Thursday (TIA)

The other night Amber and I were watching the Leonardo DiCaprio movie Blood Diamond, the one where he has that ridiculous Australian sounding accent. There's a scene in the movie where he's chatting it up with the bartender at the beach bar he obviously frequents. Then, from across the bar, he sees a pretty little white girl she gives him the eyes with a come and get me smile. After some chatting, first friendly then hostile, there comes a point where he turns to his bartender friend and says 'TIA right bru?' and the bartender responds 'That's right, TIA' as if that explains everything. The girl innocently falls for the bait, asking Leonardo what TIA means, to which he responds 'This is Africa'. The transaction in this scene implies that TIA is a common saying to explain the lack of rules in that area of Africa. Seeing the parallel to our situation, Amber and I have been running around yelling 'TIA BITCHES, TIA' (for 'this is Alaska') at every moment of every stupid or ridiculous thing we do ever since watching that moving. Because it seems like we have no rules working on the boat. We throw things everywhere, go wherever we want, and goof off in just about every possible situation. This blog post is dedicated to that, to those shenanigans.

 Let me make a story composed mostly of photos for you.

Even though we never really wake up knowing what the day holds we try to do a few things to keep some sort of consistency in our days. Usually we try to start it out with a smoothie,

but after that who knows what is really going to happen. We take it as it comes, but pretty generally it starts out with moving some shit.

Sometimes we get to move cool things though, like a car,

 and other times we're just manhandling totes.

In between all the heavy lifting, there's always a little goofing off.

The flying forks being one of the main sources of entertainment during herring season.

If we aren't buying fish or playing the tote shuffle there is always some random task lying around for us to throw ourselves at.

Like climb up the mast to grease the blocks,

or there is always painting to be done. 

Sometimes things go wrong though, and we have shovel off the ton of dirt that fell into the ONE open spot on deck,

or climb back to topmast again because the blocks need re-greasing.

Lot's of jokes between mishaps. 

Followed up by forklift fun, rain or shine.

Because the weather can be quite crap.

And then maybe some exploring if we're feeling adventurous,

because Gordon always needs to go for a walk and we always need to stretch our legs.

Then, after a hard days work,

because sometimes we have to work late,

we lay down to gather ourselves for a second, just in case something random happens.

Like a seaplane coming to drop the new plant manager off.

But it's all worth it when we live in a place like this,

see things like this, 

and sleep in a world like this.

Alaska is a good place.

Be happy,

Beacon

Wednesday (What it is the Deer Harbor II actually does, explained and drawn out)

There are certain questions that, upon meeting a stranger, I frequently encounter. Often, when I'm hitchhiking, I always (at least 40% of the time in America) get asked a variant of the question 'Are you a murderer?' and even though the question sounds grave it gives me a rush of adrenaline because I know once they ask that question they've already made up their mind to give me a ride unless I royally screw it up by answering 'yes, I was in fact planning on murdering you today madam'. But that's not a question most get asked on a almost daily basis, how should one answer such a forthright concern? Well, my ace in the hole answer to the interrogation of my likelihood to murder is, likewise, 'Are you a murderer?' with a strong emphasis on the you. That response has a 100% success rate and it has been used in all my travels everywhere. It let's them know 'hey, this is a two way street and we're both taking a little risk by uniting forces for the time'. But it's worth it isn't it? I love the exotic, yet all too familiar now, taste of the unknown. And for the people who pick me up, it seems like they do it because it throws a little rosemary into what was shaping up to be just another salt and pepper kind of day.

Another question I get a lot, mostly in airports and abroad, is 'how do you afford all this traveling you do?' to which I have two responses depending on how receiving to new ideas someone seems. They are these:

1. Traveling is free if you want it to be
2. I'm a fisherman in Alaska

Both of these answers are equally true, but if I get the feeling I can convince someone to travel then I tell them number 1, if they're just politely inquiring then I tell them number 2, and if I tell them number two I follow it up with a 'no, I'm not on Deadliest Catch' (because I'm, without a doubt, asked that question even more than if I'm a murderer).

Now before I launch into the topic of this blog I want to stress something to y'all out there, number 1 is absolutely and completely true. Traveling is as expensive or inexpensive as you desire it to be and if ever, under any circumstances, you have any questions about traveling you can always come to me and I will do my best to answer your concerns.

 Now, with that said, answer number two often raises a huge issue. I'm not saying I'm super interesting, because, really, I'm not, but most of the time when I tell someone I work in Alaska on fishing boats it perks their interest pretty quickly and they have questions. The only problem is I don't have answers, at least not answers in a way that would take less than 15 or more minutes for me to explain to someone. Especially if they know nothing about boats or the fisheries in Alaska (which basically no one does, but why would they?). Most of my friends don't even know what I do because I've never truly explained it to them, it's just easier to say 'I'm a fisherman in Alaska' and leave it at that, but that's not altogether true anymore.

Hence the reason for me to write this post. In this post I plan on explaining what exactly it is I do in Alaska, what the boat I work on currently does, and what the fishing started out doing is like. I may even give some short explanations of some of the other fisheries in Alaska, because there're a lot of 'em. Yeah, you know what? Let's do it like this, because I really like turning a blog into sections as you've probably seen, let's section it into three: Trolling, troll tendering, and herring/herring tendering (pounding). This is just going to be a decent description of what it is I do in Alaska, it's not going to go deeply into every single aspect of it. I'll warn you now though, if you're not into that sort of thing it'll probably be pretty boring to you. But it'll be interesting for the rest of you.

