I've never had pink eye, though I've seen it in plenty of other folks. Last Wednesday I woke up with one eye sealed shut with gunk and the other full of plenty of gunk as well. After rinsing it all down with a damp cloth I noticed that both eyes were completely bloodshot. The night before only one eye was mildly irritated -- this sucker moved fast. At work that morning I read about pink eye and most of what I read said that treatment mainly masks the symptoms and keeping your hands clean was really the key. You ride it out. So I had somewhat decided to just tough it out before I came upon the nagging fact that it could permanently damage your eye in rare cases. Fine, off to urgent care I went.

At a glance he looked in my eye and told me that I certainly had an infection, but also that it was not pink eye. So they tested me for everything under the winter season banner of possibilities. Negative on strep throat, H1N1, pink eye, etc. I walked out with a Rx for some antibiotic drops and a promise to come back for the results of the eye gunk culture in a week. The eye drops then zapped it within 24 hours.

Well, it looks like it was strep after all, though it never made it to my throat. A round of antibiotic pills should kill it for sure.

I always try to not touch my face when I'm at the gym, and I do often wash my hands after leaving the weight room. It has to have been from one of the plethora of people there that use the barbells.

I got off light -- Becky's the one that had swine flu. No complaints here.

...

Is Maui the best island to hang around for a week? Are any of the islands really bad? I doubt it. We'll be fulfilling a typical Alaskan lifestyle trait by heading "outside" to our 50th state this winter.

...

I am currently knee deep in the final 2 seasons of Homicide: Life on the Street. I had plowed through the first 4 back in Madison after getting my wisdom teeth yanked, then put the last few season sets aside just to avoid burning out. The years have passed and the snow is here and everytime I head to Blockbuster I think about grabbing the first season of The Wire. I've never seen it and I'm told it will change my life. I want in. However, the little voice in the back of my head keeps reminding me that I need to finish the other, precursor Baltimore cop show that I have already paid good money for. Fair enough. I love Homicide and I really see a lot of Chicago (and any other decaying, northern, industrial city) in its depiction of Charm City. Homicide may seem a necessary stop off on the journey to the Elysian Fields of The Wire, though it is a perfect destination all on its own.

Thanksgiving was a simple, happy affair in Chugiak, AK. Thanksgiving up here usually involves the Packers at 9am along with plenty of Rainier beer. We missed the Packer game this year due to our focus on the smoker puffing away in the yard. I brined 4 large salmon fillets with a very basic brine. It was my first attempt at brining so I didn't want to overcommit to too many fish. Also, I just don't have the fridge or garage space to really lay out numerous trays filled with marinating salmon. So it was a test run, accompanied by a plethora of Vitamin R. My measly 4 fillets ended up tasting delicious after a 10 hour smoke in 125 degree temperatures fed by cherry and alder chips. Next time I'll have to ramp for more volume. No worries. It's not so much that smoking is a big production that takes a great deal of labor, as much as smoking takes 8+ hours, therefore demanding you to be in the general area for the entire day.

The conclusion is simple -- I need a smoker sooner rather than later in life (I suspect later is the probable choice, as the townhouse doesn't really allow smokers on our meager decks). Let's put that high on the 5 year plan.

Man V Food

I guess I am a fan of Man V. Food on the travel channel, though I don't feel like it. I always end up catching up with the episodes sooner or later, and I always end up disgusted at the end. Also, most of what he eats is not necessarily something I would like to eat. Why do I like it? My appetite for grease is long dormant. I guess I just enjoy the idea of a new city being explored down to the back room of a kitchen with some local chef. And it has been fun to watch the host noticeably plump up over the last year.

Well, the show that aired yesterday was in Alaska, so that made it all the more interesting. Oddly, they spent 66% of the show in Talkeetna. Cool town, but really? I had been to the breakfast place before, but I only bought some of their great bakery. Why didn't they show that? They have a very good bakery there. I haven't had the caribou burger at the other Talkeetna joint, but now I really want to do so. I'm not taking on that silly, huge burger that he did -- I'll just get a single, thanks.

He ended up at Humpy's right here in Anchorage. I'm not familiar with the challenge (it seems fairly new), but I am plenty familiar with Humpy's. I really dig the place, but for some reason Becky and I haven't made it there in a little while. I'm sure that will change now that the bug has been placed in our heads. I am not taking on the challenge though (It must cost over $100 -- 3 lbs of crab meat, plus everything else!?); I'll settle happily for the Bill's Way Halibut burger.

