Duck Hunt South East Alaska Style

  My text read, "Looks like no rain on Saturday. We should take my son and try to get a duck."
  Matt and I have hunted ducks for several years up here and I don't think we have had an easy hunt yet. I was a tad bit skeptical about taking his nine year old son. Could he make the hike into the lake we usually hunt.
  "New spot. Easy walk," came the next text.
  Ok, now my interest was really on high alert.
  "I've got my zodiac skiff on Mike's boat but we can swing by in the morning and get it," I wrote back.
  "Won't need it. We'll take my big boat. I've got a kayak on top," Matt answered back.
  "Ok, see you at daylight in the morning," I quickly replied.
  Darkness was still heavy on the mountains when I met Matt, his son, and his Father-in-law next door. They were busy getting breakfast... doughnuts and coffee.
  We chatted our way to the end of the road boat ramp and then had to wait our turn as it seemed the entire island had decided the weather was good enough to get out hunting. Most of the others were hunting deer as the rut had began last week.
  Mat piloted the boat in the grey of the morning through the maze of islands and water channels. He did a great job of staying off rocks and sand flats... not an easy task in the area we were to hunt.
  We pulled into a nice sheltered cove and Matt idled the big boat to the shore. As the nose of the boat reached the beach I jumped off to catch the boat and immediately filled both of my boots with cold ocean water.
  "Wow, It's deeper here than it looks!" I exclaimed to the others. "let the boat get in a bit closer before you jump off!"
  The guys unloaded our gear off the boat as I dumped my boots and wrung the water out of my socks.
  Matt pulled the big boat out to the center of the cove and dropped the anchor. You really don't want to return at the end of a days hunt to find your boat high and dry on the beach when the tide ebbs out.
  Matt paddled back to the beach in his kayak and we dragged it high into the trees above tide line. "Just hope the bears leave it alone," our thoughts echoed.
  Now the work begins. We will have to make a hike into the underbrush and up a small mountain to find a little lake Matt had saved onto his phone GPS. None of us had hunted in this area so it can be like looking for the needle in the haystack type of deal.
  Every so often we would stop to let Matt bring up his GPS to see if were on the right course. We were kind of wondering around looking for a muskeg that would lead us to the lake.
  After topping a brush covered hill we made our way down into the muskeg, and from there easily found the lake.
  According to Matt, one of his friends had hiked a little pram skiff into the lake and stashed it out. It did not take us long to find it.
  Mallard ducks flushed off the lake as we neared, a good sign for sure. I tried to build excitement in Matt's son by telling him that all these ducks should try and come back to the lake as the day progressed.
  We turned the skiff over and launched it into the lily pad covered lake. We had carried a paddle from our boat and with the one in the skiff started making our way to a little island in the lake.
  Water began spurting into the skiff.
  "Matt, we are taking on water quickly from under your seat," I quietly informed Matt.
  He stopped paddling to look. Water was gushing in through a hole that looked about like a bullet hole. Hmmm...  It was a race to get to the island before the little skiff filled with water and sank out from under the three of us.  We made it with a little free board to spare.
  We dragged the skiff onto the island and turned it over. The hole was not a bullet hole, but rather, a bite hole from a brown bear. We could see where its ring of teeth had bitten into the aluminum boat.One of its big canine teeth had punched right through the hull. Matt found a stick and jammed it into the hole. Problem solved for now. The hole did not leak enough the rest of the day to warrant any concern.
  Not only had Matt's friend stashed the boat on the lake, but he had a couple dozen duck decoys stashed on the little island as well. A real treat for hunting a hike-in lake. Matt and I usually hike in two duck decoys, one tail vibrating, and one wing spinning decoy. Even that few of decoys can become very heavy on a several mile mountain climb.
  Matt's son had never shot a duck so the order of the day was to see if we could get him his first duck.
  The first flock that came in did not present him a shot. Ok, the old men got jumpy and shot them before he could get his safety off and find a duck.
  The next one was a single duck and Tyler made a great shot and got his first Mallard duck. We were all proud of him. It was so special for him to have his grandpa there to wittness it.
  A few more flocks came in and we managed to get some more, but the day was made when Tyler got his duck.
  Darkness comes so early here that by noon we had to start picking up the decoys and begin the whole process of boating, hiking, boating, and then anchor pulling and back to the beach to load everything.
  We pulled crab pots on the way home to finish off a great day.
  Nothing comes easy in South East Alaska. In the lower 48's a duck hunt is spent mostly in the blind hunting. Here, most of the day is getting to and from the blind and just a small amount of actual hunting.
  To be able to see some of these little out of the way places that even most Alaska residents will never see, is worth all the effort.

              Kayaking from the big boat to the beach

 

setting decoys

A Deer Hunt Turns Into a Fishing Trip

  I often tease my wife, who loves hockey, that she is just watching a fight, and suddenly a hockey game breaks out! I kind of had something like this happen to me this week. 
"You interested in going on an excursion deer hunt on Monday?" A friend asked me.
  With a lead in like that he had me hooked before he paused for me to reply.
  "Let me think... Yes!" I exclaimed, without even trying to get the details.
Jim is one of our local hunting guides. He guides for bear, goats, and deer. A hunting trip with him is a learning experience I will never turn down.
  We loaded a skiff onto Jim's big boat and headed out Monday morning early. We headed South to Redoubt lake and tied to the mooring buoy. We then unloaded the skiff and rowed to the beach. At the beach, we hauled two loads of gear up over a hill to the lake we would be hunting. Jim's Son-in-Law packed the heavy outboard motor as he is the youngest of the bunch. Jim and I lugged the skiff up the muddy, rock piled, tree root infested trail to the lake. We were both puffing as we arrived.
  "Look at the salmon jumping!" Jim said.  Big Coho (Silver) salmon were launching out of the calm water into the early morning air in silvery sheets of spray.
   "I've got a couple of fishing poles and some spinners, if we want to try for some fish," Jim said.
  I'm never one to turn down a good tussle on a fishing pole, and quickly dug into the boat for the poles. Jim dumped water out of the spinner tackle box... hmmmm I thought to myself. He handed me the box and I looked at a rusty mess with a little bit of orange color mixed in. "We call them rusty orange," Jim smiled.
  The first spinner I took out of the box had no hooks at all... rusted clean off! The next one had no color on the spinner blade, just a rusty chunk of metal. The next one had a blade and one very rusty hook of the treble hook.
  "I guess this will have to do," I commented while tying it on.
  My first cast was blasted by a big Silver Salmon. Nothing. I cast back and immediately hooked a big fish. With only one rusty hook of the treble, I eased the big fish to the side of the skiff. "Wow this is going to be tricky," I told Jim. I fought the big fish for a long time to make sure it was very tired, as we had no net, no gaff hook, or any other means of getting a slimy fish over the side of the skiff.
  Jim worked his fingers carefully into the gills of the fish and slid it into the boat! "Wow, look at that beauty!" we both exclaimed, "It is as bright as an ocean silver.
  Once salmon run from the ocean into fresh water their bodies start deteriorating.They grow a huge hook nose and jaw, their flesh turns dark and their skin starts turning dark brown to reds.
  This fish looked like it was still swimming in the ocean.
  Now we were excited. These are eating fish! The deer hunt went quickly onto hold and we blasted the water of the little lake with rusty spinners.
  After a few more fish, Jim suggested we stick to our plan of looking for deer. We ran to a muskeg he had hunted in the past and made a hike through it. No deer but one of the most spectacular places I have witnessed in Alaska. Morning frost laid thick on the muskeg and a haze of fog lifted revealing high mountain peaks capped with snow in the background. It was stunningly beautiful.
  We saw fresh deer tracks in the frost and called a bit on the deer call but they played smart and stayed hidden in the thick forest surrounding the muskeg.
  At about 1:00 pm we decided we had better work our way back to the lower end of the lake and start portaging our gear back to the big boat. Darkness comes early in the winter and non of us wanted to take the big boat through the rock piles back to town in the dark.
  The temptation of the salmon soon overcame our good judgement and we were back to casting for Silvers. We managed to catch a few more before leaving the lake and had a blast doing it.
  We were nearing town when we started spotting whale blow spouts. Jim, being the good guide he is, eased the boat near the whales and cut the engines. We drifted in the beautiful sun setting calm water with whales blowing all around us. There was not a ripple on the water and the whales sounded like huge bulls bellowing their breath's as the enormous spouts of water showered the bay.
  We slid into the harbor at dark and had to agree that this day was nothing short of spectacular!
  Very few places are left in the world where you can go catch salmon as fast as you want, hunt deer, and watch whales, and never see another person! Oh sure, there is some work involved in getting to these places, but the end result is more than worth it.
  Yes, we went on a deer hunt and a fishing trip broke out.

