The fishing boats stationed at Fisher's Depot had unloaded their fresh catch and motored away looking for the next pull of ocean bounty...one remaining trawler gently rose and fell with the passing waves tied to the moorings, infront of an Alaskan rescue floatplane tied up as well. Found out when in the restaurant, that the pilot was Marshall and his dog Mush. Nice fella and even nicer pup.
I went over to the trawer and saw the fishermen loading up crates of coffee while unloading the salmon. Nice swap if I do say so myself.
Mildred the gracious cook du'jour whipped up a belly warming creamy fish chowdah (chowder for you non New Englanders) We all wolfed down like our last meal.
Frank and his young box loading apprentice Jimmy, unloaded our delivery of canned and non perishable supplies, destined for the soon to be snowed in and frozen over.
A couple hours later, Mildred got her requested tip of a gentlemanly kiss on her cheek which she asks of any pilot who lands at Fisher's Depot and consumes one of her delicious meals. She says its good luck. I think she is just tired of Frank, Jimmy, and her grouchy husband Louis. So he isnt grouchy. just a bit...rough from too many years at sea.
Jimmy refueled our flying pig, as Diane and I prepared for our flight to Coldfoot, Alaska. Bay doors closed with the provisions made by gracious hands for Teddy and Mike at Coldfoot. A special order of Salmon pot-pies and the best crumbly biscuits this side of Fairbanks.
and we started to taxi down the runway to the waves of our frozen friends we were up up and away like Santa Claus for our journey to Coldfoot where the next load was to be shoved into our bulging pig with wings. This bird would do Pink Floyd proud.
