayed shut down one season for lack of returns. (I need to check facts on this. I can't remember the year.)
Our 32-foot gillnetter, the Odie, goes fishing as soon as the ADF&G announces an opening on the VHF radio or the Bay's AM station, KDLG. The above link is a verbatim copy of what is read over the airwaves. I don't know about you, but hearing these crackling announcements come over the radio gives me goosebumps, especially early on in the season. With large tide fluctuations and going dry at low water, it is often necessary to go out, anchor up, and wait for an announcement if it looks like a possible opening will begin when the river is dry or too shallow to leave.
We fish using a gillnet which is unreeled and set in the water from a giant hydraulic drum or reel in the stern of the boat. When completely set, the net stretches out behind the boat at a length of 150 fathoms. (One fathom = six feet.) It extends down 29 meshes deep, and each mesh is roughly 5 inches across. The net itself, or web, is attached to a leadline on the bottom for weight and a corkline on the top which floats on the surface of the water. When it's time to "pick", or haul the net, Dad and I stand in the stern of the Odie operating hydraulics and picking each fish out of the net simultaneously.
As we're picking, we are placing the fish in one of six holds aboard the Odie, each with at best a 3000-pound capacity. Inside the holds are brailers, or giant bags, which are used as vehicles to contain the fish on our boat and hoist the fish out of the holds when delivering to a tender. Once we're full or the fishing period is over, we'll run and tie up to a tender which lifts the brailers out of our holds and empties our fish into their giant, refrigerated holds. Once at capacity, (some bigger tenders which are king crabbers by fall and winter can hold up to half a million pounds) the tender will go to the cannery and deliver the fish for processing and shipment to the market.
After a fishing period which can last anywhere from four hours to days at a time, Dad and I will anchor up and get some sleep and eat; or, if the tide allows us to get to the cannery and we have time, we'll head in and grab a shower and make a phone call home. Every season is so different in this regard. Last season we spent 21 consecutive days aboard, catching naps and a shower whenever we could. Other seasons we're in the bunkhouse at the cannery, sitting...waiting for those crackling announcements.
Some key facts to leave you with:
- We are drift gillnet fishermen, not set gillnet fishermen
- We fish the Naknek/Kvichak section of Bristol Bay and rarely travel to other districts, such as the Nushagak or Egegik districts.
- The company we fish for/the cannery we live at when not aboard is Alaska General Seafoods.
- The cannery processes canned salmon and frozen fillets for shipment to the world market
- The total sockeye run prediction for 2010 is 39.77 million fish. The projected harvest is 31.76 million, with an escapement of a little over 8 million fish.
Long post, but thank you for attending Bristol Bay 101.
Monday, June 7, 2010
housekeeping
Happy Monday.
Going for quality over quantity on this blog, but here are a couple of things to run by you:
Another great Alaska fisheries blog run by Wesley Loy of the Anchorage Daily news: Deckboss.
A link to the most current Naknek/Kvichak district openings and updates: Alaska Department of Fish and Game. Dad and I fish both Bristol Bay Eastside and Westside...usually we won't go to the Westside until after the fourth of July, depending on escapement up the Kvichak.
Dad arrived safely but quite tired to Naknek. A ton of delays/mechanical issues with Horizon. And sketchy weather on the puddle jumper between Anchorage and King Salmon - the airplane started icing up and vibrating violently. When the de-icing mechanisms starting working in the airplane's favor, chunks of ice would come off the wings, hit the props, and peg the fuselage. As soon as they made it over the Alaska Range, they were able to drop altitude and escape the drama.
"It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up," said Dad, as his eyes darted across to Lake Iliamna, the closest body of water in sight...
New exhaust system complete on our fishing vessel Odie, just some extra insulation to add near the turbos. This should diminish the carbon monoxide asphyxiation factor in the cabin exponentially! Fresh batteries for the four wheeler and old junker truck that keeps starting every single year. All is well so far and starting off calmly.
As for me, I'm chomping at the bit. Stay tuned. This will become hopefully more insightful and exciting as time passes, but this post is aptly-named "housekeeping".
Going for quality over quantity on this blog, but here are a couple of things to run by you:
Another great Alaska fisheries blog run by Wesley Loy of the Anchorage Daily news: Deckboss.
A link to the most current Naknek/Kvichak district openings and updates: Alaska Department of Fish and Game. Dad and I fish both Bristol Bay Eastside and Westside...usually we won't go to the Westside until after the fourth of July, depending on escapement up the Kvichak.
Dad arrived safely but quite tired to Naknek. A ton of delays/mechanical issues with Horizon. And sketchy weather on the puddle jumper between Anchorage and King Salmon - the airplane started icing up and vibrating violently. When the de-icing mechanisms starting working in the airplane's favor, chunks of ice would come off the wings, hit the props, and peg the fuselage. As soon as they made it over the Alaska Range, they were able to drop altitude and escape the drama.
"It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up," said Dad, as his eyes darted across to Lake Iliamna, the closest body of water in sight...
New exhaust system complete on our fishing vessel Odie, just some extra insulation to add near the turbos. This should diminish the carbon monoxide asphyxiation factor in the cabin exponentially! Fresh batteries for the four wheeler and old junker truck that keeps starting every single year. All is well so far and starting off calmly.
