I’ve been completely out of digital reach, seemingly at the end of one part of the earth, for almost two months. I knew what I was getting into, and I thought it would be a spiritually rewarding bit of escapism, a comfortably temporary disconnect from the tele-techno-communication frenzy of civilization. I was not disappointed. It felt good, liberating. I know I could live in Now York City and choose not to own a cell phone or a computer, but that brings me directly to the second point: fifty days is puh-lenty of time to go off the grid. En Vogue rings in my dome: “back to life…back to reality.”

Less than one month passed before the thought of talking with my family and friends blossomed into desire, then quickly developed into ever more urgent need. And that felt good too. I think that not simply the isolation, but also the physical environment of western Alaska contributed to the rise of sentiment. The immense and desolate beauty of the mountainous Aleutian chain must be witnessed first-hand. The shapes and shades, colors and contours create a vast, evocative panorama for the senses, the essence of which words and pictures cannot hope to convey. I thought about life and the people I love. Then I stopped thinking altogether, and I could feel my heart swell.

The work proved quite demanding but not overwhelming. We would drop anchor in a strategic spot in or near the Naknek River and wait for the catcher boats to deliver their fish to us, the tender. When our tanks filled up, meaning we had approximately 150,000 pounds of salmon on board, we would then deliver the fish to the processor, a massive ship anchored farther out in the Bay. We also supplied groceries, oil, antifreeze, fuel, fresh water, and other necessities for the catcher boats. Since everyone has to quit fishing at designated hours, but we only have two cranes on the Totem, catcher boats would be lined up behind us for hours waiting for their turn to unload and stock up. Then we would have to deliver and get back in time for the next fishing “opener”. If that wasn’t enough, we were also pressed for time coming and going, because at low tide there wasn’t enough water in the river to get where we needed to go. We slept little, and in between not sleeping, we had to maintain the Totem. Mild chaos wrinkled even our best days.

Trials accompany the daily operation of any work boat. Ours started less than ten minutes from the dock in Homer. We haven ‘t even cleared the jetty when the starboard engine alarm starts blaring, the port crane drifts wildly off the rail, one generator engine stalls, and all the electronics go dead. Other boats dodge us as we slide toward the rocks. But the Captain is right no top of the situation. With his prowess we managed to get everything fired up just in time to avoid a catastrophically short trip. I was perversely glad - if we’d made it the five days to Bristol Bay without incident, I would have worried that we were due for some mishap at any second. But with that emergency out of the way, and a shot of confidence about the Captain’s skill, I could relax. He had demonstrated only the crust of his ability. Which was good, because things fall apart.

A pulley drops off the crane. A hydraulic line erupts. Pumps fail, engines die, switches break - and always at the worst possible moment. A short in the reset switches killed our main engines one time and I barely got the anchor down before the outgoing tide crushed us against a huge barge. Then, with catcher boats tied off on both sides of us and the river full of boats, we start dragging anchor, and get fired up to narrowly escape crushing the tender behind us. A hydraulic line erupts when we’re trying to get to the processor in a hurry. And on it goes. Finally, at the end of the long season, ready to steam home, we get bent rods on the number four cylinder, and the port main engine is out of commission. I know that Murphy guy was a fisherman.

Behind the Captain’s resourcefulness we quickly overcame each malfunction. The running joke was that with our luck we should take our settlement checks straight to Vegas. Unfortunately, I think the pressure to maintain a high level of performance under these less-than-ideal circumstances caused the Captain a bit of strain, and a strong bit of animosity festered between him and some of the crew. Granted, we weren’t the most seasoned deckhands in the world, but sometimes it seemed that his response was disproportionate to the nature of our gaffe. For now I will say that if the Captain’s people skills ever approach the level of his boat savvy, he will be an incredible leader. But I refused to let the testy atmosphere corrode my experience, and in the end I must thank him for the lead to my next job.

Hours blur and days blend on the water in Bristol Bay. Time is punctuated not by the hands on a clock or the sun that never really sets, but by the unique episodes and instances that stamp themselves into memory. The two months remain thick with uncommon detail, thrills and drama that require pages and pages to effectively capture. And though, to a man, we’re glad this mission has reached its end, we all anticipate returning to the Bay in some capacity next summer.

In the meantime my journey continues, and I go to meet new adventure on the great island of Kodiak! We just got into Homer this morning, cleaned the boat, got paid, then I checked into the Best Western for a few hours to use the computer, do my laundry, take seventeen showers and catch one long nap, and watch TV, and now I’m out to catch the midnight ferry back to Kodiak to start my new gig in the morning.  Hopefully I won’t be off the grid for so long over there.