My beautiful wife and I made the long trip from Alaska to the lower 48 states for a little vacation time. We arrived in Idaho to visit the folks and friends, just in time for an elderly friend's funeral.
A funeral is one of my least favorite things to attend but closure and seeing the family and friends makes it well worth it.
My old Pastor was one of the speakers and spoke a short message that has had me thinking about it ever since. I'll share it as best as I can recall.
Pastor Norman Rutzen added up his dear friends days giving a total of about 33,000 days Gene had lived.
A lifetime can be summed up as a life or as certain days.
Out of 33,000 days Pastor's friend Gene took one day to make a phone call to his then high school buddy.
Norman had been targeting the military though his final years of high school taking prep classes in order to enter college as an ROTC giving him fast track to becoming an officer. His steps were pretty much planned out... until one day... Gene called him on the phone.
"Hey Norman," Gene said, "you need to pack your things and come to a Bible School your friend Jim and I are headed to."
Last thing Norman was thinking of doing.
Norman chewed it over and thought about it, deciding that he would give the Bible School a bit of a try because of his two friends.
Pastor Norman related how he had arrived at Bible school and something got ahold of him. As that school year progressed he realized that he was being Called into the ministry instead of a career of directing military battles.
Just One Day that Gene made a phone call changed forever the path of one of the greatest Pastors I have ever listened to.
I chewed that over for weeks. I have grown up under Pastor Rutzen's ministry, and can tell you, that changed my life.
We started a small church in Idaho and it grew steadily until a new larger one was built. That church filled in a hurry. Hundreds if not thousands of people were ministered to.
I know of four churches that this man has been responsible for pastoring or starting and through those churches mission works around the world have been supported.
The churches and the mission works have been entirely about saving lives and souls.
Now... the thoughts I have been chewing over...
I personally know how very intelligent Norman is. Had he become a military officer he would have quickly risen through the ranks... who knows how quickly or high. (My guess would be near the top)
I did a quick google search and found the United States involved conflicts (wars if you please) Norman would have been involved in.
Korean War 1950-1953
Cuba 1961
Vietnam war 1961-1973
Dominican Republic 1965
Lebanon 1982
Grenada 1983
Panama 1989
Gulf War (Kuwait and Iraq) 1991
Somalia 1993
Haiti 1994
Bosnia 1994-1995
Kosovo 1999
Afghanistan 2001-2014
Iraq War 2000-2010 and still policing at present
I look at that list and think of how many thousands and thousands of men (boys) who would have lost lives directly as a result of the command of Norman, be they our troops or the ones we attack.
I sit back in my chair almost stunned...
That one day Gene called Norman amounted to such a major change. It really didn't make a difference for Gene. He would have gone on and lived his life pretty much as he did, but that one phone call in that one day of 33,000 made such a difference for so many, many people.
Pastor Rutzen ended his funeral talk with the thought that we never know how important just one day can be in each of our lives.
How true that is.
Thank you, belated, Gene that you had the courage to pick up the phone and make at call in that one day of your high school life. That call effected so many people around the world in such a positive way.
Thursday, November 29, 2018
Saturday, July 28, 2018
Wild Alaska Comes At A Cost
I chose the name of this blog living wild Alaska because of the nature of this rugged land. Nothing is easy, and if you mess up the land demands payment... usually at the cost of life. Seldom do you get a second chance.
"Hey Earl, how's it going?"
I heard the voice of my friend Mac, owner of a competitor charter company. Mac has three boats just down the finger from where I tie up mine.
I looked up from scrubbing my fish hold," Hey Mac, How's it going with you?"
I looked at his grinning face. Mac always seemed chipper and grinning even in the heat of the busy, bone wearing charter season.
"You finding any salmon? Mac asked as he sat on the side of my boat.
"Ha ha! You joke," I shot back at him.
We both knew it was one of the worst years for king salmon harvest in South East Alaska.
I tugged on the dock water hose.
"Hang on your tangled on the tie up cleat," Mac said as he bounded off the boat to untangle it for me.
"Thanks man, you saved me climbing out of the fish hold." I said
"What I was wondering," Mac said, "if you have a child pfd (life jacket) I could borrow?"
"I don't, but you can get one at the top of the ramp from the harbor department," I replied.
"Those are type three, and I need a type one," Mac said.
"Sorry I don't or I'd sure loan it to you," I said.
"I'll try Brian or Howie," Mac said as he stood and walked away. I've got a flight seeing in a little while, so got to keep moving. Have a great evening,"
"You too!" I shot back as he hurried down the dock.
It was hot and sunny, strange for our rain forest area, but making me hurry the boat clean up to get home to a nice shower.
I arrived at the boat the next morning at my usual 4:45. I quickly readied the rods, reels, restocked the coolers for the new day's clients. I untied and shoved off to head to Cresent harbor where I pick up the clients.
I was idling out of Sealing Cove harbor when I heard the Coast Guard announce:
"Pon Pon, Pon pon, pon pon (pronounced pawn pawn). I cranked the radio up to hear clearly.
This is United States Coast Guard Sector Juneau, United States Coast Guard Sector Juneau. Time 8:45 pm Alaska daylight time. Report of an over due float plane. A red and white plane has been reported overdue as of 8:00 last night in the vicinity of Katlian Bay. All mariners are requested to keep a sharp lookout, help if necessary, and report to the nearest Coast Guard.
This is United States Coast Guard Sector Juneau - out."
I turned down the volume on the radio just as my cell phone rang.
It was Howie.
"Hey Howie, how's it going this morning?" I chirped cheerily to him.
"Not good. Did you hear Mac's plane is missing since last night."
All the blood drained out of me. I grabbed onto the steering wheel of the boat gasping for breath.
"No!" I whispered into the phone.
"Mac took one of his clients on a short flight seeing to look at mountain goats last night. Only supposed to be gone 20 minutes but never made it back."
"oh my goodness. No!" I hope he landed somewhere waiting for the weather to break," I told Howie.
"That's what we are all hoping for," Howie said hanging up.
I looked out the window of the boat low fog covered all the mountains almost down to the ocean, making a coast guard aerial search impossible.
Clients came on board all excited for a new day of fishing but my belly churned with worry for Mac and his client. Maybe they landed on one of the many high lakes and could not get radio signal out.
I announced to our fleet of captains that the pon pon was for Mac. All of us knew him well.
The pon pon continued all through out the day as the heavy fog clung to the mountains. We could hear search and rescue calling for Mac on hand held radios as they hiked nearly impossible mountains to lakes they hoped he would have landed on. No reply from Mac.
