Hey there, this is my longest post so far. If you’re taking the time to read my work, please know that I appreciate you. - Cliff
The plane landed in Kodiak, Alaska, with so much water on the runway I was amazed when we finally came to a halt. I had hoped to catch a view on the way in, but Mother Nature had other plans. It rains a lot in Alaska, and Kodiak gets over eighty inches a year. My neck hurt like hell and my eyes felt strained. I had slept for three hours on the Anchorage airport floor, but the second I stepped off the plane, I felt a pep in my step. I launched myself over a puddle and onto the tarmac.
I prioritized for comfort on this trip and wore my Crocs. That puddle got the best of me as I misjudged my jumping abilities. I landed in three inches of water and soaked my foot. I couldn’t care less; it was better than wearing rubber boots for fourteen hours straight.
Rural Alaskan airports are a special place, and each one has its own character. Kodiak is no different, but is quite nice compared to the Bristol Bay landing strips I’m used to. The Kodiak airport doesn't have Wi-Fi, but it does have potable water, which is a much appreciated amenity.
My friend Ben was set to pick me up, and the sheets of rain outside made me happy that I wasn’t hitchhiking my way to town. This airport has one baggage belt and all 150 passengers were huddled around, anxiously waiting for their precious cargo. The week before, I had lived through a traumatic baggage experience and my fingers were crossed that my luggage made it. After some thirty minutes, my duffel finally appeared and I exhaled a sigh of relief.
Ben showed up, I hopped in his truck, and we slogged through the rain. The town of Kodiak has a rich history, and it is on full display the second you land. It's been a fishing town since humans first stepped foot here. Once the white folk showed up, that reputation didn’t change. In 2020, Kodiak brought in nearly 300 million pounds of seafood, valued at 84 million dollars (Alaska Economic Trends Magazine).
In addition to this fishing culture, Kodiak has dealt with two substantial natural disasters. First, the Katmai eruption of 1912, the largest volcanic eruption of the 20th century, covered the entire town in a foot of ash. The air was so thick with debris, residents couldn't see a lantern held in front of them at an arm’s length (The Great Eruption of 1912). More recently, the 1964 Good Friday earthquake devastated the town with a massive tidal wave, killing fifteen people. Kodiak was permanently altered after both events, and they have shaped the culture and history of this little fishing town.
As with most of my travels, it was fishing and the community it builds that brought me to this island. After moving to Bellingham, I fell into a wonderful group of people that I am grateful to consider my friends. This group of friends all grew up on Kodiak, and I am here to help some of them with their commercial fishing operation.
Ben and I arrived at his dad’s house, buried in the thick woods that swallow up parts of the island. The house was surrounded by every type of antler imaginable, a few giant skulls, the jawbone of a whale (this single bone is about eight feet long), a couple pieces of heavy machinery and more commercial fishing equipment than I would ever know what to do with.
We entered, and I had the pleasure of meeting Ben’s dad, George. He is a career fisherman that has spent more time on the ocean than on dry land. George is well over six feet tall, tough as nails and saltier than the ocean itself.
While I’m delighted to be at George’s house, this is not my final destination. I had a flight booked with the local air service, to a small community called Larsen Bay on the south end of the island. That is where I would spend the next ten days: catching fish, repairing nets, and loving every minute. The only problem is that the plane to Larsen Bay needs a high ceiling in order to fly, and the fog was thicker than pea soup. Thankfully, I had a backup option, which involved spending the night at George's house and riding to Larsen Bay on a sport fishing boat the following morning. This plan required me to troll for king salmon and jig for halibut during the journey. Therefore, I hoped the fog only got thicker.
Ben and I spent the day running around town doing errands and seeing the sights. As I had hoped, the fog never lifted, and I signed on for a skiff ride the next morning. What a shame.
After a much-needed night of sleep, morning came, and Ben and I left for the harbor. Sam, another Alaskan fisherman, met us there. He would be the skipper for the journey to Outlook Cove. We filled the boat up with fuel, a tote of supplies, some more passengers and made our way out of the tranquil Kodiak harbor. The seas were relatively calm, but just bumpy enough to keep things exciting.
Sam and I chatted as he discussed the history of Kodiak, rattled off the name of nearly every rock, and told colorful stories. We stopped in an area called Whales Pass to see if the fish were biting. King salmon were the target species and trolling was our tactic. Trolling involves dragging a few lines behind the boat while you motor ahead at a consistent speed. I love trolling if I can be part of the process. I have no desire to let someone else tie the knot, choose the lure and set the depth as I sit there and watch. Sam was happy to let me be involved, and I was beaming with joy. We dropped the downriggers to seventy feet, and within thirty seconds, had our first hook up: a thirty-plus-inch King that would be delicious for dinner.
We caught some more small kings, a few undersized rock fish, and a cod. We kept the cod for a fish fry and then moved to a new spot. Fishing slowed down a bit, but soon enough, we hooked another gorgeous King. With dinner secured, we pulled in the lines and made our way to Outlook Cove.
