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.