On the Dock

A view of the dock occurred even before we arrived at camp. Towards the end of the drive, when the road took the last right turn, where the road just about met the southern tip of the pond edge, we could look out the car windows, through a gap in the trees to see if anyone was visible across the water and already on the wood structure: a form, a shape—maybe sitting or standing.  Was someone there? Who was it? 

My brothers and I would try to bolt out of the car once we parked.  We wanted to swim, go boating, grab our fishing rods and tackle boxes, and head straight for the pond.  Mom and Dad had to direct us to help unload the car first of the bags of dry food, cooler, clothes, and other items we brought for the weekend.  

The walk from the cabins to the water suspended a mystery of who else may be there already.  We would listen as we made our way, usually with bare feet darting over roots, rocks, and pine needles.  We did not have a good view until we finally turned around the rhododendrons, blueberry bushes, and pines.  If our great-grandfather was there already, then there was a chance he may be completely naked as he enjoyed sunbathing in the nude when he was alone—more than once, we came upon him, surprising everyone.  When Dad could, he would lead us by several paces just in case to warn his grandfather of our arrival and the kids coming.

The dock was painted a light grey.  It had a major area for sitting and laying out in the sun and, on its South end, a narrow extension with three slips for boats.  On its North side was a sandy beach area where people would enter the water to swim, or adults would place a chair into the water to cool their feet. 

This was where multiple events happened simultaneously during the day—sunbathing, reading, talking, shucking corn or peapods, and fishing.  This was where people often first greeted each other when they arrived.  Those already present would be busy in their conversations, swimming, or taking a nap, and then some new people would come walking down, and there would be a big greeting…  

“Oh, you’re here!” (Hugs, handshakes) “Hello! Hello!”  

“How are you?  You’re still in school at…

“Are you still working for….”

“How’s your vacation? Where else have you gone? 

“How was the drive?”  

“Well, look how much they’ve grown?!”  

The adults most always had lots to talk about and catch up on while the kids looked awkwardly at each other, trying to reconnect for a few moments before heading to the water, boats, and different ideas of fun.  

This dock was the first place for many people to learn to fish.  How to tie on a hook, put a worm on a hook, cast and retrieve your line, and take the fish off the hook.  And the fishing could be about any time of day, except when many people were around.  Then it was a little dangerous swinging fish hooks and the fishing person had to find another spot or go off in a boat.  

Just being in the sunshine was something to enjoy.  Since the rest of the land around the pond was shaded by pines and hardwood trees, people liked getting out onto the dock and being warmed by the sun.  Often, books were read, magazines were looked at, dragonflies were watched, or a person held their head over the edge looking into the water to watch the pond life of insects, fish, and plants.  It was where a person could ‘just sit’, think, dream, talk and take a good nap on an afternoon.  

Naturally, being a dock, it was most connected to the water. All day, boats would come and go as people took turns taking them out to enjoy the pond. As the day wore on and the sun got hotter, more swimming would take place, leading to towels everywhere: on chairs and a bench, on the tabletop, over handrails, and, of course, lying across the wooden floorboards. The dock did a beautiful job of bringing us all closer to enjoying the water.

Often, after summer dinners, people would put on pants, maybe a sweatshirt, and other clothing, depending on the weather and how bad the mosquitoes were, and head down to the dock to watch the sunset.  As the colorful clouds gave way to darkness, we would watch the fish jumping into the evening for their evening meal.  If the insects in the pond were hatching and trying to fly off from the water's surface, hundreds or even thousands of fish would be feasting on the bugs.  Watching so many fish rings being made on the pond's surface was amazing.  As the stars came out, we would look and learn about constellations, wish upon stars, and have conversations.  Eventually, the mosquitoes would get bad enough to drive us back to the cabins for more conversation, board games, card games, or other activities.   

A space can be special, even a small one like a pond dock.  It can help bring people together to share experiences, provide a place to talk about life and living, or just be together in the same space and time.  The dock at the pond did this for our family, friends, and much more.  