The heavy fog misted cold and clammy onto the fishing fleet. If Mac had crashed and on the mountains he would be suffering from hyperthermia. Time was ticking away quickly.
"Please Mac, make it through somehow," I breathed prayers to myself.
All that night we heard the Coast Guard Helicopters fly search patterns. Darkness and fog could not be a good combination.
Howie called the next morning his voice hallow, "They found the plane... crashed nose down in a creek... Mac's body still strapped in. He didn't make it. They are still searching for the client. Maybe they will find him alive."
I was numb. I stared out the window of the boat listening to the happy chatter of excited clients climbing on board. It would be a tough day.
Search and rescue did find the client's body also lifeless down the creek a bit. For some reason the plane just spiraled out of the sky into the creek.
Rugged Alaska once again leveed its toll of human life when dealing with its beauty.
Mac had dealt with difficulty before. I wrote a couple years back about Lucky To Be Alive and how he and a deck hand lived through the sinking of their boat. He lived then, now this land dealt him the final blow.
Each day I see his boat captains walk past my boat. Life is going on, not easily, but still doing their duties to clients.
I hear the powerful roar of the beaver float plane engines roar over head... I cringe thinking about Mac.
One week after Mac's crash another float plane launched out of Ketchikan 11 people on board. It crashed into the top of a mountain and all persons survived, some broken bones and cuts, but alive.
We may never hear why Mac's plane crashed. There are always questions and suppositions surrounding something like this.
I know it is tragic. It leaves a scar on those around. We will go on, but I will always remember my final chat with Mac just an hour before he crossed from life to eternity.
Good by my friend.
The Grey day they searched for Mac's plane in fog covered mountains
"Hey Earl, how's it going?"
I heard the voice of my friend Mac, owner of a competitor charter company. Mac has three boats just down the finger from where I tie up mine.
I looked up from scrubbing my fish hold," Hey Mac, How's it going with you?"
I looked at his grinning face. Mac always seemed chipper and grinning even in the heat of the busy, bone wearing charter season.
"You finding any salmon? Mac asked as he sat on the side of my boat.
"Ha ha! You joke," I shot back at him.
We both knew it was one of the worst years for king salmon harvest in South East Alaska.
I tugged on the dock water hose.
"Hang on your tangled on the tie up cleat," Mac said as he bounded off the boat to untangle it for me.
"Thanks man, you saved me climbing out of the fish hold." I said
"What I was wondering," Mac said, "if you have a child pfd (life jacket) I could borrow?"
"I don't, but you can get one at the top of the ramp from the harbor department," I replied.
"Those are type three, and I need a type one," Mac said.
"Sorry I don't or I'd sure loan it to you," I said.
"I'll try Brian or Howie," Mac said as he stood and walked away. I've got a flight seeing in a little while, so got to keep moving. Have a great evening,"
"You too!" I shot back as he hurried down the dock.
It was hot and sunny, strange for our rain forest area, but making me hurry the boat clean up to get home to a nice shower.
I arrived at the boat the next morning at my usual 4:45. I quickly readied the rods, reels, restocked the coolers for the new day's clients. I untied and shoved off to head to Cresent harbor where I pick up the clients.
I was idling out of Sealing Cove harbor when I heard the Coast Guard announce:
"Pon Pon, Pon pon, pon pon (pronounced pawn pawn). I cranked the radio up to hear clearly.
This is United States Coast Guard Sector Juneau, United States Coast Guard Sector Juneau. Time 8:45 pm Alaska daylight time. Report of an over due float plane. A red and white plane has been reported overdue as of 8:00 last night in the vicinity of Katlian Bay. All mariners are requested to keep a sharp lookout, help if necessary, and report to the nearest Coast Guard.
This is United States Coast Guard Sector Juneau - out."
I turned down the volume on the radio just as my cell phone rang.
It was Howie.
"Hey Howie, how's it going this morning?" I chirped cheerily to him.
"Not good. Did you hear Mac's plane is missing since last night."
All the blood drained out of me. I grabbed onto the steering wheel of the boat gasping for breath.
"No!" I whispered into the phone.
"Mac took one of his clients on a short flight seeing to look at mountain goats last night. Only supposed to be gone 20 minutes but never made it back."
"oh my goodness. No!" I hope he landed somewhere waiting for the weather to break," I told Howie.
"That's what we are all hoping for," Howie said hanging up.
I looked out the window of the boat low fog covered all the mountains almost down to the ocean, making a coast guard aerial search impossible.
Clients came on board all excited for a new day of fishing but my belly churned with worry for Mac and his client. Maybe they landed on one of the many high lakes and could not get radio signal out.
I announced to our fleet of captains that the pon pon was for Mac. All of us knew him well.
The pon pon continued all through out the day as the heavy fog clung to the mountains. We could hear search and rescue calling for Mac on hand held radios as they hiked nearly impossible mountains to lakes they hoped he would have landed on. No reply from Mac.
The heavy fog misted cold and clammy onto the fishing fleet. If Mac had crashed and on the mountains he would be suffering from hyperthermia. Time was ticking away quickly.
"Please Mac, make it through somehow," I breathed prayers to myself.
All that night we heard the Coast Guard Helicopters fly search patterns. Darkness and fog could not be a good combination.
Howie called the next morning his voice hallow, "They found the plane... crashed nose down in a creek... Mac's body still strapped in. He didn't make it. They are still searching for the client. Maybe they will find him alive."
I was numb. I stared out the window of the boat listening to the happy chatter of excited clients climbing on board. It would be a tough day.
Search and rescue did find the client's body also lifeless down the creek a bit. For some reason the plane just spiraled out of the sky into the creek.
Rugged Alaska once again leveed its toll of human life when dealing with its beauty.
Mac had dealt with difficulty before. I wrote a couple years back about Lucky To Be Alive and how he and a deck hand lived through the sinking of their boat. He lived then, now this land dealt him the final blow.
Each day I see his boat captains walk past my boat. Life is going on, not easily, but still doing their duties to clients.
I hear the powerful roar of the beaver float plane engines roar over head... I cringe thinking about Mac.
One week after Mac's crash another float plane launched out of Ketchikan 11 people on board. It crashed into the top of a mountain and all persons survived, some broken bones and cuts, but alive.
We may never hear why Mac's plane crashed. There are always questions and suppositions surrounding something like this.
I know it is tragic. It leaves a scar on those around. We will go on, but I will always remember my final chat with Mac just an hour before he crossed from life to eternity.
Good by my friend.
