fish tales and scales

Penny and I have been discussing the different job options I could do for the summer, ranging from construction to waitressing. By Wednesday we had a pretty good list going, and Thursday we were planning on going out on the hunt.

Wednesday evening for dinner, we took a drive down to take Robert, Penny's nephew, some pizza. Robert works down at the docks in Kenai. He moved up here when he was 18 and lived with Penny for awhile. While we waiting for Penny and Bruce to bring the pizza, Kaitlin, Brett, Robert and I sat around chatting as the smell of BBQ wafted up from the grill below.

I am not sure how it came into the conversation, but Robert mentioned that there were a few positions open on the docks. They were in need for fish pitchers; the guys that get down and dirty. Sorters, folks that know the difference between dog salmon and red, and a tally girl. "You have to have a brain for this job," Robert said, "that's why we call it 'tally girl'. The guys we get on the docks aren't always all there in the head." Perfect, I said sign me up! I was willing to pitch fish, learn the species or tally. I filled out an application and Thursday morning found out I would be working that evening as the tally girl.

The evening began around 6 p.m. and ended around 2 a.m and this is how it played out. First, everyone begins to trickle in, grab some coffee and guess about how well the fisherman did that day. We stand around and wait for the boats to arrive, then... action! The pitchers head down to the lower docks and pitch fish into a huge bin attached to a crane. The crane lifts the bin and weighs it. As it gets weighed in midair, fish slime falls through the holes in the bottom of the tote and covers the pitchers. The number gets shouted up to me to record. The fish then are dumped onto a long metal table and sorters sort the fish by species. Anything that is not a red gets put into a different bin. When the first bin is dumped on the table, I run over to check the temperature, color, texture, odor, eyes and scales. This process repeats until the boat is empty.

The bin of "off species fish" is then broken down by species, e.g., pink, dog, king, dolly, etc . . . After the fish are weighed, one of the sorters brings over the bucket of fish slime that drains off of the sorting table and weighs it too. All of these weights are subtracted from the original number of the red bins. I stand next to Tom, the crane operator, protecting myself from the flying fish slime and take in everything.

I love the intensity that fills the salty, damp air when the boats come in. The fisherman stand awaiting anxiously, watching the bins fill up, wanting to know their numbers. Everyone is works hard and has a blast. Even when things got busy, the sorters had enough patience (or were very amused) with my eagerness to learn about the different fish species. Toward the end of the evening, the action slowed and the boats became less frequent. The chill off the ocean became apparent, but the breathtaking sun set at 1 am was had us all standing in awe. I think I am going to like this summer.