One way tack to Yakutat

If you want the definition of the middle of nowhere just google-map Yakutat, AK. Granted you could google-map Pelican, AK and it would be an even smaller blip but I was holed up there for two hours not two days. Basically it is a real long haul from Sitka but if the weather would just cooperate for a few days there are apparently a few fish to be had up here. As it is however we are just tied up to the city dock waiting for a break in the storm.

The last few days in Sitka I lived up as if they were my last. With gusto I ate, drank, collected phone numbers, and passed out goodbyes to the few souls I had met there and wished I could have more time to seal the bonds of friendship with. Now it seems I will probably be back in Sitka in a week or so, and I am not looking forward to an uncomfortable second round of farewells. As unpredictable as this fishing life is, nothing, besides the commandments handed down from ADF&G, is definitive.

As a revised plan for the end of the season it looks as though Ron is going to fly me back to Washington ahead of him as his wife, Nina, will be joining him on the way home. As beautiful as the Inside Passage is I hope that this plan pans out. First it would simplify the arrangements I have with my dad for our reunion in Seattle, and also because I am beginning to grow a little restless as the summer winds down. When I am not busy fishing, cleaning, or cooking I find myself falling into some pretty atrocious moods that those of you who know me well are glad you are not in Ron's place as he is the only focus for my storms of discontent. I assured him it was not personal. Nevertheless I am ready to shed the closed quarters of the ODB (Ocean Dancer Boat, my nickname) for the open and seemingly endless road down the Pacific coast.

In literature I have waded into the Russian misery and suffering that is the writing of Chekhov. From my somewhat stilted pursuit of Russian short stories I gather that this is basically the state of things in Russia: misery and suffering. It as almost as though the renaissance made no discernible inroads into that eastern expanse and they are still toiling away in some medieval hell hole. Needless to say Chekhov does nothing for my brooding mood.

I know I sort of led on that I had some incredible things to say about my the days working up to my last post, but in retrospect it was nothing that needs describing here. It usually takes the perspective of a few days to sort out what is and isn't going to go in here. Fortunately as the master of my own little history here I can edit to my hearts content. Sort of empowering.