As for me, I'm chomping at the bit. Stay tuned. This will become hopefully more insightful and exciting as time passes, but this post is aptly-named "housekeeping".
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Bristol Bay 2010
It's that time of year again. The salmon are coming. Bright, bold, firm, river- and lake-bound sockeye salmon pushing towards a destination they've seen only once when they were fry. After three or four years of navigating the North Pacific between Alaska and Russia, they enter the Bering Sea and ride the humbling and rumbling thirty-plus foot tidal change into one of the five river systems in the Bristol Bay drainage. They spawn. And then they die.
In their way lie somewhere between 1200 and 1500 32-foot Bristol Bay gillnetters. Rounded-chine wood hulls from the 60s anchor next to chunked-up fiberglass and aluminum boats. A few still lack hydraulics. Most sport the reels, levelwinds, and power rollers to help bring nature's untainted product over the gunwhale. Other boats have twin jet drives with state-of-the-art RSW refrigeration systems, bow thrusters, and plenty of corresponding paperwork inked-red. Gear is being hung, engines and hydraulics are tuned, retorts in the canneries are steaming, cranes are creaking, and keels are getting wet.
It's also my father's 50th year fishing in the waters of the Bering Sea. This season, I want to send the experiences, emotions, struggles, successes (with humility) and breakdowns (I don't believe in jinxing) back to my friends and family in the lower 48 who have spent years hearing through the grapevine and over the delayed phone line about what's going on...up in Bristol Bay.
I may post some pictures, but I want to do my best to express this summer's season through the written word. There's always plenty to write about and consider up here with our simultaneous interactions on business, mechanical, and environmental fronts.
Internet access is sketchy at best. We don't have the web on board (nor would I want it; we only have gillnet web), but I can generally poach a signal from our bunkhouse when there's downtime. It is during these random occasions that I'd love to write about what's happening.
If you follow, you're in for hopefully some good reading. If you don't follow, well...what am I s'posed ta do?
In their way lie somewhere between 1200 and 1500 32-foot Bristol Bay gillnetters. Rounded-chine wood hulls from the 60s anchor next to chunked-up fiberglass and aluminum boats. A few still lack hydraulics. Most sport the reels, levelwinds, and power rollers to help bring nature's untainted product over the gunwhale. Other boats have twin jet drives with state-of-the-art RSW refrigeration systems, bow thrusters, and plenty of corresponding paperwork inked-red. Gear is being hung, engines and hydraulics are tuned, retorts in the canneries are steaming, cranes are creaking, and keels are getting wet.
It's also my father's 50th year fishing in the waters of the Bering Sea. This season, I want to send the experiences, emotions, struggles, successes (with humility) and breakdowns (I don't believe in jinxing) back to my friends and family in the lower 48 who have spent years hearing through the grapevine and over the delayed phone line about what's going on...up in Bristol Bay.
I may post some pictures, but I want to do my best to express this summer's season through the written word. There's always plenty to write about and consider up here with our simultaneous interactions on business, mechanical, and environmental fronts.
Internet access is sketchy at best. We don't have the web on board (nor would I want it; we only have gillnet web), but I can generally poach a signal from our bunkhouse when there's downtime. It is during these random occasions that I'd love to write about what's happening.
If you follow, you're in for hopefully some good reading. If you don't follow, well...what am I s'posed ta do?
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
give it hell
I may be 23 and done with college, but my formative years are still in their prime. For some people my age, it may be that they've established themselves in their area of study, occupation, philosophies. Yes, I have molded into shapes that will not change in some of these areas. But when I see different types of personalities, experiences, joy, pain, etc., I can't help but continue to second-guess my position and think critically about...well, my thinking. (This, after all, is the definition of "critical thinking".)
I've met people in my life, especially at a younger age, who have undoubtedly made impressions on me. As I grow older, despite my own philosophies being challenged as I mentioned above, the concentration of human interactions which make me stop in my tracks and do some reconsidering become more sparse as I stand more firmly on my own two philosophical feet with time. However, I met someone in Whistler who caused me to redefine passion and charisma and commitment.
Willy Bassin was our section chief. Willy is from Ontario and is half-Swiss. He is the one of the most passionate people I've ever met in the arena of ski racing. He is an ex-racer himself. He's spent time all around the world including Switzerland, working venues and coaching athletes of all levels, including Didier Cuche. Throughout my tenure at Whistler, Willy pushed me to wake up every day and interact with my full attention. He led by example when one of us leaned on a shovel. After a twelve hour day when crews were descending the course to take the boots off of their worn feet, Willy would be standing on the back side of an A-net system shoveling out the foot. He'd then be in the village by night attending the medals ceremony, having a beer at the Swiss house, etc., only to be the first person back on the hill in the morning saying, "Hey, morning! How's it going today? Here's our program for the morning..." He immediately knew everyone by name and always acknowledged them in an upbeat manner no matter how exhausted and weather-beaten they were. He carried a vibe about him that exemplified commitment to the task at hand - whether it was acknowledging you over a drink in the village or going on the fourth hour of shoveling out the track in a blizzard. There was no phoniness.