-------------------------------------------------------

Trolling

Trolling is the fishery that I, back in 2012, originally came to Alaska to participate in. Back then, like most people, I didn't know anything about Alaska's fisheries other than it'd probably be cold and require plenty of hard work. I was desperate to get away from college, at the time it was driving me crazy being surrounded by the drab personalities North Texas has to offer. Not that everyone there was bad, but for the most part they sucked. I was enrolled in summer courses at the time, when a friend of mine suggested that I pursue fishing in Alaska, just to get me away from the bureaucracies of the university. I humored her by searching around on internet sites claiming to be the 'for sure' way to land a fishing job in Alaska. I spent one good Saturday sending out emails to captains and making calls to boat owners. I was looking at long lining, seining, gill netting, crabbing, trolling, and many other fisheries I had no clue about. But soon the repetitive task of trying to describe myself in a light that would put a neon sign over my head saying '==> FUTURE FISHERMAN HERE<==' bored me and I promptly went back to playing zombies on COD. A few days went by and when I heard from no one I forgot about the romanticized view of running away to Alaska to make my fortune and travel the world, putting it off as a silly fantasy that only happens in books, not real life. Until I got a call from Joe Daniels, captain of the Sophia.

Joe needed a deckhand within the next week or so, he'd just fired his last deckhand after only a week of work and the first king opening was approaching fast, he said if I could get up to Alaska I had the job. I dropped out of college that day, moved out and drove home the next. I dug through hampers and drawers and tubs in the garage in order to muster all the warm clothes I could. Then, with some hasty goodbyes and apologies (to my mom mostly), I was off to a wild blue world that I didn't have the slightest idea about.

So what is trolling? What is power trolling? How does it work? How are you paid? When is the season? All valid questions. Trolling is what it’s called when you're in a boat dragging your hook through the water behind you in order to attract and catch fish, so you're always moving see? Like if you're in a kayak and you throw out a line before paddling around, dragging it behind you in case any fish in the area feels like biting onto it. That's considered trolling, but on a much smaller scale than what happens in Southeast Alaska. In power trolling, instead of one line and hook, there can be hundreds of leads out at a time on each boat that's out there, and there are easily over 1,000 trollers out there doing this in the summer.

The beginning of the season is July 1st every year. The end, September 20th, unless there is an extension (usually an extension last for 10 days). On July 1st the king season opens and trollers are free to fish for King Salmon, the prize of the trolling community. A king can range from 7 pounds to normally 35 maximum (nowadays), but in the olden days it wasn't uncommon to come across an 80 pounder. King sells for the most per pound. More than Sockeye, more than Coho, and certainly more than fucking humpies (typical pink salmon and the worst quality out there). That's because Kings are the best quality salmon there is. The king season can last anywhere from 4 or 5 days to a month, it just depends on how many are being caught. It's fishing ye know? No guaranteed paycheck, a glorified gambler.

After the king season closes everyone turns to Coho fishing. A Coho is of lesser quality than a king, but it's still worth it for the fisherman to go out trolling for them. Don't get me wrong though, trollers live for the kings. And there is a second king opener for a certain amount of time later in the season, all dependent on how many kings were slain during the July 1st opening. Trollers don't really get excited for Cohos until the end of the season, around September, when the Cohos start getting big. Around then they start to develop these harder heads making it harder to kill them with the gaff, so many people begin to refer to them as helmet heads around then. 

Okay, so that's when and why there are trollers. But how do they do it? Even though the trolling in Alaska is done in what seems like large quantities the boats are still quite small. They're normally around 15 meters or so with a crew of 1-3.  So yeah, they're pretty tiny boats, but they can come back with a loads and loads of fish. The largest day I ever had was 400 fish in a day, and the highliners (the best boats) can do much more than that.

Normally the boats fish a mile or two offshore. Typically they follow an 'edge', like a 30 fathom (a fathom is 6 feet) or a 50 fathom edge. An 'edge' is where the water is a consistent depth (like 30 or 50 fathoms) and since the boats are moving in order to fish they just follow an edge. Why follow an edge you may ask? The reason is because the gear (the hooks, the flashers, the lines, etc.) is being towed at a certain depth, no more or no less. You don't want to tow the gear too deep because you get caught on the bottom, which, as you can imagine, is very bad. If you tow your gear too shallow you won't be maximizing your potential to catch fish. And you want to catch fish. Also, fish tend to hang out on an edge and some fish prefer different depths. Kings like to be near the bottom, with Cohos somewhere in between, and not much for fish near the surface other than humpies occasionally.

How the gear works. It works like this, on each boat there are two metal poles that stick out off the sides at a 45ish degree angles, these are called the troll poles. These metal poles hold out two metal cables each. Each of these metal wires is connected to a hydraulically powered wheel, which spools or unspools the wire, at the stern (back) of the boat. The cables are held out by the troll polls so they are spread out dragging behind the boat and don't get crossed or tangled. At the very bottom of each of the metal wires is a lead (the metal), usually around 40-60 pounds in weight which ensures that the cables drag at the right depth behind the boat. Out of these four cables there are two floats and two heavies, one of each on each side of the boat. The heavy is the one held closer to the boat and it has a heavier lead than the float (hence the name), the float is held out further away from the boat by the float (hence the name) which is basically a giant square of Styrofoam. And along these metal wires are, depending on the depth the boat is dragging, probably 10 -25 leads (not the metal). A lead (still not the metal, it's annoying how lead and lead are spelled the same) is fishing line attached to a huge clip at one end and a hook at the other, with a flasher in the middle. The clip is attached to the cable as the cable is unspooled out of the stern and then the flasher and hook are thrown out in the water in a way that they don't get tangled. The flasher attracts the fish, it spins a certain way depending on the speed the boat is trolling at which gets the attention of target fish, and the hook (usually with some sort of fake bait on it) obviously catches the fish.