Two weeks with Alaskan Fishermen

Alaska, commonly refer to as, “the final frontier”… where wildlife is in abundance, the breathtaking views of nature are everywhere, and the opportunity to explore is at your feet. I had heard many stories told by my friend, Norm, a commercial fisherman, about his life in Alaska, his adventures, the unexpected encounters with grizzly bears and the many times he just tried to survive in the wild. Norm loves the sea and being outdoors, and he’s the sort of person who inspires anyone around him.  Hearing of his experiences, I imagined what Alaska might be like and what commercial fishing is all about.  Then late in the Spring of 1993, he asked if I would like to accompany him and his son Mike in motoring his fishing boat 1,000 miles from Seattle to Alaska and then spend a week fishing for halibut. With a duffle bag of a few essentials, some books and changes of clothes, I was ready. 

Docked at the Fisherman’s Terminal in Seattle for the Winter, Norm’s thirty-two foot long fishing boat, was ready for its annual journey. The cabin was made pretty comfortable with a diesel burning cook top, a seating area with table (see the image to the right of Norm and me), some cabinets for food storage and carpet. Foam insulation covered the engine compartment to muffle down the roar of the diesel motor, which was still pretty deafening.

Ear plugs had to be worn throughout the day. And to make life a little more interesting, there was no bathroom on the boat, except for a bucket and roll of toilet paper. It wasn’t quite the comfort of home but an upgrade in commercial fishing standards compared to other boats Norm had been on, where the thinking typically is “If it doesn’t help in catching fish, it isn’t needed.”

(Norm-right and me inside his boat)

It was a sunny Saturday morning with calm water as Norm and I cast off from the Fisherman’s terminal. The journey to Alaska was going to be slow and steady at 12 knots per hour for about 1,000 miles. The plan was for us to take the boat north to Bellingham (about 70 nautical miles) to rendezvous that night with his son, Mike.  From there, Mike and I would pilot the boat the rest of the way to Juneau, Alaska. The voyage will take us approximately seven days. Once arrived, Norm will fly up to meet us. 

After a good night’s rest in Bellingham, early the next morning I was awakened when the engine roared to life as Mike piloted us out of the marina.  I stayed in my sleeping bag listening to water pounding down on the deck above me.  The sound of water splashing outside was throughout the cabin as each wave hit the bow of the boat and sea water pushed down on the deck and up and over the cabin windshield.  I got myself out of my bunk.  The start of day two had begun with us leaving the safe, calm marina and heading out into open waters with white cap waves and blowing winds.  I took some comfort in seeing Mike being calm and focused as I felt the nervousness and excitement growing within me.  We had about 900 miles to go.

(Mike at the stern prepping before heading out)

Over the next week, every day began at about 5:30 AM and the engine didn’t stop until 8 or 9 PM. Mike and I took turns piloting the boat, switching every few hours.  We mainly had to watch out for the many tree logs in the water which could damage the hull if we hit them hard.  Also, it was important to keep the boat on course with the guide of the compass, as any big course corrections meant more time, more miles and more fuel. We traveled not far off the coast through the Inside Passage between the islands on our way north. The daytime routines were about the same with a mix of hours of watching water, reading books, steering the boat, and napping. At the end of each day, Mike would pilot us to a small cove he had been to before, and anchor us for the night. 

The constant watch for a possible encounter with wildlife was a nice diversion from the routine.  Porpoises would cruise alongside us or out in front of the bow.  Pods of killer whales and a sea lion here and there were spotted several times. Bald eagles became a regular sight. A few humpback whales breached out of the water and reentered with enormous splashes. During one of these days, while anchored in a cove, a whale made its way in our direction.  When it passed by, within mere feet of the boat, it turned on its side and looked directly at us. To see an eye the size of a dinner plate, staring at me from just under the surface of the water, is a sight I’ll never forget.  The further north we got, the more I felt removed from civilization and sensed a certain connection to this vast, untamed and unspoiled place that is full of wildlife.  

(glacier near Juneau, Alaska)

After seven days out at sea and having witnessed some of the most beautiful scenery, Mike and I safely docked in Juneau and met up with Norm. It was good to be back on land even for just a day before heading back out on the boat for halibut fishing. The day was spent mostly preparing, checking and sharpening the hundreds of hooks, loading supplies, clips, lines, weights, and hundreds of pounds of ice, needed to keep the fish we caught cold. 

