Bristol Bay Summer Page 9

  He set the raft down and hooked a fat cable from the winch on the front end of the truck to a metal ring at the top of the net, which stretched out into the water. Then he grabbed a big bag made of canvas mesh from the back of the truck and spread it out in the bottom of the raft. Finally, he tied a line from the raft around his waist.

  “Follow me,” he said, pulling the raft behind him.

  Thomas waded into the shallow water and Zoey followed behind. Her boots immediately filled with water. It felt a little cold but the neoprene feet of her waders kept her dry. Half walking, half sliding through the mud, she picked her way behind Thomas. Her foot hit a rock and she lurched forward. Thomas grabbed her arm.

  Why did she always have to look like an idiot around Thomas?

  “You don’t want to swim in that outfit if you can help it,” he said with a tiny smile. “In fact, those boots’ll pull you under if you fall in deep water, so make sure you can kick them off if you need to.”

  Pull you under? What had she gotten herself into? She took off a glove and trailed a hand through the water. It was like ice. She quickly dug her hand back into the glove.

  When the water reached Zoey’s knees, she could see salmon caught in the net, all silvery and some still moving!

  She was surprised at how big they were. Each was as long as her arm, right out to her fingertips, and nearly as big around as the thickest part of her leg.

  Zoey watched carefully while Thomas moved to the nearest fish and slipped two fingers under the sockeye’s gills. He twisted his arm so his palm faced the sky and the fish’s weight hung from his fingers. Then he eased the fish smoothly out of the net and tossed it into the canvas bag, which took up nearly the whole inside of the raft. It looked easy enough.

  Zoey focused on the ones still in the net. “I thought they were supposed to be red,” she said to Thomas because that was what she’d seen in the magazines.

  “That doesn’t happen until much later.” Thomas checked the rope tied from his belt to the raft that drifted alongside them.

  “Once they’ve made it past our net and everyone else’s, and fought their way up the stream, that’s when they really change. They’ll turn bright red. The females will lay their eggs and the males will fertilize them. Then, in a couple of days, they’ll die.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “I guess lots of things aren’t fair. But what are you gonna do?” He looked up at Zoey and shrugged his shoulders. “Your turn.”

  Zoey reached one hand into the icy water and grabbed a salmon’s head, then pushed two fingers of her other hand under its gill. Through the glove she could feel the thin membrane under the gills give way. The heavy fish shook twice.

  “It’s wiggling!” Zoey yelled, yanking her hands away from the fish. It fell back into the net, shook for a few seconds, then stilled.

  “That’s what we want. We don’t like ’em to drown in the net. And we want to keep the net as empty as we can so the new fish don’t get scared away.”

  That made perfect sense. What was she afraid of anyway? Zoey was determined not to look like a helpless city girl. She wasn’t afraid to touch fish. Her dad had taught her how to kill trout by hitting their heads on a rock and how to slide a knife smoothly up their bellies to the gills and then to pull the insides right out of the opening all at once. But she had to admit, those trout were nowhere near as big as these salmon. And they were not still moving.

  “Those teeth look sharp.”

  “You just have to be careful. And work fast.”

  Zoey tried again. This time she managed to get her fingers all the way under the gill cover. She twisted her arm the way she’d seen Thomas do it, and she discovered her fingers hooked naturally inside the gills. Unfortunately, she also discovered the salmon was too heavy to lift out of the net with one hand.

  “Now grab just in front of the tail with your other hand.”

  She yanked on the heavy salmon a couple of times with both hands, and finally heaved it up out of the net.

  “Hey, not bad,” Thomas said, smiling.

  Zoey was staring at the fish. Even on this overcast day, the sides of her salmon shimmered silver all the way from its nose to the end of its tail. The upper part of the salmon was darker, greenish-blue and kind of metallic.

  At that moment, the salmon thrashed wildly in her hands. Without thinking, she jerked away. The enormous fish flopped back into the dark water, outside the net this time, and disappeared.