                          One of the dark Silver Salmon Caught on the trip

Diving for South East Alaska "Gold"

  I look at the weather report; Storm warnings. Winds 45 knots gusting to 60 knots in coastal areas, One hundred percent chance of rain, with up to one inch in twelve hours!
  It must be dive season.
  Last Monday and Tuesday was the opening of the South East Alaska Sea Cucumber season, or as some of us divers refer to them... Gold!
  It is money laying on the bottom of the ocean. All one has to do is swim past and pick it up.... Simple enough... Yeah, right.
  Mike and I met at the store next door at 5:00 am for coffee and doughnuts. After eating, we headed to the boat and off to our local dive area.
  I have not really been excited for this dive season. The cold water, stormy weather, and last year's rock crash episode has tainted me a bit.
  We made the half hour run to our dive area and began getting the boat ready. All the dive gear was stowed and packed from last year, and we had been running the mountains for the past week deer hunting instead of getting the boat ready.
  I wriggled my way into my woollies and dry suit as Mike scrambled to get the boat set up. Surprisingly enough, we were both ready at 8:05, just five minutes past the opening time.
  I slid off the back of the boat and into the biting cold water. Yes, I have forgotten how cold this water is from last year. My forehead felt like eating ice cream too quickly, my lips burned, and my hands numbed almost instantly. Oh the sweet feeling of diving for cucumber gold in Alaska.
  I found cucumbers instantly and began filling my bag, as I worked I could feel the cold trickle of water on my right arm. My thought goes to dry suit diving.
  Dry suit. Ha! Only those who have not worked under water in a dry suit could believe that a dry suit keeps you dry. Wearing a dry suit sure helps with keeping cold water away from your body, but throughout a day of hard diving and picking cucumbers you move your hands and flex your wrist enough the little burps of air escape and at the same time, burps of ice water enter your wrist. As you unroll a float to the surface when the bag is filled with cucumbers you will have a burst of cold water enter your neck seal as well. Over the course of an 8 hour day you will come up with your arms soaked and your chest wet with ice cold pacific ocean water.
  The cold water I was feeling on my arm was not coming in through my wrist seal, but rather from my zipper area.... it felt like.
  I had had the same soaking last season and sent my dry suit to a dive shop in another town in South East Alaska with the instructions that I was getting soaked down my right side. "It might be the zipper, or some where else," I told the lady over the phone. "Please check it out and get it repaired."
  "No problem, I'll have it right back to you," was her reply.
  Three months later I got the dive suit back and hung it in the closet for this dive year.
  Ah... the wonderful feeling of a flooding dry suit.
  I dove for a couple hours and could feel the water sloshing in my right arm. Cold was creeping into my whole body.
  I made my way to the surface and handed Mike a bag of cucumber "Gold".
  "Man, I'm freezing I told him. I've got to warm up a bit.."
  "If your too cold let's just call the dive day and head back to town," Mike said making sure he was not pressuring me to earn him more money and in doing so endanger myself.
  "Thanks, but I think I'm good for one more dive," I told him.
  After a brief warm up I headed back to the bottom. I was working at a depth of 30 to 50 feet. The deeper I would dive the more water would squeeze into my suit.
  It only took a few minutes down this time and both of my legs cramped tight with charlie horses.
 I dragged myself along on the bottom with my arms, my useless legs locked tight in throbbing cramps. After some time the cramps subsided enough to allow me to use my swim fins, and I carefully finned my way along the bottom.
  A half hour and I was back to the surface. "No can do!" I shouted over the roar of the hookah and the hauler motors. "I'm soaked into my right leg and cramping like crazy."
  Mike shut down the machines as I wriggled out of my dry suit. Water poured out of my sopping wet sleeves and my right leg. Great repair job on my suit, dive shop!
  I did get into my back up suit and made another hour dive before freezing completely out.
  Mike and I were the first boat at the tender. He asked if I timed out on my decompression time. Nope. Going back out after you sell? Nope.
  "I'm old, wore out, and freezing cold," I told the guy. "We are selling our catch and heading home."
  I grabbed the check out of the envelope from the processor and could only stare at the numbers. Gold. For sure these cucumbers are like picking gold.
  Now I'm sitting here watching this 60 knot storm blow through and thinking of my dive day tomorrow. No one in their right mind would go out in storm force winds to jump into freezing cold water... unless there was the glitter of gold!
  Oh, I did air up my dry suit and find a dime size ware spot under my right arm. It was not the zipper at all, just a tad bit of fix it glue and no more leak.  Oh well, only a few hundred dollars to some dive shop for nothing.... What is a few hundred to a gold harvester?

         Mike working a bag of Cucumbers... "Gold!"

New Puppy

 I have a new character to introduce you to. She is just a little over 12 pounds, brown, fury, cute as a bug, but naughty as a puppy can be.
  She is a little 9 week old lab puppy. We have named her Halibut or Hali for short.
  I made a quick trip to Eastern Idaho with my parents to pick up the puppy. After flying out of Alaska to Idaho, I found the drive to be a bit long. A five hour drive to Eastern Idaho near the Wyoming border.
  Hali was not very impressed and made my dad's ride back home a bit unsettled. She wriggled, climbed, howled, and chewed on dad for nearly the full five hours. Dad's comment was, "This puppy sure has a strong main spring".
  I have watched the breeder's web sight for over a year trying to time a litter of puppies for the small window of time I have between my summer guiding and my winter diving.
  "We have a litter of chocolate puppies just born last night," the breeder told me when I contacted him. "I'll keep first pick of litter for myself but give you next in line," he informed me. I quickly sent him a deposit and the matter was settled.
  Now the work has begun. House training a new high energy puppy. I am sure it thinks its name is "NO!"
  This puppy is very high strung. We asked the breeder to make sure our puppy would make a great house dog, friend, as well as a good companion for our two other dogs.
  She does not want to be held at all, sleeps by herself across the room from my wife or I, and the other two dogs.
  She walked into the house and immediately dominated our 12 year old lab, Jaz. She tried to take on the boxer, Mav but we were encouraging him to stand his ground. This cute little puppy ran both of the old dogs up onto the couch for the first day.
  I took little Hali out for her evening potty time to find the neighbor's two dominate poodles racing at us barking like they always do. In just a minute this cute little lab puppy had them both pinned under my truck cowering in fear. Their owner came to their rescue, but we both shook our heads at the nice little, supposed to be mild 8 week old lab dominating these two seasoned dogs. Hmm.... makes me wonder what we signed up for.
  We texted the breeder kind of jabbing that he pawned off the alpha female onto us and he claimed he had two other females in the litter who were the alpha dogs.
  "At least you won't have to worry about some other dog taking a duck out of her mouth when she is old enough to hunt," my wife consoled me. I gave her a quirky little smile, thinking of all the bloody battles I might have to break up if another dog even gets close to us.
  The names I quickly though of for the new puppy... Tasmanian Devil, Killer, Satan. Then Shark, Killer Whale, or Snapping Turtle... just to name a few.
  My wife and daughter came with a little more reason and her name was to be Sweet Pea, Mild Jill, or some such.. Ha! Nice try.
  After three days we settled on Halibut. We wanted something with a good Alaska slant to it. Seeing this little puppy flop around on the floor sure looks like a halibut flopping around on deck.
  Hali is a very smart little dog. She learned to sit in less than an hour, lay down in about the same amount of time. In two days she has not touched most of the household items we have told her "No" to. I am amazed at how quickly she learns.
  Hali has settled in with our other two dogs as well. She and Mav wrestle for hours each day, and he will let her know when she is getting too bossy. It is nice having a dog do the correcting instead of us. We go for long walks and she is doing very good. she has no fear and we have to watch that she doesn't jump off cliffs or into deep water. Her brown coat blends with the forest floor and makes spotting her nearly impossible so we have to keep continual eyes on her. She does not seem to mind taking off by herself and expects us to come find her.
  I can tell this will be a very independent dog. She is going to be strong willed, but I can already tell this will probably be my best hunting dog of my life so far.
  If I can learn to train her, she will be incredibly. Jaz has been so good and so easy to train. Hali will be hard to train, but should become the best dog ever.
  So.... wish me luck. Here we go on a 12 year roller coaster ride of dog training.
  "by the way dear..." I'm looking at my wife,  "where is that add for the shock collar?"