It made me think about how I feel about certain things that I am "passionate about". And I recognize that I've got my head in a few different directions right now. It was therefore refreshing and inspiring to hang out with Willy day in and day out, who had to be bribed and convinced to take a day off by the course chiefs. Willy was and is passionate about ski racing, high-level competition and athleticism, and the serfdom that comes with putting on a ski race (let alone an Olympic race). The experiences and investment he has made have brought him to this particular place in his life which cause him to throw off a vibe that is intoxicating and invigorating to those who are sweating through Smartwool beside him, those who don't have anyone to give orders to but everyone to take orders from.
As I approach my 23rd birthday, I can't help by challenge myself in thinking about the things which I am truly passionate about as well as those for which I am not. Where is time well-spent? How much do I owe to myself in these different capacities; how much do I owe to any particular cause? It seems as though the answers to these questions always hover around 110%, and if there is something that causes me to question the level of true guts that I can spill, I had better pull out of it and reassure myself that I am dumping my energies into the causes, people, adversity, and celebrations which inevitably ensue a mission that I can unquestionably wrap myself around.
Willy was a perfect example of someone who grabs life by the cojones, works hard, plays hard, acknowledges those around him, and already has his alarm set for another early wake up. It was pretty sweet to be around a soul like that given my recent college graduation and utter confusion about what the bloody hell I'm going to do with myself, even in the short term.
Just........give it hell, I suppose. From French-pressing to relationships to shoveling more goddamned snow on an Olympic downhill than you knew existed, give it hell.
Easier said than done?
I've met people in my life, especially at a younger age, who have undoubtedly made impressions on me. As I grow older, despite my own philosophies being challenged as I mentioned above, the concentration of human interactions which make me stop in my tracks and do some reconsidering become more sparse as I stand more firmly on my own two philosophical feet with time. However, I met someone in Whistler who caused me to redefine passion and charisma and commitment.
Willy Bassin was our section chief. Willy is from Ontario and is half-Swiss. He is the one of the most passionate people I've ever met in the arena of ski racing. He is an ex-racer himself. He's spent time all around the world including Switzerland, working venues and coaching athletes of all levels, including Didier Cuche. Throughout my tenure at Whistler, Willy pushed me to wake up every day and interact with my full attention. He led by example when one of us leaned on a shovel. After a twelve hour day when crews were descending the course to take the boots off of their worn feet, Willy would be standing on the back side of an A-net system shoveling out the foot. He'd then be in the village by night attending the medals ceremony, having a beer at the Swiss house, etc., only to be the first person back on the hill in the morning saying, "Hey, morning! How's it going today? Here's our program for the morning..." He immediately knew everyone by name and always acknowledged them in an upbeat manner no matter how exhausted and weather-beaten they were. He carried a vibe about him that exemplified commitment to the task at hand - whether it was acknowledging you over a drink in the village or going on the fourth hour of shoveling out the track in a blizzard. There was no phoniness.
It made me think about how I feel about certain things that I am "passionate about". And I recognize that I've got my head in a few different directions right now. It was therefore refreshing and inspiring to hang out with Willy day in and day out, who had to be bribed and convinced to take a day off by the course chiefs. Willy was and is passionate about ski racing, high-level competition and athleticism, and the serfdom that comes with putting on a ski race (let alone an Olympic race). The experiences and investment he has made have brought him to this particular place in his life which cause him to throw off a vibe that is intoxicating and invigorating to those who are sweating through Smartwool beside him, those who don't have anyone to give orders to but everyone to take orders from.
As I approach my 23rd birthday, I can't help by challenge myself in thinking about the things which I am truly passionate about as well as those for which I am not. Where is time well-spent? How much do I owe to myself in these different capacities; how much do I owe to any particular cause? It seems as though the answers to these questions always hover around 110%, and if there is something that causes me to question the level of true guts that I can spill, I had better pull out of it and reassure myself that I am dumping my energies into the causes, people, adversity, and celebrations which inevitably ensue a mission that I can unquestionably wrap myself around.
Willy was a perfect example of someone who grabs life by the cojones, works hard, plays hard, acknowledges those around him, and already has his alarm set for another early wake up. It was pretty sweet to be around a soul like that given my recent college graduation and utter confusion about what the bloody hell I'm going to do with myself, even in the short term.
Just........give it hell, I suppose. From French-pressing to relationships to shoveling more goddamned snow on an Olympic downhill than you knew existed, give it hell.
Easier said than done?
Monday, February 22, 2010
There were a couple of things I saw yesterday that did not suck.
One of them was Will Brandenburg in his first Olympic event. He did not race the DH or the SG, but did in fact start in the Super-Combined. I watched him speed by us in the Downhill portion in the morning, but then also watched him smoke the Slalom in the afternoon sun. I was standing on the last pitch before the finish, and when he crossed the finish line, ten billion people roared and he had blown the field away by about 1.3 seconds. He was able to hold his position here for a little while, until, of course, Bode and the gang came. But watching a guy who I grew up racing with and made the call to pursue a racing career like this just ski his ass off and finish well was a treat, to say the least.
The other was the actual setting of the Slalom course after the DH run was over. I ended up being the main gate shagger for the Croatian coach who set the course, Ante Kostelic. The day before, they had set the SL and chalked the holes of the turning gates (and outsides, I think) to facilitate a quick set right after the DH run so athletes could spin around and inspect. There was only an hour or so between runs, so tension was high. Before I knew it, I had five or six people slipping down above me throwing me reds and blues out of their large bundles while I maintained a sustainable inventory of three or four of each at the most. Kostelic would yell "Vred!!" "Blue!!" "Two vred, von blue!" And it was all I could do to keep caught up to him. FIS guys were all around measuring and drilling and shouting and in no longer than I would say twelve minutes, we had 800m of course set and race-ready. Holy ba-geezus.
