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July 27, 2008
100 Buckets of Gravel
Almost without fail, July 4th marks the height of the red salmon run in Bristol Bay, Alaska. The week before is generally a daily build in the catch, and the weeks that follow are usually a gradual decline. The general curve held for this year's fishing. Our biggest day was a bit later than usual, and the "run" which some years means tens of thousands of pounds in one 24-hour period, never came with the force that yields a good harvest. Our overall catch was somewhat disappointing, but no one got hurt, the weather was mild, and Alden was not eaten by a bear. So I count it a successful summer.
Robbi and I stayed past the end of fishing this year to help Bob and Seiko pack up the compound. In addition to the usual chores, which I have described somewhat in earlier entries, we had, this year, the issue of the back deck of our cabin, and the fact that the winter freeze had caused frost heaves. Our deck was terribly uneven when Bob and Seiko arrived in May to set up camp. And so Bob dug enormous holes around the offending posts, that we might create a more stable mooring and thwart further heaves in future winters.
Bob in one of the holes.
How does one fill a big hole on the Alaskan tundra? Cement, you say. No sir. Up here, we use gravel. Which we have to harvest from the beach, shovel into buckets, load onto a cart, and haul up the hill with a four-wheeler.
Which does have a way of making one feel heroic.
But once up the hill, the work is not done. The gravel must be carried to the hole,
And poured in.
Bucket after bucket after bucket. Until finally, after many buckets, the holes are...
...nearly half full.
Being a not very mighty man, I could only haul twenty or so buckets in a day, and so the project stretched out across our final week. On the off days, I engaged in such pastimes as:
Introducing Alden to the pleasures of Dream Whip
Taking her for a number of rides on the tundra
Which I'm sure will make our pediatric social worker friend Veronica blanch.
But look at that smile, Veronica. See how much she likes it?
We hosted a gyoza (Japanese fried dumpling) party for some fellow fishermen.
They arrived in a very impressive car.
Which Alden politely requested to drive.
We made some smoked salmon (shown here drying (or glazing).
Here it is after five days in the smoke house, getting vacuum-packed for the trip home.
I taught Alden how to play Pinochle.
Correction: I taught Alden how to lose at Pinochle.
Turns out, I'm not much of a Pinochle player.
I spent three days in a state of stunning intestinal distress and, as a result, had to eat bread and water while everyone else ate extravagantly.
Watching lasagna being eaten by everyone but me was worse than my actual symptoms.
We monitored the activity of the grizzlies, who left ample evidence of their nightly gallivanting on our access road.
We found out that Alden is not yet ready to eat pickles.
I don't have photos of many of the more pedestrian things that occupied us that last week. Pulling in lines, cleaning and mending nets, changing oil and putting jacks on blocks, burning trash, and taking winter inventory of canned goods...these things are not photogenic. Not captivating blog-fodder like...photos of gravel.
I kept at it, bucket after five-gallon bucket, and as I poured the gravel from bucket 100, the final hole was filled.
I might actually have stopped at bucket 99, but why deny myself the poetry of the even hundred?
Iggy tried to take all the credit.
It rained for most of our last week on the tundra, and as many of the tasks at hand must be done outside, we kept playing Pinochle at my expense, waiting for a nice day. Finally, on the evening of our next to last full day we were growing desperate for some sunshine. Seiko took decisive action.
She summoned up this little dude (Teru Teru Bozu), a fellow who, according to Japanese lore, has the power to influence the weather.
Seiko sang a song to remind the Bozu of the terms of the deal: if the following day is sunny, the Bozu gets silver bells and sweet treats. If, on the other hand, it rains, the Bozu's head gets cut off.
And lo!
The next day there was sun.
We briefly debated whether or not to keep the silver bell for ourselves, but decided that it was wise to stay on the Bozu's good side, in case we had to call on him again.
The clear skies lasted most of the day, enabling us to finish most of our chores and even enjoy the sunset.
And the late afternoon sun on the stained glass window I made for Seiko's birthday a few years back.
And another, made by a friend of Maiko's, depicting the famous "run."
After nearly 40 hours of traveling, we finally made it home to Chestertown, relieved to be home and ready for bed, but not before attending to a few matters of personal grooming.
It's good to be back, but there is no time to rest. Volume 16 looms, hovering like a threat in the humid air of late July.
Posted by bogenamp at July 27, 2008 10:51 PM