                                          Halibut  "Hali"

                                             Hali with the two big dogs chased onto the couch

2015 Summer Guiding Review

 I have just finished one of the longest, toughest, but probably the most rewarding of all summer guiding seasons.
  We battled the ocean like never before.
  At the start of the season we had weeks of north west winds blasting us with 20 knots or more daily. In town, it was beautiful hot and sunny. The ocean, on the other hand, was rough, windy, and foggy cold.
  El nino was working its magic. Warm water flooded the North Pacific Ocean. Our cold water fish reacted in strange ways. They spread out and moved deep. Only on heavy rain days would the fish school up like normal years.
  Jelly fish moved in clouding the ocean in heavy slime. The salmon would have to position themselves either above or below the mass of stinging tentacles.
  It seemed the only normal was our halibut fishing. The halibut were thick and hungry day after day.
  On storm days we usually duck in behind islands and catch salmon. Not to be this year. The warmer water kept the fish out on open ocean, away from the reach of our storm day efforts.
  Year after year we have pounded the fish around Sitka with results non failing... until this summer. Clients who have been here for the past ten to twenty years found this unacceptable, blaming us as guides, for not finding fish every day. Nasty storm days was unacceptable for not filling out limits of fish. We found ourselves pushing weather we have never fished through. Late in the grinding season we fished on the edge of our safety, pushing our little boats to the limits of their design. I have to tip my hat to the skills of the guides in piloting our boats through such dangerous water and bringing clients back to the dock each day.
  Some lodges opted to burn fuel to find fish in calm water. They would make runs of three to four hours one way to catch a hand full of salmon. Hundreds of gallons of fuel burned for just a tad bit of fish. I think I would have offered to park the boat and use fuel money to purchase more fish, but I guess the experience is part of the trip.
  August found swarms of blue sharks moving into our area. Normally, they come through for a week or two, this summer they hovered around for more than a month. Many of our silver salmon and last kings came aboard with huge shark bite gashes on them.
  We would have to clean our salmon in ares where we did not halibut fish, wash out every bit of blood, and pour bleach in the bilge of the boat once anchored. We would get one free drop of halibut bait, after that it was like playing shark Russian roulette to get bait to the bottom before the blues bit it off.
  Many of our halibut came up with shark bite marks.
  Those who got careless with the blood draining out of the boat and into the ocean would be bitten off so many times that it would end the day of halibut fishing.
  All of the above was mixed with constantly swirling winds. One day it would blow 20 NW, then next day would be calm, only to ramp up the following day with SE 25. Around and around the winds chased themselves all summer. It made us guides nervous to even click on the weather link. One calm day would make us gun shy for the next day, knowing it would probably be blowing.
  Day after day, week after week, and then month after month the grind wore down the guides. By mid August we were zombies walking around in a daze. We performed our duties, to collapse at home in weariness. I could hear the numbness in the radio conversations, sometimes talking but not making sense.
  We smiled at the nasty jabs of clients unhappy with fishing conditions or lack of fish, we dodged the commercial fleet who were also struggling and looking for someone to take out their frustrations.
  We made it. We can hang up our hats with pride. We pushed through the toughest season on record and did our best.
  I'm glad it is over.
                                            shark bit halibut

                                           client with a blue shark

Mid Season Grind

  I rolled another page on my log book. Day 76.
  My hands are swollen, my arms are sore, I'm getting out of a chair like an old duffer. I seem to be sore all over my body.
  The guides are walking around like zombies. We greet each other with hollow eyes and smiles that just don't reach into the eyes.
  I've had three days off since starting on the 15th of May, it is now the first of August. A typical "day off" means you haul the boat out of the water, pressure wash the bottom, change the engine oil, change the lower unit oil, repair anything that is not function properly, like downriggers, reels, wash down pumps on the boat... the list seems endless. Of course, there is also a list of projects at home that need attention.
  I raced into the hardware store for some parts and was greeted by Joann, "Hey Earl, a day off?"
  "You got it," I replied sagging against the counter in exhaustion.
  "Hey Joann, do you come back into the store here on your day off to fix the computer and stock shelves?" I asked.
  She shot me a look that would have taken my head off but I was sagging so low it went right over me.
  "Ha! she snorted, "this is the last place I come to on my day off!"
  "Yeah, I thought so," I mumbled, grabbing my bag of parts and heading back into the rain to go fix the boat on my day off.
  We are in the mid season grind. Half the summer behind us and still facing half a summer to go.  I tell the new guides, "When you feel the most tired, you have to be the toughest!"
  I was heading to the fuel dock the other evening and passed a Bering Sea crab boat. The crabbers leave the deadly waters of the Bering sea each summer to pack fish for the commercial salmon fleet.
  We see some of the boats in Sitka that you see on the Deadliest Catch.
  This beautiful crab boat named the Handler looked so calm and peaceful tied to the dock, but I know the brutal danger they face each winter.
  I idled past and could see some writing on the side of the wheel house. I grabbed my binoculars to read this little quote:
  "The only easy day was yesterday" - Handler
  I chewed over that little saying for some days. I even read it to my wife.
  I have been through some very tough times, having a fish hook take the sight from my eye, crashing my boat onto a rock, and just the grind of trying to finish a fishing season. Running on empty day after day.
  The mindset of that crab boat, my easiest day might have been yesterday. I know each day is a battle with the wind and the ocean. Jelly fish is swarming our waters, and fish seem very hard to find. Clients relentlessly push for more and more, all of my equipment seems to fail around this time of the season due to daily abuse, and the endless rain that never seems to stop driving into your very being.
  Yes, it is the mid season grind. I know I will make it. I just need to toughen up a bit. When I am the most tired, I need to be the strongest.