Alright, so a fish bites the hook, how do you know? When a fish strikes it pulls on the hook attached to the leader attached to the cable which is attached to a bell at the bow of the ship. When you hear the bell ding-a-ling-ling you know that a fish just hit, and the heavies and floats have different frequency bells so you know which was struck. Each fish has a specific way it fights and struggles, so you can tell, with some practice, if it's a king, Coho, fucking humpy, or even a halibut striking the bomber (the leader attached at the very bottom next to the lead). If enough fish strike one line, let's say the port (left side of the boat) float, you pull it in with the hydraulics, taking each leader off the line and coiling it as it comes up so that it can be thrown back out super quickly, because fishing is all about speed. If fish are biting you better be working furiously. You reel up until you find the fish that struck, at that point you gotta pull the fish in by the leader with your hands, then once it's close enough to the boat you grab your gaff and bash it on the head with the back of the gaff. If you hit it in the right spot it dies instantly and you can use the  pointy end of the gaff to gaff it aboard. If you don’t kill it instantly, well then, usually, you've got a fight on your hands.

Once a fish has been gaffed aboard you keep going about your business until you have a spare moment to bleed it (by cutting the left gill). Then, after the fish is bled a bit you clean it, gill it, and throw it down in the hold. The hold is basically the inside of the boat, for trolling there is ice kept down there in order to ice the fish and keep them cold. Holds are separated into bins for packing fish. Once you've thrown your fish in the hold, and you have a chance, you jump down there with them, shovel out a bin (literally tons) of ice, and then start packing fish inside like sardines, filling their stiff bodies with ice as you go so they keep as long as possible. Usually, on a ice troller, the fish are allowed to stay iced in the hold for 5 days before the troller takes the fish to the tender boat to sell. Once sold to the tender boat they can stay another 3 or 4 days (they're re-iced) before they're taken to the plant. And from the plant I've no idea what really happens to the fish. Trollers get paid by the pound and deckhands get a percentage of that (usually 12-20%).

And there you have it folks, trolling in a nutshell. This description is only of the troll fishery and kind of how it works. It's obviously much more complicated than that and it doesn't go into any of the other many things that just come with general boat work. You have to learn knots, which ways to tie up a boat, about the stabilizers, the engine, electronics, etc., but that's what being on a boat means. You learn how to improvise mostly, because what you have is what you have and if you can't make it work then you're SOL. Even the most incompetent captains know more than most of the people I've ever met out there in the real world. But that's a sofapbox, so there you have it. That's how I started my Alaskan career and I don't regret it a bit. I worked that first summer and, though I didn't know it, I was hooked (pun intended). Even so, I took off the next summer to hike the Appalachian trail, but the one after that I decided I would try my hand at tendering. Which is how I found myself upon the Deer Harbor II, under the command of Amber, the best captain ever.

------------------

Tendering

Tendering is both less and more complicated than trolling at the same time. To put it extremely simply, the tender boat is the middle man. Tender boats go out to where the fisherman are fishing, the fishermen come to the tender boat, and then the tender takes the fish off the fishing vessel, as well as giving them back ice, groceries, fuel, and water. Then the tender runs to town, drops the fish at the plant, restocks, and goes back out to the fishing grounds. Back and forth, back and forth, all season long. And there aren't just tenders for trolling. There are tenders for nearly every type of fishing out there. It just so happens the tender boat I work on does troll tendering and pounding (herring). Tender boats are  a much larger vessel than the fishing boats because they need to be able to take and pack the fish from multiple trollers.

But, now, in a little more detail. I work on the Deer Harbor II. She is about 100ft long, 30ft wide, 375 tons, and properly she is called a scow. Made in 1942 for WWII she's a wooden vessel. My captain is Amber. Her pa is Hans. The dog is Gordon. For the salmon tendering season we usually run between Sitka and Mite cove. Sitka is where the fish plant is, Mite cove is where the fishermen are. It's about a 7 or 8 hour run on the outside and a 13 or so hour run on the inside (we have to take the inside if it's too rough outside). Depending who's aboard me, Amber, Hans, and sometimes other people will take shifts driving the boat. The crew for salmon season is 4-7, and the rest of the crew who aren't driving are usually cleaning or relaxing on the way in or out of Sitka.

But running (that's what we call traveling) is the least of our work. Running is our down time. The real work is getting the fish aboard and then sorting and packing them while keeping the other million things we need to be aware of in mind. How do we get the fish aboard? Basically we use the booms (like a crane) to lower giant basket things into the holds of the fishing boats and they pitch their fish into the basket one at a time. When the bucket is full we pull it out, put it on our boat, sort the fish by type and weight, and then repack them respectively in these giant cooler things called totes. This can take a while, especially because boats can have upwards of 1,000 fish. That's where most of our day is spent, taking fish from fishermen, sorting, and packing them. We have a forklift and pallet jacks to move the totes of fish around because they can weigh around 1500 pounds. Really simply put that's all we do, but on top of that there're usually a plethora of other chores and tasks that need doing in order to keep a vessel going. And there is always, ALWAYS, something to be cleaned.

All of that is what we do yeah, but what we really do is something different. Something strange, hilarious, daunting and difficult to describe. Looking at what we do and trying to explain it is like trying to explain an inside joke to someone. If you aren't there when it happens it isn't funny. Though my attempt to explain this may be futile, I'll still try for y'all.

What we do isn't just packing fish and tying up boats and running all over Southeast. If someone were looking at us from an outside perspective, then ,yeah, that is all we do. We pack and de-ice and re-ice and run run run and at the end of the day there are fish on the dock that weren't there before. That's what people think we do. But nah, that's not really what we do. What we do, what we really do, well, it's like this. We wake up sometime in the early morning, maybe it's 6 or 7, sometimes an earlier 5 or even 3 if we need to do something crazy like catch the tide. We congregate around the galley table, everyone gets some coffee and we sit there drinking it laughing about the previous days craziness or about the shit we're about to go through for that day, and then once we're all about half way through our coffee we basically pull straws on who gets to poop first, each of us trickling down to the head at some point or another. And we all laugh about it because potty humor gets to everyone and nothing is private on a boat, especially since the plumbing goes directly out under the back deck and into the ocean. So sometimes you can just be sitting out there looking at the beautiful mountains meeting the ocean along the coastline and when you look down at the water right below you can know what that guy had for dinner a couple nights ago. After the morning poopathon we go about whatever ridiculous thing it is we're doing that day. Whether it be buying fish until 3 in the morning or running around in the skiff cutting kelp off the beach lines.

