Hello from Alaska
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07-14-2005, 03:42 AM
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Hello from Alaska
Just thought I'd say hello...Retired long haul trucker now living in the interior of Alaska...single(15 men to 1 woman out here in the bush) 6'6" about 260 lbs...I have a nice log home an a awesome dog named Jake...I just upgraded to a 05 Ram 1500 with a 4.7...will throw a few pics in the gallery soon.....Peace from the north
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07-20-2005, 04:51 AM
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RE: Hello from Alaska
Do it every chance I get....caught 34 red salmon last weekend....here is a short story about dip netting on the Copper River.
more alaska stories here http://www.alaskastories.com/Stories1.html
Chitna Dipnetting
Chitna Dipnetting is an Alaska thing. From it one may learn the nature of these Alaskans.
Perfectly ordinary people, socially successful, indistinguishable from anyone else, or somewhat. They drive to Chitna Alaska, a quaint little drinking town with a fishing problem, and a classic history.
Chitna has a magnificent art store, Spirit Mountain Art, with a view of the glacier-clad Spirit Mountain out the front window, across Main Street, on account of there only being the cafe and an old crumbling railroad car on the other side of Main Street. The cafe offers a floor slope that directs you to your table, if you don't fall over before you catch yourself on a chair. A lot of buildings in Alaska tend to slowly sink, on account of the ground under them thawing. The cafe also has a view of Spirit Mountain out its front window, on account of the cafe not facing Main Street.
They used to have a summer folk festival on the lawn beside the lake in town, until they decided it was getting a little out of hand. Some rumor about the famous climber Chuck Comstock climbing the adjacent rock wall, naked. There may be another rumor, but it is something like that.
Nice town, next to the bridge over the Copper River, leading to McCarthy, and its no few stories.
After eating at Chitna, they drive a bit further down the old road along the Copper River, toward Cordova, and the Million Dollar Bridge that didn't last very long a long time ago.
The road is scary even to the guys who say they are not scared. It is on a series of cliffs and ravines that drop to the Copper River. The road is mostly on the old railroad grade, built in the early days to take McCarthy copper ore to the port of Cordova. Sections of impressive old railroad trestle slowly rot away at each ravine. Each year the drivable part of the road gets shorter, and more narrow, at Nature's whim. Some of the holes and ruts are filled with old car bodies, new car bodies, and some of last week's dipnetters.
Then they park their car on any little wider spot, and put up their tent, hoping that no one drives over part of it, and they don't fall down the cliff when they roll over at night. The road is narrow, and there is nothing else flat.
They climb down to the river, on varied terrain ranging from very steep to vertical. The smart ones wear a life preserver, and rope themselves to a rock or a tree above them. The faint are terrified by the percentage of really stupid people without life preservers, and not tied-in. They stand on steep rock sloping into the river, often with their toes in the water. This is the way it should be. There are too many people on the planet, and some of them get to your favorite dipnetting spot before you do.
The Copper River is a huge raging glacial torrent, boring its way through the narrow canyon south of Chitna. The water is too thick to drink and too thin to plow, laden with glacier silt, roiling in tormented currents crashing against the rock, squeezed by forces pushing the water every direction including back up-river. Huge logs with tangled root-***** appear from the depths, race past with the force of freight trains, and disappear. The water is ice-cold from the many glaciers that feed it. To fall into it is a fatal error.
They lower a hooped fishing net into the water, on a long pole, and wait for a salmon to swim into the net. It is an awkward task. They must sweep the net down river, twisting and straining their back each time they bring up the heavy-enough net out at the end of that long pole, while the water current clings to it. Or they tie the net off to a rock, and lower the net into a back-eddy. With luck a six or so pound Sockeye Salmon will swim into the net, and along with the fast current now clinging to both the net and the fish, the fish fights wildly to pull the dip-netter to certain death in the raging river. But lurking in the murky water are the 40 pound King Salmon, which hit the net with the fury of 40 pound King Salmon, and have won the battle no few times. But sometimes you pull up the net, to only then discover that a fish is in it. And sometimes you can get four salmon in one net. It would be exciting, if there were not such long periods of abject boredom straining water though a heavy net while the fish swim by farther out.
This takes place in a canyon of towering cliffs. The water cut the canyon, and the constant wind keeps it scoured. If the water don't get you, the wind will help the water. And the mosquitoes are waiting for you right now, in formation. They bore into your tent while you are away, and into your car, and wait. They attack in waves as you stand by the water attempting to catch fish.
Far above, white Dall Sheep precariously perch on the cliff ledges, watching in idle amusement.
You stand there often in drenching cold numbing rain, but sometimes in sweltering heat while dense clouds of mosquitoes turn your sweat red with blood, while both your hands grip the net pole, barely able to hold it in the current.
Fish is bear food. Grizzly bears lurk among the dense trees, brush and rocks. They look for a convenient string of salmon beside a human without a life vest, no gun and not tied in. The people who deny that a grizzly bear can think enough to slap the human into the water then grab the fish, just haven't seen it happen yet.
People die while Chitna Dipnetting, and the ones around them quickly step into their fishing spot.
