Another Fine Mess, Alaska

Remember when we were young and there always seemed to be one or two guys that your mom did not want you to play with? You know, those neighborhood kids who kept getting you to do things that your mother knew you would not have done if those delinquents had not talked you in to it.

"No telling what will happen to them," Mom used to say. Well Mom, I found out what happened. They moved to Alaska.

George and Jode were always getting me into trouble. One time, though, I thought I finally learned my lesson and swore never to play with them again.

The most recent blizzard had taken a breather and my buddies decided we needed to go down by the beach and see how far the pack ice had frozen out onto the Bering Sea. We hopped on our snow goes and sped the tundra mile, and when we got to where the beach should have been there was nothing but snow and ice as far as the eye could see.

George, being the younger and braver (or stupider) of the trio, decided we should venture a little further to see if there were any seal breathing holes.

I made a feeble attempt at suggesting that we did not need to do this, but even at my age scoffing from your peers has a terrible impact on your manhood. George and Jode sped out on the ice and I followed.

Sure enough, not too far out we came across a few of what to our untrained eyes looked like they could have been breathing holes, so we killed our engines and waited for a seal to appear.

The sun was shining, and although the temperature was less than comfortable, the heat from the engines, a thermos of hot chocolate, and some seal jerky made the wait not unpleasant. We waited, waited, and waited some more. The hot chocolate got cold, and I decided seal jerky would be better suited for lashing sleighs together.

Seals must be able to hold their breath a long time, for none appeared.

George decided we ought to get a little closer and go ice fishing, or as he called it, manucking. I don't think that was the real Yup'ik word for ice fishing but it was the one George kept using.

George produced three sticks with line and hooks attached. We all selected an ice hole and dropped our line, using, what else, chewed seal jerky for bait. George soon pulled out a small fish he called a devil fish. Jode soon followed by pulling out a little larger fish that none of us could name. I, of course, was having no luck at all.

I kept watching the sky to the west and noticed that storm clouds seemed to be rolling in faster than I thought safe and suggested we leave.

George was pulling fish out every time he put in his line. He was very reluctant to leave. I mentioned the oncoming clouds again. He said not to worry, he had his GPS, and even if we were caught out on the ice with no land in sight he could get us back. Jode said that sounded OK to him, and I said I thought it was a terrible idea.

Sure enough the clouds rushed in, the wind began to blow, and the snow whirled around. It was bad enough that even George said we ought to get back. George and Jode packed up their fish, we started our snow goes and George got out his GPS and turned it on. Nothing. It was not working.

By this time I was in no mood to discuss the situation so I told George to let me try. I put the GPS on the hood of my snow go, gave it a good wack with my manucking stick and numbers popped on the screen. The GPS was now working and we sped off back toward shore.

George later asked me what made me think of hitting the GPS with the manucking stick. I told him it was because I did not have a hammer. I told him it was my Army training. If it didn't work, just hit it with a hammer, or in this case a manucking stick.

The two of them are still in Alaska and have invited me to go on a whale hunt some time this spring when the Beluga run. I am pretty sure I am not going, and am rereading Moby Dick just to make sure I don't change my mind.