"The only easy day was Yesterday"  thank you, Handler

Warm Water Brings Strangeness to Alaska Waters

South East Alaska is heading into another El Nino summer.
  I can remember years ago when the big warm El Nino hit and all the strange fish showed up with the warm water.
  Yesterday is the first day for me to start seeing the new El Nino strange fish begin showing.
  July first, the commercial salmon boats swarmed the ocean to share the harvest with the charter and sport boats. As far as we could see troll poles dotted the horizon in all directions.
  "I think I'll just start outside the main troll drag and try not to get us ran over," I told the clients, as I throttled back the big outboards and began dropping troll lines.
  The Silver Salmon were hungry but not around in great numbers. We caught a few, but the little Pink Salmon (Humpies) started driving us crazy. Each time I put the lines down the tip of the rod started jiggling.
  "Bite.... get ready... as soon as the line snaps out of the down rigger clip start reeling," I encouraged the clients who were alread poised at the ready. No snap... another humpie.
  "Ok, give it a tug to help the humpie," I kept repeating over and over. "Hey, at least we have fresh halibut bait."
  Humpeis are a soft meat fish and not desired by the clients to eat. Once frozen and thawed they become very mushy. When the airlines are charging for each fish box flown it is not worth the money to crowd out better fish with humpie meat.
  I throttled the kicker motor back and saw one of the lines snap out of the down rigger clip.
  "Fish on! get it, get it, get it!" I shouted.
  The client raced to the rod and started reeling. When the slack was taken up I was looking for the signs of a silver Salmon racing for the surface and pulling harder than a humpie.
  Not to be.
  "It looks like another humpie," I said to the groan of all four clients.
  I put the net back on the boat and readied the gaff hook to release the humpie.
  "What in the world?" I exclaimed as I saw a strange form coming up on the hook.
  It was not silver at all like the salmon we catch ever day.  I held the line to see if it were a big wad of kelp or jelly fish.
  "It's a fish," I said as I hoisted it on board.
  "Oh cool! It's a Pompano!" I shouted.
  The clients just stood looking at the strange fish lying on the deck.
  "I have not seen a Pompano since the years ago El Nino," I informed them.
  We laid it on deck and took many pictures of it.
  Back home I looked it up on line to find that it is a Pacific Pompano that is found along the coast of Baja California and the lower two-thirds of the Sea of Cortez.
  I guess this little guy was a bit lost!  He made his grand voyage all the way to the coast of South East Alaska only to bite the hook of someone looking for Salmon.
  I'm sure we will start catching more of them as the water continues on its overly warm course.
  The Jelly fish are thick just like the last time the water warmed like this, and the salmon seem more difficult to catch as they hug the bottom looking for their preferred cooler waters.
  In spite of the warmer temperatures we are still managing to catch our fish each day.
  I'll keep you posted if we find other such creatures roaming about.

                                                 Pacific Pompano

                                      The clients with a mornings catch                   

Flatlanders Go Fishing

  It is hard for me to get my mind around the fact that another season is upon me. Not Christmas, but rather, guiding season.
l  I invited my brother, Gary, his youngest son, Luke, a long time friend, Ivak, his son, Colton, and Jimmy.  This sounds more like a goose hunt in Idaho to me, but the entire goose gang sauntered off the plane into the Sitka airport.
  For some reason, the sun decided to grace these guys nearly the entire time they were here. I kept hearing, "Thought you said it rained all the time here."  No matter, we made the best of the miserable sunny weather and fished anyway.
  Luke and Colton had never been on the ocean so this was going to be the testing grounds to see if they were real fishermen material.
  Their dads insisted on having them wear the ear patch for seasickness... claiming the old adage, "better safe than sorry." Only one of the boys did his best to disprove the working of the patch and "chummed" briefly the first day.  Hey, I've seen seasoned commercial fishermen spend much more time than that over the rail.
  The week before the boys arrived the king salmon fishing had been heating up. I was excited but of course in the two days before their arrival that batch of kings started thinning out. With no rain in the forecast it did not look good for new fish to move into my favorite fishing areas.
  I read the weather forecast to the group that first evening: "Gale warnings, North West winds to 35 knots seas 8 feet. The next day: "Small craft warnings due to seas. South East winds 25 knots seas building to 10 feet"
  "Doesn't look good boys," I kept repeating each time I looked at my Ipad.  I kept hoping that if I looked every five minutes I would find a different forecast, but nope, same words every time.
  I had just mounted two new motors on the boat and this was going to be our break in fishing trip. I was going to get to see what the new motors would do in nasty ocean. Oh boy!
  We headed out of the harbor at 5:30 am and not a breeze could be found.
  "We will go out as far as the weather will let us," I informed the boys as we motored past the end of the airport.
  We passed Vitskari Rocks, Bird Island, and then found ourselves at the Cape with still no wind.
  Good ol' weather man missed again, but fortunately for us, missed with calm winds.
  The first morning we worked hard for just a couple of kings. I really was intent on getting the two boys their first King Salmon.  By noon we had at least accomplished that. Of course the dads sat with trembling chins and teared up eyes hoping for a fish of their own. (Ok, I just made that up, but that's probably what they were thinking inside, even though they pasted smiles on their faces).
  Late in the day we raced off to a far out halibut area. This is a place I only fish when the ocean is calm and the waves look friendly.
  As soon as the halibut lines hit the bottom the boys started bring up bottom fish. Yellow Eye Rock Fish. Ling Cod, mouths large enough to swallow a basketball, and finally some halibut started trickling in. Ling season does not open until later in the year so it was catch and release on those.
  We fished hard and made it back to the dock at about 5:30 that evening. A long day for flatlanders and an old wore out charter captain.
  After a quick stop by the cleaning dock we made home for hot showers and a nice supper my wife had cooked up.
  All the guys were nodding off in their chairs by nine, so it was off to dream land and only two days left of fishing.

Luke with his first King Salmon

 

                  The boys after the first day fishing Luke and Colton with first Kings

Part 2 of Mayday

"I'll Keep coming your way until I know you are safe," he replies back.
  "Thanks so much," I quickly reply.
  My second engine roars to life!
  I throttle it forward and it causes the boat to jump forward.
  We are under both engine power!
  "Mike, I'm going to try and get on step. Keep a close look in the fish holds to see if we start taking on water," I shout to Mike.
  The boat jumps out of the water just like normal and we are on plane!
  "Looks good back here," Mike yells above the noise of the outboards, especially the one without the cover.
  "Juneau Coast Guard, Samantha," I say into the radio.
  "Go ahead Samantha."
  "We are now running on both motors and are on plane. We can see no water coming on board, so we will attempt to run back to Sitka."
  "Roger that Samantha."
  I call the crabber and let him know we are leaving the area and thank him again for his willingness to help out.
  "Good luck," he says.
  Another boat has now pulled along side of us and informs us he is running back to town right now and will follow us all the way to make sure we make it alright. Coast Guard Juneau affirms that they also heard the offer.
  "Slow down a bit and let the bow come up," he asks over the radio, "I"ll make a circle around you and have one of my guys look the bottom of your boat over with binoculars."
  I slow so the bow of the boat is lifted high. The Samaritan boat cruises in a slow circle around us. I can see a couple of his guys looking us over with binoculars.
  "Looks good, Samantha," he says. "Lots of gouges, scrapes, and scratches, but we see no holes."
  About an hour and a half later Mike and I wave goodbye to our escort boat and idle into our home harbor.
  We tie the boat to the dock. I call the Coast guard and inform them that we have made it back and are in good shape.
  I race to the truck, race through town, hook up my trailer and then back to the harbor. I breath a huge sigh of relief when the boat slides onto the trailer. We have officially made it.
  We haul the boat out and examine the bottom. It is roughed up quite a bit. There are some deep gouges in some areas but I am very impressed with the fact that no rock penetrated through the hull. I whisper a prayer of thanks to the boat manufacture for building a very sturdy boat.
  To stop that many tons of boat, traveling 20 plus knots on a pile of rocks, have it thrash around in waves and wind for quite some time, and not puncture the hull is incredible.
  Mike and I also are amazed that the engines were both able to run. At the dock I could not get one of the engines to shift once it stopped. It would not restart or shift again.
  We are so thankful for all those involved in helping us. Even just voices over the radio. All helped us in more ways than they will ever know.
  Now we have to pick up the pieces and see about a rebuild. Not in the plans this winter, but something that will have to be handled. 
  The above was written the day after the crash. It is now April. After a long winter of rebuilding, the boat is once again in top shape. The local fiberglass repair man did an incredible job.
  The fuel tank had to be removed and the bottom of the boat cut out. He had to replace stringers as well as just bottom repair.
  Right now the boat is sitting in the outboard motor shop getting a brand new pair of Yamaha motors.
  It has been a long stressful winter, but spring is here and the fishing season upon me.
  We will survive, we are thankful for the fact that no one was injured in the crash.  There was just enough water to bring the boat to a sliding (Ok, maybe a crunching, bumping, grinding stop) but just an hour more of tide and we would have cleared the rock completely.
  It has been an eye opener for me as I share my story around town, to learn how many people have also crashed boats into rocks. The resounding words I hear is, "If you run a boat long enough up here... You WILL hit a rock!"
  I hope and pray that I have gotten all of my misadventures out of my system.  I'm ready to just work hard, earn money, and buy beans for the rest of my working life!
  Hey, this is Wild Alaska so you just don't know...
  I'll keep you posted.