These are Copper River Reds, the most prized and expensive of the salmon you find at the best restaurants in the nation and world. They produce the finest and most sought-after golden caviar on the market, affordable only to the elite. Of course Alaskans take the fish whole to barbecues, and feed the roe to the gulls while cleaning the fish at the river side. Oh, Reds are Sockeyes, like Kings are Chinooks, like Silvers are Cohos, like Humpies are Pinks, like Dogs are Chums. Each salmon has two names, and on bad fishing days, more.
Oh, the gulls. They watch you. There are always one or two sitting or flying nearby, watching you. When you start doing the things they identify as your about to clean your fish, there will suddenly be a couple dozen, or many dozen. They really like the roe.
Why throw away the caviar? Have you ever gently and tediously stripped each small fish egg from the egg sack? Those easy ways end up taking just as long. Throw away the caviar. Besides, it tastes like fish eggs. Sometimes someone will save some of the roe, and tediously prepare it, and show up at a party with the finest, freshest, most expensive golden caviar in the world, just for the story value. They will surround the caviar with rhetorical fabrications describing the food of kings and gods. The most common comment: Still tastes like fish eggs to me. Dogs really like caviar, and do well at such parties. I recommend a wheat cracker with cream cheese and a dollop of caviar. Make a facial expression that depicts unmitigated sensory pleasure of the palate. Practice in front of a mirror.
With dipnetting, when you are hot, you are hot. When you are not, you are not. The person standing only ten feet away can be pulling in salmon as fast as his net hits the water, while you and the guy on the other side of him never even get a bump. The next day, in your same spot you are catching them as fast, while he doesn't get a bump. Or across the river, you see the other people who survived the torrent to get there by boat, dragging in fish as fast as they can get them out of the net, while your net catches a few passing sticks all day. There is no answer to the puzzle. It cycles through a million variables, in a huge raging river with pulses of salmon so thick that they run into little hooped nets enough to addict dipnetters.
There is the consideration of your dipnetting partners. They are Alaskans. Odd lot. But the smell of fish slime and fish guts makes them tolerable in the tent at night. Yes, there is a spike in alcohol sales when the Chitna dipnetting season opens.
I keep a few bags of the finest Copper River Red Salmon golden caviar in the freezer, just for the story value. If you find anyone you think is more elite than myself, bring him forward, and we will see who can weave the rhetoric and substance of the truly elite. One way to strip the caviar from the egg sack, is with one's teeth, at water's edge. Who else can afford caviar that fresh and natural? And one can later pick the eggs out of their beard, waiting for another salmon to swim by.
The problem with Chitna Dipnetting is that your neighbors were there also. Everyone shows up at the subsequent pot lucks with Chitna Reds. Yeah, same recipe of lemon juice, pepper, onions, garlic and the like. Yeah, I wrote this story while stuffed on Chitna Red and golden caviar, late at night after another pot luck.
more alaska stories here http://www.alaskastories.com/Stories1.html
Chitna Dipnetting
Chitna Dipnetting is an Alaska thing. From it one may learn the nature of these Alaskans.
Perfectly ordinary people, socially successful, indistinguishable from anyone else, or somewhat. They drive to Chitna Alaska, a quaint little drinking town with a fishing problem, and a classic history.
Chitna has a magnificent art store, Spirit Mountain Art, with a view of the glacier-clad Spirit Mountain out the front window, across Main Street, on account of there only being the cafe and an old crumbling railroad car on the other side of Main Street. The cafe offers a floor slope that directs you to your table, if you don't fall over before you catch yourself on a chair. A lot of buildings in Alaska tend to slowly sink, on account of the ground under them thawing. The cafe also has a view of Spirit Mountain out its front window, on account of the cafe not facing Main Street.
They used to have a summer folk festival on the lawn beside the lake in town, until they decided it was getting a little out of hand. Some rumor about the famous climber Chuck Comstock climbing the adjacent rock wall, naked. There may be another rumor, but it is something like that.
Nice town, next to the bridge over the Copper River, leading to McCarthy, and its no few stories.
After eating at Chitna, they drive a bit further down the old road along the Copper River, toward Cordova, and the Million Dollar Bridge that didn't last very long a long time ago.
The road is scary even to the guys who say they are not scared. It is on a series of cliffs and ravines that drop to the Copper River. The road is mostly on the old railroad grade, built in the early days to take McCarthy copper ore to the port of Cordova. Sections of impressive old railroad trestle slowly rot away at each ravine. Each year the drivable part of the road gets shorter, and more narrow, at Nature's whim. Some of the holes and ruts are filled with old car bodies, new car bodies, and some of last week's dipnetters.
Then they park their car on any little wider spot, and put up their tent, hoping that no one drives over part of it, and they don't fall down the cliff when they roll over at night. The road is narrow, and there is nothing else flat.
They climb down to the river, on varied terrain ranging from very steep to vertical. The smart ones wear a life preserver, and rope themselves to a rock or a tree above them. The faint are terrified by the percentage of really stupid people without life preservers, and not tied-in. They stand on steep rock sloping into the river, often with their toes in the water. This is the way it should be. There are too many people on the planet, and some of them get to your favorite dipnetting spot before you do.
