6 November 2013 § Leave a comment
Today is our first mensiversary of marriage. We’re biding our honeymoon in the California hills, and I feel neither present nor attentive to the task at hand. This invisible culture, whose industry requires a blurring vagueness here, propels the migratory gypsy circuit into a focused frenzy for a few months of the year. Mornings and evenings I sinfully connect to the internet, an archaic device that tethers me to the outside world.
Five years of seasonal work has taught me this: the twenties fly too fast to not do what I love. Fishing has been the most adventurous and lucrative job I’ve had, my often-told story of life amongst the tides. And, I’m writing a new story. One which up to now I mistakenly thought would have little to do with fishing and Alaska.
For years I wanted Alaskan roots. When I was 12, my mother drove my brother and I north from the New Mexico desert into the Alaskan winter. For a decade nowhere else qualified as home. When my heartbroken version of a vision quest came along, I felt like an upside down Alexander Supertramp running away from, and ever carrying, a cute box half-empty of longing and tragedies. Alaska was my backyard, not some faraway frontier. I needed to go somewhere. But, as Eddie Vedder put it, I was “starting from the top.”
And you can’t do that.
To every man: his own adventure, a set of lessons to keep his honesty afloat, and love.
I’ll be back shortly.