The Grey day they searched for Mac's plane in fog covered mountains
Thursday, February 1, 2018
Saying Goodby
I looked over on the truck seat as I drove to the harbor one last time. The old grey faced yellow dog laid on the seat beside me. I opened the window to let her sniff the air as she has always loved to do.
She can smell where we are going as good as a person can see. He nose does not lie. I turn into the harbor parking lot and she slowly and shakily makes her way to her feet. She still gets excited about the harbor and the boat after 14 years.
I gently lift her bony body out of the truck and we make a walk in the slushy snow blanketing the grass of the harbor lawn.
Jaz proudly walks ahead of me sniffing the grass as usual. She reads all the weeks pee-mail left by all the town dogs. I look at my watch... time to go.
I lead my great friend into the vet who performed a knee surgery on her at the age of less than a year and gave this great dog a life of hunting as she was born to do.
With gentle hands we lay this wonderful friend to rest.
I drive home with tears blinding my vision. I can only think of all the years my family and I have shared with this yellow dog.
Jasmine, or Jaz as we called her came to our family as little fuzzy lab puppy. We found an ad on Craigslist for a pure bread, but not a breeder fancy dog. "Both parents good hunters," the ad read.
It was around Christmas time and the snow blanketed Idaho as we brought the puppy home. The little yellow puppy loved playing in the snow, chasing anything we would toss for her.
I trained her as much as my limited knowledge allowed. She was a quick learner, and was retrieving birds in just a year, not knowing much, but giving it her all.
My Dad had his little puppy about the same time and Reba and Jaz became great friends and hunting buddies. Reba was a much stronger dog but Jaz was making up for power in smartness.
Jaz learned hand signals. My first dog to conquer that skill. Reba would blast out and find the obvious birds while I guided Jaz to the ones in the brush or across the water buried in the trees. They made an incredible team.
Many times I would be walking out of public land with a limit of duck to come upon a blind with other hunters and their dogs. I'd always ask how they were doing to find out they had a duck down across the water in the thick brush or trees.
"I'll send my dog," I would reply, then command Jaz, "Back!"
That little yellow dog would head across any expanse of water until I would stop her with her name, "Jaz," She would turn and look at me "Over!" I would shout and show her with my arm which way. She would keep on until I guided her to the down bird.
Several times after retrieving a cold bird for other hunters I would be offered money for her.
"Nope, not for sale," I would smile patting the yellow lab. I think she knew she was the star of the show.
Jaz and I hunted all over the place. We hunted the lakes around Sitka. We would fly to Idaho and hunt all my old haunts from years ago. The years tumbled by quickly.
All too soon the grey hairs began showing up in the yellow fur of her face. Reba developed hip problems and had to be put down. Now we were only hunting with Jaz.
Jaz started showing the same hip problems as Reba and my wife went on a tear to find natural supplements to help her out. In no time the hip problems disappeared.
Jaz hunted her final hunt for Snow Geese in Idaho. She could retrieve them out of the field but the birds in the river proved too much. Oh she tried. I sent her on a long retrieve and she gladly made it proudly bringing the goose back to me, but she paid dearly as the next morning she could not walk without extreme pain. I would never send her into the water again.
I talked my wife into getting a puppy to replace Jaz in the hunting area. Jaz became our house pet. She loved going for walks on the many trail systems around Sitka.
We tried to make her retirement as great as possible. We gave her bones to chew all the time, the walks in the woods, rides in the car, special stops by the coffee shops for the dog cookie treats. She loved all of it.
Her hearing failed and she became almost totally deaf. We are not sure but it seemed her eyes were growing dim as well. We would guide her by touching her back gently, and a loud hand clap could sometimes get her attention when away from us a bit.
You always know that pets lives are short lived, but it always seems too soon.
That terrible day had arrived and I knew it was time to say good by to my little good friend.
We still turn to find her in the house or on the trail, only to see emptiness. I grabbed up the dog bowls the other day, to find I had made a nice bowl of food for jaz.. I wept as I moved it into the puppy,s bowl.
They say you are only blessed with a few good dogs in your life, and I can honestly say Jaz was one of the best.
I never got out of bed at 3:45 a.m. in the summer that she didn't get up with me. Every time I showered I could open the door and see her laying at the door waiting for me.
I know time heals all wounds, but I also know there will always be part of me missing with her. That one special hole in the heart.
Good by my little friend.
May the gentle winds blow in your soft yellow fur. May your swimming lakes be calm and warm. May you always find your yummy chew bones full of sweet marrow, and your birds always within reach.
Jaz when we first got her loved snow
Jaz with her first goose
Jaz last retrieve
My final walk with my friend
She can smell where we are going as good as a person can see. He nose does not lie. I turn into the harbor parking lot and she slowly and shakily makes her way to her feet. She still gets excited about the harbor and the boat after 14 years.
I gently lift her bony body out of the truck and we make a walk in the slushy snow blanketing the grass of the harbor lawn.
Jaz proudly walks ahead of me sniffing the grass as usual. She reads all the weeks pee-mail left by all the town dogs. I look at my watch... time to go.
I lead my great friend into the vet who performed a knee surgery on her at the age of less than a year and gave this great dog a life of hunting as she was born to do.
With gentle hands we lay this wonderful friend to rest.
I drive home with tears blinding my vision. I can only think of all the years my family and I have shared with this yellow dog.
Jasmine, or Jaz as we called her came to our family as little fuzzy lab puppy. We found an ad on Craigslist for a pure bread, but not a breeder fancy dog. "Both parents good hunters," the ad read.
It was around Christmas time and the snow blanketed Idaho as we brought the puppy home. The little yellow puppy loved playing in the snow, chasing anything we would toss for her.
I trained her as much as my limited knowledge allowed. She was a quick learner, and was retrieving birds in just a year, not knowing much, but giving it her all.
My Dad had his little puppy about the same time and Reba and Jaz became great friends and hunting buddies. Reba was a much stronger dog but Jaz was making up for power in smartness.
Jaz learned hand signals. My first dog to conquer that skill. Reba would blast out and find the obvious birds while I guided Jaz to the ones in the brush or across the water buried in the trees. They made an incredible team.
Many times I would be walking out of public land with a limit of duck to come upon a blind with other hunters and their dogs. I'd always ask how they were doing to find out they had a duck down across the water in the thick brush or trees.
"I'll send my dog," I would reply, then command Jaz, "Back!"
That little yellow dog would head across any expanse of water until I would stop her with her name, "Jaz," She would turn and look at me "Over!" I would shout and show her with my arm which way. She would keep on until I guided her to the down bird.
