Alaska – Part 1

I hate traveling anymore. I’ve been satisfactorily convinced for quite sometime that I’ve been everywhere that truly matters. And the idea of leaving Mexico for any amount of time takes me frighteningly far out of my perceived comfort zone.

And frankly, people just piss me off these days. The arrogance and stupidity of Americans leaves me at times so apoplectic that well, I had to leave the country just to avoid any egregious act that could have led to imprisonment.

Alaska has sort of thought through some of this as firearms can be carried in public, concealed or otherwise. ‘An armed society is a polite society’, as some of its citizens are fond to say. Even so Americans behave in public as if there are no consequences to their actions. They act with a rudeness that comes from entitlement. They misbehave simply because they can.

Smarting off to someone when I was a boy oft times then not got someone a justifiable ass-beating. That’s why being here in Mexico carries with it a certain nostalgia. Because here too there are consequences – wonderful, delightful consequences – where mere rudeness can get oneself seriously killed.

And I like that.

Pissy preamble aside, the trip was a grand success. I had forgotten just how big Alaska was. Big, as in everything. Rivers. Mountains. Vistas. Space. A land filled with immense unoccupied spaces.

The Cook Inlet, Alaska


A few days after I got in, my friends, John and Kris arranged tickets to travel part of the Alaska Railroad from Anchorage to Seward.

The rail from Anchorage to Seward, Alaska


A fish cleaning station in the harbor. Seward, Alaska

It was still morning when we arrived in Seward and so none of the fishing boats had yet to return with their catch, hence the hooks in the above photo are empty.

We fished a couple of days later out of a port called Whittier into the same greater body of water shared with Seward called Prince William Sound.

The boat docks: Whittier, Alaska


Lots and lots of mountainous uninhabited tree covered islands dot the cold deep water depths (our depth gauge sounded out 1000 feet in places) of the Sound.

My friend, John and his grandson, Jesse

Our boat captain took us to the NE corner of Montague Island, some 70 miles from where we put in at Whittier. It was a two and a half hour boat ride. The wind was huffing out in the Gulf (of Alaska) but it was relatively calm in the Sound, at least until the wind changed directions two hours later and we were forced to reel in our lines and head back to port.

But we caught some fish. Two small halibut and nine yellow-eye, a tasty dense white fleshed rockfish. We caught them all in 200-300 feet of water. In total we had maybe 75 pounds of fish when it was all said and done.

I knew before going out that a more sensible man would have just bought the fish from a fishmonger at a fair price then to burn the 75 gallons of fuel, pay the captain, pay the boat, buy the licenses to catch such a paltry amount of fish.

But then again, the fisherman is a fool much like the typical leisure boat owner. Both dally amidst insanely stupid value propositions.


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