Fishermen Find Fun During Slow Salmon Times

When we brush the dust off the water skis and the crewmen take turns carving through the skiff's wake before dropping into 45-degree water wearing just shorts, it's a sure sign that it's been a slow salmon season.

I married into salmon fishing three years ago. Since then, we've spent May through October at our setnet site in Uyak Bay, on the west side of Kodiak Island. This summer is my first experience with fishing closures lasting more than a day or two. In previous seasons, we worked nonstop all summer, with little time for hiking, building or gardening.

Because my husband grew up spending every summer at this site, he has never experienced the summer activities I considered childhood standards while growing up in the Interior. He has never mowed a lawn or chased swallowtails or ridden his bike from sunup to sundown for days on end. But coming to this life now, as an adult, I will never be as calm as he is driving the skiff, as good at spotting whale flukes and otters, or as comfortable leaving town for five months without missing ripe peaches, ice cream and summer road trips with the car windows down.

Over time, I have grown comfortable with the extremes of a fishing schedule. When pinks are heavy, the teapot whistles at 5 a.m. and the Alaska evening light almost makes our midnight dinners seem reasonable. At a setnet site, those long hours sometimes challenge the balance of work and family life. I don't get upset anymore at dinners that have lost all shape and color after cooking for hours while we waited for the tender to arrive.

This summer, fishermen around the bay have been taking skiff rides, firing up banyas, practicing guitar or talking about books over the radio. This year was the first time since I've been at our site that the Fourth of July setnetter picnic could actually be held on the Fourth of July.

I know I should be wishing for nets sunk with fish and pinks jumping abundant as rain. When fishing is your livelihood, you aren't supposed to appreciate a slow season. You check the weir counts, you ask your neighbors if they've heard anything or seen any jumpers. But for the first time, we spent leisurely August mornings together, drinking coffee and watching our 1-year-old run laps around the cabin. We had time to put up a swing on the front porch. The engines and nets are cleaner than they have been for years...

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See also Fishing for Alaska Salmon