After four seasons working on a fish tender brailing salmon from traps and seiners, I was ready for a change. I wanted to go fishing! Knowing which skippers caught the most fish. I rented an apartment from a “Highliner” in Ballard and asked for a “chance” every month when I paid the rent.
When Walt’s experienced sixteen year skiffman decided to skipper his own seiner, Walt hired me. That I had a college diploma didn’t count for much. I was once again the green kid that knew how to splice a rope and tie a bowline, but knew nothing about mending nets or coiling purse line, and most certainly didn’t know how to run a skiff to hold salmon in a net. I had a lot to learn.
Tim
JUNE IN WASHINGTON
No longer a seasoned mate on a cannery tender,
I’m a green skiffman on the St. John
fishing off Cattle Point in the San Juan Straits
crowded with seiners competing for a few sockeye.
In the flat water the skiff slides along the St. John’s hull,
Jimmy tosses the net’s tow line to Leanas on deck.
I look up at Walt leaning over the flying bridge.
“God dammit, you’re fuckin’ up.”
I turn the skiff away,
jump the corks,
pick up the lead net,
stow it in the skiff.
“We lost em,
my fault.”
Walt doesn’t swear much.
Chief told me earlier in the morning,
“Walt doesn’t fire guys,
They just don’t come back.”
AUGUST IN ALASKA
Southwest swells rolling in off Cape Addington
brisk breeze lifts spray off the white caps,
only a few boats left out fishin’
still tryin’ to make a season.
Most seiners have called it a day,
rolled down to Ulitka
dropped the hook,
takin’ a snooze in the bag’.
Just us and the Native
Alaskan seiners from Craig.
We finish a set,
guards awash in the seas,
five brailers of salmon spill into the hold.
The skiff secured to the stern,
I hustle aboard the tossing boat.
Peterson yells at me,
“Tim, Walt wants you on the bridge.”
I vault up the ladder,
Walt’s grinning,
“You are one of the Indians out there.
Get back in the skiff.”
I slide down the ladder to the deck,
“Jimmy, get in the skiff,
We are settin’ again.”
Walt shouts,“Let er go!”
I turn the skiff in the swells, water washes into the skiff,
I pull the throttle to full,
the rings clank off the ring bar.
the net streams out behind the skiff.
I’ve made it.
I’m comin’ back.
To view Salmon Summers VII – click here
Hey Timalee,
Thanks so much for sharing another chapter from your remarkable book of life.
Keep ’em commin’!!
Jimalee