Bristol Bay Summer Read online

  24

  Dillingham

  You about ready?” Patrick asked the next morning after breakfast. “We don’t want to miss lunch at the Muddy Rudder.” He said it with a big grin. Zoey wasn’t sure she even wanted to go inside a restaurant by that name. Another one of Patrick’s plans. But she had to admit, it was nice of him to offer to take them into Dillingham for a “personal tour.” Whatever that meant.

  Zoey was up for a change of scenery, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to get back into the little airplane. And she wanted to be very careful with her hard-earned money. She might need every dollar.

  When they reached the plane, Harold and Thomas had already loaded it with fish totes. Patrick checked the oil and fiddled with the radio. Zoey and Eliot would share the passenger seat because the back was completely full of fish. Patrick lifted Eliot in, and Zoey grabbed onto the wing support and pulled herself up. She strapped the seat belt around them both.

  “I wish I was going with you,” said Zoey’s mom.

  They had discussed all of them going, but they knew there wouldn’t be room with all the fish. Peak season, fish took priority. And Zoey’s mom had already been to Dillingham lots of times. It was their turn.

  Zoey’s mom blew them a kiss and then—oh, brother!—she tipped her face up and got a kiss from Patrick. Zoey was getting used to Patrick being around all the time, but seeing him kiss or hug her mom still made her feel creepy.

  Patrick climbed into the pilot’s seat and put on his headphones. He checked to see if anyone was close to the plane, then yelled, “Clear prop,” and turned the starter key.

  They sat there a minute while the engine warmed up. Patrick went through a checklist. All Zoey could see was a piece of it. He checked off “rudder,” and “ailerons.”

  They taxied down the beach picking up speed. Zoey strained to catch a glimpse of Thomas, but he didn’t seem to be around. Like that first takeoff in Anchorage, Zoey tried not to be scared, still she held her breath until the plane lifted into the air.

  The little campsite shrank quickly as they rose. The last thing she saw was her mom waving. Just when she thought she wouldn’t get to see him, Thomas came running out the door of the Quonset hut and waved too. As Zoey raised her hand to wave back, Patrick dipped a wing, and Zoey gasped. Instead of waving, she clenched the door post. The plane leveled off, then rose a little higher and steadied. They were on their way.

  Patrick spoke into the microphone. The engine was too loud for Zoey to hear him, but he had told her earlier that he usually called the flight service station to check the weather.

  She relaxed a little and watched out the window for bears or anything else interesting. Patrick pointed ahead. Several caribou, heads down, grazed on whatever they ate out there in the tundra. Their antlers were huge, branching in all directions, but so graceful. Eliot stayed awake the whole way, even though it was hard for him to get his head high enough on the window to look down.

  Zoey thought about the crazy summer so far, her summer in Bristol Bay. Just over a year ago she was still with her dad in Colorado. Bristol Bay didn’t even exist for her then, and neither did Patrick and his airplane. Zoey sighed.

  Sooner than she expected, Patrick pointed out the window on Zoey’s side of the plane and shouted, “There’s the Nushagak River.”

  The plane made a left turn, and a minute later Zoey could see the airport landing strip stretched out near the bank of the wide river. Nearby was a large boat harbor, mostly empty, and a string of long buildings at right angles to the water’s edge. Those must be fish processors, like in Naknek. Several fishing boats plowed their way up the river, their bows pushing white waves toward either shore.

  Patrick had been talking through the microphone all the while.

  The plane dropped abruptly and Zoey gripped the door post again.

  “Just air pockets,” Patrick said, “nothing to worry about.”

  He leveled the plane off and brought it smoothly down to the runway. “Slick as a banana peel,” Patrick said, grinning at Zoey and Eliot.

  They pulled in near the tiny terminal building, and Patrick stopped the engine.

  Eliot pointed to the microphone. “Can I try it?”

