In the neuter austerity of that terrain all phenomena were bequeathed a strange equality and no one thing nor fish nor boat nor net could forth claim to precedence. The very clarity of these articles belied their familiarity, for the eye predicates the whole on some feature or part and here was nothing more luminous than another and nothing more enshadowed and in the optical democracy of such landscapes all preference is made whimsical and a man and the sea become endowed with unguessed kinship.
This was a good day, No Bow lines got snapped, nothing went overboard, and The Captain bought us Ice cream. I was happy as a clam I assure you.
Coming Home, flying out of Dillingham on a tiny little plane. Had me slightly rattled but better than out in the bay bobbing around in what proved to be one of Bristol Bay's rougher summers. I'm sitting on the plane trying to think about what happened, wondering: did I like that, I think I liked that but Im not entirely Sure. The single engine Cesna fires up, I feel for the ten Grand in my pocket. Ya, I liked that. Not to be to grand but there is something very liberating about participating in something you have to be willing to die in in order to do.
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