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.
