SITKA -- We'll begin with the boat. Mid-March, a few days after flying in, I woke to a call from a buddy on the docks who told me that the high-water alarm was bleating. Ran down to find water above the floorboards in the engine room. We got a couple of pumps on the boat, and got ahead of the water coming in.
I spent the rest of the day scraping the Adak's seams with a wire brush and spraying in foam. A diver spread sawdust through the water to find any infiltrations. We watched the bilge to see where it might come in, but no luck.
Who knows -- the sawdust could have found its way into the leak, or the spray might have worked. Such are the mysteries of boats.
This happened, keep in mind, two days after I arrived home. As the docks were humming with action of the herring opening -- much smaller this year, thank goodness. (Surprise, surprise! The Alaska Department of Fish and Game gives a quota of 29,000 tons one year, and guess what? We're not going to have that many fish in the coming years.)
Magical northern lights
My dog Colorado was somewhere in the belly of the plane flying into Sitka, his floppy doggy ears popping with the change of pressure.
He was a trooper at the Oakland airport, getting his last bit of California sunlight before loading up for what he thought was the last time (more on that in a moment). He's becoming an old pro, sad to say.
The day I flew in it snowed, coating boats in the harbor. The four of us -- Rachel, myself, the dog and the wee one -- cruised around in the early morning light. Town and rocks appeared anointed by the white and the morning sun. Later on, Colorado made it clear to both of us that he had no plans to play second fiddle to any incoming baby. We duly took his point.
Shortly after the drama on the Adak, we got to witness a Sitka Slayers Roller Derby match, which was stunning. There's a good article to be written, I think, on how roller derby has taken Alaska by storm. It's not like fishing, or lumberjacking, all traditional provinces of men, where women are challenged to be more, well, male, to participate.
Roller derby has its own thing going on, with a particular ghoulish, even circus quality, how these gals exaggerate their makeup, wear sequins, then knock the shit out of each other with toothy grins and invented names. You can see a few here from Petersburg. "Gill WreckHer." "Pink Slammin." I enjoyed one hit especially, when a Sitka Slayer jammer zeroed in on a Petersburg gal and launched her into the stands. It was thrilling. I look forward to the next one.
The baby has taken to waking Rachel up in the early morning hours. This happened at 3:30 a.m. March 17. Rachel went to the window and gasped, "Oh my."
In nightgown and pajamas, we hiked up Gavan trail and stood there, the four of us. Even the dog looked up as the night sky shivered green. It was magical, as if gods were taking a comb to the firmament. A Glock 20 sat heavy in my coat pocket for bears, which had been reported in the area. Perhaps I should have felt this when we realized Rachel was pregnant, but things always hit me late. Out there in the dark, as the Earth was washed by solar winds, this was the first heart-level moment of Yes. Family.
Sweet little one
After some time out of state, it was good to see the boys. We got in a poker night on the Sitka Spruce, stoked up the wood box, crossed our fingers that the pumps kept working, and started throwing money around. What can I say -- I needed extra wood on the fire. Too much California is making me soft. They didn't let me forget it. Nice to get a dose of the fellas.
And finally -- the sweet little one, who I get to feel move beneath my hand. She's running out of room in there, so it's less kicking and more long, painterly strokes over the inside of Rachel's belly. I can tell she's curious, how she explores. Music calms her. She's a quirky peanut, always shifting, insistent when she needs to be.
The tough news is that our doctor in Sitka considers this, for various reasons, a risk for the pregnancy, and so Rachel arrived here a few nights ago. So we'll be having a California girl.
It was a scramble transforming what had become a bachelor pad here in Oakland into a soon-to-be mother pad. But this was done. And now Lake Merritt will be our home for a little while, and California friends the support system. Of course, it's a thick silver lining to have Rachel near, so we can share these last seven weeks together -- barring, of course, the possibility that the doctors will want the little one out early.
Colorado has been very supportive, sticking near Rachel, always sleeping by her side and being extra snuggly when required.
As I said before, he's become a pro getting into his kennel, which he did for the surprise trip south. As usual, he commands attention, even from the baggage handlers. He's such a diva.
It will all work out, we know, when it comes to this, the most important of the Three Bs (baby, book and boat). We're just so eager to meet her.
Brendan Jones of Sitka is a Wallace Stegner fellow at Stanford University. He is the author of the novel "The Alaskan Laundry," forthcoming from Houghton Mifflin Harcourt later this year.