Salmon Life

The fishing was slow and the sun burned the day into everyone’s faces. In the evening, as the tide went out and the water surge dropped, one line of salmon harvesters ran their nets as far out into the water as they could reach them, walking down a portion of the beach for a few hundred feet, stopping where the standing-and-waiting line began, then exiting the water to walk back up the beach to try again.

Wooden poles attached to existing net poles lengthened the reach of a net into the Kenai River. A woman in a wetsuit with flippers on her feet and a hooped net thrust below her into the river floated past the crowds, hoping to harvest. Everyone, with their different tactics and assortments of gear, was hopeful for a freezer full of red gold to carry them through the winter.

A salmon hit a net here, and another there, charging into the back of the nets with a force that released a rush of excitement for the fisher-person. The net was jerked to entrap the salmon in the chaos of the loose mesh and the fish was feverishly pulled to shore. Rocks came down on the sockeye heads, gills were pulled to bleed the salmon and back into the water went the net. Gulls hung in the wind, waiting for fish to be cleaned, dropping surprises on heads and shoulders. Bang! Another salmon rocked the net. Red gold.

The sun, low and golden, angled past Redoubt volcano toward Mount Susitna. Wind blew waves over waders onto harvesters cleaning their catches at the edge of the beach. The frenzy picked up, more fisher-people stumbled from the surf, their nets bouncing with salmon. More rock blows to the head, then they charged back into the surf.