I'm in Astoria, OR for a couple of weeks of gear work to prepare for Dungeness crab fishing season. I just got off the Providence Wednesday afternoon, left Kodiak at 8 PM, and landed in Portland at 6 AM. I was psyched to drive straight out to Astoria and get to work, but my boss told me that he wouldn't be ready for me until the next day. For the first time in a long time, I had a day in front of me with nothing to do. This got me thinking, 'how many days in a row have I worked'? The answer, tracking back to June first, is 126. I would like to say, 'and counting', but that option kind of got taken out of my hands. So I'll have to start a new streak. The other day I bought my ticket to Florida for the end of the month. I catch the red-eye across the country, leaving on a Monday night and arriving on Tuesday morning, so I can keep the continuity for that jump. So now I'm thinking, 'how many days in a row can I work'? I figure I'm easily covered until Thanksgiving, when whoever I'm working with will probably want the day off and I expect even the day labor place will be closed. Plus, since I work primarily outside, I'm bound to run into a 'weather day' here at some point. So it's going to demand some creativity and planning to surpass the number I've already established, but I'm very interested for it to play out, and then discover where I stand at the end, spiritually, physically, financially and all. That being said, it felt fantastic to sit at Henry's in downtown Portland and order-up plate after plate of delicious $2 happy hour appetizers and observe the attractive waitresses satellite around my fixed position at the well-conceived bar. The more social atmosphere I soaked in, the more my Alaska mission felt like a sentence. I'm very glad that this dungeness fishery is structured around day trips. Speaking of which, it took no time to get myself situated out here in Astoria. I hooked up an '89 Ford Tempo for the cost of insurance and a 23-foot Jayco trailer - affectionately known hereafter as 'the Jake' - with electric, water, sewer, and cable for $300 a month. So things are looking good after a disappointing month in Alaska. My new boat, the Melko II, looks good, and my new skipper, "Woolly" Mike, is calm and smart. So the gear work starts and I cycle back to the beginning of the fisherman's mental circle of life, nervous and excited, willing and wary, straining to figure, surmise, and anticipate something essentially unknowable. I'm realizing that I'm an incredibly hopeful person. And that I'm beginning to grow weary of such hopefulness.