Moving onto salmon...
We don't have a boat, or a net. Or even a fishing rod. But we DO have a chest freezer packed full with salmon fillets. (Apart from being so very grateful, sometimes I ask myself, do I like fish that much? Are we prepared to make every meal a salmon meal far into the winter?! Salmon loaf, salmon dip, salmon with pesto, salmon with potatoes, salmon cereal. That last one is just a threat I make to Wolfe.)
Last Wednesday, Wolfe and I joined the principal and her husband, the district superintendent, and Nicole for a little fishing trip. The boat ride was beautiful. Wolfe carries on conversation with everyone about what they wanted to be for Halloween while we rode. We go downstream a bit before we turn around to ride upstream on the other side of the sandbar, getting a great view of New Stuyahok from the river. We pass one or two nets before we get to Ben and Robin's. They drop us off at the opposite end of the shore to fish while they pick their net in the generous Nushagak River. Wolfe holds his little red net looking for fish as he jumps through the shallow water. My not-fishing boots fill with water while I wade with Nicole, casting and reeling. We catch nothing.
The net did. Twenty-eight silver salmon. That's not counting the pinkies they gave to Johnny as he passed by us in his boat. The pinkies go to the dog sled team, and the salmon go to the Garlets.
And then there is the processing part. That goes hours into the night. Our kitchen begins to smell fishy and our hands begin to feel scaly. Cut, rinse, dry, wrap, seal, freeze. Repeat twenty-eight times. Now I can say I know how to cut, pack and freeze fresh fish.
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