Emerlad Bay: Departure

Location:
United States

Wildlife gray memories

By Marcus

Emerald Bay: Departure

A school of porpoises quickly scurry past our boat with such ease, the hopeful salmon run up the rocky weir, a lone seal feasts upon the spawning spectacle, a killer whale moves in to feed off the frenzied multitude; and, before us, he catapults straight out of the water, shades of shamu, again and again…

Bald eagles hover the open sea in lazy circles, looking for their sustenance, swoop down, rise, black crows and sea gulls toy with the former until the grand bird reaches a certain height, the latter scatter into seclusion, a lamprey eel pulled in to shore chasing bait, exposes his vile triangular titanium white teeth, the vibrant orange starfish rests her muscular foot long arms upon a rock two fathoms beneath the cold, COLD water.

Perched above in the rugged rocks, a huge brown bear swipes a rock bass we toss his way—inside the lodge rests a bear skin the owner’s son took down from mere steps away, the .357 magnum tears through the giant’s jaws, a story to live on through Emerald Bay’s mystique; and, yet his son cannot be outdone, leads us up the weir, sets camp, pulls in several rainbow trout, overnight protects us from a family of brown bears across the meadow across the meadow; and 5:00 AM, RAIN, RAIN, RAIN (when will there ever se sunlight?), I shake uncontrollably for hours, mild hypothermia eventually warmed by a blanket. Could this overnight trip end any sooner? The wild, so quiet, peaceful; so vast. (Where’s the Plane? I wanna go home).

Well, the end has come. No more dishes to wash just wood to gather for the firewood (try lifting parts of a pine tree that has rested in the ocean for a few days). And, just think, we had a party, the alcohol flowed, reminiscences of the damp, wet summer and “good-byes” to all the lodge’s gals and guys, people I would never see again. Oh, the next morning lifting the cut wood up the hill with a hangover—that was something. Never again will anyone have to worry about me trying to out muscle them on a job concern. With an enflamed lymph node just below my groin to boot, surely somehow I could find a way to catch a break. But no. We played, so now we all must pay.

After a full day of this, I had time to reflect. Just a week prior, a huge black bear (over six hundred pounds) broke into the solidly built salmon smoke house and made of with a good portion of the morsels. It is unconscionable to gauge this creature’s strength. A human-being would need an axe and a good twenty minutes to hit pay dirt.

The surroundings, so quiet, so pristine, the trees, the weir—strength hidden ever so carefully--I would be dead before I knew what hit me—these kings of the forest, bears, we humbly bow to their domain. Surely, we have tamed the frontier perhaps more than we will ever know. However, this quaint lodge resting beneath towering oaks and evergreens gave me faith that, yes, there will always be the huge bears and elusive wolves heedless of our laws and sweeping land development schemes.

Hark, the pontoon plane steers me back to Ketchikan, the bald eagle circle us, below us fishermen net out the spawning salmon areas.

It takes a roughneck to survive in this natural wonderland. The miners from Ketchikan and lumberjacks look for fights in the township’s saloons. I had spoken with a lumberjack after I had landed at the airport. Easily was I intimidated by his presence (please don’t hit me). But then again who really does win a fight?

Destination Sea-Tac and then onto O’ Hare. Oh god, it’s good to be heading home. And, I can’t believe I’m saying this—“Hi mom, dad, I love you. Man, it’s great to be home again…

Further Information

Travel tips: The real name is Yes Bay, Alaska. It is fifty nautical miles north of Ketchikan, Alaska. It is pricy. 1983 rates were 300 dollars per day lodging and fishing.

Must see/do at this place: The ocean and wildlife obviously. Poetry without words...

You should avoid here: Avoid your own ideas of fishing and the outdoors. allow the fishing guides help you out. a 150 pound halibut is ten time stronger than a human being, so respect your catch.