Several times after retrieving a cold bird for other hunters I would be offered money for her.
"Nope, not for sale," I would smile patting the yellow lab. I think she knew she was the star of the show.
Jaz and I hunted all over the place. We hunted the lakes around Sitka. We would fly to Idaho and hunt all my old haunts from years ago. The years tumbled by quickly.
All too soon the grey hairs began showing up in the yellow fur of her face. Reba developed hip problems and had to be put down. Now we were only hunting with Jaz.
Jaz started showing the same hip problems as Reba and my wife went on a tear to find natural supplements to help her out. In no time the hip problems disappeared.
Jaz hunted her final hunt for Snow Geese in Idaho. She could retrieve them out of the field but the birds in the river proved too much. Oh she tried. I sent her on a long retrieve and she gladly made it proudly bringing the goose back to me, but she paid dearly as the next morning she could not walk without extreme pain. I would never send her into the water again.
I talked my wife into getting a puppy to replace Jaz in the hunting area. Jaz became our house pet. She loved going for walks on the many trail systems around Sitka.
We tried to make her retirement as great as possible. We gave her bones to chew all the time, the walks in the woods, rides in the car, special stops by the coffee shops for the dog cookie treats. She loved all of it.
Her hearing failed and she became almost totally deaf. We are not sure but it seemed her eyes were growing dim as well. We would guide her by touching her back gently, and a loud hand clap could sometimes get her attention when away from us a bit.
You always know that pets lives are short lived, but it always seems too soon.
That terrible day had arrived and I knew it was time to say good by to my little good friend.
We still turn to find her in the house or on the trail, only to see emptiness. I grabbed up the dog bowls the other day, to find I had made a nice bowl of food for jaz.. I wept as I moved it into the puppy,s bowl.
They say you are only blessed with a few good dogs in your life, and I can honestly say Jaz was one of the best.
I never got out of bed at 3:45 a.m. in the summer that she didn't get up with me. Every time I showered I could open the door and see her laying at the door waiting for me.
I know time heals all wounds, but I also know there will always be part of me missing with her. That one special hole in the heart.
Good by my little friend.
May the gentle winds blow in your soft yellow fur. May your swimming lakes be calm and warm. May you always find your yummy chew bones full of sweet marrow, and your birds always within reach.
Jaz when we first got her loved snow
One of the hunts for Jaz smiles for the boyys
Jaz last retrieve
Tuesday, January 23, 2018
Tsunami. Run For Your Life
Fire sirens blared outside our bedroom window, sounding like they were right on top of us. "Bummer," I groggily think glancing at the clock. 1:30 a.m. "I hope someones house is not burning up."
"Tsunami Warning! Immediately move to higher ground!" The voice over the loudspeaker sounded like it was from world war 11 at some concentration camp.
I shot straight out of bed and looked out the window. No fire truck. What is going on?
The siren continued to blare. My wife raced to her cell phone.
"We have a tsunami coming at us! We have to get out NOW!" She encouraged. "Matt said to come to his parents house up on the mountain."
The siren is blaring and the metal voice keeps demanding all to run for the higher ground.
Our condo sits right on the ocean. Great views, easy access to town, but also right in the path of any tsunami wave.
What do you save out of your house when you think all you don't carry out in a couple minutes will be lost forever?
I am thinking of survival. I grab my hunting rifle which sits loaded from a hunt a day ago. We are trying to get dressed, get our two dogs up, and then grab everything of importance, all the time the crazy insane siren is blaring and the voice demanding everyone to run for their lives.
I grab survival food for the us and the dogs as my wife gets our important paperwork and passports.
I race down to the truck and fire it up to defrost the nights snow. We are facing three inches of new snow from yesterday. It is going to be slick and cold.
We are on our phones to our daughter telling her where we are going and to meet us there.
We load the dogs into the truck and join the bumper to bumper chain of cars making their way along the ocean front to the roads climbing the mountain above us.
I opt for a road that is fairly steep but a short route to the house we are heading for. I turn up the hill to see a car stuck mid way up, flashers blinking their warnings. A truck is spinning sideways around the stuck car, but finally obtains grip and makes it around the car.
I easily crawl around the stuck car looking at almost panic in the occupants faces. "Do we stop and help them?" I ask my wife.
We don't want to leave anyone behind but figure they are high enough to be out of danger and can leave the car and walk further up the hill to one of the many houses above.
Lines of cars are packed on the road outside Matt's folks house. I squeeze in between two and up into the driveway. I am idling the engine to build heat in the truck for the dogs when Matt taps on the window.
"Made it!" he states the obvious. "You can put dogs in garage if you want, then come inside."
"I think the dogs will be fine for a while once I get the truck warmed up. They can snuggle for warmth if needed," I reply.
I open the door and almost run into our daughter walking up the drive. "The car is stuck down the hill," she informs me.
" Is it in danger zone?" I ask, knowing Slater will be trying to get it free and up the hill. "I'll run down and help if needed," I tell her.
"No. It is just a block away. He is trying to park it in a driveway now."
We shuffle into the house and join Matt's family and several other families.
The waiting game has begun.
For the next two hours we sit listening to a radio and the relentless blaring sirens and the voice of doom telling all to evacuate to higher ground.
The earthquake a 7.9 was centered in the ocean about 200 miles Southeast of Kodiak Island. We pull up our charts on our Ipads to see that puts the quake straight out from Sitka. There would be no land mass to block the rushing water headed our way. If the tsunami did hit it would be brutal to our little town of ocean front buildings and homes.
Kodiak would be hit first. At around 2:30 a.m. the Kodiak harbormaster post online that water is receding out of the harbor... not good at all.
Anyone who has watched the tragedies on the news of other tsunamis knows the first is receding water followed by the rush of incoming which races until it overflows ocean boundaries and wipes out everything in its path.
We are glued to radio and mobile devices.
"Kodiak had declared that only a three foot surge was observed," Matt informs us. "Looks like we may not get washed away tonight."
At 3:30 in the morning the siren stops it wailing and chimes the theme of star wars.... danger is over. We can all return home.
Like the big city ball games we wait for the traffic to clear a bit then work our way down the slick road to the stuck car. We wait until our daughter is back on the road and then follow them down the hill. Matt is right behind us making sure we all get out.
Home looks very good as we walk in the door. The dogs are wound up knowing something happened tonight out of the ordinary. I unload the truck and pack it up the stairs as my wife puts it away.
It is after 4:00 a.m. when we make it back to bed. I am restless hearing the blaring sirens and the metal voice echo in my mind.
We talk about what we managed to grab for the run and what we could have added to help out.