I was released early yesterday and skied over to Whistler base, hoofed it home, changed clothes, and ran back to the village to catch Sam Roberts Band at 3pm. Later on...ended up at Creekside for a gin party. I drank about four different kinds of gin, diligently fed to me by Julie Lemieux, a tougher-than-nails French-Canadian who just gets work done up on that course. If anyone is reading from Montana (the Loves?), there were a group of 22-24 year old ex-racers from Calgary who know Kyle Taylor, Kate Jordan, and some other racers from PNSA...small world. It's amazing to meet such a concentration of Canadians who've gone to race in college...seems like a lot of that is happening.
Being the only American in that condo in Creekside was a frightening experience last night considering the hockey game...
One of them was Will Brandenburg in his first Olympic event. He did not race the DH or the SG, but did in fact start in the Super-Combined. I watched him speed by us in the Downhill portion in the morning, but then also watched him smoke the Slalom in the afternoon sun. I was standing on the last pitch before the finish, and when he crossed the finish line, ten billion people roared and he had blown the field away by about 1.3 seconds. He was able to hold his position here for a little while, until, of course, Bode and the gang came. But watching a guy who I grew up racing with and made the call to pursue a racing career like this just ski his ass off and finish well was a treat, to say the least.
The other was the actual setting of the Slalom course after the DH run was over. I ended up being the main gate shagger for the Croatian coach who set the course, Ante Kostelic. The day before, they had set the SL and chalked the holes of the turning gates (and outsides, I think) to facilitate a quick set right after the DH run so athletes could spin around and inspect. There was only an hour or so between runs, so tension was high. Before I knew it, I had five or six people slipping down above me throwing me reds and blues out of their large bundles while I maintained a sustainable inventory of three or four of each at the most. Kostelic would yell "Vred!!" "Blue!!" "Two vred, von blue!" And it was all I could do to keep caught up to him. FIS guys were all around measuring and drilling and shouting and in no longer than I would say twelve minutes, we had 800m of course set and race-ready. Holy ba-geezus.
I was released early yesterday and skied over to Whistler base, hoofed it home, changed clothes, and ran back to the village to catch Sam Roberts Band at 3pm. Later on...ended up at Creekside for a gin party. I drank about four different kinds of gin, diligently fed to me by Julie Lemieux, a tougher-than-nails French-Canadian who just gets work done up on that course. If anyone is reading from Montana (the Loves?), there were a group of 22-24 year old ex-racers from Calgary who know Kyle Taylor, Kate Jordan, and some other racers from PNSA...small world. It's amazing to meet such a concentration of Canadians who've gone to race in college...seems like a lot of that is happening.
Being the only American in that condo in Creekside was a frightening experience last night considering the hockey game...
Saturday, February 20, 2010
got crampons?
Take a piece of auto glass, tip it up at a 45-degree angle, and then try to walk up or down it in ski boots. That will give you an idea of how bulletproof the course is becoming. I was standing in Shep's Belly today (a flatter section of the course where we're stationed) and literally had to keep one hand on a couple meshes of B-net to keep myself standing. Then, working on the pitches, it's ridiculous. If you don't have crampons, forget it. And if your skis aren't tuned, forget it. With multiple water injection programs the last few nights and cold temps overnight, it's glass.
The weather has been incredible. Cold and clear and spiritual with alpenglow in the morning, blazing during the day, then repeat at dusk. Smelling sunscreen on my face and on others' faces makes it feel like we should be drinking cold Alaskan Amber on a boat in the middle of summer. (One person actually said that today.) But we're on water, yes...just frozen.
Mom and Phyllis came up today on a whimsical note. We had a great dinner, saw a nasty funk group in the village square, and I have sent them on their way for the evening to explore the party that Whistler Village truly is now. I've never seen it packed more than it is today.
Unfortunately, I must retire, as we have a 5:45am load for the Super-Combined in the morning. Sunday night will hopefully yield some more good times out 'n' about. But for now...sleep.
Best over to Corey in Toronto and the rest of the gang that has taken off already...we be thinkin of you.
peace oot, eh?
The weather has been incredible. Cold and clear and spiritual with alpenglow in the morning, blazing during the day, then repeat at dusk. Smelling sunscreen on my face and on others' faces makes it feel like we should be drinking cold Alaskan Amber on a boat in the middle of summer. (One person actually said that today.) But we're on water, yes...just frozen.
Mom and Phyllis came up today on a whimsical note. We had a great dinner, saw a nasty funk group in the village square, and I have sent them on their way for the evening to explore the party that Whistler Village truly is now. I've never seen it packed more than it is today.
Unfortunately, I must retire, as we have a 5:45am load for the Super-Combined in the morning. Sunday night will hopefully yield some more good times out 'n' about. But for now...sleep.
Best over to Corey in Toronto and the rest of the gang that has taken off already...we be thinkin of you.
peace oot, eh?
