The Good, The Bad, The Ugly

Darkness falls late at this time of year in Sitka.  It was Friday, July 9, at 11pm, and we gathered along the banks of the channel between Japonski Island and the main harbor area of Sitka with hundreds of others waiting to see the fireworks display that had been delayed several days due to weather. 

An unusual silence fell over both sides of the channel, and on the far shore, as well as our own, we began to see little lights appear, eventually stretching as far as we could see down the docks and wharves.  Candles, and silence.  Fifteen minutes – unusual for any amount of people anywhere to be quiet.  Then, from the far end of Japonski, across from Tomsen harbor, three parachute distress flares soared into the low-hanging clouds, slowly descending with their brilliant red light creating eerie, glowing spheres.   

Three flares, three lives.  We lost three of our most respected and valued people on Wednesday in a tragic helicopter crash as they returned to Sitka from Washington state.  The pictures you have seen here of the Coast Guard helicopters – one of those, quite likely the same people who were piloting them – gone.  Those we count on to save us in our distress, victims of time and chance.  I weep as I write, not knowing the men, but mourning the loss, the pain their families must know.  Peace to them.

Another few moments of silence, the Coast Guard cutter Maple anchored nearby gave two long, sonorous blasts of their horn, and the fireworks began.  The rockets and starbursts, mortars and glittering fountains, all familiar to most who have seen fireworks, somehow made magical by their glowing in the clouds and over the stillness of the waters of the channel.  The concussion of the mortars and the screaming whistles were heard once, then twice, three, four times as they echoed off the warehouses and and hills of the far shore.  The finale shook with multiple booms reverberating all around us, and horns honked, people yelled, and we began walking back to our little boat in the harbor. 

Never thought my bride and I would be walking in the rain at midnight, along the docks of a fishing town, holding hands and enjoying the light drizzle of rain on a 50 degree summer night in Sitka.  Life takes some interesting twists and turns, not all enjoyable, but somehow most seem to fit together to weave the complex texture that is our individual world.

The summer king salmon opening was over at midnight, Thursday the 8th.  Most of the trollers have returned to the harbors, offloaded, and holed up waiting for the weather to improve.  We’ve had a fair stretch of large swells, wind, and fog for much of the opening period, and the general question I hear from everyone is “Where are the fish?”.  It seems we were in the only spot that really produced anything on opening day – the Cape was a bust, North wasn’t good, South was marginal.  People chanced into pockets of activity here and there, but I am led to believe that the “typical” summer king run isn’t happening.  Opinions range from global warming to Obama as the cause – whatever it is, I don’t feel so bad for the relatively small number of fish we caught in our bumbling, beginning efforts.  Some of the best fishermen around only caught twice as many as we did, so that’s acceptable in my book.  Of course, they didn’t release 25 cohoes thinking they were undersized kings like I did – a couple of hundred bucks worth, until I realized what they were….!  Lovie will never let me forget it!

After the last post, we went back down to the Biorka/Hot Springs area and explored some of the twists and turns between the islands.  Monday, the weather turned snotty, and we holed up all afternoon and night with 15 other trollers in the anchorage at Hot Springs bay.  I sat and watched the trees swaying and the wind whipping ripples across the sheltered waters of the anchorage.  A couple of small open skiffs came in from somewhere, deposited people on the shore to go up to the tubs, then anchored close enough for their shore lines to retrieve the skiff when time to leave.  As the wind turned us this way and that, I noticed one of the skiffs seemed to be slowly moving toward the main channel.  As it progressed, it became obvious it had dragged anchor, and was adrift, heading out with the wind and tide to the rocks on the entry side of the bay.  I got Lovie to fire up our engine, went forward, hoisted the anchor, and gave chase.  We caught up, snagged it with a boat hook, and attached a light line to tow it away from the rocks.  Looking back at shore, we saw a figure swimming toward us.  The owner had a wetsuit, had seen it drift off, grabbed a paddleboard and gave chase.  We got a “thanks” when we towed it back to  him, and that was all, but we felt good about it!  Back to anchor, read books, and listen to the wind and rain singing. 

The next few days were spent exploring some of the island passages and bays in the general area.  We sneaked thru Dorothy Narrows at high tide, with inches to  spare under our keel, fished Windy Bay for a big zero fish count, and squeaked back thru with even fewer inches to spare!  We tried to work our way thru the Necker Islands, but the combination of wind and swell from the southwest was too much for my timid blood.  I get really nervous about being in a cauldron of waves and cross swells, with tide running, rocks on both sides, and not knowing the area!  The fact that no other boats were in sight makes me really puckered up, too –no help if it all goes wrong.  I really don’t want to be a brick on the memorial wall at Sitka…!

Now, we’re planning our next move – we can fish Coho or chums – no more kings for a while.  Looks like we may head north with a couple of other boats and try our hand at some Coho fishing in the Cross Sound area.  The trip up is sort of intimidating – a couple of days, depending on weather, off the outside coast of Chichagof and Yakobi Islands.  The charts show a bazillion rocks, but according to a friend, there are lots of places to pull in and wait out bad weather.  Once there, the fishing sounds good – I’m just sort of a scaredy cat, easily intimidated by the unknown.  Must be nice to be a person of undaunted courage, not letting your overactive imagination conjure up wild visions of disaster and failures!

Lovie scared the boots off of me on Tuesday – we were running slowly back toward Sitka with a nine or ten foot swell boosting us along.  I put her on the wheel (she loves to be there!), and I sat in the door reading a book as we worked our way along, well above the random rocks lining shore side of the area – something awe inspiring about being a couple of miles offshore, and seeing the huge swells break on submerged rocks, soar 20 or 30 feet in the air, and subside, leaving a frothy white foam on the surface. 

Suddenly she let out a scream, obviously panicked.  I leaped up to see what we were about to hit, and she blurted out, “Huge whale! Right in front!”.  Well, it was gone by the time I looked – we never saw it again, but a whale twice the length of our boat had surfaced, blown, and submerged about 50 feet in front of us!  She wasn’t expecting anything for miles, and suddenly, there it was, dead ahead and huge!  We both woke up for a few more minutes!

Well, we’ll be sitting out the next few days with everyone else – nasty winds and bad fishing are keeping everyone pretty close to home.  Hopefully it will get nicer as the week progresses, and we can begin the next phase. 

Stay tuned!