Spoiled Rotten

 I am Spoiled ROTTEN! Has nothing to do with wealth, herein it is the fact I hate salmon! WHAT? Blasphemy I hear my neighbors yell out, as being from Alaska and to harbor this fetish, WT-Sarah Palin-F? It's to bad that Sarah is no longer the Alaskan “Idiot Idol”. Anyway, after so many years in Alaska, I can say that I no longer like salmon! I can't stand the sight of it, can't stomach the smell of it. Why? I started off as most Alaskans do when still a Cheechako. Which means braving the dangerous roads heading south with bumper-to-bumper 80 mph traffic, just to find elbow-to-elbow fish fanatics crazed on getting their limit! Yes, “Combat” fishing it was. I always pondered, that with so many rivers and millions of miles of riverbank, how come the fishing grounds are always crowded? Where in hell's high-water did all these people come from? So after a long day fighting other Alaskans over “Hey, that's my spot”, it meant a long drive back with bumper-to-bumper 90 mph drivers dozing off, and that's when the work began. How many fish? See, once home, it meant gutting then cleaning then wrapping that fish, to fill the freezer. And if you thought shucking oysters was difficult on the fingers, try filleting 40-salmon! And I also braved the Copper River dip netting phenomena, wherein you must cross Native lands, so beware as there are some Athabaskans out there that are still on the warpath. And I have been in Valdez when the pinks, well they stink up the place. Even the Brown bears won't touch a pink. And if you try freezing that pink rotting flesh, come winter and in the mood for salmon, you will then realize why the bears turn their noses to this stuff– it sucks, like eating a wet Twinkie with rotten fish flavoring! So over the years, my fine friend had sterilized my ambitions to be like all the rest and taught me the “True” Alaskan salmon experience. WOW! So it takes drift boat, wherein you cast off early in the morning while the dew is still making things magical, floating down a river with a peace and quiet that finds words hard to describe. No motorized boats, just a lazy “Mark Twain” type of adventure. Yes, when you can hear a spruce twig vibrate the water. So calm, so enchanting, it means a mesmerizing experience. The time of day when fishing is not a priority, just living to enjoy the moment of the movement is all that counts. On the upper Kenai River, this is where one finds Alaska in its “Golden Opportunity” for a “Fish On” experience. It means snow-capped mountains galore, with eagles still grouchy from the night before, so close encounters are a picture taking bonanza and then the silence is broken, and out from the dense brush, yes a Browny – just 20-feet away but it looks at you without caution – realizing we are just a passing memory, no harm intended. And this goes on forever it seems, putting the fishing fantacy fanaticism on hold, until we reach one of the “holes”, like Big Eddy. Soon, we are engaged in trying to outwit a giant member of the Salmonidae family, a.k.a. as the Alaska King Salmon. Then as daybreak finds reason to get out of its hangover mode and finds a mood becoming a wilderness river alive, it is “Fish On”. And after several hours of back and forth and this and that, a giant fish is landed. And when a fish like that is taken, it means nothing other then a quick retreat to the shore-line and into a hot frying pan, after that, there is no substitute. No seasoning allowed, as it is cooked to its own rare perfection in its own Omega-3 oils, it does indeed melt in your mouth with a sensational flavor, that has not been duplicated yet by mankind in the food factory lab – as success is just a dream. So, there are many ways to cook salmon, but only one way too truly enjoy it the way it was meant to be, and that my friend may be a thing of the past. So my prejudice for salmon, only because I was “Spoiled ROTTEN” on the only way that counts, with memories evermore for a fish expereince “Nervermore”!