Friday, February 19, 2010
It's 10:15...way past my bedtime for a 4:30am wakeup. Full day today, successful Super-G, Aksel won with Bode and Andrew Weibrecht in 2 and 3. I'm happy for the Norwegian and happy for the Americans also on the podium. Blazing sunshine and a fragile track because of it. But the lower section of the course held up better than anticipated.
Had the pleasure of calling my mom today at Harmony Elementary and holding the phone to the Olympic Super-G course as a racer was passing by so the kids could hear an Olympic athlete in action. Simple but gratifying; I hope the other end enjoyed it as much as I did. Answered a few questions, also.
I JUST got out of my gear...ended up not going home until now. Had a couple beers at the Weasel House and then met Sabrina and company for dinner in the village tonight. They managed to get me credentials into the Team Canada House for a couple glasses of wine just as the Canadian skeleton won gold - definitely a good moment....but only because the USA has such a cache of medals now. So...good for Canada, but...good for us, too. :-)
I've unfortunately mixed the grape and the grain tonight, which will hopefully make me sleep well...
Men's DH training tomorrow and women's Super-G...stay tuned. I'll get some more pics up soon.
Sincerely hope all is well.
Had the pleasure of calling my mom today at Harmony Elementary and holding the phone to the Olympic Super-G course as a racer was passing by so the kids could hear an Olympic athlete in action. Simple but gratifying; I hope the other end enjoyed it as much as I did. Answered a few questions, also.
I JUST got out of my gear...ended up not going home until now. Had a couple beers at the Weasel House and then met Sabrina and company for dinner in the village tonight. They managed to get me credentials into the Team Canada House for a couple glasses of wine just as the Canadian skeleton won gold - definitely a good moment....but only because the USA has such a cache of medals now. So...good for Canada, but...good for us, too. :-)
I've unfortunately mixed the grape and the grain tonight, which will hopefully make me sleep well...
Men's DH training tomorrow and women's Super-G...stay tuned. I'll get some more pics up soon.
Sincerely hope all is well.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
sunshine and carnage
This is the second day of sunshine. Sunglass lines are already forming; I dread the beard-tan should I choose to shave it sometime later on in the spring. I'm going to have to make that call relatively soon. I can't imagine blood, slime, and scales stuck in it when in Bristol Bay.
Ladies' downhill and super-combined are successfully completed. Not without some epic crashes yesterday on the downhill, an upset today for Lindsey Vonn as she threw a shoe on the slalom, and plenty of hardware for the United States. The temperatures continue to drop lower and lower during the nights, and the track hardens more and more because of it. The ladies were doing 125km/hr on some sections according to one official this morning. That's fast.
Our schedules have been roughly the same day by day now - we show up, do a lot of waiting and standing in the morning, and the work doesn't generally come until the afternoon. For instance, this morning, we loaded the gondola at 6:30. We were ordered to grab a bundle of crowd control fence and shut off access to the athletes at Boyd's Bump, as they were doing a Super-G free-ski on the course (no gates, just cruising for a few runs), and the officials didn't want them tearing up the jump. There was no crowd control fencing around (hereinafter referred to as "C"), so we had to hop on the quad and go up to the downhill start to search for a roll. Found one. Sweet. Skied it down from the DH start to Boyd's, just above the finish. Unrolled it. Put it up. Job done. A course chief came down three minutes later and said, "Nevermind, we won't be needing that." We then took the C down, rolled it, and hoofed it back up the gondola and quad to the men's DH start. That was our project this morning.
This afternoon, we switched the finish over to accommodate the men's super-g tomorrow. This involves tearing down double-layer B systems, taking the rolls back up to the green Olympic rings for staging (you can see them on your TV screen), and step and shovel out the berms of snow that build up under the B-net. And without crampons, it's tough. The track is a sheet of ice now, and self-arresting if you slip may not work until you go through the timing beam at the finish.
Had a great crew dinner last night with everyone, including Corey's sister and her friend from the BC Alpine Team. The village has been vibrant with music lately - from Feist to the Barenaked Ladies to Our Lady Peace...the music doesn't stop. We made it into the OLP concert last night, and I crowd surfed. I had to, because last time I checked, there's not much of a choice BUT to crowd surf at a concert like that. It was a very tasty experience. There's a hilarious accompanying picture that Ally took...when I snatch it, I'll share.
The Works are here, along with the Rosens and Lambersons from Spokane. It's good to know they're in town, and I hope to have dinner with the MBRT crew tonight.
My bases are dry as a bone, my edges don't exist on 45-degree boilerplate, and my Lange boots are on their last legs, I think. But when the sun shines, it's all good...damn it's been beautiful.
Paid $9.25 for ONE #$%&#&# beer at the Swiss House the other night. Can you believe that? But what a place...let me tell you. Just like the homeland. Raclette and chocolate and good drinks. It's open to the public, and when there's a Swiss victory, the place bursts open at the seams. But just because they can make a watch and knife and stay out of the European Union while being geographically in the middle of it doesn't mean that they can charge me ten bucks for a damned beer.
Water injection program tonight at 8pm on the men's slalom start to prep for the super-combined Sunday. Opted out of it. Apparently one can get wet doing that sort of thing. As I said before, the track is as hard as the desk your computer sits on. It will be an exciting SG tomorrow...go USA.
Tim, a member on my crew, does an epic job of taking pictures and posting them every night of our activities, people, days, etc. Check his pictures out here.
