The Alaskan fishermen would never tell you there’s an oversupply of salmon in their rivers, but there can be in their own freezers.
My friend Liz lives in Cordova, a gorgeous much rained-on fishing village on the Alaskan coast. It’s in the Prince William Sound, a stronghold for sea otters. No roads connect into this area, and when you arrive on the ferry, these cute furry sea mammals are the first wildlife you will spot. With coats so thick they bob on their backs when resting, they solemnly observe the world with whiskery faces. Along with salmon, they eat shellfish and crabs caught off the bottom of the ocean. These they bring to the surface, where they use their bellies as a plate to place their live food on.
Nature is tough on the otters and their prey. I once saw a poor crab turn slow circles on an otter’s belly as its claws were plucked off one by one. Each time the crab manoeuvred its fearsome front claws toward the otter’s face, the otter would disorientate it by rolling belly down then belly up again to give the crab a quick dunk into the ocean. For a moment, the crab free floated before a paw recaptured it and replaced it in a more suitable position for the meal to continue.
As the ferry navigates the last calm stretch of water into Cordova, otters swim out of its way. A few dive at the last moment below the cold shimmering surface. Further along, in a sheltered bay, groups of otters float on their backs to form rafts, paws resting across their chests.
It’s easy to pick out the visitors as they eagerly run from window to window while the ferry glides along the coastline into Cordova. We descend to the bottom deck and wait our turn to drive off the ferry. Once on land, Liz parks the car across from the floating raft community, and I’m able to see baby otters held close or balanced on their mothers’ chest. I could watch for ages, but it’s late, and we have a month’s supply of groceries to unpack. At my first opportunity, I’ll walk back down here to watch them some more.
The next morning as I rug up in warm clothing for my return to the shoreline, Liz is attempting to stash salmon from the seasons fishing run into her freezer. As well as the two boxes we’ve carried with us, there’s already a box in there, accidentally left by a long-gone crew member. It’s a challenge. As fast as she forces frozen salmon steaks into the freezer, others are pushed out. Crouched on the floor, a box of salmon at her side, she cusses as several pieces dislodge and rain down on her head all at once. I laugh because It reminds me of a scene in “The Mask “, where, after a night of cavorting on the town, Jim Carey is woken by cops at his front door. When he opens his clothes cupboard to dress, tall stacks of dollar notes fall, sending him into a panic while he tries to re-stash the money.
A few minutes later Liz picks up her mobile.
“Hey Stephanie, how would you like it if I sent some salmon over to you?”