![]() |
| Bald eagle on the beach |
I am the front line against dental discomfort. I am what salmon tell their young about when they don’t eat all of their krill. I am spoken of in hushed voices around underwater campfires. I am a bone picker, tearing the bones out of the flesh of unfortunate salmon. Using a pair of tweezers.
I’ve recently finished my first
shift in the plant. The afternoon was spent meticulously pulling tiny bones out
of massive fillets. Riveting work, honestly. The task is almost surgical, an
extraction of some large natural splinter, while doing as little harm as
possible to the surrounding tissue.
Do you know the fishing regulations
for Bristol Bay and the surrounding estuaries? I don’t. I couldn’t even find
them online. Like almost everything here, it seems to be on a need-to-know and
word-of-mouth basis. My supervisor didn’t even train us before our first shift,
I was just put somewhere and began working, imitating the college students and
tiny Asian octogenarians that surrounded me. I haven’t even actually met my
supervisor.
The good news is that the plant is
almost militant about cleanliness. Entering and exiting the processing area is
very time consuming: put on a hairnet, put in your earplugs, put on your hat,
put on another hairnet, wash and dry your hands, put on your rain gear, put on
your eye protection, clock in, put on your glove liners, put on your gloves,
wash your gloves and rain gear, step through the boot dip, and you’re in.
Exiting is the exact opposite. So rest assured, your salmon is clean and
bone-free.
This is like some semi-sadistic mix
of a summer camp and a sweatshop. On one hand, we’re working insane hours doing
repetitive, mindless work, we’re confined to a small space with stressful
living and working conditions. Six people to a room, limited contact with the
outside world, taking part in a process that is still shady without actually
having sweatshops. On the other hand, we’re meeting hundreds of new people,
mostly young adults. We start conversations with strangers because no one knows
each other. We eat together. And we have bonfires together.
On my second night here, some of
the employees decided to have a fire on the beach. It was an excellent time
with no hiccups and was a great opportunity to meet coworkers. The sun shined
until well after midnight.
Later that night, on the beach, two
employees were charged by a grizzly bear. They ran and the bear backed off. No
harm, just a heightened paranoia in camp. The next morning there were signs
posted everywhere warning people to stay off the beach at night.
Bears are one of the several ways
in which a person’s history with this fishery can be determined. Another way is
their clothes. If a person’s clothes are spotless, for example, they’ve either
just flown in or they are a wizened veteran. If someone is filthy, covered in
mud and mosquito bites, they are somewhere in the middle; they’ve done some
work and are too young and careless, unlike their older counterparts, to care
about looking like a reputable supervisor or seaman. The bears, though, they
can also show how long a person has been here. I walk boldly around blind corners,
proud to have memorized the layout of the camp. Veterans notice the strange
banging noise that I completely miss and stand behind the corner, slowly
peering out to see if it is a bear trying to get into a dumpster. It’s usually
just people cleaning buckets. Usually.
In Chile, I became familiar with
one sound that would stop people in their tracks: the incredibly deep rumbling
that comes from below and precedes earthquakes. The deadliest earthquake in
recorded history occurred in Chile and the country experiences several
earthquakes a day, so the fear is understandable.
In Naknek, Alaska, the equally
paralyzing noise is someone yelling, “Bear!” Everyone stops, looking around
tensely. Sometimes the bear is close and people run or get killed or the bear runs or gets killed. Most of the
time, the bear is at a distance, wading in the river or chasing seagulls, and
people give it a personal bubble that’s 200 yards in diameter.
Today I had my first encounter with
a grizzly. I was walking down the beach when I spotted it stalking seagulls
about a hundred yards away from me. I stayed just long enough to take a blurry
photo and be alarmed by how quickly it ran before I turned around and jogged
back to my building.