...

It was only -4 this morning! We're warming up.

It was -10 this morning when I started my truck, but happily the timer on my heating block did the trick. It kicked on at 3 am and warmed up the fluids for a safe start at 6:30. It's still flippin' cold though. The radio nob barely wants to turn, and this is just a warm up for the winter to come.

This morning I did pass a cycling commuter geared up with a light, studded tires, and lots of layers. Right on.

Once I arrived at work I spent the first hour chatting in the dark as the power was out for an hour. It is the last frontier after all.

The sun is out for the last few hours of daylight now and I can see the buildings and vehicles belching steam. It's almost time to leave for the gym in the 5 degree sunshine. We have almost 6 hours of daylight right now, and we ought to enjoy it because that number is retreating everyday.

...

Little Shoppe of Horrors is streaming tonight (and every Tuesday night) from 10pm to midnight (CST) in Madison, WI. Great show, great host. It's my Tuesday night destination.

Catching up

As of 8 days ago, we now have snow. There is only about 6-10 inches packed down so far, but the temperature is well below freezing so consider that snow a permanent base. This morning at 6:30 am I started my truck in -3 temps, but thanks to it being plugged in all night it turned over like a champ. I just need to dig out the timer so I can avoid having the block heater on all night. I'm told 3 hours is the golden number for maximum benefit in cold starts. It's only going to get colder this week.

...

I removed the seatpost and front wheel from my Orbea and placed the entire operation in the crawlspace. It's just not fun to have the whole bike in the dining room all winter. If I do get some riding in this winter it will be on the cyclocross bike anyway. Still, it is a sad note to sound. It is also a chance to hit the Elmendorf pool for lap swim a little more often. And the treadmill. I feel like I need to plan on the triathlon again, shave 10 minutes off my previous number, and power through the winter.

...

With the advent of freezing temperatures I have been painting more than ever lately. My Vampire Counts Black Coach is almost finished. I just need to base it properly and take some pictures. Gaming nights on Fridays are a reliable good time every week. Winter in Alaska is settling in.

...

Moon is a very cool movie.

...

I am pretty hooked on Scrabble on Facebook these days. Send a game request along, please!

Fred Meyer is the main grocery store up here (along with Safeway). It's an excellent grocery store that also has a the equivalent of a Kohl's and a good sporting goods store in it as well. Oh, and a good jewelry store. And my bank Alaska USA is inside as well. It really has everything, yet doesn't have an enormous footprint. And the prices and quality are very good. Everybody goes to Fred Meyer.

They have fabric shopping bags available for purchase ($1), though I think I ended up with some free ones thanks to a few coupons a year ago. The idea is to encourage their use over endless plastic bags, and to push this end they give you a nickel for ever bag you use in your purchase. Not a lot of money, but free money nonetheless.

Now, I can be a cheap bastard about many things -- in truth, about as many things as possible. However, I don't blink when it comes to special occasions, vacations, or bike parts. When it comes to most other things, I try to save money whenever possible. "Will this sale/coupon give me a little more money for Warhammer models, a comic book, or a nicer wheel for my bike?" Little things add up.

I like not wasting whenever possible also, so I'm all over the reusable bags. They're very durable as well. However, it seems that most cashiers make a concerted effort to not key them in when ringing you out. They want to make you verbally whine for your stinking nickel. In truth, I doubt they really care if they maneuvered Fred Meyer into an unexpected nickel profit. Yet it sure feels like they do. More times than not I have to remind them at the end that my $20 sale needs to be reduced by 15 cents. Sometimes they roll their eyes, but I quit caring about that a long time ago. If they want to encourage this good behavior, get consistent with the policy. If I'm going to eke out an extra trade paperback here or there, get on the ball. All those nickels add up to spokes and tires and handlebar tape. Their shame will not work on me.

Decisions

People up here are winterizing their boats and motor homes. In Mt. Greenwood Tom is draining his Harley and getting it ready for a long rest. I'm triaging my bikes and shuffling the needs and wants into a Spring '10 wish list.