Ladies' downhill and super-combined are successfully completed. Not without some epic crashes yesterday on the downhill, an upset today for Lindsey Vonn as she threw a shoe on the slalom, and plenty of hardware for the United States. The temperatures continue to drop lower and lower during the nights, and the track hardens more and more because of it. The ladies were doing 125km/hr on some sections according to one official this morning. That's fast.
Our schedules have been roughly the same day by day now - we show up, do a lot of waiting and standing in the morning, and the work doesn't generally come until the afternoon. For instance, this morning, we loaded the gondola at 6:30. We were ordered to grab a bundle of crowd control fence and shut off access to the athletes at Boyd's Bump, as they were doing a Super-G free-ski on the course (no gates, just cruising for a few runs), and the officials didn't want them tearing up the jump. There was no crowd control fencing around (hereinafter referred to as "C"), so we had to hop on the quad and go up to the downhill start to search for a roll. Found one. Sweet. Skied it down from the DH start to Boyd's, just above the finish. Unrolled it. Put it up. Job done. A course chief came down three minutes later and said, "Nevermind, we won't be needing that." We then took the C down, rolled it, and hoofed it back up the gondola and quad to the men's DH start. That was our project this morning.
This afternoon, we switched the finish over to accommodate the men's super-g tomorrow. This involves tearing down double-layer B systems, taking the rolls back up to the green Olympic rings for staging (you can see them on your TV screen), and step and shovel out the berms of snow that build up under the B-net. And without crampons, it's tough. The track is a sheet of ice now, and self-arresting if you slip may not work until you go through the timing beam at the finish.
Had a great crew dinner last night with everyone, including Corey's sister and her friend from the BC Alpine Team. The village has been vibrant with music lately - from Feist to the Barenaked Ladies to Our Lady Peace...the music doesn't stop. We made it into the OLP concert last night, and I crowd surfed. I had to, because last time I checked, there's not much of a choice BUT to crowd surf at a concert like that. It was a very tasty experience. There's a hilarious accompanying picture that Ally took...when I snatch it, I'll share.
The Works are here, along with the Rosens and Lambersons from Spokane. It's good to know they're in town, and I hope to have dinner with the MBRT crew tonight.
My bases are dry as a bone, my edges don't exist on 45-degree boilerplate, and my Lange boots are on their last legs, I think. But when the sun shines, it's all good...damn it's been beautiful.
Paid $9.25 for ONE #$%&#&# beer at the Swiss House the other night. Can you believe that? But what a place...let me tell you. Just like the homeland. Raclette and chocolate and good drinks. It's open to the public, and when there's a Swiss victory, the place bursts open at the seams. But just because they can make a watch and knife and stay out of the European Union while being geographically in the middle of it doesn't mean that they can charge me ten bucks for a damned beer.
Water injection program tonight at 8pm on the men's slalom start to prep for the super-combined Sunday. Opted out of it. Apparently one can get wet doing that sort of thing. As I said before, the track is as hard as the desk your computer sits on. It will be an exciting SG tomorrow...go USA.
Tim, a member on my crew, does an epic job of taking pictures and posting them every night of our activities, people, days, etc. Check his pictures out here.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
cold smoke in the dark and a honey lager, please.
It's been awhile since I've written because, well, things have been busy. As you may know, weather has played a huge factor in the uphill battle of getting races off here at Whistler. At least it's snow for the most part. It could be worse...it could be Cypress.
Quick recap on the past few days. It's been a healthy mix of hard work, early mornings, a day off, and play time. Last week when we knew the weather was going to basically screw over the whole weekend in terms of having the men's downhill, I had the opportunity to take some incredible turns up on Whistler Peak and such with my crew. We were lead by a guy named Connor from Nova Scotia who can ab-so-lute-ly RIP. We skied some incredible lines in mid-calf pow off of the back side of Whistler Bowl, and it was an euphoric test of my athleticism and skiing.
We worked into the weekend, and I had a day off on Sunday. Saturday after work, there was much playtime in the village. Went to a few bars, ate and drank too much, etc. No matter how tired I am, when the time comes to go enjoy the scene, it simply has to be done...there's no other opportunity for it. Sunday I found myself taking care of some housekeeping things but then later ending up in the village again to watch a couple Canadian bands as well as the headliner, Matisyahu. I wasn't really expecting it, but it was a tremendous show and Village Square was packed. Met some Spaniards, straight from Madrid and Granada. A couple of them are actually on slip crew...who woulda thunk it. It was so refreshing to hear them speak Spain-Spanish and identify on some common things with them. Before I knew it, we were talking about Bar La Tortuga en Granada.
Monday we had a successful men's downhill - it went off without a hitch. Today, the super-combined was canceled. And, if you're interested, here's the final word straight from the horse's mouth: Men's super-g is on Friday. Men's super-combined is on Sunday.
The work mood has deteriorated. We're counting four-plus mornings now when we've had to show up for early loads (4am) and credentials check-in hasn't been open, nor has there been any breakfast. It is a gigantic effort to try to pull this off, and when organizers want hundreds of volunteers to get up at 2:30am for a full day's work, they need to be fed breakfast. This has happened on a handful of occasions, and it's frustrating. Work on the hill has been arduous. Today we side-stepped and boot-packed endlessly to try to prepare the track for a good freeze tonight after receiving 10+cm of snow last night. This work IS expected. But what has also been happening is a lot of standing around. Literally for hours. Volunteer efforts are sometimes overkill, and there are simply too many people for the amount of work required, especially during race time. A lot of bitching, I know. But it's not all peachy all the time on the Olympic downhill course!
