Arrival in Alaska: First Glimpses of the Last Frontier

I had never been good at writing. In fact, I think I had only ever written for school. That summer in Alaska might have been my first journal entry ever. My memory isn't the best, so let's just say it's my first entry.

Before I arrived, I had many mixed feelings, but I kept a nonchalant front. A blasé attitude. Even though I had never done anything like this before, I was used to trying new things. I enjoyed novelty. I was mostly excited, but there was nervousness too. I was a 28-year-old man; I should have been able to do anything. But the only connection I could compare this fishing experience to was camping and working with horses.

Life is what you make it though, so fuck it. We only have so much time, might as well learn and try new things.

Landing in Anchorage

My first new memories in Alaska began when I landed in Anchorage. My flight was delayed, so I had some extra time. I ate a reindeer hot dog. There might have been a mild difference from a regular one, but I couldn't really tell. I walked to one of the wings of the airport where I didn't have to go through inspection to get to my connecting flight.

The plane held maybe 30 people. From outside the gate, you could see this small aircraft and some beautiful mountains in the background with snow covering the tops. It was very picturesque.

As we flew through the air, I got my first glimpse of what the landscape looked like. If Minnesota is the land of 10,000 lakes, then Alaska is the land of 10 million ponds. The area near the ocean seemed like a gradient of land and water, full of marshes and swamps. But what did I know? All I saw was little water pockets everywhere.

The tide shift was immense. From the plane, I couldn't tell where the ocean began, what was mud, and where the shoreline was. It was hard to distinguish between the three since the tide changed so much. From the sky, you could see the fractals in the mud, these little crevices that formed the same pattern over and over again, repeating forever.

Trial by Fire

I landed and tried to find my crew. Since my flight was delayed, it was a trial by fire. Alaska time is much like island time; it's a construct. I had never seen what my crew looked like, so I was waiting, looking at every face, seeing if they would ask for me. They found me. We rushed to the area where all the boats were stored and where the crew had slept while setting everything up. Where they slept looked like a refugee area, inside a shipping container. I was glad I arrived days later.

They dropped me off to get my fishing license. Afterward, I met someone from Tucson. It's a small world, since that's where I lived at the time. Then we rushed back to the boating area. We packed the truck up with supplies and rushed to the docks where our boats were. We had to pack everything in the skiff (a small fishing boat) and get to the other side of the bay.

As we were about to head off, we had to wait for a large drift net fishing boat to get in the water. It was a fairly impressive size, especially compared to our skiff. The bay was incredibly large (it took an hour to get across), and the crew seemed friendly. I was the only new person. Since everything was foreign to me, I didn't ask any questions. I just did what I was told.

The Point

We arrived at the "Point", Nushagak Point. We unloaded and brought our stuff to the "shack"; this is where the young men slept, and it was aptly named. There I met the rest of the crew. There wasn't much time for chit chat. We began fixing and setting everything up.

See, the Point only exists in the summer. That is when the fishing crews come, make a living, put food on other people's tables, and enjoy a different kind of life for a couple of months. The Point has no roads; it's only accessible by boats. When it's not the summer and the people are gone, nature slowly reclaims her land. The Alaskan summer is always spent fixing what the winter broke and in preparation for the next winter.

To revitalize everything, we had to start with the water. There was a waterfall full of melted ice or glacier water that ran down near our "town" of maybe 100 fisher humans. A rubber line provided water for everyone from it. We made sure the water got to all the sinks, showers, and anything we needed it for. We organized the food, which was substantial since everything had been bought beforehand and shipped there. Everything is expensive in the middle of nowhere. We organized dishes, swept, and tried to make our temporary home livable again.

Small problems kept popping up. The shower pump wasn't working. The copper gas pipe was leaking. Thankfully, nothing huge. We made food around 10 PM and tried to sleep at midnight.

"Midnight" was just a word that shouldn't have been taken literally; there was still a soft glow from the sunset. There was never truly darkness. Even though there was no light pollution, there were still very few stars at the darkest time. It was still light enough to walk around without needing a headlamp

This was the opposite experience I had when I went to Iceland during the winter. The "days" lasted from 11 AM till around 2:30 PM, and then darkness struck at 3 PM. It was mostly overcast those 5 days, but one day we saw the sun for 30 minutes. Now in Alaska, with it being the summer, it was the exact reverse.

The night was cold. I should have bought an expensive sleeping bag.