  “Sure. I probably should’ve shown you this before we took off. Out here this VHF radio is a lot more useful than a telephone. See that little button? You push it if you want to talk and take your thumb off to listen. I’ll switch it off for now though. We wouldn’t want to give a false alarm.” He flipped a switch on the dash. “If you ever need to use the radio, the first thing you say are the numbers on the side of the plane. Those are our call numbers. See, I wrote them here on the instrument panel when I first got the plane so I wouldn’t forget. You do it like this.”

  He pushed the button down with his thumb. “This is Cessna N53079. Then you give your location, like five miles east of Dillingham. If you don’t know exactly, just say near Dillingham or Halfmoon Bay.” Patrick handed the mic to Eliot.

  Eliot held it and smiled at Patrick.

  “Go ahead. It’s okay.”

  “This is Cessna N5 … what is it?”

  Patrick said, “N53079.”

  Eliot repeated the number then added, “This is Eliot.”

  “That’s right. Now you say ‘Over’ and lift your thumb off the button and listen to see if someone answers.”

  Eliot said, “Over.”

  “I want to try,” said Zoey. Eliot handed her the mic.

  “This is Cessna N53079. Can you hear me? Over.” She grinned at Eliot. “What is it they say in the movies when they’re in big trouble, like about to crash?”

  “Mayday, mayday,” Patrick answered. “That’s the pilot’s code for ‘help.’ You never say that unless it’s a real emergency.”

  “Mayday, Mayday. I’m being held prisoner at the Muddy Rudder. Save me! Over.”

  Eliot laughed.

  “There’s another radio, by the way, a little handheld that doesn’t have to be hooked to the plane. I keep it in the pouch behind my seat for emergencies,” Patrick explained. “And while we’re at it,” he put his hand on the steering wheel, “even though this thing helps steer the plane, it also raises or lowers it. It’s called the control yoke. Got it?”

  Zoey nodded and added another new term to her mental dictionary. Lead line, “real” Alaska, deadman control yoke, there seemed to be no end to new words out here in Bush Alaska.

  After Eliot had another turn with the radio, they climbed out of the plane and Patrick walked them to the side of the terminal. They were met by two bearded, long-haired men who looked like they hadn’t washed in weeks.

  “Hi, John, Mike.” He nodded at them. “Zoey and Eliot, these guys will take the fish to the processing plant.”

  The two men backed a nearby van up to the plane to transfer the totes. Patrick led Zoey and Eliot to the parking lot where they boarded an old gray pickup truck.

  “Where’d you get this?” asked Zoey.

  “It’s the Gambles’. It barely runs, but they leave it here for when anyone comes into town.”

  They had driven only a few minutes when they reached a long, low building with a big sign that said “Peter Pan Seafoods.” Outside one end sat several huge trucks. Patrick pulled up at the other end near a big opening like a barn door, and they got out.

  The smell of fish was strong, but not unpleasant. The noise was deafening. They all put fingers in their ears. Inside, long lines of people dressed in rubber aprons, boots, and gloves worked over conveyor belts. Patrick pointed to a belt carrying box after box full of glistening orange fish eggs. The sides of the boxes were marked with Asian symbols. Farther back in the enormous room, Zoey could see huge iron tanks lying on their sides.

  “Those fish eggs are called ikura. They are the most valuable part of the fish, and they’re headed for Japan,” Patrick shouted so they could hear over all the activity.

  Zoey remembered the trout eggs in Colorado. Their dad said it was roe and used it for bai
t, but sometimes he fried it in batter. She and Eliot called it “fishy popcorn” even though it didn’t taste at all like fish or popcorn. It was one of her favorite snacks.

  “And back there, those big tanks are called ‘retorts.’ They’re like big pressure cookers. After they put the salmon in cans, the cans get cooked in there so they are ready to eat when someone opens them.”

  Zoey couldn’t believe it took all these people and all this equipment to make those little cans of salmon.

  “Why is everything so big?” Eliot asked.

  “Because they have to can tons and tons of fish in just a few weeks. It won’t be long and all this will be closed down until next year. Those salmon come when they’re ready, and then it’s over.”

  “What happens to all the cans after they’re cooked?” Eliot asked.