In the midst of all the bureaucracy, early rises, and difficult work, things have been positive in many aspects. Humor is actually augmenting and becoming extremely dirty on the course. Every act of course work pretty much has to do with sex now. I will elaborate on this in person with whomever desires to know...give me a call or e-mail, because there are a couple of one-liners that are simply unforgettable. This morning we were ordered to go to the top of the men's downhill course for xyz something-or-another, then got called off. It was DUMPING snow, pitch-dark, and we had to take another run to get back down to midstation. This run happened to have boot-top untracked freshies, and I couldn't help but develop a shit-eating grin as I was making cold smoke in some liberating pre-dawn turns. I also attended the medals ceremony last night, which was definitely an experience. Bode took third, and Didier Defago (pronounced DEE-dee-eh) won the downhill, which naturally brought a contingent of over-sized Swiss cowbells careening down the cobblestones towards the ceremony (literally, the Swiss were carrying cowbells that were half the size of a human and made noise like church bells in Rome).
During the medals ceremony, I was impressed at how we were connected to BC Place in Vancouver, as they were having the medals presentation for the men's moguls simultaneously. The big screens in the village were tuned into that presentation, and we were part of the audience; then, when XC skiing, luge, and downhill medals were to be presented, we went live and all of the sudden 30,000 people in BC Place were watching via live feed the spot where I was standing. Impressive. Boom cameras, lights, music, national anthems, you name it - it's quite the production.
I've also developed good friendships here that will last. Cory Willis and Ally Empey are two of my sidekicks, and we definitely share the same sense of humor with regard to many things. When the going gets tough, we still tend to laugh our asses off, and it zeroes everything right back in again. Dave, our crew chief, and Willy, our section chief, are both two phenomenal human beings, and I couldn't ask for better bosses.
So much to talk about. But the experiences here are overwhelming the senses in both beautiful and frustrating ways. It is a struggle one minute, then it is beauty. I guess my only real underlying qualm right now is the fact that I would love to share this - these things I discuss - with somebody I'm close with. Don't get me wrong, seeing and doing these things is a great experience. And although I have been spending time with some of the people I've met, it still isn't the same as watching something or eating something or thinking about something which you can connect deeply to a parent, best friend, girlfriend, coach, sibling, etc., as he or she stands beside you. Being at the Winter Olympics alone is good. But it's also...being at the Winter Olympics alone. Doubled-edged sword.
Charlie Heggem put it into a good summation that has stayed with me: "Hauling B, pounding out snow, crack-ass of dawn patrols, massive egos, kick ass co-workers, lame co-workers, lots of insane moments that sear into your brain. Cool shit."
And aside from everything else, that moment you step out the door on a "crack-ass" dawn patrol and (if I may borrow from Pearl Jam) are blanketed with gems and rhinestones above with a setting crescent moon into a jagged alpine silhouette, things turn out to be pretty damned simple.
I leave you with a quote, for now. I must say that there's not much more that's demoralizing and fear-of-God instilling than getting shouted at by a guy with a thick Swiss accent. However, Hans, the FIS delegate from Switzerland, had some words of wisdom today having to do with boot-packing uphill that may also apply to the rutted course of life:
"If you vant to go high, you must start slow, heh?"
Hey, and thanks to Ruckel and Corrie Burke for being my two loyal followers!! YEAH!
Friday, February 12, 2010
the end of the beginning
Anywhere from 10-20cm fell on the upper section of the track last night. The most intense part of the storm arrives tomorrow morning, just in time. Hah.
It's about 9:20am on Friday...an odd time to be looking at my computer screen, as this is an hour which usually sees me in my ski boots. We had a packed all-crew meeting this morning at 7 that was...inspirational, blunt, and somewhat humorous. Given the weather, a swift kick to the ass was needed for all 1500 volunteers. We were informed that days off are officially canceled until further notice, and 24 hour 'round the clock shift changes are officially beginning starting at 1pm today. Men's training run is cancelled today. Crews will change out between 1pm-10pm and 10pm-7am shifts. Because this is the most-anticipated event in the Olympics aside from perhaps a gold medal hockey match between Canada and the United States, race officials refuse to let weather and track conditions touch tomorrow's mens downhill UNLESS it's a visibility issue. Manpower + around the clock prep + coffee + probably a little booze + enthusiasm for this cause will be the most effective tool we have to work with Mother Nature.
Whistler Village is becoming electric. There are multiple stages set up for "Whistler Live!" which will showcase bands throughout the Games such as Sam Roberts Band, Damian Marley, Swollen Members, among many others. At the base of Whistler Gondola, a DJ is set up at the foot of a giant kicker with rings of fire at the lip through which freestyle skiers and riders are jumping throughout the night. The cobblestones in the village are a huge dance floor, playing host to more than 80 countries. Big screens are scattered throughout the village covering events and venues between Whistler and Vancouver. This is very much a connected setup...between Whistler, Whistler Creekside, the nordic site, Cypress, Vancouver, etc., nothing will be missed.
