...After all these years 
Boat building is never a solitary activity. At some point, you just need an extra pair of hands. I could have used them yesterday working on the bow, which cracked from too much pressure. What was I thinking? For some reason, that I could stand it up on its bow so I could climb a ladder and epoxy the stern without the epoxy running. Ufff. The part of me that wants to do it without assistance thought "I hope this isn't a nine hundred dollar mistake." Well, I am just going to keep working, problem-solving. Using a heat gun, I can remove the excessive epoxy. The heat turns the glue to a rubbery substance. I have to be careful not to melt the p-glass underneath, so it is heat it up, pick off with a jeweler's flat nose pliers, cool down, repeat. In the meanwhile, I should just give myself a break.
Cameron started fishing at age sixteen. In this image he says he is twenty-two. John and I were walking the boat basin and talking about the characteristics of the boats, which boats we would be willing to take out in the ocean, and which ones we fantasized about owning or living on. As we walked the docks, Cameron came out of the wheelhouse and asked us what we were taking photographs of. This opened up a terrific conversation. Cameron said his boat the Western Seas, which had crab in the hold and could carrying three hundred pots, came into the Charleston port the night before because his skipper was ill. They had plans to get back out on the water in the evening. He talked about being sick the first two years of fishing. He would pull a pot and at the same time heave over the side of the boat. "it is a mind thing, and eventually you get over it. You have to learn to breathe with the waves." If I remember correctly, Cameron had fished on a couple of other boats in the basin before landing a berth on the Western Seas. He liked it. It brought in the crab. We got a few more images, got his email address to send him photographs, though he mentioned he did not use it much, and continued walking the docks.
There were a couple of guys with grocery bags heading to the Grumpy J just a few feet away. They were cursing pretty well, and Cameron thought it might have something to do with the two week voyage on the water to Alaska they were about to embark on. We also met up with a couple of fishermen who had just taken a large plastic bin of bait bags off their truck and were heading to their boat. One of them mentioned that they were a couple of days behind the rest of the fleet and needed to get out on the water. He did not offer the reason for the delay and did not want his photo taken. His boating partner was up for a photograph, however. I can not recall the name of their boat; John mentioned to them he was familiar with it and had taken some photographs. They were in a hurry, so we did not keep them long. I think if we could have, we would have liked to hear more of their stories and maybe get an email address to send them images.
There always seems to be a "fishing gear junkyard" nearby the boat docks or processing centers. Here, a variety of "boaty" stuff is strewn about, some still usable, some beyond use. I'm sure I could make something from the miles of discarded rope, floats, and rusting fixtures. Still, there is something about these places that belong, that help with the history, that tell a story of a community gone through change.
It is these communities that have real heart. The fisherman takes care of his boat, the boat takes care of the fisherman, and together they take care of their families and their community. They help feed the world. Nature puts her two cents in if you like it or not; when your engine quits in sixty foot seas, or the grounds close because the crab are imature and soft. Still, there is a calling, and you go, you follow that call, not for money or prosperity, but for some other reason. You see it in the faces. There are no words to describe that blistering bruise. The sea just kicks you sometimes. And you are awake for forty or more hours handing her your ass over and again.
Right now it is Coho spawning season. Steelhead and Chinook are also in these areas. but have spawned or will spawn later in the season. We walked in the creeks, when it was not too deep for rubber boots, to try to get some images of the Coho. Most of the fish we saw had already spawned. In this image, the tail has lost its pigment, and the fish is scarred from its journey. We saw carcasses pulled up on land by other animals. Some were partially eaten, others were decomposing, adding their rich nutrients to the soil.