Just one of the silly things we do

Trying to write this now I'm realizing the task I've set out on is impossible, I just can't explain what it is that we really do because somehow everything we do we find hilarious. Hysterically hilarious and hilariously hysterical. We laugh at the fishermen, their rain gear, and their boats. We laugh at tie up lines and knots people tie and how, no matter what you're doing, it's possible you could come out of it with soot all over your face for no reason at all. We laugh at Gordon (the dog aboard), oh sweet baby Jesus do we laugh at Gordon and all the blank stares and pitiful glares he gives us. How he spazzes out over a reflected light or the deck hose. We make fun of each other for anything and everything, the way someone puts a hook on or packs fish in a tote or breaks up ice. Laughing at each other for being tall or short or anything any of us wears or how we don't shower but maybe once a week and how I fell in my own trash hole thrice in one day. We just laugh, at absolutely everything. And I could never explain how these things are funny, even though I try, I can't because you really do gotta live it to understand it.

One last question I'm frequently asked about the boat is 'do y'all eat a lot of fish on the boat?' to which I respond 'I eat better on the boat than I ever do in the real world', mostly because Amber is the best cook there is. She can make anything out of anything, and it always taste amazing. Seriously, nothing on land could compare to how I eat aboard the Deer Harbor. It's damn good.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Herring/herring tendering (pounding)

Pounding is the spring season. It's a really strange and interesting fishery. It's a seining fishery. Seining is a way that fish are caught, basically using a giant net. The seiners go out and catch these herring when they show up. But it's not really about the herring, because they're harvesting roe on kelp (the eggs). They have to go out kelping and find the best kelp they can. They're looking for large blades, then, once they've gotten the kelp they need (each permit is only allowed a certain number of blades), they build a pound to hang the kelp in. After that they sein the herring, dump them in the pounds, and try to get them to spawn. After 5 days they release all the herring from the pens, harvest the roe on kelp, and bring it to us, the tender. We give them salt, brine, and empty totes for them to pack the roe in. Then they give us product back and wallah. Simple as that.

Seining

Pounds

Harvesting

They seine down near Craig and we take the roe on kelp up to Petersburg after we've gotten all the product from the fishermen. It's about a 14 hour run between the two towns. We want them to get as much product as possible because we're paid per pound they bring in. Mo' totes is mo' money. Herring season is nice because it's much more relaxed than salmon. It's not go go go all the time and even though I spend a month up there for it I really only work for 3 days.

What herring season is really about is getting the boat in order for salmon. It's about learning as much as I can about the boat while it's a small crew (me, Amber, and Hans) and everything isn't super hectic like it is in the summer. Trying to learn how to change the oil on the mains, kuba, the 6, and noisy. Learning how to drop and pull the anchor, how to just do everything I can really. Herring season is about spending some quality time with Amber too because we really do have a good time together. I can't even count the times I've cried laughing during this month up here. It really is just having a good time with some friends and, even though shit gets done, in the end, it was just us goofing off on a boat to make a bit of money to see the world with. And I like that.

---------------------------------------------------------

There you go guys. That's at least a general outline of some of the things we do. Like I said, I get questions about the boat A LOT, but it's hard to explain if you've never seen it or lived aboard a boat for a long period of time before. I love it up here though. The Deer Harbor II is an amazing vessel and it's great being able to work with Amber, Gordon, and Hans. So hopefully this answers some of the questions that've been posed to me over the years and if you have any specific questions feel free to ask me.

Be happy,

Beacon 

Tuesday (A blog about Maddie, the best from her story)

I've been doing this a little while now guys. By 'this' I mean the traveling and the working, and th- well, you know… that sort of stuff you probably know me for. But sometimes it gets a little heavy. Sometimes my drive to go out and adventures gets a little bit worn down. I get a little bit tired of the go go go and start feeling like maybe, just maybe, I should try to stay stay stay. But I know deep down that'd never do it for me. I'd get bored in how long? A week? A month? Maybe I could even make it 2 or 3 months, but at the end of that month or those months I would look back at the fruitless days I'd just spent stationary and throw a little pity party for myself. I'd look at a month spent in San Antonio and say 'I could have gone here instead' or 'I could have gone there instead' and I'd feel like I'd just wasted a good portion of my life (how I now feel about going to college). Still, sometimes it gets lonely out there and the wanderlust isn't as strong as it used to be. Sometimes I need some motivation, not the old kind where I could Google 'cool places to see' or something just as silly, but something fresh, from a new angle. Sometimes I just need something to ignite me from within, a bellow for my fires, or a catalyst that connects with my specific chemistry. And sometimes, just sometimes, that tinder, that bellow, and that catalyst is a girl. An unassuming and quirky young girl. One that sits next to me in the Denver airport. A brilliant girl, by the name of Maddie.

I am not in the mood to write facts tonight, that is, I do not wish to be taking minutes on a moment in my life. Not to say that I haven't been attempting just this outside of the blog, wanting so badly to record these three days of my life accurately, precisely, and in a way that could make the reader feel, just maybe, 1/100th of the jolt I felt in such a short time. But that complete story is a long way off from being finished, and it is not quite of the blog style. If I had to pin a tail on it at all I would have to say 'short story' is the genre it belongs to. I'm still writing the short story version and have already attempted this same story you're about to read in a blog but, realizing that the story was merely 1/3 done when I wrote that post, I have reconsidered what I already posted in favor of this one, Tuesday (A blog about Maddie, the best from her story). Let me warn you in advance, this one is meant to be a whirlwind. Not a mistruth mind you, just because I said I didn’t want to write facts tonight doesn't mean that these things aren't the truth of how I feel about the whole situation, but I can hardly call my feelings fact when nobody other than myself will ever know them to be true. To me they are true, but to you they are merely a story. But the truth of it is, is that it was a whirlwind, if not a tempest in the flesh, and, I, caught completely off guard, was catapulted from my melancholy by such destiny that I was forced to reconcile with my passions. These events, of which I am about to relay to you, were the firing command of just such a force and, I must stress, that this is not a love story. Well, in a way, if you knew me well enough, or, possibly, if you were just a very insightful person, you could say it is a love story. But I consider that to be semantics and not of importance.