The Trek cross bike has been through a war zone. It is 3 years old and has 3 years of racing in it, and most parts are still original. That is impressive, but also telling. It tells me that I should not sweat it that the frame is scratched everywhere, the rear wheel only stays true for about 20 minutes after it is adjusted, the shifting is suggestive at best, and the brakes are left to merely apply a general soft friction to the rims. The bike was a great deal, has served me well, and was actually welded and constructed in Waterloo, WI. That is cool. I wish it had a sharper paint job, but that is a small complaint. I really want a steel Lemond Poprad or a Gary Fisher Presidio, but how can I justify the jettisoning of a Wisconsin made friend that still has life left in it. I spin stories of putting it out to stud as a commuter, but I don't believe that is fair. It can stay filthy and maladjusted in my garage all winter and when the long days of April start to appear I'll take it down to Chain Reaction for an epic tuneup and a burly handbuilt rear DT Swiss wheel. I'll show the Trek some love and it will shine again next cross season. I still want a Wisconsin made steel cross bike (Lemond/Fisher) though.

My Orbea road bike is entering the off season a little less wounded. It has that overall sloppy, loose feeling, which an April tuneup will happily fix. I don't think it needs the large influx of parts ($$$) that the Trek does though.

So I'll do my usual fall mail ordering of parts, tires, chains, and handlebar tape to take advantage of the year end sales. The snow has not fallen yet, but it will any day now. It's sad to see the bikes being put away for a nap, but unfortunately the trails in Anchorage are groomed for cross country skiiing (unlike the plowing and salting they receive in Chicago/Madison). Come April the bikes will emerge shinier and faster.

I’ve never been particularly fast in cross races, but I did have my fastest season this year. And, I have finished stronger in each subsequent race this season, which says something. It’s usually easier to finish higher earlier in the season when more new riders show up for the first exposures to the sport. At the end of the season you’re left with the people that are much more serious, and consequently much faster than me.

The race on Saturday was in a 55 degree rain (thanks, El Nino!) and had 3 long segments across the beach. By the start of the race, all of the practice laps had turned the beach into an enormous deep and long sandpit. It was brutal, but how could a cross race be any different?

I started off towards the rear and kept position for the first 25 minutes. As the race went on more and more people started to just dismount for 2 of the sandpits (the third pit was fairly firm). The main stretch of one pit was a cavern that was not even navigable on the first lap so I carried the bike through that one. The other pit was doable if you reached really deep and had your gear selected properly before you were in the pit. After those first 25 minutes I decided that I was not going to dismount for that pit, and quickly found myself passing a few people here and there in those moments. This was the last race of the year and the sand had already turned my bike into a grinding cement mixer, so I embraced the rain and mud and filth and tried to put all I had out there.

I picked off a few more riders on some of the flats and barriers and only was passed by the lead pack. I held my own in my little group. I came nowhere close to winning, but I finished the race on a personal high note – one that gives me a good deal to build on for next year.

I enjoy the book A Separate Peace, particularly the small kernels of wisdom it contains about social behavior. Phineas is fairly close to a perfect friend in many moments. I am thinking specifically about the scene where he jumps in the pool, swims all out, and finds that he has broken the school record. He and Gene are the only ones there and he has Gene promise that this record will remain a secret. They know, so who cares if anyone else does?

The results on the cross race had me only riding 6 laps, whereas all the people I passed were marked at 8 laps. I lost of lot of points in that slip up, and I know I counted 8 laps while I pedaled. So I’ll take a cue from Phineas and just keep that one in my pocket for myself. I know it may nullify my altruistic intentions by announcing that all here, but I don’t think too many people read this blog. Also, who wants to hear somebody whine about their race results so instead of finishing the bottom quarter of the field you can finish in the bottom third? Big deal.

It’s a great book, and now I want to reread it (again). And with some off season work 2010 can be an even stronger cycling season. Good plans all around.

A Cyclocross race has its own pattern and heartbeat. If you have a chance at winning(which I do not), the first lap is a high intensity chess match of positioning. If you get snaked or end up behind someone slow or crash prone, it is almost impossible to climb back up the field. The first lap is also almost completely adrenaline. You settle in actual breathing in the second lap. Given the pacing and tension in the first few laps as you angle for positions and attempt to settle into a sustainable pace, I end up with random songs or thoughts stuck in 5 second loops in my brain, not unlike a scratched lp or cd. Everything is immediate and quick and there is simply no room for thoughts or songs to develop beyond their main point or hook.

For the first 3 laps all I could think of was an endless loop of the refrain to Judas Priest's "Painkiller." I don't really love Priest, but they are catchy enough to give me a chuckle now and again. By the second half of the race I actually settled into complete thoughts, though I was still left with a need to rewatch "Heavy Metal Parking Lot" from 1986. It's simply amazing and frightening at the same time. Completely hilarious, and the Priest songs kind of rock. It is below across 2 youtube clips and totals 17 minutes.

