Tele Aadsen

writer - fisherman - listener

Five days goes fast when that’s the fix to car­ry you through the next three months with­out your sweet­heart. Cap’n J and I made the most of it, though. Break­fast with our favorite folks at The Lit­tle Cheer­ful. Fam­i­ly snug­gle time with Bear. Mak­ing Sun­day pan­cakes togeth­er. A sun­ny morn­ing strolling the Farmer’s Mar­ket, enjoy­ing street per­form­ers and glo­ri­ous­ly fresh rasp­ber­ries, mar­veling at the fact that Joel could stroll with me. Even at a slow, ten­der pace, his mobil­i­ty was worlds ahead of where I’d left him a month ear­li­er, when he’d been crutch­es-con­fined, bare­ly able to give me a wob­bly hug.

On Sat­ur­day night, for Joel’s first pho­tog­ra­phy trek since his injury, we drove up to Mount Bak­er so he could shoot the super­moon ris­ing over Mount Shuk­san. There’s no more pow­er­ful med­i­cine for Cap’n J than that he finds in nature, so this clear evening was spe­cial for us both. Seems like one that you could appre­ci­ate, too.

 

And now it’s time for the next thing. Mar­lin pulled into town yes­ter­day, and after a dizzy­ing series of tran­si­tions – Kath­leen Jo, sail­boat, Down South, house, Up North, sail­boat – I’m hap­pi­ly set­tled in for the salmon sea­son. We’re head­ing out today, leav­ing to get into posi­tion for our July 1 king salmon open­ing, expect­ed to last about six days.

Hard as it still is for me to com­pre­hend that Joel and I aren’t run­ning the Ner­ka togeth­er this sea­son, it’s always hard­er to be the per­son left on land, and nev­er more so than in this sit­u­a­tion. Cap’n J’s the guy who leaps out of the bunk at 2:45 on July 1st, singing how much he loves catch­ing king salmon. If you talk with him over the next week, would you give him some sweet­ness from me?

Be well, friends — we’ll be in touch.