I'm going to go ahead and tell y'all I don't really know how to do this, as you can probably tell by how long I've been stalling with this introduction. I've been inspired before, but nothing quite at this magnitude. Not that it was a grand thing, it was quite an ordinary thing actually, but I just wasn't expecting it. I want to describe it all and how it went down so on point, and, as I previously mentioned, I am attempting to do just that in a short story that is not this blog. So, actually, what I believe I will do, I believe I'll go ahead and divide the rest of this post into thirds. Day one, day two, and day three. The airport, Seattle, and Bellingham. Each day will touch, respectively, on one of the three times me and Maddie saw each other. Does that sound agreeable? Good, because that's the best way I can think of to write it.

 I guess I should stop dilly dallying now, no matter how long I write this introduction it won't give me enough time to collect my thoughts. I suppose the best thing is to do is just start, no matter how intimidating the subject matter is to me. So let me just get on with it and cut the gibber jabber. Without further adieu, Maddie.

=========================================================

Day 1: The Airport

So it goes, I'm in yet another airport, and I'm not in the best of moods because holy hell am I getting tired of airports. I mean, it's awesome that I get to travel all the time, seriously awesome, especially when work paid for this flight, but airports are just so incredibly dull. It's like they sat someone down and told them to build the least interesting place in the world with nothing comfortable to sit on and even less to do. So I don't really like the airport part of traveling. I don't go to an airport because I want to be in an airport, I go in order to get somewhere else. An airport, it's just a middle man, the means to an end, it’s never my real destination. I want to be in Seattle yeah, but I hate having to go through the airport shenanigans to get there. Apart from the docks that float planes pull up next to I never want to be in an airport.

But that's how it is as I get off the plane for my layover in Denver. I'm back in another airport for just over 2 hours. 2 hours! You know what I could do in two hours? Nothing, because I'm in an airport. I can't even buy a cup of coffee because I spent the last of my money, plus $20 I borrowed from my mom, on having a good time my last night in San Antonio. Even if I did have some money I certainly wouldn't squander it away on the monopolies that are airport snack shops where it'll cost you a gold nugget and a rough gemstone to get some water. The only money I have left is a fiver and a one dollar bill that a friend of mine artfully folded into the shape of a t-shirt before making me promise that I would only use this dollar on a stripper (because, ironically, I would be giving her clothing to take clothes off, and you're allowed to do anything for the sake of good irony).

I make my way towards the gate for my final leg of the day, the flight to Seattle. It's only a near half mile walk to get to the farthest area possible from my arrival gate, because when do you ever arrive at gate 35c and your next flight is at 36c? Never, it's always two trams, 4 sets of stairs, and then 12 moving sidewalks to get all the way to gate 99z where it always seems my next flight awaits. I find hardly anyone waiting there for the Seattle flight. Probably because it's still two hours from take off. Actually, no probably about it, that's definitely why there was no one there. I quickly locate an empty stretch of seats where I can try to settle down for Seattle. Why don't they just put some comfortable chairs in these places instead of these ridiculous pieces of leather stretched between two metal bars? Who thought this was a good idea? Probably an economist. No matter how much I flip, flop, roll, stretch, and or slouch I just cannot find a comfortable position in such a distasteful piece of furniture as an airport chair (I'm continuing on my sour mood here). And I'm giving a damn good effort at making myself comfortable too, but it just ain't paying out. I decide to switch over to a more normal person position, sitting straight up instead of sprawled along half a bench like a homeless man downtown after a typical nights splendor. As good as invisible the whole time to the stressed, half panicked passengers starting to mill about the kiosk where flight attendants tend to all the crazy and uptight with a fake smile and a sarcastic 'we are doing everything we can for you honey'. But hey, it keeps the masses at bay. I couldn't imagine having to deal with people in an airport as customers. As many times as I have told someone about how I travel and adventure, and they've asked me 'hey, have you considered being a flight attendant so you can fly for free?', I can still say fuck no twice as many.

With boredom digging his cold, dingy nails into me I begin eyeing the newspaper that some careless passenger has left strewn across the pleather chair next to me, that's how desperate the situation was becoming: I was so bored I was considering reading a paper. If that isn't desperate I don't know what is. Granted, I probably wouldn't have gone any further than the funnies, or, sometimes, I like to look at the dogs for sale in the classifieds. Before I have to live with myself for making such a desperate throw as that someone sits down in the seat on the other side of it. I'm not thinking anything as I look up to assess whoever it is. I don't have time to wonder if it's some middle aged woman who wants to talk my ear off, or some well off girl looking to pass 20 minutes with a bearded stranger (like the one I met on the San Antonio leg of this journey a few hours ago), but, honestly, anything is welcome in order to kill the last hour looming ahead of me. Really, whoever it is, it has to be a girl. For some reason a dude by himself won't sit near another dude by himself, unless it's extremely necessary of course. Then, and only then, could it be acceptable, like if it was the last seat in the entire airport. And I don't think that extremely necessary situation had arisen yet. So I look up at 'em. I look up at her, because it is a her, and it is, you guessed it, Maddie. Sitting just a seat or two over from me.