The weather was not optimal, but it was not as bad as it could have been. It could have easily snowed. It varied between 37-47 degrees, was cloudy, and intermittently rained. While never terribly comfortable, it never became too uncomfortable to not leave the truck. The park was full blown orange and red, with the spruce the only green to be found.



The scorecard (in order):
2 Bull Moose
A single grizzly eating berries
A snowshoe hare.
A sow and a cub atop a mountain ridge digging furiously. Dirt and rock flitted through the air. The image was striking and crisp as it framed itself on the ridge with overcast clouds in the background.
Sheep everywhere, all the time.
A half dozen Ptarmigan in what seemed like their full white winter colors. This seemed a bit early, but maybe we just don't want to accept that Denali will be covered in snow within weeks.
A single wolf walking slowly in a small yellow clump of grass. After watching for a few moments in binoculars the other 3 bedded down wolves came into focus. 4 wolves!
2 large Bull Moose and a nearby Cow, which was wearing a collar of some sort. The bulls were very close to the road and quietly stood still as the shutters clicked away.



After a 10 hour round trip to Kantishna we were ready for dinner, a warm campfire, and a good night's sleep. Even though the chilly weather obscured the mountain and we did not see any of the seemingly ubiquitous Caribou, it was a beautiful day in the park and how disappointed can you be when you had the chance to observe wolves?

This coming weekend is a big one. A few months ago we won Denali road permits – Becky on Sunday the 20th and me on the 19th. Normally the single gravel road in Denali is accessible by National Park tour buses, thus avoiding the congestion and bumper to bumper traffic found in Yellowstone, particularly in places where animals are visible or close to the road. In Denali the bus ensures that the roads never become Michigan Avenue in Chicago. It’s a good system.

For a 4 day weekend every mid September the road opens up to public traffic, providing you have sent in your $10 entry fee and been luckily chosen. Last year Becky and I ended up donating our $20. Her brother quit trying a few years ago after only donating endlessly to our national parks service. This year is the big field trip. He’ll be hauling up the fifth wheel and we’ll drive up separately on Friday night to collectively set up camp at the Riley Creek campground. It looks like we will hit 50 degrees as a high this weekend, but late at night it will hover around 32. Thankfully the canvas tent has a potbelly stove in it, which I understand often makes it too hot. That’s a chance I’ll happily take. My nylon tent is making the trip and if need be I’ll use it, but I hope that doesn’t happen. I’ve camped before where we’ve found the previous night’s soup frozen solid in the morning, so I know I could handle 32 degrees, though I’m quite certain that I would rather not do so. Hey, the mosquitoes should be dead come dusk though.

Camping in Denali and being able to take our time snaking through the single gravel vein slicing its way across the vast tundra is a privilege. The snow has not flown yet and we must snatch our moments from autumn before it does.

There is so much to catch up on and so much to rattle on about. I’m finally getting back into the swing of my normal schedule, the house is getting less cluttered by the day, and the crispness is in the air everywhere here in Alaska.

…

Most importantly, I did get married on July 31^st to the lovely Becky! Everything seemed to go perfectly and everyone seemed to have a great time. If something went wrong I either didn’t notice it or our guests didn’t notice it. Perfect. I did almost overdose on pictures with the photographer (though I was more than happy to take as many pictures as possible with family and friends), but that is the price you pay to get a nice album of memorable pictures. The photographer’s pictures are here and my flickr account is full of even more.

Everything has been completed, we’re back in Alaska, the bills have been all paid, and the thank you letters will soon be tackled. Life should be calm and back to normal in time for Christmas.

…

Through the high times and the low times I never waver in my love for horror comics --the scarier or campier the better. Bring them all on. Given my preference for pre code horror, I am well versed in the EC books, yet always aware that the majority of the other horror comics of the early 1950’s will be forever beyond my grasp, largely due to unavailability and price. Well, thanks to The Horrors of It All blog that has all changed. It’s just simply wonderful that he is sharing his considerable collection of rare comics. Great stuff and worth checking in on every few days.

…

Wayne always has something interesting to write about, but I call your attention to his recent entries because he has decided to perfectly describe a strange southside journey from a few years back that we took together (along with Scott). We attempted one more peek into the Marquette Park of a passing time to see if kicking the tires of 69^th street yielded any Lithuanian mumblings.