With the limited time of seventy-two hours open for commercial fishing, we headed out into the open water, to one of Norm’s regular fishing grounds. To catch halibut, which are bottom feeders, a long line of baited hooks was lowered and anchored down to the ocean floor. This line was unspooled for a mile or more, and after a short time, reeled back in. Each fish was measured for its length, and any that were below the requirements were put back in the water and the rest were prepared and put on ice in storage. The three of us were on deck doing our parts with little rest before the process was repeated at a different location in hopes of a decent catch. 

When fishing for halibut, occasionally another fish takes the bait and one time it was a large red snapper.  The fish was tossed back into the ocean. From the mainland, more than a mile away, a bald eagle spotted the fish and began to make its way towards us.  Norm had seen the eagle and called out, “Watch what happens, Billy!”  The Eagle dove on top of the fish, just off the side of the boat, grabbed it in its talons, and furiously flapped its wings to get airborne again.  With its prey, the bird circled us for the next several minutes as it slowly...slowly...slowly gained altitude with the large fish in its claws.  Finally, after reaching a height of perhaps a couple hundred feet, it stopped circling, pointed back to shore and flew straight back to land exactly from where it had come. With magnificent eyesight, that bird had spotted us tossing the red snapper into the ocean from a mile away and had flown out to retrieve it.  What an incredible sight to see.

(Norm and me-in the rear, bringing in a halibut)

On another occasion while cruising between islands, Norm spotted a line of rope floating in the water, not tied to a buoy. Somehow the line had been cut. As Norm steered us closer to the rope he explained that it was treacherous to leave it floating on the water as another boat could get their propeller tangled up in it, which can be difficult to remove.  We grabbed the line and reel it in.  The rope grew taunt as something heavy was on the other end. Once it got close to the side of the boat, I could see the heavy steel cage was filled king crab.  The crab pot was too heavy to be pulled onto the deck, and the best thing to do was to keep it along the side of the boat then drag it closer to shore and out of the main traveling lane through the channel. Norm opened the crab pot door to release the crab but kept a few for our meals.  We coiled up the line to make an improvised buoy so other boats had a chance to spot it.  

(Norm and the crab pot)

My two weeks was finished and it was time for me to fly back to Seattle and leave Mike and Norm to fish through the summer. This was an amazing experience, and when the seventy-two hours of fishing came to a close, I was exhausted, deprived of sleep but very satisfied with the sense of accomplishment. The job as an Alaskan fisherman is a hard profession. I found it to be strenuous and dangerous at times but also adventurous, fulfilling, and important. The time I spent in Alaska was short but filled with activities which were all new to me; helping Mike pilot a commercial fishing boat for 1,000 miles, anchoring in remote coves for the night where the only light to be seen was from the night sky, to witness the abundance of wildlife all around and to stand before the grandness of Alaska landscapes.

(me, measuring the length of a halibut)

To put myself in another person’s shoes for a short time and take part in their way of life, is an honor.  It helped me to connect in ways which words can have a hard time conveying.  I truly have gained an appreciation for what Norm and Mike do, understand more and see things from a new perspective. For over fifty years, Norm fished halibut and salmon and has since retired. Mike continues to fish in Alaska in the summers and carry on what his dad had started.

Shared Interests in Fly Fishing

On the walls in the living room of my Uncle Bill’s two story farmhouse were a few stuffed fish, each bigger than any I had ever seen.  Curious and wanting to touch, I would sneak a gentle finger to a scaled side or fin just to feel what ‘dead and stuffed’ felt like.  Hard and stiff it was.  This led me to asking many questions about his stuffed fish and fishing and was the beginning of my introduction to fly fishing and fly tying. 

