NINILCHIK, Alaska—Waves crashing on the shore, a sound every fisherman loves. Calm waters and sunshine, the scene fishermen hope for.
This is the real life of Alaska commercial set-net fisherman: Odd hours, emergency openings, unpredictable weather and unavoidable disasters.
Preparation for the season begins in June, and the season goes until mid-August. There are more than a few items to check off the list. We mend nets, check boat motors, keep track of buoys, find crewmembers and make sure the rickety beach truck is in good shape.
Throwing on old, torn Helly Hensen gear and a pair of thin gloves, it's time to get on the boat. Getting knocked in the knees or in the ribs while swiftly crawling into the skiff against the current leaves bumps and bruises.
Quickly pulling the nets from the water, picking the fish and making sure the boat is steady is a tough job. Those thin white gloves don't stay white for long.
Be prepared to get dirty. You'll be soaked with fish slime and water. Scales will land on your face and chunks in your hair. Meanwhile your drenched clothes will grow heavy.
Depending on the tide, one could be out on the water for hours. If it's low tide, the beach net gets a lot of attention.
Pulling the net over jagged lumps of coal and thousands of rocks is a hassle. Getting the net to the right spot can take some time. Seagulls scatter over the fish, eating their eyes and digging into their bodies. If that happens the fish won't be sellable.
In hip boots pulled all the way up, you can get stuck in waist-deep mud, sometimes tripping over big rocks and falling in.
Two trucks bound by rope pull the boat to shore in increments as the tide flows in. Once the truck is beside the boat, fish get thrown in the totes; it's what we call "pitching fish." Gunk whips from the fish and slaps across your face, seaweed lands on your cheek and waves strike the skiff as you try to balance.
At least two people pick fish by the boat, and two others round the cork, or pull the ropes to secure the nets. Each turn draws the led sides of the net a few feet higher on the beach. The radio blasting, the sun setting and the fisherman jamming. This may be the best part of the day.
Sometimes though, the unimaginable happens.
Sitting on the beach, waiting for the boat to come in, my sister Whitney and I saw our cousin Jared go overboard. He is a big guy, unlike my dad, Dan, who's been fishing for about 40 years. Luckily Dad grabbed Jared and tied him to the front of the boat. Jared's boots filled with water, dragging him further below. Thankfully the net didn't attach to his boots or he would have gone under in seconds.
On his boat nearby, my uncle immediately moved to help. Once the boats were side by side, my uncle leaned over to help Dad, who was struggling to keep Jared above water and away from the net.
Together, they heaved him up and into safety.
Fishing is a brave job. So much goes into it. Long days, long nights, tragedies and a good possibility of having a horrible season.
I've helped and watched on our Ninilchik beach site since I was young. Coming home at the end of the day, eating some smoked or fresh salmon makes the work worth it.
[EDITORS' NOTE: This story was written as a class assignment at the American Indian Journalism Institute and originally published on AIJI: Freedom Forum Diversity Institute [1]. It is used with permission.]