We are grateful for caring friends and for family who looked out for each other this night. We are grateful to be able to come to a standing house, warm and comfortable, and not a pile of wet tangled rubble.
Thank the Good Lord for keeping us all safe this night.
cars lined up along the road at top of hill
waiting out the tsunami warning at 3:00 a.m.
"Tsunami Warning! Immediately move to higher ground!" The voice over the loudspeaker sounded like it was from world war 11 at some concentration camp.
I shot straight out of bed and looked out the window. No fire truck. What is going on?
The siren continued to blare. My wife raced to her cell phone.
"We have a tsunami coming at us! We have to get out NOW!" She encouraged. "Matt said to come to his parents house up on the mountain."
The siren is blaring and the metal voice keeps demanding all to run for the higher ground.
Our condo sits right on the ocean. Great views, easy access to town, but also right in the path of any tsunami wave.
What do you save out of your house when you think all you don't carry out in a couple minutes will be lost forever?
I am thinking of survival. I grab my hunting rifle which sits loaded from a hunt a day ago. We are trying to get dressed, get our two dogs up, and then grab everything of importance, all the time the crazy insane siren is blaring and the voice demanding everyone to run for their lives.
I grab survival food for the us and the dogs as my wife gets our important paperwork and passports.
I race down to the truck and fire it up to defrost the nights snow. We are facing three inches of new snow from yesterday. It is going to be slick and cold.
We are on our phones to our daughter telling her where we are going and to meet us there.
We load the dogs into the truck and join the bumper to bumper chain of cars making their way along the ocean front to the roads climbing the mountain above us.
I opt for a road that is fairly steep but a short route to the house we are heading for. I turn up the hill to see a car stuck mid way up, flashers blinking their warnings. A truck is spinning sideways around the stuck car, but finally obtains grip and makes it around the car.
I easily crawl around the stuck car looking at almost panic in the occupants faces. "Do we stop and help them?" I ask my wife.
We don't want to leave anyone behind but figure they are high enough to be out of danger and can leave the car and walk further up the hill to one of the many houses above.
Lines of cars are packed on the road outside Matt's folks house. I squeeze in between two and up into the driveway. I am idling the engine to build heat in the truck for the dogs when Matt taps on the window.
"Made it!" he states the obvious. "You can put dogs in garage if you want, then come inside."
"I think the dogs will be fine for a while once I get the truck warmed up. They can snuggle for warmth if needed," I reply.
I open the door and almost run into our daughter walking up the drive. "The car is stuck down the hill," she informs me.
" Is it in danger zone?" I ask, knowing Slater will be trying to get it free and up the hill. "I'll run down and help if needed," I tell her.
"No. It is just a block away. He is trying to park it in a driveway now."
We shuffle into the house and join Matt's family and several other families.
The waiting game has begun.
For the next two hours we sit listening to a radio and the relentless blaring sirens and the voice of doom telling all to evacuate to higher ground.
The earthquake a 7.9 was centered in the ocean about 200 miles Southeast of Kodiak Island. We pull up our charts on our Ipads to see that puts the quake straight out from Sitka. There would be no land mass to block the rushing water headed our way. If the tsunami did hit it would be brutal to our little town of ocean front buildings and homes.
Kodiak would be hit first. At around 2:30 a.m. the Kodiak harbormaster post online that water is receding out of the harbor... not good at all.
Anyone who has watched the tragedies on the news of other tsunamis knows the first is receding water followed by the rush of incoming which races until it overflows ocean boundaries and wipes out everything in its path.
We are glued to radio and mobile devices.
"Kodiak had declared that only a three foot surge was observed," Matt informs us. "Looks like we may not get washed away tonight."
At 3:30 in the morning the siren stops it wailing and chimes the theme of star wars.... danger is over. We can all return home.
Like the big city ball games we wait for the traffic to clear a bit then work our way down the slick road to the stuck car. We wait until our daughter is back on the road and then follow them down the hill. Matt is right behind us making sure we all get out.
Home looks very good as we walk in the door. The dogs are wound up knowing something happened tonight out of the ordinary. I unload the truck and pack it up the stairs as my wife puts it away.
It is after 4:00 a.m. when we make it back to bed. I am restless hearing the blaring sirens and the metal voice echo in my mind.
We talk about what we managed to grab for the run and what we could have added to help out.
We are grateful for caring friends and for family who looked out for each other this night. We are grateful to be able to come to a standing house, warm and comfortable, and not a pile of wet tangled rubble.
Thank the Good Lord for keeping us all safe this night.
cars lined up along the road at top of hill
waiting out the tsunami warning at 3:00 a.m.
Friday, December 29, 2017
Little Guys Big Birds. Big Guys still Big Birds.
Just yesterday , it seems, I wrote a little story about little guys with big birds. It was about a hunting trip I made with my brother and nephews. I will kind of highlight some of that trip.
I was down from Alaska in Idaho visiting family and hunting with anyone who would go with me. Wayne called me to say the geese had been flying over his farm and we might want to come and make a field set to see if we could harvest some big honkers.
About that time my brother called saying he wanted to take his middle boy and his friend on a hunting trip. Sounded good to me.
We arrived at Wayne's after a couple days of snow lay on the ground and it was snowing that morning. Biting cold, and not a for sure hunt.
We bundled the young boys up with all the clothes we could find and headed out into the field to set decoys. In the darkness we could hear the geese roosting on the river honk occasionally. At least there were birds nearby.
At shooting time we raced the trucks out of the field and got the boys hunkered down on the ice of a frozen pond behind a big clump of tules.
Snow fell in the early dawn making the cold feel even colder. The boys were cooling off from running around during the decoy set up. Little feet were stomping and gloved hands were slapping.
"Geese! I hear geese," I hissed to the mounds of moving clothes around me. We all crouched low behind the weeds.
A big flock of geese rose from the river and came directly towards the decoys, as they back flapped down I barked, "Take em!"
The quiet morning erupted in gunfire. We adults let the boys shoot first and we noticed a couple birds dropped at their shots.
"Go get your birds!" I shouted to the excited boys.
We watched as they dragged the monster geese back to the ponds edge. Wow, those looked like big birds for those small boys.
The morning was non stop goose action. as one flock would scatter out another would come sailing out of the snow and into the decoys. It did not take long for all of us to shoot our limits.
Just yesterday my Nephew Nick called asking to take a friend on a duck hunt.
"I haven't found much, but we can go try the river," I told him. "Meet me at the boat ramp."
Instead of being driven hunting by Dad, it is now driving himself in Dad's truck.
