"Fisher's Depot be runnin' low on sooplies, with eh exception of dat salmon," he said, speech somewhat slurred from a few lowball scotch whiskeys.
"You owe me Ice Pick. You realize what time it is?" I replied jokingly.
"Yeah. Get me some'a that salmon and run these supplies I got for 'em, an' I be happy ta pour you some good ole' aged golden drunkiness my friend"
Considering my business is 24 hours a day, seven days a week, I pulled mysel;f out of bed, showered, and checked the weather on the radio. Cold and a chance of snow. Winds five to ten out of the northeast.
I made a thermos of coffee in the microwave. Granted its day old java, but should do the trick, fired up the Porter and landed in Chistochina within an hour.
Ice Pick was waiting for me, half empty lowball in hand.
"Mornin' Stephen. Help me load 'iss stuff in your Porter, and Martha will be bringin' ya some fresh coffee and her homemade breakfast from tha kitchen."
"Thanks Ice"
After a few minutes of idle chit chat, I was off. The sun began rising in the horizon, welcoming me to a splash of light in an otherwise dark sky except for the welcomed Aurora Borealis.
A peaceful snow was still falling, coating the landscape in a patchy blanket of white. Fisher's was within view. I radioed Robert, letting him know I would be making a water landing.
And viola, I taxied the old bird up to the dock, unloaded the supplies to a thankful crew, picked up some fresh caught salmon for Frankie, and some king crab legs for myself, was paid my fare, and spent a couple hours discussing the politics of living off and on throughout the year in the enigmatic lands called Alaska.
Hope you enjoyed
---Stephen
