Big Fish, Big Pond

Guys, I got a fish!!! I'm a natural at this!!

Okay, not really... but the point is--aren't these king salmon amazing?? They're enormous! Rob keeps telling me they can "break both your legs" when they're flopping around the boat. I'm still not clear on exactly how that would go down.

If you've been to Alaska, I'm sure this no news to you--but I simply can't get over it. I spent yesterday morning at the Sitka Sound Science Center (SSSC), which has a salmon hatchery. Keith Cox, the director there, graciously explained to me the basics of the salmon lifestyle. They're born, they swim a long, long ways, from freshwater to saltwater, then, once they're feeling in the moooood, they turn around and migrate back to the very place where they were born. We've all heard this about salmon. Salmon swimming against the current, salmon returning home--they're cliches.

But to see the tiny little "fish ladder" where last year's juvenile fish return to be this year's Mom and Dad fish-- it's incredible. Each species shows up at a different time. The species we're currently expecting is King Salmon; they're a little late this year. But when they come, they'll (in my boss Rob's words) "plug up" the entire coast of southeast Alaska. Including the little stream that leads up to the fish ladder at SSSC. Keith lives right up the hill from the hatchery, and he says when the fish return he can hear them banging at the gate, trying to get in to the little area where they were born. The ending of the story is a little less than cheery, I suppose. Once they're in that area, they're scooped up in nets, and their eggs are harvested. It's not as sad as you think though! Their eggs, raised at the hatchery have a much, much higher chance of survival than they would out in the wild. So, although the life of an elder fish is lost, many baby salmon get a head start on their lives as a result. AND--lest this sound like a true ethical dilemma--salmon actually die as soon as they reproduce, so these folks were on their way out, anyway. When I learned that, my next question was, why not just let them do the reproducing, and then harvest the fish? You know, let them get their last kicks (life without reproduction=tragic). Well, because their flesh starts to get gray and icky, and they basically become inedible after they reproduce. Too bad. Would be nice if we could eat only fish that died happy, of old age.

I suppose I haven't written since I tagged along on the big Ocean Adventure paddling race last Saturday-- you can hear the story I did on it by here >>> Sitka Sound Race story <<<

A Girl And A Dog

Today only a photo will do. Please note my canine companion in the lower right hand corner. Bless him, he kept the bears away.

Breaking News

Well, folks, my first big story aired today-- the headline is: "News intern investigates dishwashing crisis." Can you tell that it's tongue-in-cheek?

To get me warmed up on the equipment and software they use here, they assigned me a sort of "faux" news assignment-- basically, when I arrived last week, Rob (my boss, news director) told me to interview his kids to "get some tape." So I did. Here's what I ended up with: http://www.kcaw.org.

I was simply charmed by the response-- the piece aired twice today, and we got a whole bunch of responses. People stopping by the station during the day (all day long there are different music hosts, so there are constantly people passing through) commented on it, and 3 of Caitlin's friends (that's Rob's daughter), asked to see her hands (you'll get that when you listen). Apparently it also unleashed a fresh controversy in the Woolsey household over whether or not Sam has decent music taste.

Enjoy. It was fun to produce. Next up is the piece I'll be recording tomorrow, as I tag along on the "Sitka Sound Adventure Race," in which a bunch of handmade boats compete in a 25-mile race. Yeah, I'll be the one riding in the back of a skiff, shielding my camera from the ocean spray.

Another Day, Another Home

I can hear him, the dog, Luka, pacing and whining as I write. He's sprinting back and forth with a slimy, chewed-up frisbee in his mouth, stopping only long enough to stick his cold, wet nose right in my face, as if I didn't know he desperately, urgently, wanted to play. He NEEDS to play. Play with me or else, he says. Trouble is, playing with him doesn't make it stop-- it just feeds the monster. And leaves me with stinky, fur-covered hands.

Welcome to my first official housesit. This family has a great 3 bedroom at the top of a hill--with a killer view and a functioning hot tub. To die for, right? Yeah, until you turn the lights on.

You know how it's just like, standard guest protocol to CLEAN your house, just a little, before someone comes to stay? Well, apparently not at this household. The bathroom was coated in hair-- on the counter, in the sink, on the rugs, between the rugs... as was the bed, on top of and below the comforter, as well as all of the carpet upstairs. Dog and human hair. Intermingling. As a last resort, I vacuumed a path between the front door and the bed, with a little side road for the bathroom.

