Sitka or Bust: Commute The World

Of all the beautiful places I’ve found on Baranof Island, there are none as interesting as the docks of Eliason Harbor. I ride down everyday in the meat wagon, a nasty smelling and foul creature just threatening to turn to scrap metal at any moment. I put up with the scent as everyone else does, mainly out of sheer desperation, and ride with my head out the window like one of the many hounds of the area. The dock is off the beaten path for anyone not an avid angler or a commercial fisherman and I suppose I stick out quite a bit.

While nearly everyone on the docks strolls around with purpose in their slickers and Xtra Tuf boots, I have one soggy sneaker, a dark raincoat, and holey jeans. I am the picture of an outsider. Especially since what others have been ignoring for years I find fascinating in its novelty. There’s a boat named the Spanker and the baby salmon seem to flock to its shadow everyday, swarms of them gliding around in the dark dock waters until a bigger fish comes and makes them jump from the water. We never know for sure when all the boats will be coming in, only receiving a guideline from when they hit the break wall. Because of this, there is generally a lot of waiting between loading fish coolers and gut bins into the meat wagon.

I caught a jellyfish the other day down on the docks, it was just a tiny thing propelling itself through the water, but I can’t say that I get the opportunity very often.  Apparently, later in the fishing season, the fishing lines will get pulled in covered in a goo of smushed up jellyfish because there are so many in the water. I thought that sounded really cool, but the deckhand I was with told me that it really messes up the fishing because you’ll be trying to tie a new bait piece on and be slipping all over the line. I guess that’s one of the reasons deckhanding is a tough gig.

The dock is full of an entirely different life system. People hustle across the gangplanks with rods and reels, fish buckets, crab traps, whatever they happen to need for the day. There are those who work on their boats with giant cranes and those who work by hand. I’ve seen men drink straight from the harbor water, regardless of the high fish-gut content. Men with beards, men with dogs, men with good fortune and men without. The dock brings together a population so different that they only share the love of the sea.

No one goes to the docks without a reason. For me, the dock represents all that I wanted from my trip to Alaska, an adventure that I wouldn’t get to experience anywhere else. I love that Mt. Edgecumbe disappears into the clouds at times, while others it just seems to stand all alone. It is very representative of Alaskans. The skies roll, the rain falls, and the clouds walk up the mountainsides through the overgrown logging trails, yet nothing ever changes the scene at the dock. There are always those celebrating their catch, those mourning another rough day on the water, those seeking their own adventures. Somewhere on the dock, you are waiting, whether you realize it or not.

Being tired has always gotten me further into crankiness than anything else. If I’m hungry I just get all antisocial and constantly look for ways to get some numnums, if I’m mad at you I generally just brush it off. When I’m tired though, I get extremely pissy. Usually though, I try to sleep it off and avoid snapping at anyone. Burning bridges has never been my style. Working 7 days a week is starting to take a toll on my motivation I suppose, that and my ability to brush things off.

Remember the fellow housekeeper I mentioned before? The one who tries to sneak attack me into seeing her use the bathroom? She has a habit of opening the door while people are at their most vulnerable if you know what I mean. I try to lock the door at all times, but sometimes it just gets past me. Well, a few nights ago I was really tired and so passed out on my bunk just after dinner, even though it doesn’t get dark here until around 10. I woke up around 11:30 to take off my glasses and my socks and brush my teeth.

Now, coming awake out of a dead sleep to stumble groggily to the bathroom, I forgot to lock the door. Now, normally I would have been paranoid the entire time I was “vulnerable,” but I was pretty close to sleeping on the toilet. I hear the knob turn and see the door open about two inches, at which point I blearily turn to the door and shout an incomprehensible jumble of words culminating with “I’minhere.” The door pauses at those two inches and the hand hesitates. I could actually see her thinking ominously about continuing to open the door and surprise me. Her evil ways won out and the door started to open again, this time with such a rapid speed that all I could do was awkwardly hunch over the porcelain throne and try to save as much dignity as I could.

She pauses with the door completely open, smiling like a fiend and takes a good long look while my pants are around my ankles. The entire time I’m just screaming to get her out and all she does is laugh and gently swing the door shut.  “I caught you mid-wipe.”

“No. I was totally adjusting my pants…” I straighten myself up and, as I pass the mirror, actually see the death glare on my face. I was not a happy camper by any means. What a rude awakening. I open the door and she has made the unfortunate mistake of remaining nearby to gloat. Before she has time to say anything, I’ve lobbed a right hook at her boob. “I’m not in the mood, woman.”

I then crawl back into bed and don’t make it a minute before we are both howling with laughter and replaying the whole ordeal. It only ended when the roommates told us to quit it so they could sleep. “Don’t let it happen again,” I growl before we end things. I know it will. But from now on, the door will always be locked.

Today was possibly the best day I’ve had yet. But that is a story for another day. Instead, I’d like to share a few of the things I do in the Processing Room. It is of course, my favorite place to go during work. Yesterday, I spent a bit in the PR constructing the fish boxes we send our clients home with. Now, this might not seem like such an awesome activity, but there’s nothing so wonderful as being far from drama, listening to tunes, and doing thoughtless tasks. Of course, even thoughtless tasks take some getting used to.

The first warning I was given when I started to make boxes, was to not staple my thumb. Apparently it happens more often than not, and the stapler we use isn’t as small as a desktop stapler. When you operate a stapler that has a foot pump, you kinda realize that you aren’t exactly safe. But hey, its an experience.

I left the stapling to Squirt, while my bud and I folded boxes and put stickers on them. Even as lame as that sounds, everything in the PR is much more fun than anywhere else. The boxes are made out of thick cardboard covered in wax so the fish juices don’t leak out. They have to be pretty tough because they hold 50lbs of fish per box.

Usually I’m a sticker girl, placing the Alaska Airlines and Keep Frozen stickers just perfectly where they are supposed to be, without going around a bend or making them easier to peel. Yesterday though, I was a box creaser, someone who folds the edges and the flaps before handing it off to the stapler.

I got pretty quick at the folding though, so I stacked em up and moved on to placing liners in each of the box bottoms and crunching the tops on them for storage. I say crunching because sometimes they are really temperamental and you have to put some muscle behind it. We had stacks of boxes made by the start of lunch, my hands were raw from the rough cardboard, and I had little flecks of wax all over me. All in all, I find this to be a productive work day.

Today, on the other hand, was perfect for other reasons. Nothing like walking the length of Sitka will ever get you as mellow. I finally had the opportunity to wander at my own pace, to browse in weird stores, and to look around without being on a deadline. As much as you might think though, I wasn’t walking like a tourist so much as a resident. It felt amazing.