  “They put them in boxes and put the boxes in big container trucks like the ones parked outside. The containers go on ships that travel all over the world.”

  Patrick cocked his head and moved toward the door.

  Outside, Zoey said, “So when we catch fish at the Gambles, this is where it goes?”

  “This is it. There are other canneries and fish processors in Dillingham, and you saw the ones in Naknek. They’re in other towns, too. But it works out best for the Gambles to sell their fish here.”

  They got back in the truck, and Patrick drove through the main streets of Dillingham. The town was a lot bigger than Naknek, more buildings and more roads, but otherwise it wasn’t that different. They pulled into the parking lot of N&N, the Dillingham general store.

  Zoey patted the money in her pocket. Three hundred dollars plus the twenty from Nana and Papa and twenty more she had brought from Anchorage. She had never had this much money at one time. It really might be enough for an airplane ticket to visit her dad. Across the parking lot, she saw it.

  A pay phone.

  They got out of the car and Zoey said, “I’ll catch up. I’m going to call Bethany. I have enough money.”

  “Hope she’s there. We’ll see you inside.” Zoey raced to the booth and grabbed the phone book that hung inside … Alaska Airlines … There it was. She dialed the number and waited. After several announcements and a few holds, a woman came on the other end.

  “Alaska Airlines. How may I help you?”

  “How much is a one-way ticket from King Salmon to Denver?” Zoey knew the only way she could get back to Dillingham was with Patrick, and that would be tricky. But she might be able to get Thomas to take her to Naknek. And from there to King Salmon was only a few miles of road.

  That was Zoey’s plan. If she could get to Denver, she could find Uncle Rob, her dad’s brother. She had his address. She could stay there, and they would know where her dad was.

  “You would have to change planes in Anchorage and again in Seattle, but there’s a daily connection that leaves King Salmon at ten forty. I can tell you how much that would be. Just a moment please.”

  Zoey’s mind raced. She’d never traveled alone on a plane before but she was sure she could figure it out.

  “That would be three-hundred fifty-seven dollars, if you buy the ticket on the same day you travel,” the woman answered.

  She almost had enough! “Great. Can I buy the ticket there in King Salmon?”

  “You can buy a ticket at the counter there, and they can book you all the way through.”

  “Thank you.” Zoey hung up.

  Next payday would do it. Now she just had to figure out a way to get back to Naknek. She walked into N&N and an immense feeling of power took hold of her. Time to reward herself for all her hard work. She could spare enough money for a small treat. Something to remind herself that there was a world out there waiting for her. A world that didn’t smell like fish.

  She smiled. She was going to see her dad!

  25

  So Many Fish

  Inside N&N were shelves and shelves of fishing gear, clothes, groceries, and toys. While Patrick gathered supplies, Eliot picked out a red Tonka truck. Zoey started to reach for bubble bath, then realized there was no place to use it. She finally found some pretty barrettes for her hair and then decided they needed a pack of Uno cards for the rainy evenings.

  When they all met at the cash register, Patrick asked, “Did you reach her?”

  For a moment Zoey didn’t know what he was talking about. Then she remembered: Bethany. “Uh, no … she wasn’t home.” She wasn’t used to lying and was surprised how easy it was.

  “That’s too bad. Maybe you could try again before we head back.”

  Zoey noticed Jiffy Pop on a display rack.

  “Can we make popcorn on the Coleman stove?” Zoey asked.

  “I don’t see why not.” Patrick dropped two containers in the cart.

  The lady at the cash register smiled at Zoey when she gave her the change for her purchase. She was wearing a baseball cap and rubber boots, like just about everyone else Zoey had seen in Dillingham.

  Back outside, Patrick said it was time for lunch. Then they’d have to get back. There might be another load of fish.

  The Muddy Rudder looked like a cross between a warehouse and a grocery store. But when Zoey stepped inside, it smelled a lot better than either of those.