I'm a bundle of stress, just trying to feel comfortable in this place, and I've got 9 more days to go. I talked with Melissa, the main reporter at KCAW about my hairy situation, and she said the housesitting thing is always a source of stress for their interns. Not their fault though-- where the heck else would they house me?

So far though, it's this internship's only shortcoming, so I think I can forgive. The people at KCAW (everybody just calls it Raven Radio) are just wonderful. After lunch today, Ken, the general manager, invited me on a half-hour walk so he could tell me a bit about the history of the station. The walk was painfully scenic, and the talk was fascinating. Turns out, Raven is TRULY a community radio station. It was started about 25 years ago, in a building called the Cable House-- it's called that because when the contiguous United States decided they need a way to connect with Alaska that didn't go through Canada (things weren't going to well with the Canadians), they built an underwater cable, so they could send and receive telegraphs. That cable emerged from underwater and connected to Alaska at the Cable House, where I now go to work every day.

I'm learning about a side of journalism that I'm not very familiar with. The news we produce here is not always literary, or clever-- but it's vital to the community. People depend on it. 50 percent of Sitka's 9,000 residents listen to Raven Radio (the other half listens to the top 40 station)-- many of them are commercial fisherman or charter fisherman--and they tune in from out on the ocean, to hear the weather forecast (which typically sounds like "Yakatat, patches of fog and drizzle, seas 6 feet") and the news. So far, the biggest news stories have dealt with halibut-catch restrictions, whether the city should sell the old pulp mill dock to a seafood company (of which the CEO is a former city employee), and what the implications will be if the governor approves a natural gas pipeline through the state.

Well, the sun still hasn't set for the day (that happens after 10pm most days), but I'm gettin' mighty sleepy. Attended a meeting regarding a historic college campus in Sitka that had to be abandoned when it was revealed that the school was 11 million dollars in debt. It was a real loss to the community. Anyway, that wore me out, and it's time to settle with my Alaskan detective mystery.

Hunting and Gathering

It's been about 48 hours since I arrived here in Sitka, Alaska, and I think I'm already in much better shape than when I left Berkeley. These people like to move it. They kayak, run long-distance, go fishing, hike uphill (both ways)... I mean, seriously. Yesterday, I found myself feeling embarrassed that I've never run a marathon. Um, I'm pretty good at crosswords though?

For those of you I haven't told, I'm up here in southeastern Alaska for a 2-month internship with Raven Radio, a public radio station that pretty much everybody in this region depends on for their news. It's tiny-- from what I can tell so far, there's a general manager, an engineer, a funding person, a reporter, a news director (my boss, and currently, my housemate), and in the summertime, an eager young intern. That's me.

I came here, rather than vying for a spot with CNN or the New York Times (they were beating down my door), because I knew I would immediately get to sink my teeth into some stories here--and that I wouldn't have to go through the requisite looking-over-the-shoulder journalism, which I've done a good bit of already. I can tell already it was a good call-- in the last, long 2 days, I've already learned how to use their editing software (which is a tad outdated, I'll admit), and started discussing story ideas with Rob, my boss. Yesterday I accompanied Rob and his wife, and their 2 teenage kids, to a garden party, where I think I met the whole town. I met Norm, the director of Sitka's recycling program (and a great watercolor painter), Lily, former general manager of the radio station who's now running for the legislature, Barth, whose fabulous garden it was and who designs trails for the forest service, and a number of other folks--all of whom knew the radio station well. In fact, because the station has been making announcements that their summer intern is in need of housesitting gigs, each of them asked me, right away, "Have you found a place to live?" Actually, I have found a few possibilities for short periods of time, but in response I emphasized that no, I'm still looking-- since I imagine they all have beautiful homes with ocean and mountain views and fireplaces and such, and I wouldn't mind a job like that for a few weeks. In truth, it's the variability of my living situation that most requires adventurousness. It's not the grizzly bears, or the weird bugs that eat little divets into your skin (found out about those yesterday--ick), but the fact that I'm not sure what bed I'll be sleeping in one week from now. I've grown so accustomed to (and fond of) my household routine, and it involves a nice, firm bed, and a kitchen that's exactly as I left it. Suddenly, I don't know where the coffee mugs are and I'm not sure I could point the right way to "downtown." Disorientation indeed.

I best be going-- I've got another hike today (yesterday's was stunning--up to a waterfall surrounded by snow)-- and I've learned that if I don't eat a good breakfast, I really can't keep up.

More soon. Sorry no photos--I've run into some technical problems, but will post some soon.