We arrived at camp to find that the weather on this side of the island was substantially better than the other side. The sun was shining, and a light breeze kept the relentless Alaskan bugs off our backs.
I am here at Outlook Cove, thanks to my friend Sydney, Sam’s daughter. Sydney manages her family’s set net operation and she asked if I wanted to help on her boat the Shake and Bake. I was delighted to join because the summer of 2024 was the first summer in a while that I was unable to make it for a full Alaskan summer. This ten-day excursion was all I would be able to swing, and I was elated to get on the water.
A set net is one of the many methods used to commercially harvest wild salmon in Alaska. Rules and regulations vary by location and target species, but the basic principles remain the same. A set net is a gill net strung up between two anchor points. At Outlook Cove, one end is tied to a giant boulder on the beach, and the other to a 150 lb. anchor in the water. The nets extends perpendicular to the beach and as the fish swim into the net they are caught. Our target species is sockeye (red) salmon, but we will end up catching a few pinks, chums and silvers as well. Oh, and plenty of kelp and jellyfish also come in with the net. The kelp is a pain in the ass to remove, and the jelly fish burn like hell when they splatter on the deck, spraying your face with their demented slime.
When working at a set net site, the majority of time is spent working the gear. This involves running the nets, picking the fish out, removing the kelp, and keeping the net clean. Fun fact, a clean net catches more fish than a dirty net. For the crew of the Shake and Bake, cleaning the net involves pressure washing the net at least once a day - twice a day when Sydney wants to punish the crew.
As we worked the gear, we put the fish in two ice-filled bins. The first bin contains fish that Sydney will sell directly to consumers through Kodiak Fish Co. If you want the best salmon imaginable, you can buy it from her here. The second bin is designated for the fish we will sell to the cannery, where they will be processed and distributed through their own channels. Sydney’s fish are all sold as fillets, so we make sure to select the prettiest fish. Yes, fish can be pretty, and Sydney sells the best.
After we separate the fish, we deliver them to a tender. This is a larger boat that will take fish from multiple set net operations before making the long journey to town to deliver. They weigh the fish and write a ticket for how much we delivered. These tickets will be conglomerated, and at the end of the season, Sydney will be paid a price per pound on the fish she delivered. The price for red salmon this year is fine at about ninety cents a pound.
Life on the Shake and Bake is good, and laughs are easy to be had. While not for the faint of heart, commercial fishing is an incredible way to spend your time. As with most things, the people are what makes it worth doing Anyone willing to do this task is at least a little crazy - in the best possible way. Most importantly, if you are considering a career on the high seas, I recommend a thick chin. There is no better place to chastise your fellow human than a fishing vessel. You better be ready to dish it out and take it in equal measures.
Camp life at Outlook Cove was luxurious. Sydneys mom, Doreece is a saintly woman who goes above and beyond to keep everyone well fed and warm. Some of the breakfast meals included sourdough pancakes, reindeer sausage, biscuits and gravy, and eggs cooked to order. Lunch was usually dinner leftovers (the best lunch you can have). It certainly helps when dinner featured curry, venison backstrap, octopus fritters, salmon, brats and countless other delicacies. Needless to say, I ate well.
While a hot meal after spending a day covered in fish slime and jellyfish guts is incredible, a banya will restore you to factory settings as a human being.
A banya is a mix between a sauna and a bathtub, and it is how one bathes at Outlook Cove. The banya is a small building that contains a wood-burning stove and a couple tubs of water. One tub, placed on top of the stove, contains scalding hot water, while another sits on a bench and contains cool water. Finally, there is an empty tub used to create warm water by combining the hot and cold tubs. The fire is stoked to the desired temperature, at which point you begin to sweat and splash the warm water over yourself. Next, you grab the soap, lather up and rinse off - much like your normal bathing routine. Length of time in the banya is up to the individual, but I am known for taking too long.
Not only can you clean the dirt off in a banya, you can also clean your soul. Spend twenty minutes in a room that is over 150 degrees, step out into the cool Alaskan air, take a few deep breaths, ideally jump in some cold water, then hop back in the banya and you might just meet God. Shit, it’s the closest I’ve ever been. The banya encourages you to take a second, breathe deeply, and think about absolutely nothing. When I buy a piece of land, a banya will be the first thing I build.
My time at Outlook Cove was incredibly fulfilling. The fishing, banya’s, food, and people are one of a kind. I feel grateful to have spent time there.
While the fish, bears, mountains and rivers of Alaska are incredible, I keep coming back because of the people. As I say frequently, the people make the place, and Alaska has the most lovely people. The Alaskans I’ve met are generous, self-sufficient, welcoming, honest, hardworking, and incredibly witty. I will continue to return whenever the opportunity arises. If you haven’t been, you must make it happen.
As someone who’s only dreamt of going to Alaska, I loved reading this. I’ve gotta get up there.
Was a little late to the party on this one, great work brotha, keep em coming! ❤️