monday last

. . . we left the harbor at three fifteen and i would not have woken up for it except i double checked my alarm. the boys at the dock were electric and the skiff ride out to the Shiloh felt like voting day. the vhf radio too, the whole run out. Most of all on the radio, the russians were quiet. like they didn't want to scare something away, or if they weren't russians i'd say like they were scared.
. . . forty minutes before we could lay out our nets. thirty and boats are blowing black smoke to the southeast and we were sitting on a pile of jumpers. all around us. some of them clear out of the water. more jumpers than i'd seen before.
. . . when we finally put in, excited as hell, they started slamming our net, splashing to get loose: white froth against the green and brown water. We saw them slamming in bunches and by themselves. The radio was cheering with people seeing the same off their own sterns. We buoyed off and ran along the shackles, chasing in a school just before the end of it. so we ran along it again and chased in another two bunches, the salmon flashing their tails desperately but seldom coming clear. we ran it again but this time nothing went in so we started to pick it up from one end. It took a long time to get it all in the boat because the fish were in the net like french fries and we were laughing and shouting and we didn't have breakfast but by ten the net was back out and were waiting and each had two hardboiled eggs. we already had 335 sockeye in the hold, which is a good day's haul and a payday. the eggs were good but they slid off the plates like they were meant too.

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