The King Air 350i lumbered down the runway of Sea-Tac International on its way to Sitka, Alaska. Arguably, the best salmon fishing port in the US.
I arrived on an American Airlines flight from NY, dressed in jeans, a heavy sweater, and a water-proof windbreaker from Orvis. There was a Signature Flight Support van waiting for the short trip to their terminal and my connection with the twin prop King. I’ll spend the next five days in a fishing lodge on a small island off the Alaskan coast, reachable by float plane from Sitka. My hosts are prominent cotton ranchers from California and Arizona. Five guys that have hunted and fished together for most of their lives.
The owner of the King Air made his fortune in cotton, but in recent years had diversified into wine grapes he sold to the best wineries in the Napa Valley.
The produce of those grapes was nestled in four cases of Silver Oak Cabernet Sauvignon, priced near $300. a bottle at retail and our beverage of choice for the next five days.
The float plane landed on the leeward side of the island. There was a slight chop, enough to splash the windows as we touched down and taxied to the dock.
The lodge was a family affair. The captain and his son ran the boat, his wife and daughter-in-law ran the kitchen.
We left the dock at 6am after waffles, eggs, ham, maple syrup and sourdough toast covered with home churned butter and marmalade. The coffee beans were flown in from Seattle, ground to perfection for the drip style percolator that never seemed to run out. This was not a meal a cardiologist could love.
On board the thirty-three-foot skiff, we managed the cold Alaskan morning by staying in the cabin with space heaters and a case of Silver Oak. I wasn’t in the habit of drinking wine at six in the morning, but some habits are fungible. I soon discovered this was one of them.
Our host set the agenda for the trip. We would play gin rummy in the cabin and drink Seattle coffee with a Silver Oak chaser. On the third hand we forgot about the coffee, and let the dog do the fishing, yes, The Dog!
She was a non-descript mongrel, who responded to the first mate’s orders like a raw recruit to a drill sergeant. Her name was Sitka, not original but appropriate for a fishing boat off the Alaskan coast.
Two lines trolled off the stern and two from the outriggers. We stayed in the cabin. When there was a hit, Sitka barked, and one of us would leave the warmth of the cabin, the card game, and the wine to catch the fish. Not very sporting, but efficient. The mate, Jeff, handled the gaff, took pictures, and started cleaning and gutting. The guts were thrown over the side as chum and the fisherman; I use that word loosely, would head back to the warmth of the cabin for more gin rummy and cabernet.
Our host would let out a deep belly laugh and exclaim that this was his idea of an Alaskan fishing trip in late November.
When we returned to the dock, the coolers overflowed with fresh salmon and haddock. The card players had their fill of cabernet and were ready for a late morning nap.
Memories are ephemeral, they fade with age. The facts are there, but the important things, impressions and feelings are gone.
If I had kept a journal, or better yet, audio recordings of my eclectic life, this memoir would have been easier. I have tried to do everything that life gave me. I never hesitated.
Jack Kerouac said it best:
“Because in the end, you won’t remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing the lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain,”
Episode 14
DAVOS, CH
The World Economic Forum-1994
We arrived in Davos after a three-hour train ride from Zurich. Our compartment sounded like an open session of the United Nations without translation. What struck me was the multilingual ability of our conductor. He was fluent in most of the languages and dialects and could make change in as many currencies.