Uncle Bill was a Forester who lived in a house located in a 4,000 acre state forest in Tully, New York, along with my Aunt Pat and their three daughters. The house sat on a hill with a perfect view of sunsets over rolling western facing countryside. The enclosed porch of the house was full of outdoor gear, equipment, apparel, antlers from deer hunts, rabbit cages and incubators for hatching the chicks of their flock of award winning chickens. Down the hall from the kitchen and set in the living room, was a small desk with his fly tying equipment. Here was where many of those first conversations were held. I was very young then, maybe 6 or 7. The memories are faint, but I can recall him telling me about the flies and pointing to things on the bench or picking up a certain tool to show me and tell me about its purpose. More memorable was seeing him out on the water putting all his equipment and knowledge to use.

During my summers at our family camp on Snow Pond, Uncle Bill stood out amongst all the fishermen. He was the only one who fly fished while the rest of us used spinning gear.  It was a beautiful site to see him cast and bring a fish in. Everyone liked to ask him questions about how it all worked, what it was like and about the flies he used and why.  

When I was eleven I was invited to spend a week with him and his family at their farm house in New York. On the first night he led me to the backyard where there was a grassy area between the house and the chicken coop to give me some casting lessons with his rod.  He explained how the relationship of the line and rod worked together to get a fly that weighed less than an ounce to a distance needed to reach the fish. During my lesson he offered me a deal, “Okay Will, this week while I am at work, if you get out here and practice casting every day for half an hour, I will take you fly fishing next Saturday.”  I couldn't wait for each day and I practiced every afternoon.  After my last day of practice my aunt surprised me by taking me to the store in town where she bought me a Fenwick rod, a Pfleuger reel, fly line and a small fly box.  It was a token of great love and to encourage me forward.  I could not have received a better and grander gift.  I floated out of the store and Uncle Bill and I spent part of Saturday on a small pond, each casting our own rods. The fish did not bite that day but I was hooked.

When I returned home to Massachusetts I tried to tie my own flies using some modeling tools I had from all the model airplane kits I enjoyed putting together.  I used a tabletop vise meant for holding small craft items and standard fish hooks we normally used fishing with worms.  The thread I used was on a spool from my mom’s sewing supplies and feathers came from my bedroom pillow and other pillows I found in the house.  I used modeling glue to help bind the flies together.  It all added up to what I now see as small disasters but at the same time heroic in the effort.  I was trying to accomplish something completely on my own without any instruction or manuals and with only what I could find around the house.  I look now to my younger self and say, “Well done, Will.  Well done.”

As time passed and my interest for fly tying grew, I began to acquire tools, equipment and materials to help me improve my skills and have better results. Tying has become one of my favorite hobbies.  When I make the fly it helps anchor in my mind what the fly is supposed to represent and therefore I make better choices of which fly to tie on the line. 

Uncle Bill passed several years ago, yet I always think of him when tying or fishing. I am grateful for him sharing his love of fly fishing and fly tying with me. These activities are very much a part of my life. I have had the joy in being able to teach and share my knowledge and experiences with each of my kids. I hope that they too will find a joy in fly fishing as I have.

Summer, Youth, and Memories at the Pond

There are some things in life we just don’t appreciate until we are older.  I think most of us can relate to this sentiment in some way.  What we each connect to will be different but the feeling is there.  It’s a strong bond tied tight. 

There are the people who are no longer with us whom we wish we could express our gratitude.  Opportunities we may have passed up or had not taken full advantage of, we now see differently and would change our approach if we had another chance. Or just good times gone by, now are memories important to us.  We reminisce on them. 

My grandfather would often start a conversation with “Back in my day…” and he’d proceed to tell us a story, often with a lesson for us to think over.  He had perspective in his older age, now looking back, reflecting, and could tell stories in meaningful ways.  He appreciated what he had learned and wanted to teach me and other kids about life, knot tying, camping techniques and any other subject matter which was good material.  How good it would be to talk to him now as an adult. 

I have found in my life that places can be important too.  Something happened there some time ago. It may not have been so much about the place itself but people and experiences root our connection to the location.  A house.  A neighborhood. A school.  The place of an event.  Any place that was impactful.  