She's got two flouncy cowboy, or should I say cowgirl, boots on over a pair of ostentatious leggings. I mean they were loud, yeah, but some people can pull that sort of thing off. She is certainly one of those people. A plain shirt under a denim jacket. Her hair, a unique assortment of oranges and blondish colours strangely complimented by out of place trucker hat and large glasses. It's the kind of hair that does anything she wants it to. If she pushes it out of her eyes it stays out of her eyes, if she brushes it to the side it stays to the side, and if she runs her fingers through it front to back then it'll stick up at whatever odd path her hand unconsciously chooses to stray. The whole package was something of an oddment. I'd even go as far as to say I have never, never in all my life, seen a girl such as this. It doesn't mean she's better or worse than all the other girls in the world, just different, just something I hadn't encountered before, a rare and exotic type. And, I have to say, that is a big statement coming from me. If you know anything about me you know that I meet people. I meet a lot of people. I meet a lot of all sorts of people from all sorts of places doing all sorts of things. That's a lot of sorts going on and for me, and to meet a sort that I have never encountered before (not to say other people are all the same, but they, for the most part, fit into categories), it's a little bit exciting at the very least. It's like stumbling upon a mythical creature you didn't expect to find. Like a siren, or a jackalope. You know, just discovering something magical. Something you always wanted to exist, but you knew that it didn't, and now you know that it does. Foundation cracking.

I met Maddie probably around 8 pm. By 9 we were sitting next to each other on the flight from Denver to Seattle. At 10 we united together under the banshee wails of a screaming baby being cooed at directly behind us. Then, with the loss of an hour, and some sleep, by midnight, a mere four hours after becoming acquainted, being introduced to her mother and shaking hands with her father before loading up into their SUV with them. Okay, maybe that was a little misleading. I wasn't an adorable little fuzzy creature they wanted to take home with them for the night, but I was an adorable little fuzzy creature they didn't mind dropping off at his friends house on their way home.

In the Denver airport Maddie had discovered that my friends house, whom I was staying with that night in Seattle, was maybe 5 or 10 minutes down the road from where her family lives. After a slight hesitation I tentatively asked her if she could give me a ride there. I say tentatively because I didn't want to startle off this newfound pixie, but she nonchalantly called up her dad Damien and got the all clear. I find that incredible, how you can meet someone in an airport, and she doesn't know you from Adam, but she turns out to be one of the rare and completely open minded people that are out there in the raw.

Maddie and I on the plane

What I learned about Maddie that night was that she is passionately dizzying. A rowdy spunk, but also blessedly sublime. It's hard to peg her down into one category because it always, to me, seemed like she was existing in two opposing realms. One foot dipping into yin,  with the other planted in yang, and doing a jitterbug between the two. She is the type of girl who plants a seed of doubt in my mind, but no, it's not a bad thing, it's a beautiful thing. It's a fanfuckingtastic thing because sometimes I need a kick in the ass to get me going and show me there still are things out there that I never expected to find. Y'all saw how I was describing the airport just there, all morose. Like my ship had just sunk and my dog was run over. What's the point in doing things I know I can do? I need some challenge, I need some doubt about the outcome, and that's what she was to me at that moment. I wasn't looking to find someone in that airport, wasn't looking for a ride or a place to stay, she even talked to me first! She's the type of girl I spend a little time with in a controlled environment, like an airport, and seeing what she's like there I wonder if I could keep up with her on the outside should she choose to crank it to 11. She's the type of girl who makes me want to be more than I've ever been before and I've been some stuff in my day. Makes me want to travel and see and love and just experience all the most wonderful things the world has to offer. Needless to say, that night, she struck me like a meteor with her peachy demeanor.

I waved goodbye that night more than a little bemused by the extraordinarily quirky girl I'd met by complete chance still reverberating from the pleasant vibrations she'd been putting off throughout the evening and into the now early AM. I turned my back on her and her awesome parents believing I wouldn't see her again, even though we'd exchanged numbers. There was no way we would, especially since I'd be off to work in less than 12 hours.

But why fight gravity?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Day 2: Seattle

Well, as gravity has it, there was a landslide and Amtrak wasn't running when it was time for me to skip town. Meaning, there was really no way, other than some really complicated and time consuming buses, for me to get up to Mt. Vernon where the boat I work on was awaiting my arrival. Lucky me, my captain was headed to Seattle the next day anyways for some parts and gave me the option me to hold tight in the city. Easy enough.

I'm in Seattle another night it looks like, Maddie is in Seattle too, and my friend I'm staying with doesn't get off until later that night. Why wouldn't I at least see what she's up to for the night? I mean that's why people exchange numbers right…?

I thought texting her would be an Apollo 13 mission, but there I ended up, walking down a stony beach, the cold air of early spring blowing my beard around (best feeling ever), with Maddie beside me, after she'd already taken me on a string of other adventures through her old stomping grounds in Seattle greenbelts and friends basements, watching the sun sink down. We'd spent the day just meshing, not like puzzle pieces fitting, but more like a front of cold air meeting a bubble of warm air and the resulting cyclone. It was a completely unexpected and infectious night. Nothing I'd planned for, nothing I'd expected in the least, simply a girl I'd only met less than 24 hours previously and some low key adventures.

Adventure is a seductive mistress though, even these small ones. Those of us that feel a quickening of the pulse at the sound of her whispering in our ears, whispering in our hearts, have incredible trouble resisting her sparking embrace, never quite able to get away from the persistent siren song she sings.

