Dad comes to Alaska

The year is 1945. World War II has just ended. A young service boy is back home in Idaho after serving his three years in the South Pacific Islands. He is lost as to what to do with his life now. He served as a medic in the war. The mental scars are deep from working on many, many dying boys, both American and Japanese.
  Dad's sister is working as a missionary to the Tlingit Indians in a little coastal town in the Territory of Alaska. She invites my Dad to come and see what it is like in this rugged wild land.
  Sitka now has a real airport runway. For years this small city was accessed by float planes like the Grumman Goose.
  Dad lands at the airport and takes the ferry from Japonski Island to the big island, Baranof, where Sitka lies. The small town is nestled against huge towering mountains that rise from the ocean to over 3,000 feet. Many of them are snow capped year around. The ocean is out in front of the town but sheltered by many little islands.
  Looking from down town Sitka to the west is the snow capped volcano, Mt. Edgecumbe, one of the most spectacular sights one will ever see.
  Most of the time the mountain tops are covered in low cloud cover, and a steady drizzle of rain soaks the small town. Sitka sits in a North American rain forest. It can average 90 inches of rain per year.  One quickly learns you never go walking without a rain jacket over your arm, or you just take the soaking that comes with your forgetfulness.
  With no where to spend the night, Dad takes a sleeping bag and heads for Baranof's castle, which sits high above town.
   Dad is taken in by the missionaries, the Frenches'. They are a wonderful couple who have a real love for the native Alaska people.
  My father has no talent for speaking, singing, or teaching, but he wants to help in this missionary work. He does know how to fish. He can fish and use some of that money to help support the little mission work in town.
  Dad had been an outdoor person his whole life, growing up working farms in the Idaho area. He has hunted and fished his entire life.
  Dad buys a ratty old wooden troller and takes up the lifestyle of commercial salmon trolling in Alaska. He works hard and finds it very rewarding. It does not take long before he needs a larger boat.
  A thirty six foot boat named the Mable M is up for sale. It is in rough shape but he takes on the challenge. He brings it up to fishing form and is now at the top of the fleet catching salmon.
  Dad sells the Mable M and upgrades to a 36 foot double end troller named the Frolic. This boat is unlike the Mable M in that it can run from big following seas and does not feel like she will roll over. The big waves simply pick up the stern and surf the Frolic down the backside and into the safety of some harbor. The Frolic has now extended Dad's fishing time in bad weather. Many times he says he was the last boat in during bad weather.
  In the forties the boats had nothing but a compass. Dad would attend church Sunday morning and Sunday night, and then head for Salisbury Sound in the dark with just his compass and a watch. He would use binoculars to scan the dark waters for the next buoy to see where the channels or rocks were. I am still amazed at how these guys moved around with so little navigation equipment. We now have GPS chart plotters, radar, radios, auto pilots, and depth sounders. During his final year of fishing dad was able to acquire a depth finder he called it his fathometer. This now allowed him to fish through fog. He would go out in fog watching his fathometer, when it came up he would turn until it dropped into deeper water. He could fish along the shoreline by keeping his eyes glued to the fathometer. Most other boats would stay anchored in a safe harbor making dad's trolling easier, as he would not have to worry about other boats out in the fog. It makes me shudder now to think of running around in fog without radar! I would never try it.
 One of dad's fishing friends was Kermit Olsen. Dad called him Olie. Dad spoke of the two of them fishing near each other for several years. Olie was a very talented wood carver. He could make anything out of wood. Dad said he would make wooden trolling plugs that would out fish all the store bought plugs of the day.
  One can still see some of Kermit's handy work in Sitka. He has some incredible wooden carved eagles in the Sitka airport and the library. Stunningly life like.
  Dad shared several stories of himself and Olie fishing.
 In 1950 dad decided to leave the fishing grounds of Alaska and take up a real life in the lower 48's. He sold the Frolic and moved to Idaho where he met a beautiful young lady, who he married. They had two boys, one of them being me.
  I guess you could say I was born with fishing blood flowing through my veins. Outdoor bred into my being. We camped out in the wild, learning about stars, clouds, weather patterns, and how to survive. Skills that have become a way of life.