Blood, Mud, and Saltwater: a guest piece!

I was blown away by this piece of writing from Linden Jones, who at 12 years old is already dealing with a serious fishing addiction. He has the writing talent to bring us all right into the deadly pluffmud with him! I hope you all enjoy this as much as I do. Thanks to Linden for allowing me to post his epic story!

Blood, Mud, and Saltwater
by Linden Jones

The jolt was unbelievable. I tripped over a sunken log (like the oaf I am) and fell to my knees. My head went underwater; when I came up again I spat out mud, crushed pieces of seashell, and a lot of water. I stood back up in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, knee deep in water and ankle deep in the deadly pluffmud. The sinister mud didn’t hurt you but it acted like dried cement when you stepped in it. I leaned back with my rod to pull the fish towards me.

To my surprise, it actually supported me. With another vicious tug, I saw a reddish-brown hump rise out of the water, glistening in the twelve noon sun. And I knew I had hooked a red drum.

And so it began…My knuckles turned white as fresh snow over the handle grip on my rod. I was jittering all over with the pure shock of this animal’s strength. And then it hit me.

I don’t want to lose this fish. I don’t want to go back to the house and have my cousins tease me about losing this fish. And then it was like I went deaf. I didn’t hear Dad yell. I didn’t hear Uncle Frank yell, “Fight ‘im, boy!” I reeled the line. And the fish knew that I had challenged him. With a pull that made me feel like a chew toy, and made my arms feel like rubber bands, the fish struck back.

I was yanked forward, but resisted long enough to pull back with the line. The rod and I had fused into one living, breathing warrior. My line, instead of the 12-pound test braid nylon, was now the lifeline that held everything together. I knew that if the lifeline snapped, I would drown in an ocean of insults. The fish knew this, too.

He made a run for an oyster bed, to cut the bond that tethered him to me and his lemon juicy, chili peppery, warm and steamy fate. I quickly cut him off with a technique that I only use for the strongest bass and the heaviest catfish. He was heading away (massive mistake) against the incoming tide and heading down. I pulled back with the tide and up diagonally, overwhelming him and pulling him one step closer to victory. I may be a rookie in salt water, but I am the fresh water master.

Fifteen minutes later, I was covered in blood, mud, and salt water. My arms and legs were sore, and my face burnt like an idiot who had tried to put out a fire with gasoline. And I was holding a red drum.

The Best Love Note Ever

I spent a couple weeks in Wainwright, Alaska this past November. I was taking part in a survey that asks how people share their foods, especially subsistence foods, with other in the community. Sharing is a major part of traditional Inupiaq life. Relative to modern 'white' norms, sharing of food is still very high. The act of gathering and harvesting local foods, and the preparation and consumption of these foods, is a major part of life in many parts of rural Alaska. The people in Wainwright, men and women, young and old, are amazingly warm. Kiara Bodfish, probably about 8 years old, wrote me a special note:

Living Fisheries rises from cyberspace hibernation!

Hi All,

The fishing adventures haven't declined, despite the lack of blog documentation! I keep planning to post new stories and to rekindle old tales, but time slips away from me...

The F/V Icky Thump, my 22' jet-black Tolman skiff, continues to allow me to search for halibut:

as well as salmon and crab (for the dinner table):

Being a flat-bottomed craft, she handles a heavy load well but is prone to making all hands on deck leave an inch shorter than when they stepped on deck, due to spinal compression. Heck, I was never good at basketball anyway. Since returning from overseas, we've had two good fishing seasons on the Icky Thump, injury-free and almost profitable! Much of the success of the past couple seasons is due to excellent deckhands, who double as friends and family:
Eben. Who says Vermonters don't take to the water?

My dad. In the 1970's, he lobstered out of a 14' skiff along the Maine coast. That makes 22' seem spacious!

Katie. A Kasilof (Alaska) native who has seined and setnet for salmon for many summers, and now works with subsistence fishing communities in northwest Alaska:

Two good friends in Homer made the transition from skiff fishing to a "real" boat. Skiff owners always take slight offense to this designation of 'real', but I think we all know what is meant. A foc'scle, steering station, and fish holds are 'real' treats that few skiffs afford! In recent years, Kyle and Emily have transitioned from the Galway Girl (a 22' V-hull Tolman), to Bong Hits For Jesus (a 26' fiberglass setnet skiff), and now to the Northland (a 32' Rawson gillnetter). Just when the bottom line of a fishing operation start to go from red to black, fishermen go and buy a new boat or a new engine! Who says passion follows logic?

You can follow the adventures of the F/V Northland up close and personal at their own direct-marketing venue:
http://emilyandkylescatch.wordpress.com/

I've made a few trips to a great community of 200 or so folks in the village of Nanwalek, located about 35 miles from Homer. Here's an idea of the layout around Homer/Nanwalek:

Subsistence fishing is a major part of life in Nanwalek- sockeye salmon, coho salmon, halibut, bidarki, and octopus. I'm fascinated by the use and valuation of octopus by the community. In industrialized ports like Homer and Kodiak, octopus is caught as bycatch (mostly by pot cod fishermen) and is used mainly for longlining bait. In Nanwalek and other remote communities in the Gulf of Alaska, octopus is hunted during low tides and is a highly prized delicacy used in special meals!


I visited the whaling community of Wainwright (Alaska) this November, located on the Arctic Ocean to the west of Barrow. This is a Alaska Native community where most of the meat consumed is harvested locally. Whale, seal, caribou, and bear are hunted, as well as lots of fish (mainly smelt, whitefish, cisco, char). Unfortunately, the timing of my trip didn't align with good smelt fishing or whaling season, but it was incredible to hear stories of recent harvests, and the region is beautiful.


I also migrated back to Maine for a while around the holidays and explored fisheries in the northeast, although most of this was shoreside 'research'- very different than jumping right into the gurry on deck. I did get the chance to turn over a few lobster pots one icy January morning with a new friend, Curt, in Portland Maine. Curt also recently made the shift from skiff fishing to a larger vessel with the entertaining name "Li'l More Tail". I think the name makes Curt cringe, but it can be bad luck to change a boat name. If it were me, I might take my chances with Lady Luck.


Hopefully I'll make the time to type up a rant or a tall tale more often this coming year, and maybe I'll get around to expanding on some of the above experiences. There's a lot to share about small-scale fishing!