The Copper River is a huge raging glacial torrent, boring its way through the narrow canyon south of Chitna. The water is too thick to drink and too thin to plow, laden with glacier silt, roiling in tormented currents crashing against the rock, squeezed by forces pushing the water every direction including back up-river. Huge logs with tangled root-***** appear from the depths, race past with the force of freight trains, and disappear. The water is ice-cold from the many glaciers that feed it. To fall into it is a fatal error.
They lower a hooped fishing net into the water, on a long pole, and wait for a salmon to swim into the net. It is an awkward task. They must sweep the net down river, twisting and straining their back each time they bring up the heavy-enough net out at the end of that long pole, while the water current clings to it. Or they tie the net off to a rock, and lower the net into a back-eddy. With luck a six or so pound Sockeye Salmon will swim into the net, and along with the fast current now clinging to both the net and the fish, the fish fights wildly to pull the dip-netter to certain death in the raging river. But lurking in the murky water are the 40 pound King Salmon, which hit the net with the fury of 40 pound King Salmon, and have won the battle no few times. But sometimes you pull up the net, to only then discover that a fish is in it. And sometimes you can get four salmon in one net. It would be exciting, if there were not such long periods of abject boredom straining water though a heavy net while the fish swim by farther out.
This takes place in a canyon of towering cliffs. The water cut the canyon, and the constant wind keeps it scoured. If the water don't get you, the wind will help the water. And the mosquitoes are waiting for you right now, in formation. They bore into your tent while you are away, and into your car, and wait. They attack in waves as you stand by the water attempting to catch fish.
Far above, white Dall Sheep precariously perch on the cliff ledges, watching in idle amusement.
You stand there often in drenching cold numbing rain, but sometimes in sweltering heat while dense clouds of mosquitoes turn your sweat red with blood, while both your hands grip the net pole, barely able to hold it in the current.
Fish is bear food. Grizzly bears lurk among the dense trees, brush and rocks. They look for a convenient string of salmon beside a human without a life vest, no gun and not tied in. The people who deny that a grizzly bear can think enough to slap the human into the water then grab the fish, just haven't seen it happen yet.
People die while Chitna Dipnetting, and the ones around them quickly step into their fishing spot.
These are Copper River Reds, the most prized and expensive of the salmon you find at the best restaurants in the nation and world. They produce the finest and most sought-after golden caviar on the market, affordable only to the elite. Of course Alaskans take the fish whole to barbecues, and feed the roe to the gulls while cleaning the fish at the river side. Oh, Reds are Sockeyes, like Kings are Chinooks, like Silvers are Cohos, like Humpies are Pinks, like Dogs are Chums. Each salmon has two names, and on bad fishing days, more.
Oh, the gulls. They watch you. There are always one or two sitting or flying nearby, watching you. When you start doing the things they identify as your about to clean your fish, there will suddenly be a couple dozen, or many dozen. They really like the roe.
Why throw away the caviar? Have you ever gently and tediously stripped each small fish egg from the egg sack? Those easy ways end up taking just as long. Throw away the caviar. Besides, it tastes like fish eggs. Sometimes someone will save some of the roe, and tediously prepare it, and show up at a party with the finest, freshest, most expensive golden caviar in the world, just for the story value. They will surround the caviar with rhetorical fabrications describing the food of kings and gods. The most common comment: Still tastes like fish eggs to me. Dogs really like caviar, and do well at such parties. I recommend a wheat cracker with cream cheese and a dollop of caviar. Make a facial expression that depicts unmitigated sensory pleasure of the palate. Practice in front of a mirror.
With dipnetting, when you are hot, you are hot. When you are not, you are not. The person standing only ten feet away can be pulling in salmon as fast as his net hits the water, while you and the guy on the other side of him never even get a bump. The next day, in your same spot you are catching them as fast, while he doesn't get a bump. Or across the river, you see the other people who survived the torrent to get there by boat, dragging in fish as fast as they can get them out of the net, while your net catches a few passing sticks all day. There is no answer to the puzzle. It cycles through a million variables, in a huge raging river with pulses of salmon so thick that they run into little hooped nets enough to addict dipnetters.
There is the consideration of your dipnetting partners. They are Alaskans. Odd lot. But the smell of fish slime and fish guts makes them tolerable in the tent at night. Yes, there is a spike in alcohol sales when the Chitna dipnetting season opens.
I keep a few bags of the finest Copper River Red Salmon golden caviar in the freezer, just for the story value. If you find anyone you think is more elite than myself, bring him forward, and we will see who can weave the rhetoric and substance of the truly elite. One way to strip the caviar from the egg sack, is with one's teeth, at water's edge. Who else can afford caviar that fresh and natural? And one can later pick the eggs out of their beard, waiting for another salmon to swim by.
The problem with Chitna Dipnetting is that your neighbors were there also. Everyone shows up at the subsequent pot lucks with Chitna Reds. Yeah, same recipe of lemon juice, pepper, onions, garlic and the like. Yeah, I wrote this story while stuffed on Chitna Red and golden caviar, late at night after another pot luck.