Exploring some parks

I'm impressed. That's for damn sure. I'm more than impressed, Maddie has galvanized me. I haven't had such unplanned escapades since… since… well, since the first time I threw caution completely to the wind back in Greece 2012. Ever since that first time that I'd let loose of those societal expectations I'd learned to expect the unexpected in nearly everything I do. Nothing was a surprise to me because I knew surprises were coming and it's not often I get in a rut where I have an itinerary that isn't meant to be strayed from. That itinerary, for the purposes of this time period, was work in Alaska. There were hard and fast dates with out much room to vary, or so I thought. I'd let my guard down to the unexpected thinking I had a plan, but, through some twists of fate, I was brought back to a rogue rose sticking slyly out of the flower bed at one of the few moments I really wasn't expecting such a thing and, therefore, was flabbergasted by it. Somehow meeting Maddie has floored me with grandiose daydreams. Plans to tie a bouquet of rocks to that pity party I'd been planning and throw it into the sound. I'd started to smolder, no longer as passionate as I'd once been about all these things, ideas of an endgame coming dangerously close to my conscious thoughts, but she was a cool Westerly, in the right place at the right time, bellowing that special thing inside me that makes me never want to stop doing what I do. Maddie.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Day 3: Bellingham

Alright, that was it, we'd had a good row at life in the two days we'd known each other. I left her, for the second time, expecting to not see her again (at least not any time soon). Nevertheless, my heart had been lifted and there was a skip in my step. Off to reunite with Amber, my captain, and Gordon, the dog aboard the boat, it was like coming home and hanging out with a sibling you haven't seen in half a year. Just like the good ol' times, all the inside jokes come out and it's more laughing than talking. I fell in love with boat life a long time ago and it was good to be home on the water again. Maddie had excited and me in a discernable way, but I had to put that on hold for now. I wouldn't be seeing her again, at least not before the season was over, so why bother myself over that? And as work began she slid to the back of my mind while her infectious spirit lingered. I didn't know it then, but, yet again, why fight gravity?

Look at me, talking like it was weeks or months since I'd seen her. It'd been like one day maaaybe (probably not even), since our romp in Seattle, when I realized the boat was going to be in Bellingham for a couple, or a few, days and I knew she was coming up here at some point during her spring break to make a delivery of wine for her father. So I texted her, just to see when she was headed Bellingham way. You know? Just in case. Maybe I could show her the boat or something. I expected texting her to turn out like the Hindenburg, surely she didn't want to come hang out with this dirty deckhand she, still, hardly knows. But she responded lightheartedly with a 'I was gonna come up whenever' and a 'I'd love to see the boat, I'll come up tomorrow' (or something to that effect).

She came up, and, as soon as I got leave for the night, I invited her over to check out the boat. I wouldn't call myself an expert on people, or interpreting their reactions for that matter, but it seemed like she really enjoyed it and was maybe even a bit impressed by it all. I remember her mentioning how homey the boat is, and of course it is. This is our home for, what seems like, most of the year. It was fun showing her the boat because I'd really only ever shown the boat to one other person (oddly enough it had happened earlier that very same day). One of my old college professors who keeps tabs on my travels turned out to be in Bellingham (he had stopped by for a short visit). It was fun to show off my home to her though.

With both of us hungry as hell, we headed off to find some food and ended up chilling at her friends house in Bellingham town, away from my oh so familiar docks. Ah, of course I could launch into a description of all we did and the fun I had with her, add in a few quotes sprinkled atop with the description of the third and final night I saw her before I (for real this time) left on the boat for Alaska, but I started a blog for the quick and sweet version of things and, for the most part, I think I've kept true to that standard. So let me try to push through this writers block o' mine and unstop the story bottled up inside me. Let me just launch into my last attempt to describe the gem that Maddie left me with:

Now I know that all this sounds like a romantic sappy infatuation with a girl I've only really hung out with thrice. But look, from basically the moment I'd met her, she'd been willing to give me a ride from the airport to where I was staying, she had no idea who I was at the time either. She'd taken time out of her spring break at home to hang out with this total stranger as if it were no big deal while generously showing me a really fun time around Seattle. AND she'd let me tag along with her adventures in Bellingham which, I thought, was another really great time. I was impressed with her, I can't say that enough. If not for those things, then for her bold sense of fashion. In the way she holds herself like a ripe fruit, pitched to fall at any moment, hanging on to that moment of suspense right before the drop, and you don't know if it'll be now, or in an hour, or in a day. She just looks like… like… she looks like organized chaos. A little paradox wrapped up in a girl. And that little paradox somehow, someway, sparked me into a fervor about the things that I am doing.

She's like a burning cold. Intense and warm. Wait! That's it! It's like when I was trolling (a type of fishing up here in Alaska) and it's fucking colder than shit out. My hands hurt from the numbness, I'm soaked down to my bones, and my face is frozen underneath an ugly orange rubber hood and then, like a ruby in the rough, there's a red jellyfish that has mistakenly collided with the fishing line being brought aboard. The kind of jellyfish that burns where it touches you, and I'm so cold and miserable that it feels good to have that burn on a cheek or wrist, or whatever piece of skin has been left exposed to the lashing elements. All of a sudden I feel alive again, all of a sudden there's a drive again, all of a sudden I want whatever it is I've been searching for again. That's what she was to me when I met her, she was the catalyst my sense of adventure had been craving and I can't begin to explain why or how, because something about her just resounded at the perfect pitch somewhere deep down in my gut. All I can do is describe her. And she is the scent of jasmine with a citrus accent and a beet pollen base note (yes, that is a reference), an off the cuff flare in ebony leggings, a poem that's been written in the snow.

Of course I can say all these fanciful words using a pretty, but uneducated, vocabulary. My feeble attempts to try and convey the essence of what Maddie meant to me, and, on a certain level, I'm sure it helps, but the most important thing about her surging nature? As a friend of mine once told another friend of mine who then wrote that thing about me: Maddie, thanks for the spark, I'm ready for the flame.

You've inspired me whether it was your intention or not, I want to be me again. Thank you.

Be happy!

Beacon

Monday (I really did miss the boat)

Taking my first deep breath of cold sea air, the feel of my rubber XTRATUF boots on the main deck, the rough line and cold ladder under palm. Ahh.. This is what home feels like. This is where I belong. Seriously, I can't believe this is the first time I'm realizing it. This boat, the Deer Harbor II, is more my home now than anywhere else in the world. I mean there is my 'home' in San Antonio with my mom and my sister of course, and they'll always be some of my closest family, but I spend less time there then I do on the boat in Alaska. San Antonio has become more of a weigh station in my life, a constant crossroads. I stop for a couple few weeks at a time just to see my mom, my sister, and my dog Chancey (obviously the most important). Amber and Gordon are as much my family as anyone else now though. Me and Amber live together for the most stable part of the year for us, those months spent working long and hard on the boat in SE Alaska. When I'm in San Antonio it's nice, but it's like being a coiled spring, knowing soon I'll be off on the next grand adventure, and I can’t help but anticipate what lies ahead. Here on the boat I get to let that tension release, sit down in the gorgeous wilderness, and focus all my energy on one thing for a period of time taking it as an adventure in itself. Focus on working and learning new things. Real things, not like they teach in college. Out here I get to learn about engines, the weather, and knots.