The Jamaican Bobsled Team is here, with the Savage Beagle Club as their headquarters.
As I type, I'm watching coverage of the Olympic Torch Relay entering into the most poverty-stricken area in Canada - the Downtown East Side of Vancouver. The mayor insisted that it didn't matter how brilliant or how ugly the city was - the Olympics are inclusive to all walks of life which share common threads no matter where one is in the world. The torch therefore has struck the poorest of communities as it makes its way to the opening ceremonies, and protesters aren't hesitating in raising their voices about how resources haven't been allocated to, for example, poverty reduction, housing, and the environment throughout prep for the games. These protesters have actually caused VANOC to redirect the route of the torch. Interesting mix of emotions in the face of the largest multinational gathering of the world's most elite athletes. You can't help but take all of these opinions into account regardless of your stance and put it into the best perspective you can.
My job is real, though, at this point. I'm on a Pearl Jam, Grand Analog, and Eleven Fingered Charlie binge right now. With those songs running through my veins, my own cacophony of thoughts, and the unique environment which surrounds me, I proceed the best I can. Let the bass line drop - it's showtime.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U_eAElauc3E
Thursday, February 11, 2010
some updates for those who inquire
The mass e-mail is outdated. The blog is so...in. For those who are interested:
A week deep in Whistler has proved to be a bittersweet experience. I'm not going to blow smoke here - ski racing can be a real pain in the ass, especially when the Mother herself decides to work against you. This I have found out time and time again throughout my ski racing/coach/volunteer career, but let me tell you - when you mix quadruple B-nets and A-nets on an Olympic downhill with pending training runs, PUKING snow, and the world expecting a race this coming Saturday, it tends to max out the muscles, mind, and patience. But it's nothing a little beer and sleep won't remedy.
My first days included obtaining credentials, accommodations, meeting people, figuring out who will be barking at you, realizing that you won't really be able to bark at anyone yourself, and training. Beginning last Friday, my crew and I began putting up double and quadruple layers of protective B-netting. Rolls of B-net weigh approximately 11 million pounds each, and hundreds are required to line the course with the goal of slowing down an athlete who crashes at high speeds at a safe negative velocity before he or she hits other obstacles. In some high-risk sections of the course, four layers of netting thousands of feet long and only erected by manual labor is needed. Simply put: B-net duty is tough work.
My crew is responsible for the section of track from the slalom start to the finish - probably 500-700 vertical change and 2-3000' of track length. Again, we've been on B-net duty from the beginning, but now recently have been dealing with new snow (pushing it off the track...raking, shoveling, etc. etc.) as well as making changes to the net setups depending on the needs of the race jury (safety adjustments), the weather (snow buildup in the nets), and the snow cats (opening up sections for pushing excess snow off the run, or opening up "pick points" from which snow cats can self-aid by winching back and forth as they're working so as to cut down on course degradation).
With the impending weather, I ended up in ski boots from 3:30am Wednesday morning until 4:30pm. Some people in my boat ended up working into the dark as well. Today was a bittersweet day - we ended up pulling off a complete mens training run, but immediately after, the ceiling dropped and it started puking snow. It's not looking good for the final training run tomorrow, let alone a successful Olympic downhill on Saturday.
Aside from the work, life isn't too bad here, either. I've had a couple of good nights in the bar and have met a ton of quality (and not so quality) souls. There have been additions to my crew, and finally I'm working with two people of 20 and 24 years of age, as well as another 22 year old in the other crew in my section. We're becoming friends and sharing some legit laughs.
A couple nights ago I ended up in Dublinh Gate Pub with someone I knew, but more importantly later on with some off-the-clock Vancouver police officers who didn't hesitate in buying me whiskey. After a good sesh of talking to them about whether legalizing marijuana in Washington State would do good or bad things to tax revenue (and life in general), I realized it was getting late and went back to the condo. That was when I read my e-mail and saw that I needed to be at Creekside ready to load at 4am the next morning. I can't have too many of these instances, because nights of drinking make for long 14-hour days.
Attitudes are waning this early on as well. When crew and section chiefs realized yesterday that the weather was coming and we hadn't even completed one discipline of mens alpine skiing, people started snapping at each other on the track as we were trying to work and keep things in condition. This weighed heavily on the shoulders of volunteers who had been up since 2:30am. Yes, this is the Olympics, and it's a unique atmosphere to be a part of. But shitty attitudes and drama can really bring down a brigade of unpaid people who are playing an integral role in pulling this off on a platform of energy derived from the "Team 2010, With Glowing Hearts" catch phrase.
So now the weather is here. We got kicked off the hill midday today, which was surprising but also a major relief. I think it's because they're gearing us up for a 24/7 push to make an attempt at conquering this weather and pulling a race off. But I'm hesitant to express optimism in that. Luckily my next day off is Sunday, which means Saturday night will be nothing short of a party with the world in Whistler Village, as the games will have officially begun, and hopefully the USA will have podiumed in the mens downhill.
Between now and then, though, we'll have to come up with an answer for the Swiss and Austrians looking at this wet snow and heavy accumulation asking, "Vat is matter vit dis place?"
And I apologize for the length - ensuing posts will be shorter and hopefully filled with better substance. I just wanted to give the last week some justice to those who have asked.
I am thinking of you all.
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