It’s been a month since I moved to Sitka, Alaska to run a fishing lodge for three months. To celebrate, I risked life and limb and went on a hike by myself for the first time. Here’s me, can of bear spray at my side, walking through the woods while singing tracks from Les Mis at the top of my lungs because you aren’t supposed to be quiet and risk scaring the bears. It worked, I didn’t scare the bears, just all the other hikers on the trail.
I bough my bear spray that day from the local sporting goods store where I take all the clients to get their fishing licenses. When I walked in, the guys behind the counter snapped to attention, expecting a crowed of eager anglers to be trailing behind me. But no, it was just me, and I just needed a can of bear spray. Maybe also an umbrella. Here’s me, hiding in the woods as some unexpectedly heavy rain blew in over my hike.
Besides the sporting goods store, the grocery store is the one other stop in my daily routine. One night, I found myself wandering through the aisles with nothing other than a box of “feminine hygiene products” and a chocolate bar, because I have no shame. Then I remembered that I literally know every grocery clerk in the store. So I went through the self-check out, because I have some shame.
But as routine and boring as my job can be sometimes, I would still take it over being the fish processor. The fish processor packs and freezes all the fish that the clients catch. He and I are typically the only ones at the lodge all day, me hanging out inside, him hanging out in the garage, both of us with our earbuds in not really talking to each other as I scrub toilets and he vacuum-packs fish.
We had one moment of bonding when we were driving two 50 pound boxes of frozen fish to the airport in his truck. All of a sudden, the back flew open and the fish boxes crashed on to the road behind us. We rescued them with the help of some good Samaritans who weren’t afraid to run across two lanes of traffic clutching giant cardboard boxes of fish. It was nerve wracking for the both of us. Later, I found him sitting in the cab of the truck with a box of fried chicken. He said, “Howdy.” I said, “Well you look pleased with yourself.” He said, “I am. The fish boxes didn’t die and I have chicken.” Which is all you can ask for some days.
As for me, I pretty much always assume that things will work out. Somehow. Here’s me, continuing on with my hike when it became clear that the rain was there to stay. The giant grey shirt I’m wearing I found as I was cleaning, wedged behind a bunk bed, left behind by the last group. I washed it and claimed it and took it hiking in case I got cold. Which I did. So that worked out pretty well.
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That’s all for today. Follow me on Instagram at @leeslens for more photos and short stories from my daily adventures.
Kesia Lee 