Tribute to One Of the Boys

                     
  I hung up the phone and felt a little lost. Wayne had just informed me that one of our running partners, fishing friend, and just a great guy to hang with had given up the fight for life, after battling a long time with physical complications which turned to gangrene, and that the fatal end.
  Mike also grew up in Idaho. He worked on the family farm near Lewiston. He was proud to be a farmer and felt his life would always revolve around dirt and tractors.
  Mike dreamed big and was into debt big time during the skyrocketing interest rates of the Jimmy Carter administration. Mike went from Millionaire farmer to broke overnight and fled to Alaska.
  Mike set himself up as a trucker hauling winter freight up the "Haul Road" now called the Ice Road. He invested in other trucks and made quite a businesses until four boys came along to fill up his life.
  Mike gave up the trucking and went into sports programs around the Anchorage area and was known as the one starting the Great Alaska Shootout basketball tournament.  The college program was seasonal so Mike came to South East Alaska in the summer to follow his outdoor passion and took up summer Troll fishing in Sitka.
  I am not sure where I first met Mike, but it was probably at some other persons house during the college basketball playoffs. All the fishermen would find invitations to someones house for a day of fun cheering on our favorite teams.  Mike loved basketball. He coached the Sitka college team, and several high school teams.
  Mike fished an old wooden boat named the Albo. It was on its last legs but mike found creative ways to make the old girl keep chugging along.
  Scotty Miller and I were running the ocean in our boats and it didn't take long for Mike to find a way into our little group. We would find ourselves in town during a quick turn around and would always find ourselves at some restaurant. With Mike there was always fun stories flying and lots of laughter. We would all be so exhausted from days and days of pounding the ocean 19 to 20 hours a day, but would find ourselves laughing and laughing at the crazy things we would catch each other doing.
  I remember sitting laughing over a meal with Mike so horse of voice he could barely talk. We had been fishing South of Sitka near Biorka Island and Mike had decided to anchor up behind Biorka instead of running the three hours back to town, even though the wind was predicted to blow. He snuggled the Albo in tight to the kelp in the back of Simon's Bay and sacked out for the night. The wind began to howl and his little anchor began dragging across Simon's Bay. Other boats were anchored nearby and Mike was in danger of smashing into them. He quickly raced to the bow of his boat with his engine running to pull anchor. In his dragging across the bay his anchor had picked up a huge ball of kelp. The kelp made the anchor too heavy for his winch to bring the anchor off the bottom. Mike was in trouble. All he could do was to grab the anchor cable and start pulling with all his might. People in the bay that night swore there was a sea lion bellowing its lungs out in the dark storm that night.
  We found out at that supper that it was Mike Bellowing at the top of his lungs to help heave the massive load of kelp and anchor off the bottom. It took him a week to get his voice back. Every time I go near Simon's Bay I think of Mike that night.
  Another friend, Donnie Zimmerman came along and was quite an addition to the group. Along with Mike, Donnie was a barrel of fun. We ran the ocean fishing hard but also finding time to enjoy the company of each other. We worked our way up the coast to towns like Pelican, Elfin Cove, Hoonah, and soaked in hot springs in Tenekee, at White Sisters, fought off the nasty sea lions of Khaz Bay, We would scatter each day across the ocean fishing for ourselves, but always in radio contact. Many nights we would anchor with our poles up and our boats tied together for a meal together. We would send our laughter across the dark quiet hideouts.
  It was a wild time for all of us. We worked so hard, but also enjoyed so much each other company, even if it was just voices over the radio waves.
  Donnie passed away some years ago and now Mike has joined him to fish the crystal Sea of Heaven. For Scott, Wayne, and myself our days at sea are still being lived our stories still being told, and belly laughter still shared around the tables.
  My friend Mike, may the winds blow lightly and the seas always be calm as you sail through eternity. May your lines be filled with fish and most of all, may your anchor hold each time it is set.