From my youth, in particular are my summers at Snow Pond in Princeton, Massachusetts.   A wooded land, a pond with an island and a couple of cabins.  Pretty simple really.  We learned to swim, fish, boat, and be with family members from near and far each summer.  My first memory is from when I was about five and the last when I was twenty.  My connection to this place can easily be recalled when hearing certain songs, seeing a view across a body of water, feeling a warm summer night or from the taste and smell of steam clams reminding me of the many clambakes with corn and potatoes. 

Even more specific to the location are the activities on a wooden dock, stained grey, about 20 feet long and wide, with a few boat slips.  A postage stamp in the bigger landscape of the whole place but significant. The dock was a place where multiple events simultaneously happened during the day. It was used for sunbathing, reading, listening to music, playing cards, talking, shucking corn and peapods. Off the edge of the dock was an ideal spot for fishing and peering into the water to watch the life of insects, fish and plants or look for the elusive snapping turtle (a story for another day). The location was the place for people to greet each other when they first arrived. A well groomed walking path led new arrivals directly to the dock to see who might be there. It was a welcoming event to reunite with those we have missed since the previous summer. Lots of hugs and handshakes along with greetings, “Oh, you’re here!”  “Hello! Hello!”  “How are you? " would seamlessly start the conversation and lead into other questions …

“You’re still in school at… what grade?”  

“Are you still working for….?”

“How’s your vacation going?... Where else have you gone?...  How was the drive?”  

“Well, look how much they’ve grown?!”  

The adults always had lots to talk about and catch up on while the kids looked awkwardly at each other for a few moments, trying to reconnect before heading to the water and boats and other ideas of fun.   

Often after summer dinners people would change into long pants and maybe a sweatshirt depending on the weather and how bad the mosquitoes were, and head down to the dock to watch the sun set.  We would watch the fish jumping for food.  Some nights there would be hundreds or thousands of fish jumping for bugs on the pond's surface.  As the stars would come out we would look for constellations, wish upon stars, and someone may say something philosophical or ask a deep question.  Eventually, we would go back to the cabins for more conversation, games and ice cream.   

A wooden dock on a pond was a small spot for people to gather. It became a place holding many memories for me.  The whole property has been gone from the family for over 30 years now.  The family is spread out throughout the country and the times we get together are far between with maybe a call, a text or a short social media conversation here and there.  As the years multiply since my younger days, my appreciation for the moments and the people who shared time on a dock on a pond, deepens.  

Do you have a memory of a special place?

This is a picture of me (seated to the left with white towel and blue stripe), two of my brothers and cousins.

Today is a good day to start…

When is a person ready to start something new?  When are they really ready?  They may have had an idea for some time.  A hope.  A dream.  A business.  A new job or career direction.  A new relationship.  Moving to a new place.  The possibilities of where and how to apply this question is endless.  But the fact that we all have to start is the same. 

How much practice or planning do you really need?  I just heard a story on Spotify recently about the punk band, the Ramones.  On the night of their first live performance, the bassist had his chords identified on the fretboard so he could remember where to place his fingers.  He was still working things to memory, but one of the greatest bands in rock history was beginning to play live performances.

When are you financially ready?  Subway, the largest food chain store in the world started with a 17 year old just trying to afford med school, borrowing $1,000 to begin making sandwiches to sell.  Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak had no money when they started Apple.  They sold a VW van and a fancy HP calculator to raise $1,500 so they could begin.  

I’ve been reasoning over these questions to apply to my own scenario. The answer is Now… nothing more…simple and uncomplicated as that.   Today is the day to move forward.  

Want to run a 5k? Going for a 30 minute walk and eating better today is your start.

Want to start a business?  Go to your state’s governing body web site and find out what you need to do. Then begin doing it.

Want to write a book?  Pick a time of day and a place in the house to work from where you write 500 words each day.

Want to start a blog?  Choose a site that can help such as WordPress or SquareSpace or other, and begin.  

This is my first blog posting. When I look back on this beginning and the other posts that are within the first year or two, I will find things I wish I had said differently or had used different photos.  But those thoughts will only come if I have begun.  

Come along with me and be a part of this new adventure where I will share my interests, experiences, memoirs and more.