Also, he has decided to scribble a bit about my grandparent’s old neighborhood. I spent a lot of time at the intersection of 63^rd and California.

…

The honeymoon was a blast.

If you tackle any shipwreck tours or museums in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, expect to hear Gordon Lightfoot’s The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. A lot. And then a few more times for good measure. We spent a night in Munising, MI and took a 3 shipwreck tour in a glass bottom boat, leaving us at the final wreck with a 20 minute ride back to port. “We’ll just put on some music for the nice ride back.” Yep, you know it. We chuckled because we had already been singing it randomly in the car the previous few days.

Our drive from Munising to St. Ignace was fairly short, so a side trip was in order to the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum in Paradise, MI. We banked on a fun trip and a money shot of the Edmund Fitzgerald’s bell. When we pulled into Paradise (a one horse town if there ever was one) we were annoyed to see that we had to drive another 10 miles north. The side trip better had pay off. After 10 minutes of twisting through the forest we came upon a completely packed, large parking. Our excitement level was way up. Every exhibit, film, and building that housed some of the museum had the song playing. And those exhibits and films were fascinating. When the song would end, there would be 5 minutes of ambient music, which would be followed by the song again. Repeat. Very funny. Ultimately, stops like this on a vacation become the unexpected jewels in your trip.

Mackinac Island was just beautiful and amazing. We rented bikes and it was just … Please go if you can.

Aside from the horror comics, I can always be counted on to geek out on Hemingway anything. So our trip through Michigan had to include a stop in Horton Bay, the place Hemingway spent many summers in his youth as well as the location he wrote about in many of his early Nick Adams stories. We stopped in the almost unmodified general store, snapped a picture of the family cottage on Walloon Lake, and poked our heads into the Red Fox Inn bookstore. Holy cow, the Red Fox Inn was a trip. Historically, it had been a place to get a room and eat a chicken dinner, which Hemingway did almost a century ago. Today it’s a bookstore, though one housed in an interior shell where one can tell that the walls, layout, and furnishings have not changed beyond a coat of paint in the last 80 years. Bookstores have bookshelves lining the walls, but in this case you’ll find tables everywhere with stacked, organized Hemingway books. The place is organized in a way, but at a glance it is sort of a permanent, indoor garage sale. But I was all in, man. The place reeks of what you would hope to find and the owner certainly had the knowledge of all things Hemingway and Horton Bay. His grandfather owned the place and spent a fair amount of time teaching young Ernest how to fish the specific creeks in the area. This guy is the guy you want to talk with when you wander into one of these places. He also was a pretty odd bird, had a very strange way about him, and had a bit of an odor. Becky is infinitely friendlier than me to almost everyone, and she was a little off about him. However, he was extremely polite, helpful, and willing to talk. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to really buy a Horton Bay Hemingway cap, but I decided that I’d surely regret it if I passed so I jumped on that, along with a few postcards that he kindly postmarked with a Horton Bay USPS stamp. Very cool.

As he rang me up I asked if he would mind if I took a picture of the interior of his place. “No problem,” he replied as he quickly scooted to the middle of the room and plopped himself into a rocking chair I didn’t even know was sitting there. I wanted a plain interior picture, but this is what I was getting. Fair enough.

After some chit chat about where we were from he, like most people, had some random questions about Alaska.

“How bad is the winter?”

“A bit colder than the north woods, but much longer.”

“Ah, I can’t make it through the winters up here any more. I have to get out.”

“Arizona?”

“Nah. I head to the Philippines for the entire winter.”

Quickly, what are you thinking? Correct. Americans do not travel there to do things that are legal in America. My money is on things with individuals under 18.

…

I finished my first triathlon this past Sunday. It was a spring length and I enjoyed it much more than I expected. I may not enter any longer triathlons, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find myself in a sprint triathlon again.

I cannot wait for Cyclocross season. As we won the road lottery in Denali for mid September, we’ll be camping there in a few weeks. So much great stuff to do and see before the snow flies.

Please stop saying you are from Chicago

The more distance between the midwest and me, the quicker I'll jerk my head if somebody asks if I'm from Chicago. I was at the gym Saturday wearing a Konerko shirt.

"Are you from Chicago."

"Yeah. Are you?" I warmly responded. Man, Chicagoans way up here in Alaska? Cool.

"Yep. I grew up there." He looks like he's around my age within 5 years.