  16

  Rulers of the World

  Don’t worry,” Thomas said with a laugh. “There’s plenty more where that came from. But don’t let Harold see you do that.”

  Zoey gritted her teeth. When it was her turn again, she slid two fingers under the gill cover, twisted, and held the fish solidly. Then she clamped her other hand just above the tail. This fish was not going anywhere but into that raft! Ignoring Thomas’s gesture of help, she managed to press the fish between her chest and the raft. Then she rolled and slid it up the side of the raft and in. It wasn’t pretty, Zoey knew, but it was in.

  Thomas reached over and pushed the fish into the canvas bag that lined the bottom of the raft.

  “Why do you have that big bag in there?”

  “It’s called a brailer. If you leave ’em loose in the raft, they tend to disappear.”

  “How long have you been doing this?” Zoey stood with her legs far apart, like Thomas. Immediately she felt more stable.

  “I guess I was out here as soon as I could walk.”

  By her fifth salmon, Zoey was finally able to get the fish out of the net and into the brailer without any disasters.

  The sticky mud sucked at her boots. With each step, she struggled to keep them on her feet.

  After about twenty minutes, Thomas raised his arm and shouted to his mom on the shore, “Okay, it’s ready.”

  The old Power Wagon moved backwards and the empty net in front of Zoey slipped through the water toward the beach. Carolyn stopped the truck and a new part of the net was beside them, full of fish.

  “Oh, I get it,” said Zoey. “The net is attached to the truck, and when your mom backs up, she pulls the net with her.”

  “Cool, huh?”

  They waded into the new supply of salmon.

  An hour later, they had reached the end of the net. Carolyn pulled the truck forward and the net slid back out to its original position.

  Dozens of small floats along the top of the nylon mesh stretched out toward the deeper water. Zoey figured the net could reach from one end of the big gym at her school to the other.

  She watched the small white buoys. “What keeps it from floating away?”

  “My dad set it all up years ago. The net is attached to a bunch of ropes and pulleys. Those two big stakes anchor it to the beach. Those are the deadmen. Like you saw in Naknek. Remember?”

  Zoey nodded her head and thought of Thomas’s joke about the dead fishermen. Between the mud, freezing water, heavy net, and thrashing fish, it seemed all too easy to become one of those.

  “Wow! You said Fish and Game was complicated, but this net is really complicated.”

  “That’s only part of it,” Thomas laughed. “Those white floats hold up the top of the net. And a string of weights called the lead line pulls down the bottom under the water. That holds the net open so the fish can swim into it.”

  Zoey tried to make sense of all this new gear, but felt like her head was beginning to swim, too. Then she noticed Carolyn had unhooked the net and moved the truck to a spot on the beach near them. Carolyn waved, turned, and walked up to the Quonset hut.

  Zoey and Thomas lugged the raft as close as they could to the truck. The cargo bed was full of gray plastic crates like the ones her mom stored winter clothes in, but bigger.

  Thomas pulled a crate down and opened it. “These are fish totes.” He began to toss fish from the raft into the tote.

  “Come on, Zoey. Here.” He tossed a fish to Zoey. It slipped out of her h
and and onto the sand where it flopped before she picked it up and slid it into the tote.

  “Hey, you’re learning. We gotta fill every one of these. Soon as we get a full load, Patrick’ll fly them into Dillingham to the processor.”

  Zoey picked up another fish from the brailer and heaved it into the tote.

  “That’s it.” He spun around and threw another salmon like it was a piece of firewood. He ran around behind Zoey, “Think quick!”

  Zoey turned just in time to grab at another flying salmon. This time she caught it but as soon as she steadied herself, Thomas ran up and pretended to guard her as if they were playing basketball. He grabbed the fish right out of her hands and threw it overhand into the tote.

  Zoey caught a glimpse of Harold up behind the generator shed. Thomas must have noticed too because he quickly got serious. “I guess that’s enough ‘fish ball’ for now. You like basketball?”

  Zoey shook her head.

