The Bristol Bay project begins…

Twas the night before King Salmon…

Hour 7 at the Denver airport. It’s 10:15 PM. We should have been dragging oversized luggage off the carousel in Anchorage by now, but an evil windstorm from hell has grounded all winged things. Travis’s 4th cousin’s sister’s dog-sitter was going to snatch us and our 9 bags up in Alaska, but we’ve called her off due to our new 4:30 AM arrival time.
We’ve been packing and poking fun at Travis’s dog’s neck fat for several days now… it was an odd relief to see the gear disappear on the conveyor belt. Our 300 pounds of camera gear is likely to pop up on e-bay at any moment now as the baggage handlers are undoubtedly bored and underpaid. The pork airport burrito, chicken nuggets, cheeseburger and frappe thing I just inhaled are making me feel dirty. I just sent 26 text messages, and I’m too cheap to pay for wireless internet, so Travis ordered me to write a blog entry. I wanted to bring a back-up pair of sunglasses, but there was no room… that is how tightly packed we are. We even had to mail a 40-pound box of gear to the Peter Pan Cannery in Dillingham Alaska after running out of places to put things. Our satellite phone, candy, back-up hard drives and books will likely smell like dead tuna if we ever get there to claim the package. does FedEx even deliver to Dillingham?
I fear the moment our first bush pilot takes one look at our towering pile of heavy ass shit, spits a chew on runway and shakes his head. Theoretically we’ll be meeting up with National Geo cinematographer/seasoned fishing guide Mark Emory in King Salmon who hasn’t missed opening season day on the infamous Naknek river in 23 years. The Naknek hosts the highest density of Rainbow trout over 30 inches in Alaska. Bummer. Now if only we could board the damn plane…
Speaking of things popping up on E-Bay, everything but Travis’s beloved Sage spey rod made it to Alaska. It was carefully removed from a bundle of other rods by a bastard bag handler. If you are bidding right now on a spey rod with Travis’s ex-girlfriend’s name hand painted on it, stop, and call the proper authorities. We drooled on an airport bench for several hours, and now we’re waiting for Travis’s 4th cousin’s neighbors accountant’s 18 year-old daughter to pick us up for a bit of breakfast. The adventure continues. [Big up to the Davisons for their hospitality and bear advice in Anchorage]