A Working Deck

I've missed it, I really have. I know towards the end of each season I don't want to be on the boat anymore, but hardly anyone does when September rolls around. Everyone leaves with a 'Thank God I'm off for a while', but then, after a month, or two, or three, you begin to think back. And when you think back you begin to remember all the good times you had on the boat the past season and every season before. You remember what it feels like not to have a care in the world, the pain/reward of hard manual labor for long hours in the cold rain, being lost in the wilderness, and a world that hardly anyone you know could ever understand. And so, like birds in migration, at a certain time of year, all the previous deckhands begin to inquire about jobs for the next season, because their internal ticker has gone off and it’s telling them 'it's been long enough now, time to feel your world rocking under your feet again'. Because the boat is your world when you're here. You feel the need for a little brisk sea air in those lungs of yours and then you really start reminiscing and longing for it all again. Missing the feel of line in your hands, thinking about the crazy shit we do, how hilarious it all was.

A Quiet Bell

Like the day it was so windy in Mite cove there were whitecaps, and then when Zeb, on the Hat Trick, was offloading his fish he accidently dropped his deck hose while it was running and the wind took hold of it spraying it all over his deck and in his house. Me and Amber were standing up at the hydraulic stand just watching the whole spectacle and we disintegrated into tears laughing about it, not because it was funny that Zeb sprayed water all up in his house (it was quite hilarious though), but because sometimes our job is so fucking ridiculous we can't even handle it ourselves and in order to cope we just break down in hysterical laughter for a good portion of each day. Then from those moments come the countless, and I mean COUNTLESS, inside jokes that we run around spouting no matter what we do which doesn't help to stop the knee slapping laughter heard about the ship all day long.

Block in the Rain

It's amazing because you live in your own little world for the time you're on the boat, well, your own little world that includes 5 or 6 others (and a bunch o' dirty ol' fishermen). No one cares about the news or anything so concrete as that. We worry about the fish and the weather. When we wake up we look outside and it's either shitty or it ain't, and most of the time it's shitty. We still go to work in it though. On those days, when the wind wakes you up, you always curse and kick yourself a little bit for getting yourself into this work for yet another year, but then you get out on deck start packing fish, or whatever it is that you're doing, and start goofing off with the rest of the crew, then, before you know it, the day is over. Yeah sometimes your hands hurt. Sometime you're sore, or just sorely exhausted from working what certainly wasn't a 9-5 work day, but you feel better for it at the end of the day. You feel like you did something. And your creaking body'll tell you so as you gently try to lay it's bruised and battered self to bed. After having an end of the night shot o' Jameson with Amber of course.

Amber on the Porch 

There's just something alluring about Alaska and all it holds. Even just getting on the wheel for your 2am drive shift. Sitting with your feet kicked up on the wheel and jamming to whatever music taste has caught your fancy for the night. Whilst in the midst of a sea and a sea of stars there's nothing to bring you down. Because there's nothing like, after having had 8 cups of coffee, keeping the boat on autopilot and stepping out the wheelhouse door where your dreads are caught up in a windy mess by the cold sea air, looking up at heaven bleeding through the sky at you (a little dramatic I know, haha). Waiting expectantly, yet unknowingly, for a surprise appearance from the Northern Lights. Even the thought of them, or, maybe, just the strain on your eyes from staring into oblivion all night, can bring a little bit o' that good old salt'n'water to yer eyes. Then, after being up at the queerest hours of the of the early early morning, being allowed to retire to your own small, small but homey, estate room (the snake pit), where the learned-to-love engine and generator roars from deep within the bowels of the ship, along with the gentle back and forth of the ocean, will, often times, put you to sleep before your head hits the pillow.

A Small Moon Isn't A Small Tide

It's beautiful. The work is beautiful. The people are beautiful. The scenery is beautiful. On a clear day with the snowcapped mountains guiding the straits up and down the coastline there could be bears on the beach, whales in the water, eagles aloft, porpoises, sea lions, otters, and seals. We get to eat fresh crab, or prawns, or we stop on our way through Ketchikan for the sole purpose of purchasing the best oysters I've had, to date, in my life. I have my little smoothie every morning with spinach, some berries, yogurt, and a banana. I can focus mostly on eating healthy (or trying to and failing) and getting my body back into decent shape again. The same for my mind because often times there's not much to do but read on the boat and nothing feels better then kicking back at the end of the night and falling asleep mid page turn. I'm happy while I'm here because here is inherently brilliant. And here, as many a homeless vagabonding spirit has discovered, here in Alaska is a launching pad to the entire world.

One Lonely Cloud

And this is where I leave you. The reason this blog is called Monday, well, there are a couple. If you want to look at it this way, it's the beginning of my short Alaska journey, and if you want to look at it that way, it's because I'm lazy. But, really, this is how I would like to introduce this short blog series. I am going to release one blog post for every day of the week, starting with Monday. There will be 7 in all, detailing my last month in Alaska as well as some of the other small adventures I had on the way there, during the season, and a "what's next?" preview. They won't all be the same sort of post, they won't all be similar if I can help it, but they will all have me behind them. Wish me luck with this endeavor, I look forward to catching you all up on what has just happened as well as what is soon to come. Spoiler: Stumbles is bound to be involved.

Mountains in our wake

So thanks for reading all this y'all,

Be Happy,

Beacon