Tug boat skipper David Carnes aboard the
M/V Legend.
The author with one of many salmon he
caught while vagabonding through South-
east Alaska aboard a rented tug.
T
HE SCAR IS WHAT’S LEFT of a
3,254-foot mountain after
a glacier rips its face off.
From the back deck of
the M/V Legend Scar is an
impressive soaring testament to vio-
lence and this wild region’s endless skir-
mishes with fire and ice insurgencies.
Veins of white quartz run in ribbons
across the planed granite wall, waterfalls
gush, mountain goats stand on nothing
and stare. The old face of Scar is still vis-
ible on the electronics, as ragged heaps
of shattered granite 430 feet down.
Could be silvers following the bubble
line in the current below the Scar? Near
surface, I’m guessing, because a rip line
is painting a highway on the surface.
David shrugs and says maybe.
Maybe there are and maybe we’re too
close to that big blue glacier around the
bend, the one dropping ice bergs into
our salmon water. Maybe. Worth a shot.
Rumor has it that commercial netters
string mesh off the Scar for sockeye.
No word on silvers, though. We could
be fishing coho where no coho net has
fished before … Maybe.
That’s the thing about bumming
Southeast on a 42-foot rental tug—
you’re responsible for every screw-up,
bad call, worrisome anchorage and
marginal miscue. But, you can also do a
naked happy dance of self-adulation for
finding a motherlode of red salmon fil-
lets, guessing which flat will wedge the
pots with dinner Dungys, nailing the
ribeye grilled-to-orders and wandering
into scenery that would blow a calendar
photo off the page.
Go where you want, do what you
want, when you want, and it doesn’t
have to make sense to anyone but to
you and the buddies who are chipping
in on costs to rent the Nordic tug, stock
the fridge with steaks and eggs, beer
and bacon—ice cream and a token bag
of Caesar salad; 500 gallons of fuel,
200 gallons of freshwater, and a stack
of Styrofoam trays with a few hundred
frozen herring.
For another short-stack of dollars you
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