  “I used to play with the JV team. Didn’t stick with it though. People around here get pretty crazy about basketball. It’s a long winter. There’s not much else to do.”

  Zoey wanted to ask him if he had played with his dad but changed her mind. Instead she said, “How much salmon do you think we got so far?”

  “The totes hold about a hundred and fifty pounds each.”

  They continued tossing salmon, gentler now, until the raft was finally empty. They had only filled two of the totes. At least twenty more were still stacked in the truck.

  “Now we get to start all over again.” Thomas turned toward the water.

  “Come on, let’s see what we caught while we were standing here.”

  Zoey followed him back out into the water and, sure enough, more salmon were stuck in the net. It had taken nearly two hours to pick the first wave of salmon, get them into the totes and reset the net, and she was ready for a break, but apparently that wasn’t how it worked here in Halfmoon Bay.

  By the time they had filled the raft a second time, the tide was out and most of the net lay limp on the mud. Zoey was done in. Every muscle in her body felt sore, especially her forearms. Her fingers were stiff from clamping down on flapping salmon tails, so she was glad Thomas didn’t try any more “fish ball.” She didn’t think she could lift one more sockeye.

  “Okay, Zoey, not much more we can do until the tide comes back in.” Thomas nodded toward the house, and they headed in for a break.

  Carolyn had been right to warn her about fish slime. The bulky clothing felt even heavier and definitely stinkier as Zoey shrugged herself out of the grimy rubber pants and let them fall on the ground near the door.

  Thomas looked at her without speaking. Zoey sighed and gathered up the smelly pile. She hung her jacket and pants on a hook by the door. Thomas rinsed off their boots and then the rest of the rubbery gear with a hose attached to a pump powered by the generator.

  Inside, Carolyn gave them peanut butter sandwiches and hot tea. Zoey wondered if people ever ate anything besides fish and peanut butter in Bristol Bay. Today, though, she had no complaints, especially when Carolyn produced a bag of Oreos.

  After lunch, Zoey sank into a tattered chair in a corner and entertained herself looking at pictures in a magazine printed three years before she had been born. Thomas and his mom went out back to check on the drying salmon that would be part of their subsistence fish, food for the family when winter came. Zoey was asleep when Carolyn shook her gently to say the tide was rising.

  It was time to pick the net again.

  This time Zoey didn’t lose as many salmon and was quicker at untangling them from the net. She took her gloves off to push her hair out of her eyes.

  “Thomas, did you know Patrick last summer?”

  “Not really. I saw him around Dillingham, but he didn’t haul for us last year. We used the Power Wagon to drive the fish along the beach to Etolin Point. It took too much time though, and just about ruined our truck. We didn’t make much money that way. Patrick’ll cost us, but we can sell a lot more fish, so it should be worth it.”

  Zoey nodded.

  He looked at her with an intensity that made Zoey squirm. “You seem really mad at him sometimes.”

  She was surprised he had noticed. “I don’t know. Until my mom met him, we had a pretty normal life. But that wasn’t good enough for Patrick. He had to drag us out to ‘the real Alaska’.” She said the last three words with an edge that shocked her.

  “It’s the only Alaska I know,” Thomas said quietly.

  “Haven’t you ever wanted to live somewhere else?”

  Thomas just shrugged.

  Zoey was about to ask Thomas how his dad had died, but at the same moment she lost her balance in the mud. She struggled to stay upright, but her feet went out from under her and she fell backwards. Instantly, she felt the heavy, cold water press in on her body. Icy rivulets leaked in through tiny holes in her waders. She held her breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and braced herself.

  Just before she went completely under, something tugged on her suspenders. Thomas had her. His grip steadied her until she was able to get her feet underneath her again. She jammed her boots into the ground, grabbed Thomas’s arm, and pulled herself up. Without thinking, she looked directly into his eyes.

  She wondered if she’d ever find her balance again. “Thanks.”

  “No big deal. You might have to do the same for me sometime.”

  Zoey doubted that would ever happen, but it was nice to hear. She was thankful for the borrowed fishing gear. Without it she would be soaking wet.