"Me too. Which part?"

"The North West side."

"Ah, cool. I don't know those neighborhoods as well."

"Yeah, Arlington Heights originally. Then Elmhurst."

"Ah."

"What about you?"

"I grew up by Midway airport."

"Oh, so Tinley Park then." It wasn't a question.

I made some good hearted correction, politely reiterating that I grew up in Chicago. I should relax, given that I have a few general rules. If you're within a few hours of Chicago, say you are either from Chicago or the Chicago area. If you're a days drive away, just saying Chicago will cover it. This situation falls into the latter. However, I really don't like people telling me I'm from Tinley.

It’s an exhausting experience. Dipnetting is a 24 hour minimum time and work commitment, and it’s worth every bit of it. Even though after 2 washings my clothes still smell like salmon. Even though my half cab vans shoes were on their last leg anyway, they now reek of salmon and are headed for the trash a little sooner. My watch band is starting to smell like leather again, though just barely. The boat had a cumulative limit of 155 Red Salmon, and we met that limit easily. It was a glorious blur of slime, sunburn, clubbing, and Alaska.

My condo complex has a tight parking lot (for a truck and boat trailer), so I carried my dipnet, cooler, and backpack across the street to the huge Baptist church parking lot at 4 am. Around 4:15 R picked me up and off we went. As we headed down the Turnagain Arm the haze of the forest fires that dot the Kenai Peninsula and interior were unmistakable. You could smell a hint of those remote fires when we made a pit stop at Turnagain Pass. By 8 am we were chipping over the waves of the Kasilof River and approaching the mouth, glimpsing the wide open ocean in front of us. We would work small laps of 10 minutes each as we trolled with the current into the ocean before motoring back into the river. The plan was simple, and the limit was 155. And it needed to be met.

People littered the shoreline with their purchased, modified, or completely home fabricated dipnets outstretched into the ocean as the water lapped into their chest waders. Their vehicles and tents dotted the ridge behind them. The Kasilof had been open for dipnetting for over a week already.

“Alright guys, drop your nets in, “ R announced.

Three nets went in, and in about 2 seconds I had a nice 10lb salmon twisting and flopping in my net. After pulling him in and fidgeting with the net he twisted further and further in, I finally extracted him, cut his gill, and threw the bleeding fish into an empty cooler. I needed to get faster at the whole process, and most importantly find a way to avoid the endless tangling of the fish in the net.

After another half dozen fish I stumbled onto a few keys. I noticed that the majority of the time when you pull a netted fish in, the fish was not excessively tangled. The tangling seemed to increase exponentially as the fish flopped around in the boat. Ergo, close the window of opportunity for the fish by clubbing him as quickly and concisely as possible. A few whacks usually will do the job, but it often merely stuns. You are looking for the death rattle – the rapid lateral vibration down the fish that quickly descends into relaxation. At my top speed I had the net out of the water about 2 minutes while processing a fish. Not bad. Searching for the death rattle is the morbid key.

I never had 2 fish in my net at once, though everyone else did. At 2pm the dirty yellow notepad we had been marking our fish on tallied us up to 155, so off we sped up river looking for a smooth patch of water to anchor up in and get down to business.

As we loaded the coolers to the shore and began the task of clipping the rear fins off of each fish (so they could never be sold commercially) I realized just how filthy we had become. Scales and dried slime speckled our cheeks, blood and scales soaked our thighs, and I noticed the now permanent stain of blood on my fatigues where I had been wiping the gill cutting knife. We rinsed the coolers, gave the fish a quick swish in the river, and loaded back up, leaving a pile of fins on the bank behind us. We’re lucky we didn’t encounter a bear, particularly because nobody was packing.

Off we roared to Seward for processing tables and filleting. While this may have added 60 miles to our day, the ability to leave all of the carcasses in one place and simply drive back to Anchorage with filets is priceless. The filth and smell of our clothing and bodies only stewed further.

I walked into my place at 12:30 am, left a pile of rank clothing right inside the doorway, and jetted upstairs for the shower. At noon the next day I drove to Chugiak to finish sealing the fish in vacuum bags, ending a total of 24 hours worth of work and traveling to catch and process 155 Sockeye Salmon. My freezer has over 50 of them right now, so there will be no heart disease for me this coming year.

My clothes still have a faint whiff of salmon and I never thought I would be so eager to repeatedly witness a death rattle. Alaska is a wonderful, unique place.