How can yesterday move so quickly?
I race the boys up the river in the jet boat. I look at them crouched against the biting cold of a teen degree morning boat ride and realize they are not boys, they are young men.
We unload the boat at my selected island and by the time I get the boat tied and hidden the young men have most of the decoys set out.
White frost covers the trees adding the white of the snow on the ground. "Better put your whites on," I inform the guys as I check the time. "Just a few minutes till shooting time."
"I hear geese," I hissed to the young men. "One coming right at us."
We crouched low in the brush and weeds of the island and watched as the goose sailed into our decoys.
"Get him!" I shouted and again the morning stillness is shattered by the thunderous roar of guns.
The young men are so quick at getting on the bird that I don't even get my gun up. I smile to myself.
Little Halibut dog makes a retrieve on the goose and high-fives get passed around.
The cold morning is busy on decoying birds and guns speak over and over again. I watch as the young men hold up the big geese admiring each one.
My mind cannot help but go back to that morning sitting on the frozen pond watching the little boys lug the big geese around. It was only yesterday, my mind keeps saying, but my eyes tell the real story.
Yesterdays pass by so quickly. Little boys grow into men so quickly.
Once again I am thankful for every day I get to spend with my family and friends out in the wild hunting or fishing. There are few memories cherished more than some of these tough trips.
We laugh at the frozen guns, the craziness of doing some of these hunts, but it builds character, it builds a life time of memories, and believe me, each instance becomes a memory far too quickly.
Young Boys Big Birds
Young Men Big Birds
I was down from Alaska in Idaho visiting family and hunting with anyone who would go with me. Wayne called me to say the geese had been flying over his farm and we might want to come and make a field set to see if we could harvest some big honkers.
About that time my brother called saying he wanted to take his middle boy and his friend on a hunting trip. Sounded good to me.
We arrived at Wayne's after a couple days of snow lay on the ground and it was snowing that morning. Biting cold, and not a for sure hunt.
We bundled the young boys up with all the clothes we could find and headed out into the field to set decoys. In the darkness we could hear the geese roosting on the river honk occasionally. At least there were birds nearby.
At shooting time we raced the trucks out of the field and got the boys hunkered down on the ice of a frozen pond behind a big clump of tules.
Snow fell in the early dawn making the cold feel even colder. The boys were cooling off from running around during the decoy set up. Little feet were stomping and gloved hands were slapping.
"Geese! I hear geese," I hissed to the mounds of moving clothes around me. We all crouched low behind the weeds.
A big flock of geese rose from the river and came directly towards the decoys, as they back flapped down I barked, "Take em!"
The quiet morning erupted in gunfire. We adults let the boys shoot first and we noticed a couple birds dropped at their shots.
"Go get your birds!" I shouted to the excited boys.
We watched as they dragged the monster geese back to the ponds edge. Wow, those looked like big birds for those small boys.
The morning was non stop goose action. as one flock would scatter out another would come sailing out of the snow and into the decoys. It did not take long for all of us to shoot our limits.
Just yesterday my Nephew Nick called asking to take a friend on a duck hunt.
"I haven't found much, but we can go try the river," I told him. "Meet me at the boat ramp."
Instead of being driven hunting by Dad, it is now driving himself in Dad's truck.
How can yesterday move so quickly?
I race the boys up the river in the jet boat. I look at them crouched against the biting cold of a teen degree morning boat ride and realize they are not boys, they are young men.
We unload the boat at my selected island and by the time I get the boat tied and hidden the young men have most of the decoys set out.
White frost covers the trees adding the white of the snow on the ground. "Better put your whites on," I inform the guys as I check the time. "Just a few minutes till shooting time."
"I hear geese," I hissed to the young men. "One coming right at us."
We crouched low in the brush and weeds of the island and watched as the goose sailed into our decoys.
"Get him!" I shouted and again the morning stillness is shattered by the thunderous roar of guns.
The young men are so quick at getting on the bird that I don't even get my gun up. I smile to myself.
Little Halibut dog makes a retrieve on the goose and high-fives get passed around.
The cold morning is busy on decoying birds and guns speak over and over again. I watch as the young men hold up the big geese admiring each one.
My mind cannot help but go back to that morning sitting on the frozen pond watching the little boys lug the big geese around. It was only yesterday, my mind keeps saying, but my eyes tell the real story.
Yesterdays pass by so quickly. Little boys grow into men so quickly.
Once again I am thankful for every day I get to spend with my family and friends out in the wild hunting or fishing. There are few memories cherished more than some of these tough trips.
We laugh at the frozen guns, the craziness of doing some of these hunts, but it builds character, it builds a life time of memories, and believe me, each instance becomes a memory far too quickly.
Young Boys Big Birds
Monday, December 11, 2017
A Whale Watching Duck Hunt
A couple of my good friends, hunting buddies of course, came to Sitka in November to hunt Sea Ducks
Terry and LaRell have sat in the snow goose blind beside me, telling stories for many years. It is always a pleasure to have them around.
The weather forecast was typical for November... wind, wind, and more wind. "Gale warnings. Northwest winds 35 knots building to 50 or higher. (50 knot winds is about 58 miles an hour)
I was wanting to get out on the ocean to try for some of the more exotic sea ducks but that might have to wait.
Our first day found us trying to get to a spot I has scouted and found some Harlequin Ducks. We crossed a channel and started bucking our way in some fairly choppy water. Spray drenched the front window of my charter boat and then started spilling a bit of green water over the sides into the back of the boat. Nothing too bad, stuff I have to go through much of the summer guiding clients to fish.
"This could get pretty ugly by this afternoon if the wind builds to what the forecast is calling," I commented to the boys as I concentrated on my twin throttles to keep the boat as dry as possible.
"I thought it IS bad now," LaRell shot back. I noticed he was hanging onto the crash bars fairly tightly.
"This is totally do-able," I informed them. I went on to explain how we go through water like this much of the summer.
"Let's go around the islands and take a look. I will pull the plug on the day the moment the wind starts building", I said.
We arrived at a rock that I have shot birds at in years past and unloaded the skiff and decoys.
"You guys go set up at that rock. I'm going to just drift around out here and keep an eye on the weather," I said as I spun the boat away from the departing skiff.
I had no more gotten out of sight when I hear some shooting. "Good," I thought, "I just need them to find a few birds."
It wasn't long before the wind start puffing like it was going to blow for real. I raced around the islands to the boys and informed them we had to move.
They had shot a few birds, but not a great hunt.
We raced back through the ugly water, which had now built to where the waves seemed to have teeth, very slow going. I did my best to distract attention from the pounding waves with stories.