  By the end of the day six totes full of salmon sat side by side on the beach. Almost a thousand pounds to sell! Harold met them as they came in. He looked pleased. “Another week, you’ll more than double that, but it’s okay for a start. Hard work, huh? When Thomas was little I told him it would make him a man. Seems to be working!” He threw an arm over Thomas’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry, Zoey, we’ll break you in slow.” He laughed.

  Harold was joking, but Zoey felt a stab of fear. If this was slow, fast would be crazy! She had never worked so hard in her whole life and everything ached. Her arms. Her fingers. Her neck. Even her legs ached from tramping through the endless mud. Still, though she would never have admitted it to anyone, she liked knowing she had done as much as her body could do.

  After carefully watching how Thomas did it, Zoey rinsed her rubber gloves with the hose while they were still on, then removed them and slapped them together to get off more of the sticky fish scales. Her pruney hands looked about a hundred years old.

  When she looked up, she saw Eliot hurrying toward her along the beach.

  “How did it go? Did you get lots of fish? Mom was going to come with me but she made it to the creek and said she felt sick. I’m supposed to come get you. I’m not sick anymore.”

  Zoey could tell. She pointed to the full totes of fish, then waved her shriveled hands at her brother.

  “I’m Crab Woman.” She teetered toward him, her arms outstretched. “Look out Raven Boy or I’ll throw you in the chowder with the salmon.”

  Eliot shrieked, ran a few steps, then stopped and giggled. “Raven Boy and Crab Woman. Rulers of Bristol Bay!”

  “Rulers of the world!” Zoey cried as they shook their fists in the air and ran down the beach toward their own camp.

  17

  Bag Balm

  That night, carrying the jug of water from the stream to camp was almost more than Zoey could manage. Her raw hands hurt just gripping the handle.

  Patrick cooked up the rest of the salmon Harold had given them. Zoey tried to eat, but fish eyes kept staring up at her from the plate. She only got down a few bites. Eliot ate every morsel. He was still full of energy, and except for a runny nose, he showed no sign of having been sick.

  In the end, Patrick cleaned Zoey’s plate for her. “Never waste wild fish or game. It’s not respectful.”

  Zoey was not in the mood for another lecture from Patrick, but she had never thought
about showing respect for her dinner. “What’s so special about fish? I’d trade it all for a 7-Eleven.”

  “It’s an old custom in the real Alaska and a strong one.”

  Zoey knew by now the “real Alaska” meant “not Anchorage.”

  “People who live in Bush Alaska depend on fish and caribou, berries, and other wild food. The custom is to show respect for the animals—never take more than you can use.”

  Zoey felt something slip inside. Before she could think, it popped out. “You know, you’re not the only animal expert in the world, Patrick. My dad fishes and hunts with a bow and arrow. He shows more respect than you ever could flying around in your little airplane.”

  Zoey’s mom called from the sleeping area, still sick. “Can’t you guys be friends?” She walked shakily to the Coleman stove and put the teakettle on.

  “We’re fine,” Patrick answered. “How do you feel, babe?”

  “I think I’ll live. But I want you all to double your vitamin C dose. Too many weak immune systems around here. How are things over at the fish camp?”

  Zoey held up her wrinkled hands. “They still hurt.”

  Her mom sniffed. “Even with my stuffy nose I can smell that. Did either of you wash your hands before dinner?”

  Eliot had already left the table and was rolling on the floor with Lhasa.

  “You and the dog outside,” she said. “There’s not enough room in here for you and your new-found energy.”

  Eliot grabbed his jacket and opened the tent flap. His mom picked up his wool hat and threw it to him.

  “Run around the tent a few times, but don’t go far,” said Patrick.

  Zoey sighed. “I’m taking my fishy hands to bed, and if anyone has a problem with that, too bad.”

  “It might not be a problem now,” Patrick said, “but when a big grizzly bear tries to share your sleeping bag because your hands smell like dinner, you might change your mind.”