                                          repairing the bottom of the boat

                                          the motor damage.. just the skaggs.

Mayday, Mayday, Mayday

  I know many of you follow my cucumber diving adventures and this year they suddenly stopped after our first dive. Well... here is the reason. Not that I'm proud to even share this with you, but it certainly is why I call this blog Living Wild Alaska. There is nothing in this state that comes easy, and this land and water will devour you if you relax for even a moment.  I have omitted the names of the vessels who assisted us that day for their privacy, especially the commercial crabber (We never like to give away our secret fishing areas).


"Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!"
  I never thought I'd hear my own voice over a radio calling Mayday to all boats around.
  Mike and I started our day early, texting about our up coming cruise.
  "Let's get the shrimp gear on the boat about nine and then see what the weather is doing, and leave from there," I texed Mike.
  "Sounds good," he immediately shot back.
  We drove to the harbor and spent almost an hour packing shrimp gear and our hunting supplies to the boat. I had to run back home for outboard oil, kissed my wife goodbye, waved off her words, "Please be careful,"  and raced back to the boat.
  "Untie, and we're out of here!" I shouted out the door, while firing up the computer and the navigation gear.
  Mike and I were going to make a combination trip. We would take the weekend for shrimping, crabing, and deer hunting, and then roll right into the next dive opening at the bottom end of Peril Strait. That is the way to have a commercial opening pay for our play time. Fuel in Alaska is so expensive that one can not afford to just go on an only play weekend.
  We chatted and poured coffee as we traveled down  the quiet water channels. We had decided to make the shrimp and deer trip up to Hoonah Sound. Mike and I had not been there since last year when we filled our freezers with beautiful, great tasting shrimp.
  I steered the boat past Poison Cove, and headed down Deadman's reach, realizing that I was not heading to our dive area of Peril Strait, but rather, Hoonah sound, I corrected hard to the port and laid out a new course.
  Mike had been out on the deck baiting our shrimp pots. He must have felt me turn and came in the door. I zoomed the chart out and asked if we needed to cut inside Emmons Island or go around the end of it.
  Mike zoomed out the chart to where we needed to go set our pots.
  "Looks like we can cut inside the island," he said.
  He went back out on deck and continued getting the pots ready for setting.
  Mike finished up and came back inside.
  "Coffee?" I asked, as I handed Mike the thermos of steaming hot coffee.
  "You bet," he said and poured himself a cup.
  We settled in for a nice smooth ride.
  I started hitting some tide and wind chop and backed the throttle a bit. A South wind was pushing against a North tide and was stacking about a two foot chop on the strait.
  I was in a big wide open stretch of water, land a good mile away on each side.
  Crash! The boat lurched hard as the back of the boat smashed hard into something.
  "Log!" I shouted as I backed the throttles into neutral.
  Crash, bang, smash! The big boat smashed to a halt.
  "Rock! We've hit a rock!" Mike shouted. He raced outside and was looking over the side of the boat.
  I looked out the back window while trimming the outboards up out of the water. I could see an engine cowling floating quite a ways from the boat. I thought it was one of our engines.
  "I've knocked an engine off the boat!" I shouted, racing to the back deck to look. Both engines were attached to the boat, but the starboard engine was missing the cowling. We watched as it floated away and later as it sunk.
  We are both stunned.
  The wind is blowing the two foot chop and the boat is bouncing up and down and rolling sideways, crunching and grinding on the rocks.
  "We've got to get off the rocks!" Mike shouts. "Should we get out and push? How about we both go to the bow and see if we can float the stern off the rocks?"
  "Mike, this a a huge boat, weighs tons. We are not going to move it or float it with just us two," I said to him, but did not have a better plan.
  "We have the kicker motor to give us power if we can get off this rock pile," I said to Mike.
  The boat was rolling and crashing constantly as the wind pushed the waves against us.
  "Mike this boat might crumble out from under us," I said. "should I give out a Mayday call to the Coast Guard?"
  "Yeah, I think we'd better," mike quickly answered back.
  I grabbed the radio mic and gave out a mayday call. Nothing.
  "You're using the wrong mic, Mike informed me." I look up to see that I'm using a back up radio  that is not on the hailing channel.
   I grab the mic on my other radio and calm my nerves.
  "Mayday, Mayday, Mayday! I calmly say. "Juneau Com center, this is the vessel Samantha we are at position 57 33.39 north 135 32.80 west. We have hit a rock and and are in need of assistance. Do you copy Coast Guard?"
  "Samantha, Juneau Coast Guard. How many persons are on board?" I hear a broken voice on my radio. I crank up the volume to hear better.
  "Two persons on board," I say back. Juneau, I see a crabber working across the way in Deadman Reach, if we could get him to help."
  "Roger that," Juneau says back, "Break, break. Pan (pronounced pawn), pan calling the crab vessel in deadman reach, do you copy?"
  "Yeah Juneau," comes a new voice over the radio. " this is the crabber ( he gives his name, but I'll call him "Assurance") I have stopped working and am on my way. I see the Samantha from here."
  "Samantha, did you copy that?" Juneau Coast Guard asks me.
  Mike is shouting things on the back deck and I'm running in and out trying to access our damages.
  "Mike!" I shout out the door. "Open the hatches and see if we are taking on water. No wait, Get our survival suites out and on the back deck first, then check for water!"
  Mike is scrambling to get things done.
  "Juneau I copy I can see the crabber headed our way. I am not seeing any water coming aboard but the boat is really taking a pounding from the rocks with the waves smashing us about."
  "Copy that, Samantha. What is your on scene weather, the color of your vessel and your life saving gear on board?" Juneau Com Center radios back.
  I fill the coast guard in on our status, "We are a 25 foot light brown vessel we have survival suits ready and also an inflatable skiff ready to deploy should we need them."
  "Good copy,Samantha," the coast guard calls back.
  Two other boats are on the radio letting us know they are also in route to help us.
  Mike yells in the door, "It looks like deep water on this side of the boat. I think we are floating off the rock!"
  We are still pounding, crunching and grinding with sounds you hope you will never have to hear again in your life. It is hard to describe the sounds of a fiberglass boat being pounded to pieces beneath your feet.
  The grinding stops. It is eerie quiet.
  "We are off the rock!" Mike shouts to me.
  I race outside and look into deep water, not a rock in sight. I race back inside and grab the radio mic again.
  "Juneau Coast Guard Samantha," I say, "we have just floated off the rock. I am trimming down my engines to see if they will run and go into gear."
  "Good copy on that, Samantha," the young man says back.
  I fire up my starboard engine and it roars to life sounding like it is in bad trouble. I look back to realize that without the cowling to quiet it down, it is running good, but just very noisy without the cover on it. I throttle forward and it seems to go into gear.
  I try and try to fire the other engine. It turns over but will not start.
  "Juneau Com," I say, "I have one engine running and it seems to be in gear. I'm going to idle to point Marie in case we need to beach the boat."
  Good copy on the Samantha, Assurance, did you copy that?"
  "Yes Juneau," Assurance comes back on the radio, "I can see him idling towards the point."
  "Thanks Assurance," I say on the radio, "It looks like I have power on one motor and we still see no water coming on board."