"Right over there is where a boat went down in a storm..." I started telling the first of many boat sinking stories.
I think my stories worked as grips on the hang on bars increased. White knuckles glared in the storm darkness.
We beat our way to town and then headed out a different direction. We found the sea ducks!
A calm spot was black with resting Surf Scoters.
We set up and I anchored the big boat and joined the boys for a great sea duck shoot.
We shot enough that we maxed Terry and LaRell out on the Scoter species for their annual limits.
It took a couple of days for the weather to settle down enough to get back to the rock of our first morning hunt.
It did not take long to harvest some beautiful harlequin ducks and I shot a couple Surf Scoters as my limit allowed.
We picked up and headed back to town. Crossing Eastern Channel we came upon a huge pod of bubble feeding whales.
Birds were hovering over the whales by the thousands, telling the story of the bubble feeders.
We pulled over to watch the show. We could not tell how many humpback whales there were in this group but there were a bunch... to say the least.
The huge whales would surface for mighty breaths of air, dive deep and begin blowing bubbles into schools of herring. The bubbles confuse the herring and allow the family of whales to open their enormous mouths and come straight up through the little bait fish.
It was an amazing show. I see it several times a summer while guiding, but never with this many whales.
Our phone cameras were click and rolling video as much as we could. We just wished we had some better cameras with us.
Once again Alaska has blessed us with one of its many surprises. The rough water delay forced us to wait until we timed a magnificent whale show perfectly.
Why not turn a duck hunt into a whale show?
Bubble feeding Whales
LaRell and Terry hunting sea ducks
Surf Scoters and Harlequins
Terry and LaRell have sat in the snow goose blind beside me, telling stories for many years. It is always a pleasure to have them around.
The weather forecast was typical for November... wind, wind, and more wind. "Gale warnings. Northwest winds 35 knots building to 50 or higher. (50 knot winds is about 58 miles an hour)
I was wanting to get out on the ocean to try for some of the more exotic sea ducks but that might have to wait.
Our first day found us trying to get to a spot I has scouted and found some Harlequin Ducks. We crossed a channel and started bucking our way in some fairly choppy water. Spray drenched the front window of my charter boat and then started spilling a bit of green water over the sides into the back of the boat. Nothing too bad, stuff I have to go through much of the summer guiding clients to fish.
"This could get pretty ugly by this afternoon if the wind builds to what the forecast is calling," I commented to the boys as I concentrated on my twin throttles to keep the boat as dry as possible.
"I thought it IS bad now," LaRell shot back. I noticed he was hanging onto the crash bars fairly tightly.
"This is totally do-able," I informed them. I went on to explain how we go through water like this much of the summer.
"Let's go around the islands and take a look. I will pull the plug on the day the moment the wind starts building", I said.
We arrived at a rock that I have shot birds at in years past and unloaded the skiff and decoys.
"You guys go set up at that rock. I'm going to just drift around out here and keep an eye on the weather," I said as I spun the boat away from the departing skiff.
I had no more gotten out of sight when I hear some shooting. "Good," I thought, "I just need them to find a few birds."
It wasn't long before the wind start puffing like it was going to blow for real. I raced around the islands to the boys and informed them we had to move.
They had shot a few birds, but not a great hunt.
We raced back through the ugly water, which had now built to where the waves seemed to have teeth, very slow going. I did my best to distract attention from the pounding waves with stories.
"Right over there is where a boat went down in a storm..." I started telling the first of many boat sinking stories.
I think my stories worked as grips on the hang on bars increased. White knuckles glared in the storm darkness.
We beat our way to town and then headed out a different direction. We found the sea ducks!
A calm spot was black with resting Surf Scoters.
We set up and I anchored the big boat and joined the boys for a great sea duck shoot.
We shot enough that we maxed Terry and LaRell out on the Scoter species for their annual limits.
It took a couple of days for the weather to settle down enough to get back to the rock of our first morning hunt.
It did not take long to harvest some beautiful harlequin ducks and I shot a couple Surf Scoters as my limit allowed.
We picked up and headed back to town. Crossing Eastern Channel we came upon a huge pod of bubble feeding whales.
Birds were hovering over the whales by the thousands, telling the story of the bubble feeders.
We pulled over to watch the show. We could not tell how many humpback whales there were in this group but there were a bunch... to say the least.
The huge whales would surface for mighty breaths of air, dive deep and begin blowing bubbles into schools of herring. The bubbles confuse the herring and allow the family of whales to open their enormous mouths and come straight up through the little bait fish.
It was an amazing show. I see it several times a summer while guiding, but never with this many whales.
Our phone cameras were click and rolling video as much as we could. We just wished we had some better cameras with us.
Once again Alaska has blessed us with one of its many surprises. The rough water delay forced us to wait until we timed a magnificent whale show perfectly.
Why not turn a duck hunt into a whale show?
Bubble feeding Whales
LaRell and Terry hunting sea ducks
Surf Scoters and Harlequins
Wednesday, August 23, 2017
Ocean Weeds
I grew up around gardens as a boy, and later, doing some gardening myself. I love to grow vegetables then pluck and eat them. One thing I did not enjoy during my gardening career was fighting weeds.
I also grew up in a church setting, and as a boy learned of the sin of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden and how that sin lead to God implementing weeds as a reminder to us all of that disobedience.
Genesis 3:17 and 18 tells me ; "Cursed is the ground for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life; 3:18 "Thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee..."
Weeds!
My move to the ocean had me all excited. I could work harvesting fish and not have to pull weeds! Oh how wrong I was.
The ocean is full of its own variety of weeds.
We are in our third season of El Nino water currents. Warm water, and with that comes big fat juicy jelly fish.
Starting slowly, the jelly numbers have increased until it is now hard to get bait to certain depths due to getting slimed by the jelly fish. One little strand of jelly on a bait and salmon or halibut will not touch it.
I troll two lines for salmon and one side will be catching and catching while the other just drags along doing nothing. I quickly run the dead side to find it totally engulfed in jelly fish. I have a brush on my fish cleaning tray just for that reason.
I grab the brush and scrub jelly fish all over the back of the boat, add fish attracting scent to the bait and send it back down on the down rigger hoping it will catch a fish before getting clogged with jelly again.
Running back and forth all day checking for jelly fish has a guide sweating just like pulling weeds in the garden back in the lower 48's.
