The Rhythm of the River

I think I had last written in the calm before the storm. It had been around five days since I began the pre-season, and Jesus Christ these people were strong. It isn't necessarily the most intense workout, but it is constant. Every day you feel the burn and the numbness, and your strength slowly grows.

The First Days

I woke up the next day. More of the same. We fixed the household necessities, unloaded the rest of the boat's valuables, mostly food and materials we needed to survive comfortably in that cold wet place.

We fixed and organized the cabin. Side note: "Swamp" was the name of the cabin most of the guys slept in. Creative.

The rain came and went. Nothing too harsh yet, but enough to make you conscious of it. I love the pitter-patter on the roof. The rain was nice because it gave you a break from the mosquitoes. The bad thing was it created more still water for the larvae to hatch. Give and take.

Afterward, I got my first nibble of what that summer would bring. We suited up. Sweatpants, normal underwear, a t-shirt, a sweater, and a hat. That became my regular uniform. Then the suit went on top: neoprene chest-high waders, gloves, rain jacket.

That day we just got the nets ready and did some minor things out on the boats. Turned them, moved them. Still all an adventure to me. And honestly all of it felt manly. Cue the Mulan music.

Out on the water, I had my full suit on, so I was fairly dry except for my face. I could feel the small rain droplets hit my face and the cool ocean breeze pass through my beard. It felt marvelous. Like I was doing something right, something useful. And I was. I was catching salmon so families could provide dinner.

Being New

You ever been new at something? It's a bittersweet thing.

The downsides are your ignorance and trying not to fuck up. Having someone explain things to you at a basic level, even if they aren't condescending, makes you feel small. Like a child listening to what the grownups have to say and just going along. Then there were the mistakes that could be made. Out there where profit and safety were both on the line, that added another level of pressure. I was constantly running through the few things I had learned, repeating them to myself. On top of the physical grind and the inconsistent sleep, I was mentally and physically toast.

But I wasn't trying to be negative. Being new expands your perception. Learning things now helps you learn later because you can relate new topics to what you already knew. It builds pattern recognition in subjects you never thought possible. Being new makes me feel young. It's always rough to be stagnant. Learning keeps time from slipping away.

And there is a sense of accomplishment. When I started recognizing patterns and doing things without being reminded, that was a huge step. Plus, it's more enjoyable having muscle memory than having to think through everything.

Preparation and The Rules of the River

I was given an extra blanket so I slept well that night. I think I overslept, because when I woke up we had to run and get suited up. Put on that clumpy gear and got back out on the water. We took the boats out to the deep end. When the time came to actually fish, the tide would be low and we'd walk through the mud to get there.

It was the period between preparation and go time. Bellies full, supposed to be relaxing, because we were most likely about to be out there for 17 hours straight.

Our windows to fish were coordinated between the fishery and Fish and Game. Human nature is to do things overboard and take too much. That's why Fish and Game exists. Without their oversight, we'd probably fish the salmon to extinction.

Just think about what the salmon have to do. They are born in the streams. They swim out to the ocean and live their lives freely. To spawn, they have to swim all the way back from the ocean into the estuaries, which is where we were, and then swim upstream against the river to the protected areas where they came from. They swim all that way to die. Either in nets or after they spawn. Once they continue their genetic line they are no longer necessary. The only difference between them is luck in which ones get to continue their lineage.

Our main targets were Sockeye salmon, occasionally King salmon. Kings were rare, much larger, in my opinion less tasty, and priced less per pound. After the salmon release their eggs or sperm and start coming back down the river they start deteriorating. We'd see them floating by and call them "zombie fish."

The Opener

The very first day of the season is a big deal. In our small section of the estuary there were maybe 15 fishing sections set up. The stakes are high. Multiple helicopters flying overhead. It felt like a Michael Bay film.

Inside those helicopters are agents with very expensive cameras. They photograph everything. Not even a single thread of net touches the water until the exact time they say so. A fraction of a net touches early and it's a multi-thousand dollar fine per boat.

This was my first day. I didn't really know what was going on. Not much had been explained to me. The guys had done a good job easing me in but now the instruction was simple: Hold onto the anchor. Don't touch anything else. Don't let it drop until we tell you. Don't mess up.

I stood there holding a heavy anchor just trying to understand what was happening. Don't let this touch the ground yet. Don't mind the helicopters. Don't mind the yelling. Just listen and be ready.

It was awesome. It's great to be part of a team with strong leaders. Nothing felt too overwhelming. I was just trying to soak it all in.

Finally, the time hit. I threw the heavy anchor into the mud. The crew dropped the nets. The boat took off perpendicular to the shore, stretching the net out to catch the salmon rushing upstream.

From that point we were locked in. A 17-hour window to fish. Set nets, pick them, pull them through the boat, take them to the tenders. Reset. Set, pull fish, reset. Break for food or coffee, get back out there. Rinse and repeat until Fish and Game closed the window.

Living by the Tide

This is not like a normal job where you wake up at the same time every day. The tide doesn't care about a 24-hour clock. It runs on roughly a 25-hour cycle, shifting about an hour every single day. Two high tides per cycle and that's when we had to be out there. Today, you fish at 5 PM. Next week that same tide hits at 2 AM.

There's no routine. No consistent sleep. Couple that with the constant physical labor and your body never catches up. I'd wake up and literally not feel my hands or forearms. Muscles so worked over that my body was trying to repair them while I was still tearing them down.

But that's the job. So you go back out.