  To be continued...

                                 Some of the damage on the bottom of the boat

                                    The damage on the bow where the initial impact was

Snow Goose from Russia

  One last Snow Goose story.
  I had been getting some good snow goose action and was sending texts to my hunting buddy, Larell. One that really made the guys drool was me holding a banded snow goose.
 That night Larell text'd me wanting to hunt the next morning.
  "You bet. I'll see you at O dark thirty," I replied back.
  Larell was already at the blind and had the decoys hauled out. I could tell he was excited.
  We made shooting hours with minutes to spare and then began the long day of waiting.
 The Snows were being typical snow geese with most of them flying over squawking at us but totally ignoring our decoy spread.
  It was nearly mid day when we had our first real flock decoy in. They started in the stratosphere and slowly circled their way into gun range.
  "Let's let them make one more circle," I whispered to Larell. His dog, Charlie was shivering with excitement waiting for the shots to signal her burst from the blind.
  The big flock slowly drifted around the spinning decoys and straight at the blind.
  "Ok, when they get close... let's get them... remember to shoot your side of the flock, I'll shoot mine," I whispered. I think I was quivering as bad as Charlie.
  "Now! Take 'em!" I shouted, rising out of the blind to shoot.
  The flock was right in our face low.  I picked a bird on my side and fired, to my surprise, it dropped. I picked another one and it also fell.
  I could hear Larell blasting away on his side, but being on my nearly blind side I could not see if birds were dropping.
  The flock quickly back peddled out of range and Larell and I were left high fiving and congratulating each other on a job well done.
  Larell had a couple on his side and I had my two. We strolled out to help Charlie retrieve them.
  I picked up my second bird and there on its leg was a metal band. My second banded bird of the season.
  When Larell was back in the blind I showed him my treasure.
  "No way!" he exclaimed, " The second one in two days for you! You lucky guy!"
 "You can have it if you want it,'' I told him.
  "No it was on your side of the flock, you got it," he gracefully replied.
  I tried a couple more time during the day to have him take it home for his treasure chest, but he stuck to his guns and insisted I have it.
  We had a good snow goose shoot that day and made it home late that night.
  I raced for the computer to enter my goose band into the national band data base.
  I filled out all the forms and gave the harvest information, location harvested condition of the bird, and condition of the band. some of that information is not asked, but I like to let the banding persons know the condition of the band to reward their hard work.
  I clicked the mouse on "enter information" and sat back waiting for the results.
  In minutes I was staring at a form I could hardly believe... it said:
  "Lesser Snow Goose, hatched in 2011, female, banded on Wrangel Island Russia, Russia!"
  I sat back stunned. I had no idea the Snow Geese migrated into Russia, let alone any banding program going on there.
  I looked it up on Google Earth and learned it was above the Bering sea. A little island sitting in the Chukchi Sea hundreds of miles west of the coast of Alaska and our known place of Point Barrow Alaska
  I crunched some numbers to see how far this bird had flown to make it to my hunting area.
  If the goose flew from Wrangel Isand to Mexico, where a lot of geese winter it would have made a trip of about 4,300 miles, from Mexico City to Boise Idaho is about 1,900 miles.
  Now, if I do my math correctly the goose hatched in 2011, meaning it made round trips from Russia to Mexico four times. A round trip from Russia to Mexico is about 8,600 miles, times four... a crazy 34,400 miles.
  Watching the snow geese fly on a daily basis is also crazy. They lift from their night roosting ponds and spiral up into the high clouds then fly 30 to 50 miles out to the fields to feed. At about noon the birds come flying back at the super high elevations and back into the ponds to rest until about three in the evening where they repeat the same flights.
  This back and forth flying happens every day of their lives.
  No wonder these birds are so tough. If an athlete accomplished such a feat  now days he would be on every news page in the country.
  My respect for the little Snow Goose went right to the top!
  Larell text'd me that night to say that he had reconsidered my offer of the band and would like it for a mount... but then he saw where it came from... "I guess you won't be giving that band up, will you," He text'd me.
  "Not for a million bucks!"  Well... maybe for a cool million!

 

More Snow Goose Action

  My vacation in Idaho was still in full swing. Snow goose hunting from daylight to dark every day is tiring for an old duffer like me.
  My good friend Jim was down with his boy, Kyle, and I was wanting to get my other nephew, Nick, in on a good snow goose hunt.
  Nick was the lucky one to team shoot our only snow goose of the very first spring season Idaho offered. We often laugh about the way it came to pass.
  We were hunting Wayne's farm and had cobbled together about two hundred cardboard decoys, changing the paint from black Canada decoys, to white snow geese. We were so excited to finally get a chance at snows.
  We set up early in the morning and had Nick, his dad, Gary, a friend of ours, Larell, and Wayne and I for the hunt. Snow geese flew in waves over us but totally ignored us the entire morning. At noon Wayne suggested we make a lunch run into town for burgers. I was happy to break the boredom and accompany him.
  We took our time and returned to the blind in a couple of hours, greeted by cheesy smiles from the remaining guys.
  "We got one!" they announced as we handed burgers and fries to them.
  "Yeah right, and I'm the king of England," I replied back.
  Nick reached down and produced a sparkling white snow goose!
  "No way!" I responded
  The story was that a flock of swans had come straight at the guys and they were having fun observing the big birds as they flew past. Suddenly a very small "swan" broke out of the flock and sailed down into the decoys. It took them totally by surprise, and at last they realized it was a lone snow goose that had been flying with the group of swans. They opened up on it and between them all had our first snow goose, and... it was the only one we shot the entire season.
  Nick has the brag of getting our first and only snow goose that year.
  Things have now changed.  The boys have helped make dozens and dozens of snow goose decoys. It did not take long to realize that a couple hundred decoys just doesn't work for the white birds. They fly in flocks of thousands, and ignore a field with just a sprinkle of decoys in it.
  Nick had to work around his baseball schedule and asked to bring his hunting friend, Harry.
  "You bet. Bring him in the morning. Jimmy and your Uncle Jim will also be there to help with the shooting.
  The snow geese had been migrating through and the numbers were gaining each day. It should be a good shoot... but snow geese are so unpredictable, time would tell.
  Jimmy was waiting at the field, and Jim showed up with the boys shortly there after. We raced in the darkness setting the decoys.
  It seems there is never enough time to get all the decoys ready for opening light, and as I raced around I told the boys to get shells in their guns, shooting hours was just minutes away.
  Nick now set with a flock of more than a thousand decoys around him. A good change from that first day years ago.
  The Snows trickled in all day and we shot till our barrels nearly melted down.
  Big flocks would circle around and around until it seemed they were right in the blind with us. It was exciting and the best day of the season so far.
  The boys did some good shooting and the geese were piling up in the blind. Text messages and pictures were streaming out of the blind to family and friends as the day progressed.
  We took a break at noon, and unlike that first hunt had a nice barbecue near the blind. Each day it seemed we had to race into the blind as snows came decoying in with smoke billowing from the barbecue. As long as we stayed hidden we could shoot geese while making lunch.
  What a great time we had that day. Nick finally getting in on a good snow goose decoying day.
  Jimmy was also enjoying himself as it was his best hunt of the year. It seemed one of those magical days when things just lined up right.
  Oh sure, we should have had many more birds on the ground, but it seems that snow geese are the toughest of all waterfowl to hit. I can shoot and shoot at those birds with very limited results. I need to go to snow goose shooting school to learn with I'm doing wrong.
  I've learned to just bring a blind full of young hunters and they make you look good with the birds dropping in front of them!
  At least I now feel like I'm getting the snow goose bug into my Nephews. Some day when I'm old, I'll just show up in the morning just as shooing hours roll around and park my nice chair in their blind and tell them to "Bring on the birds. I'm ready for a good hunt!"
  I'm so thankful for the chance to be able to do all these great things with family and friends.

