I realize that so far in recounting our Alaska adventures, I’ve failed to report on the heart of the matter, that is, the fishing itself.
Now that my role has been shifted from assistant fisherman to tundra domestic, I see decidedly less of the front-line action. But a couple of times this summer, I took the kids down to the beach to see the fishermen at work.
I’ve documented our fishing process before, and so won’t bore you again. But the basics involve the beach, the bay, and some nets.
Generally speaking, small children are discouraged, but occasional exceptions are made.
We watched as Robbi and Maiko picked up the nets.
August was displeased with Robbi’s technique.
Robbi let it roll off her back (perhaps it helped that she was clad head-to-toe in rubber?).
Kris retrieved a hapless fish that just happened to have gotten snagged in our nets as we were pulling them in.
The kids took it all in. As they watched, they had no idea that they were witnessing their future. In a few years, they will be down here toiling on the beach while the rest of us relax on the compound.
Something tells me that August is wise to what’s happening, but luckily he still lacks the ability to form the complex sentences he’d need to warn the others.
Kato loves fishing. It gives him the opportunity to wear his rubber boots and splash about at will.
The fishing was pretty lousy this year. So much so that we were extremely excited when August wandered into the net, approximately doubling our catch for the day.
As an example, instead of vast quantities salmon, on this particular opening, the highlight was this little sucker, a tiny fish that sometimes gets caught in the net by the ridge of his lip. It’s called a cucumber fish because it smells exactly like freshly sliced cucumber. I kid you not! If only this blog had scratch n’ sniff capabilities.
We came down again to visit on a sunny day, this time as Robbi and the others were getting ready for an opening.
Here is Robbi stacking the nets on the beach. August, resigned to his fate, decided to start learning his craft.
Kato, inspired by the warm weather, ditched his boots in favor of bare feet.
When I questioned the wisdom of the move, he gave a little smile as if to say, “Heh, heh…just try and stop me.”
I tried to stop him.
It was utterly ineffective.
For the only time this summer, I was given a brief opportunity to relive the thrills of my fisherman past. I was asked to sit in this truck.
…and drive it away from the surf so that a rope 100 yards up the beach would move into the water.
As you can see, I haven’t lost my touch.
The result: fish! We consulted the experts. Kato was unimpressed. “Doesn’t smell like cucumbers,” he said disdainfully.
Neither was August thrilled with our catch.
Together, three cousins (the handsome fellow on the left is Cousin Raiden) beheld the catch.
It wasn’t much to sneeze at.
The sun was shining, but August remained unconvinced. He walked back to the truck muttering something about labor laws and grumbling that it was well past his naptime.
A washed face and two-hour nap later, he was back on his game.
Just another day in the life of the youngest fisherman.