Another weed in the salmon garden is the huge Sea Lion. A line will pop out of the down rigger and the client has a big salmon fighting grandly... all of a sudden line starts screaming off the reel and the pole is nearly dragged out of the clients hands. The "fish" rushes towards the surface even though they don't fight like that. A huge brown head will burst out of the water displaying the lovely salmon. "Sea Lion!" someone will shout. We all stand and watch helplessly as the massive beast shakes the fish in the air, breaking it into bite size pieces to be quickly consumed. One more fish lost to an ocean weed.
Every once in a while a big Salmon Shark will show up and bite salmon off the hook. There is not much tell other than a client reeling in a fish to the boat and have it show up as just a fish head, the body bitten neatly in half.
Halibut fishing brings a whole set of different ocean weeds. In August the ocean waters of South East Alaska reach its warmest temperatures and with those warm waters come Blue Sharks. Blues are the worst of the weeds to be fought. Any blood washed out the boat into the water will have Blues quickly circling the boat. A client will drop a nice fresh chunk of halibut bait and the waiting Blue will simply bite the whole thing off. You can reel back in, bait up, drop back down only to have the swarming Blues bite the bait off again and again. When you run out of hooks or lead weights your halibut fishing day is over. The Blue Shark "weeds" cost us guides a whole lot of money as well as mental stress.
Dog Fish. Spiny Dog fish is a little sand shark that is also a type of ocean weed. The dog fish lives near the bottom and bites like a halibut. Nibble, nibble, nibble then nothing for a while on the line. I have the client reel in to find a shiny bare hook. The little dog fish can eat bait off a hook in no time at all. It doesn't sound bad until it is you reeling up from nearly 600 feet deep to find another bare hook. In a short time all on board are hoping to get rid of the spiny dog fish weed!
The daily battle of weeds on the ocean is wind. Morning after morning all the guides are glued to computer screens trying to figure out wind and wave patterns.
I work with a group of guides and each morning we will gather and lay out our days game plans, it always centers around the wind.
"Windyty shows it might blow till noon then drop a bit," one guide will remark. "I checked Fishweather," another will comment, " it shows nice near shore with the blow coming later."
We will only know for sure by heading out to open ocean for a look. Monster waves smashing over the top of the boat means the wind is definitely blowing and a new "plan" followed.
Summer after summer I find myself battered and beaten by rough ocean. I have to go where I can catch the best fish for the clients. I don't want to be out in nasty ocean, but at times there is just no other way to produce. I do my best to be safe, to call it quits before the ocean turn too ugly, but it seems there are many times I find myself driving my boat through some very blowy heavy seas.
I am looking at about three more weeks of guiding left, my body is beat up I am so very tired... and mostly from dealing with all the silly ocean WEEDS!!!
Salmon Shark
I also grew up in a church setting, and as a boy learned of the sin of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden and how that sin lead to God implementing weeds as a reminder to us all of that disobedience.
Genesis 3:17 and 18 tells me ; "Cursed is the ground for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life; 3:18 "Thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee..."
Weeds!
My move to the ocean had me all excited. I could work harvesting fish and not have to pull weeds! Oh how wrong I was.
The ocean is full of its own variety of weeds.
We are in our third season of El Nino water currents. Warm water, and with that comes big fat juicy jelly fish.
Starting slowly, the jelly numbers have increased until it is now hard to get bait to certain depths due to getting slimed by the jelly fish. One little strand of jelly on a bait and salmon or halibut will not touch it.
I troll two lines for salmon and one side will be catching and catching while the other just drags along doing nothing. I quickly run the dead side to find it totally engulfed in jelly fish. I have a brush on my fish cleaning tray just for that reason.
I grab the brush and scrub jelly fish all over the back of the boat, add fish attracting scent to the bait and send it back down on the down rigger hoping it will catch a fish before getting clogged with jelly again.
Running back and forth all day checking for jelly fish has a guide sweating just like pulling weeds in the garden back in the lower 48's.
Another weed in the salmon garden is the huge Sea Lion. A line will pop out of the down rigger and the client has a big salmon fighting grandly... all of a sudden line starts screaming off the reel and the pole is nearly dragged out of the clients hands. The "fish" rushes towards the surface even though they don't fight like that. A huge brown head will burst out of the water displaying the lovely salmon. "Sea Lion!" someone will shout. We all stand and watch helplessly as the massive beast shakes the fish in the air, breaking it into bite size pieces to be quickly consumed. One more fish lost to an ocean weed.
Every once in a while a big Salmon Shark will show up and bite salmon off the hook. There is not much tell other than a client reeling in a fish to the boat and have it show up as just a fish head, the body bitten neatly in half.
Halibut fishing brings a whole set of different ocean weeds. In August the ocean waters of South East Alaska reach its warmest temperatures and with those warm waters come Blue Sharks. Blues are the worst of the weeds to be fought. Any blood washed out the boat into the water will have Blues quickly circling the boat. A client will drop a nice fresh chunk of halibut bait and the waiting Blue will simply bite the whole thing off. You can reel back in, bait up, drop back down only to have the swarming Blues bite the bait off again and again. When you run out of hooks or lead weights your halibut fishing day is over. The Blue Shark "weeds" cost us guides a whole lot of money as well as mental stress.
Dog Fish. Spiny Dog fish is a little sand shark that is also a type of ocean weed. The dog fish lives near the bottom and bites like a halibut. Nibble, nibble, nibble then nothing for a while on the line. I have the client reel in to find a shiny bare hook. The little dog fish can eat bait off a hook in no time at all. It doesn't sound bad until it is you reeling up from nearly 600 feet deep to find another bare hook. In a short time all on board are hoping to get rid of the spiny dog fish weed!
The daily battle of weeds on the ocean is wind. Morning after morning all the guides are glued to computer screens trying to figure out wind and wave patterns.
I work with a group of guides and each morning we will gather and lay out our days game plans, it always centers around the wind.
"Windyty shows it might blow till noon then drop a bit," one guide will remark. "I checked Fishweather," another will comment, " it shows nice near shore with the blow coming later."
We will only know for sure by heading out to open ocean for a look. Monster waves smashing over the top of the boat means the wind is definitely blowing and a new "plan" followed.
Summer after summer I find myself battered and beaten by rough ocean. I have to go where I can catch the best fish for the clients. I don't want to be out in nasty ocean, but at times there is just no other way to produce. I do my best to be safe, to call it quits before the ocean turn too ugly, but it seems there are many times I find myself driving my boat through some very blowy heavy seas.
I am looking at about three more weeks of guiding left, my body is beat up I am so very tired... and mostly from dealing with all the silly ocean WEEDS!!!
Salmon Shark
Blue Shark
Rough Ocean
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