                                      Harry, Nick, Kyle, Jim, and Jimmy

                                          Harry, Kyle, and Nick

Idaho Blue Goose

  The Idaho Snow Goose season was in full swing. I was working hard to get everyone involved in some of the hunts. It seemed each day in March the birds responded better to decoys.
  My nephew, Luke, had gone on a hunt in Feb to be greeted with a long day of dark to dark hunting for only a couple of geese.
  "I think it'd be worth your time to come now," I told Luke over the phone. It was like twisting someones arm to put money in their bank account... "I'll be there," Luke quickly responded.
  I also text'd another young man who is bitten badly by the hunting bug, Colton.
  "I'll be there for sure," He text'd back, and early the next morning his truck rolled into my driveway.
    A quick stop by the Parma fuel and handy mart and we were off to the field.
  Luke arrived at the field with his Uncle Jim, and special needs cousin, Kyle.
  The geese were roaring in the ponds behind us, usually a good omen.
  We raced through the early morning decoy set up and had things ready to go come daylight.
  I was really hoping to have a flock or two decoy. It is one thing to shoot a single or a pair, but the thrill of snow goose hunting is to have a flock drop from the bright blue stratosphere, and into the decoys.
  The morning dragged by without much excitement. We shot at a few birds but still no flocks.
  "Ok boys," I said, "it is getting close to prime decoy time."
  The field we hunt is between feeding grounds and resting area ponds. From about noon to three is prime time. The feeding birds are trickling to their resting area ponds. It seems there are always a few flocks that have not fed enough in the morning and are willing to check out our corn field on the way over.
"Peep!" I heard a snow goose from some distance away.
  "I hear one," I said to the boys, " look around and see where it is."
  "High, way up high above us," I said as soon as I saw the little white dots above us.
"They are locked on our decoys and coming in," I tried to conceal my excitement. "Sit back and enjoy the show."
  "Hey, is that a blue? Luke asked.
  "It is!" Coloton replied. Colton has the best eyes of the group. I could hardly tell they were birds, but as they dropped near we could all see the blue colored bird with a bright white neck and head.
  We have to be very careful that it is a blue goose and not an immature speckle belly, as the season is closed on specks.
  All through the morning we had talked about a blue goose. As many snows as I've seen shot in Idaho, I had never seen a real blue. We have harvested quite a few young snows which have a lot of grey feathers, but a real blue has the pure white head and neck.
  As the birds dropped and dropped from their incredibly high elevation the boys discussed how they were locked on the blue.
  We all enjoyed watching the dark bird in the flock of white.
  The birds were in range now. "Take them this time?" whispered the boys.
  "No, let's let them make one more pass to be sure they are in good range," I whispered back.
  It is so hard to keep letting snow geese circle again and again. Many times we wait for that one more circle only to have the birds fly away never to be seen again.
  Hunting Canada Geese the birds drop into the decoys in one or two passes and try to land. Not so with the snows, around and around without loosing very much elevation.
  The snows made a big circle around the blind and the decoy spread.  "Ok guys, this time. Take them when they come over this time," I whispered as gun barrels poked out the top of the blind.
  "Remember to shoot your lanes," I commented as I always do just before we lunge out of the blind to shoot into a flock.
  Shooting the lane in front of each hunter seems easy, but is,  in fact, very difficult.
  In a flock of birds there will always be one that stands out. It is usually the one that is the closest to the blind, or very large.  Your eyes are just drawn to that one bird. If a group of hunters do not force themselves to shoot the birds in front of them, closest or not, we find everyone shoots at the one that draws the eye and all the others escape untouched.
  "Now! Take them!" I shouted, while rising to shoot.  I picked a bird on my far end of the flock and promptly missed all my shots at it.
  Jim was faring better on his end of the flock, dropping a few geese.
  "Got it! Got it! Got it!" shouted Colton and Luke.
  "We got the blue!"They shouted, as they raced out of the blind to retrieve the bird.
  I had forgotten all about that blue goose.  It had come in the center of the flock right in front of Luke and Colton. Those boys concentrated their shots at it and we had the first real blue goose any of us had ever seen.
  Pictures were snapped over and over. The smiles were huge on those two guys faces. I have to admit I was sure proud of them as well.
  "Great shooting guys," I told them over and over.
  We harvested a few more snows that day, but that blue was certainly the highlight of the day, if not the season.
  Now there is talk of getting it mounted. Luke and Colton might have to take turns hanging it on their walls just to be fair.  I am very confident that both of the boys it that blue at the same time. It really is a shared treasure.

                                                   Our first blue goose

 

Jim, Kyle, and Luke

 

First Snow Goose at 95

  I called my folks house to speak to my Dad.
  "How about coming with me for a snow goose hunt?" I asked. 
  I received the reply I expected... "When? What time in the morning?"
  In all of my hunting years one solid thing I have counted on is the immediate willingness of my Dad going with me.
   "Let's do it Monday,"  I said to both he and my mom.  "No can do on Monday," my mom replied over the top of Dad's immediate "yes" reply.  "Have a doctor's appointment on Monday. But... Tuesday looks open for him," I could hear my mom reading off the wall calendar.
  When one gets old life doesn't center around a work schedule, but rather, a doctor's appointment calender. In their 80's and 90's there seems to always be some tuning up to do on the old bodies, eyes, ears, muscles... something.
  I picked up Dad at 5:30, and he had his stuff in a pile waiting. Just like every other time, I have never had to wait on him getting ready. 
  I have to laugh, in my mid 50's I find it hard to get up and going, I can not imagine at 95.
  We drove to Wayne's farm to set up in the dark.
  "I have never shot a snow goose," Dad informed me on the way. I knew I had taken him last year but had forgotten that he had not shot a white goose.
  "Maybe we can change that today," I said, as we bounced into the little dirt lane leading to the corn field we were hunting.
   I parked the truck and found my way to the blind by head lamp. The ducks and geese were greeting the morning full bore! In the ponds next to Wayne's farm the birds were almost deafening.
  "Man, listen to those geese roar," I commented to Dad.
  Many times I have wondered how many morning my Dad and I have shared the waking of a new day by listening to waterfowl greet the same early dawn. 
  I think back to my youth. Dad was so good about taking my brother and I on hunting and fishing trips.
  As I matured my love for the outdoors grew with my age. I loved the early mornings and found myself  spending most of them with my Dad.
  Daylight was breaking the Eastern sky, and even a blind person would have known by the ever increasing roar of snow and speckle belly geese in the ponds.
  "Ok Dad, it's shooting time, let's get some shells in the guns," I told him as I raced getting the sound system and the moving decoys going.
  Daylight came with a biting chill in the air. Dad's hands were so cold he could hardly get shells stuffed into his gun.
  The old blood vessels just don't work like they used to. I can remember most of my hunting life of how warm Dad's hand were. My brother and I would be freezing, he would slip off his toasty warm gloves and place them onto our little hands, giving us instant warmth. Now it is my turn to do the same for him.
  "Here comes a single snow goose," I whispered to Dad, "This will be your bird."
  The goose sailed right into the decoy for a great shot.
  "Ok, get it now!" I told Dad.
  He shot and the bird did not fall. Now it was fare game for me as well. I shot and shot with Dad and the goose flew away untouched!
  "Wow, what a lucky bird," I told Dad, while stuffing shells into my gun as well as his. In hunter's language that means, "We sure shot poorly"!
  A bit later in the morning I finally got my wish of a flock working into the decoys. I have wanted to show Dad the thrill of seeing those white birds circle and circle lower and lower. They seem to always be floating just out of gun range as they look over the decoys and blind.
  This time they decided to come right in.
  "Ok, let's get them," I said rising to shoot. I would shoot my side of the flock,  while Dad would shoot his side.
  Bang, bang, bang! We opened up on them. I expected to see geese raining out of the sky, but  typical snow goose hunting it seems I miss more than I hit. Dad was faring no better.
  One goose fell on my side and I stopped shooting.
  Bang! one last lone shot came from Dad's gun and a single goose fell out of the flock.
  I was surprised. Those birds were way out there when Dad hit it.
  I ran out and retrieved the birds.
  "Well, you got your first snow goose ," I informed Dad.
  He did his best to blame it on me.
  "I don't think I got that one," he said.
  "Well, unless my last shot took a long long time to reach the birds, you had to have hit that one. I was done shooting and it fell right when your gun went off," I explained to Dad.
  I could tell he was still not convinced.
  We hunted the rest of the day with little results, but that one flock had made it worth our day.
  At Dad and Mom's house I cleaned the two geese we had gotten. In my bird I found number 2 shot, and then in Dad's goose I found BB size shot, just what we each had been shooting.
  At nearly 96 years old my Dad had gotten his first snow goose.
  I am so thankful for the time I have with my Dad and Mom. I treasure each moment like this day.
  I am very blessed.
  And... way to go Dad!
 