  After devouring the meal, Zoey decided her hamburger was the best she had ever had. On their way out, the waitress said, “I have something for you two.” She reached into a bowl near the cash register and pulled out two little plastic figurines. “These are billikens. Rub their bellies and you’ll have good luck. Extra good luck for you because they’re a gift.” She placed one in Eliot’s hand, another in Zoey’s.

  It was kind of a baby toy, with a shock of plastic hair on its head and oval eyes that made it look like a goofy version of a Buddha statue. Still, Zoey wanted to be polite.

  “That’s really nice of you. Thanks.”

  Eliot chimed in. “Yeah, thanks!”

  “Nice kids you got there.” The waitress waved at Patrick as they pushed out the door.

  Zoey had to stop herself from explaining to the waitress that she and Eliot were not Patrick’s kids. Patrick was not her dad. She was not here by choice, and soon she was going to do something about all of that.

  Patrick encouraged Zoey to try her phone call once more. This time she really called Bethany, and Bethany really wasn’t there.

  After they were all strapped in the airplane, but before he turned the engine on, Patrick spoke to the tower again.

  “Dillingham Radio, this is Cessna N53079 with a flight plan. Over.”

  He listened through the headphones then spoke again.

  “Dillingham to Halfmoon Bay, one hour en route, three hours of fuel, and three souls on board. Roger 079, copy flight plan.”

  When they were airborne, Patrick took a different route so they could see all the activity out on the water. They followed the Nushagak River down to the mouth where it met Bristol Bay. All along the riverbank, Zoey could see setnet sites just like Thomas’s. Beyond where the river emptied into the Bay in a wide, muddy fan, what seemed like a hundred fishing boats jockeyed for position. Patrick cruised low enough for them to see the white floats of the nets strung out behind the boats like long tails.

  A half hour later, Zoey recognized their beach below. It was hard to believe this was their home. The little camps looked so tiny and unimportant. Once more her stomach flipped like a pancake as they dropped lower. A few seconds later they landed on the beach, and Patrick taxied up to the place beyond the Gambles where he always parked the plane. He shut the engine off, and they sat there a minute.

  “Did you see all those driftnetters out on the Bay?” asked Patrick.

  “I couldn’t believe how many there were,” Zoey said.

  “According to the Fish and Game reports, last year they caught more than two million sockeye each day in Bristol Bay at the peak of the season. More than any other place on the planet.”

  “I can’t even imagine that big a number,” said Zoey.r />
  “You think that’s big, some years they catch more than forty million fish in a summer.”

  So many fish!

  Zoey wondered out loud, “What if they catch too many salmon, and there aren’t enough to get up the river and lay eggs? I know you said Fish and Game keeps track of the escapement, but I don’t get how they do it.”

  “That’s the biologists’ job. They have people actually counting fish in the streams where they know they spawn. They watch those escapement numbers real close. Not enough salmon makin’ it upstream? No fishing allowed.”

  Eliot piped in, “How many fish does it take to cross the road?”

  “I don’t know, Eliot,” said Patrick. “How many?”

  “Too many!” Eliot laughed as if it was the funniest joke in the world. For Zoey and Patrick it was, and they all laughed together. For a moment, all of Zoey’s problems disappeared. She realized that, except for a few times with Bethany, she hadn’t really laughed all year.

  Later that night, after Eliot had gone to bed, Zoey stayed in the tent with her mom shuffling the new Uno set. Patrick was already asleep.

  “Zoey, what are you going to do with your money from this summer? You might end up with five or six hundred dollars.”

  “I’m still thinking about it.”

  “Maybe you should think about saving it for college. Or maybe art school, if you want.”

  “How much are you and Patrick going to make?”

  “Enough to pay the rent all year and then some. Maybe we can go for a little vacation before school starts. We could go see Nana and Papa in Juneau.”

  Zoey shuffled some more. “Mom, what if you and Patrick break up?”

  “What a thing to say! Why would we do that?”

  “You broke up with Dad.”

  “That was different.”

  “Why did you make us leave Dad? All you ever told me is that you fought. But everybody fights. I don’t get it.”