                                          Dad with his first snow goose

Thieving Rascals

A new fisherman had joined our fleet of trollers. His name was Donnie.
  I must say here that Donnie passed away after a fierce battle with cancer some years ago. He would smile if he could read this today. No, he would have a beaming smile, wave his huge hands in a come here sign, and offer you a big chunk of cheese cut right off a big Costco block. With the cheese would come a hot cup of coffee and a very wonderful day of visiting. That was Donnie.
  He was a good friend of Wayne and myself, and also came from the tournament bass fishing world.
  The lure of Alaska proved too strong for Donnie and he retired from his business in the lower 48's and talked (conned) his wife into letting him purchase an old wooden troller. His boat was long and narrow and tended to roll a bit in the ocean, but Donnie didn't mind one bit. It added to the wildness of his new adventure.
  Donnie was so excited to get into salmon fishing. He had made many sport fishing trips to the Oregon coast and considered himself a fairly knowledgeable fisherman. Trolling was something different indeed.
  I had ran a small load of King Salmon to the fish buying plant in town, shoveled a ton of ice, cleaned the fish hold, re-iced, and fueled up.
  I now put-putted my way into the harbor and to my slip. Big Donnie was standing waiting for me to toss him a tie up line, a big smile on his face.
  Tomorrow I was going to lead him out for his first solo day of fishing on the wild North Pacific Ocean.
  "Hey Donnie!" I shouted out the wheel house door, "Are you ready for tomorrow?"
  He made a quick job of tying up my boat as I shut down the pumps, electronics, and engine.
  "Man, I can hardly wait!" his voice was almost shaking with excitement.
  As Donnie was speaking I looked past his head at a huge black Raven flying towards us.  It had something white in its beak.
  "Look at that Donnie," I said, "that raven has a marshmallow in its beak!"
  We both laughed at how funny it looked as it zoomed past us to land and eat its stolen booty
  Donnie and I stood chatting, leaning against the bow of my boat.
  Just then another raven came flying by with yet another marshmallow looking thing in its beak.
 "Ha, must be having a raven camp fire across the harbor," we joked with each other.
  It is not uncommon at all here in Sitka to see ravens flying around with food in their beaks. They are very bold and like to dig in trash all the time. We called them "Sidewalk Eagles".
  Here came another raven with white in its beak, then another...
    "I just did my grocery shopping," Donnie casually remarked, "so I'm ready for a week of fishing.
  It suddenly struck me.
  "Donnie, did you put your groceries inside the house of your boat?" I asked.
  "No, I laid them on my hatch cover to come help you tie up your boat," he casually said.
  I took off running for his boat, directly in the fly path of the ravens!
  I got to Donnie's boat ahead of him to find all of his groceries scattered on his hatch cover.
  "What the Hell?" exploded Donnie. Why those Thieving Rascals have gotten into everything!"
  Those "marshmallows" we had observed flying by were two dozen of his newly purchased eggs!
  We had only caught a few of the thieving rascals flying by. Most of them had been sitting happily on Donnie's boat eating the bounty of a new fisherman.
  "I can't believe it," Donnie sputtered, I left all my groceries in bags so they would be safe.
  "There is your mistake, my friend," I told him, "these Ravens have learned to dig open bags, and can do it so quickly that if you just turn your back they can sneak off with a slice of bread... or an egg!"
  After Donnie cooled down a bit he was able to laugh at himself. I don't think he ever made peace with the ravens of Sitka. He would go out of his way to make one fly if it were sitting minding its own business.
  His "thieving rascals" gave us hours of conversation and laughter in the summers to follow, as we fought off the boredom of trolling by ones self waiting for a salmon to bite a hook.
  We will always remember Big Donnie and his thieving rascals.

Bowling with a Boat

 It was the middle of the summer and a huge storm blew across the Gulf of Alaska forcing the commercial troll fleet to either take cover in some anchorage or race to town and tie to a dock. Most of the fleet opted for the town run and a nice time fellow shipping in town.
  The harbors were packed with boats and activity was non stop. Boats were being repaired, restocked with food, and even some trading deck hands for a fresh go the last half of the season.
  I had decided on making my storm tie up in the little board walk town of Pelican. By the time I arrived most of the good stalls were filled, but the harbor master found me a spot way on the inside and near the ramp, easy access to the store and gym. Not bad at all for me.
  When the entire fishing fleet is forced in at one time it jams the unloading at the one cold storage and a waiting list is made. When you are in sight of town you can then call the cold storage on the radio to get your boat name on the list. You then tie to the dock and just wait for your turn. When enough boats are in it can mean a wait of several days.
  Each boat unloads its catch of salmon, the deck hand then shovels the tons of dirty ice out of the fish hold into the ocean, then scrubs the hold completely, and tons of new ice is blown back into the clean hold.
  Most times the hold up in the unloading is in the clean up and re-icing. If things tend to drag tempers flare and things can get a bit ugly. This late in the season, and with the weather calling for days of blow, no one is in a hurry.
  I had gone to one of the town's two restaurants to eat a burger ( a $20 ordeal in the 80's), and then back to the boat to listen for my name to be called for unloading.
  I was pleasantly surprised to find live music on the dock as I neared my boat. A group of young people were playing guitars and singing. They were lined along the dock in a straight line to allow the fishermen to pass by. Near where they were playing and singing was an open slip. No one seemed to pay attention the reason for the open slip.
  I sat down to listen to the impromptu group, enjoying the rare entertainment. These youngsters were pretty good. Others were stopping to listen as well.
  Out of the corner of my eye I saw a huge troller approaching the empty slip. The boat was owned by a good friend of mine so I decided to put my things on my boat and then help him tie up once he got into his slip.
  The singing group was on the far side of the little dock just doing their thing.
  As the captain eased the huge boat into the slip he throttled back shifted from forward to neutral, then into reverse. As the bow of the boat was about five feet from the dock he throttled hard in reverse to bring the massive boat to a stop. The deck hands were ready to jump off with tie up lines.
  Instead of reverse, the massive boat lurched forward and drove straight into the dock. It was not going very fast but with tons and tons of weight it hit the dock like a battering ram.
  "Crash!"
  The singers and guitar players were mowed down like pulling a blanked out from under their feet!
 I could see it like slow motion as the entire group toppled over backwards.
  The big boat was still racing its engine and still in forward instead of reverse!
  The Captain quickly shut down the engine and the deck hand secured it tight with the tie up lines.
  The poor captain hopped off the boat and raced to the pile of singers. He was red in the face and apologizing profusely.
  It seems his boat used a hydrostatic shifter and a link in the line had chosen that moment to come apart.
  He had shifted the boat into reverse but the broken link kept the transmission in forward causing the boat to ram the dock.
  Everyone was laughing like crazy. No one had been inured, except the captain's pride.
  We all laughed about it for days to come.
  To me standing a bit away it looked like a boat bowling ball hitting a strike, knocking down every standing pin!