A New Gold Rush
5:10 PM, JULY 14th, 2013 – Somewhere in the air above the Tongass: I always prefer a window seat when I travel but it didn’t work out that way on this trip. From seat 20B I’m still able to get a good glimpse of the majestic scenery below. The fellow in the window seat next to me is also fascinated as he presses his head against the wall of the plane to peer at the view below thus allowing me extra space to lean toward the window and share my eyes in the sweeping panorama below. As the plane slowly descends hundreds of tiny heavily forested islands below create an oceanic labyrinth along the broken edge of the continent. The islands appear as mountain tops giving the impression that another great flood has returned causing the oceans of the world to rise a few thousand feet. Dense pine forests completely cover the steep sloping islands all the way to the edge of the calm sea. Not far to the west the inlet opens up to a vast seemingly endless ocean.
I glance across to the other side of the plane. The young man sitting in the window seat across the isle is now quiet as his forehead is pressed against the window with awestruck eyes lost in the expanse of one of the most beautiful landscapes in the world. Tall rugged snow-capped peaks stretch across the eastern horizon as far as the eye can see. Halfway through the flight I couldn’t help but overhear his conversation with the elderly couple sitting next to him. He proudly shared with them his purpose for this trip. Nodding his head with a big confident smile he told them, “I’m going to be working sixteen hours a day, seven days a week as a fish processor,… yeah!”
I thought to myself, “does he have any idea how difficult that will be?” Sixteen hours of labor every day of the week. Honestly, the thought of it is frightening to me.
…Soon after landing – SITKA, ALASKA: The flight from Seattle was about three hours, and included a quick stop in Ketchikan. The time passed quickly. Now we are waiting to board the orange school bus which will take us to our final destination. “We” refers to twenty-two optimistic guys that just got off the plane. No, we are not a bunch of prisoners being moved to a different correctional facility, although I admit that it somewhat feels that way. The reality is we are about to begin a seasonal job working at a fish processing plant. The company, Silver Bay Seafoods, first commenced operations in 2006 and processes millions of fish during the annual summer salmon runs.
A rather large man received us at the gate. He was holding a placard that read SILVER BAY SEAFOODS and introduced himself as Tiny. A large man named Tiny,… I’m confused. After we loaded ourselves onto the bus he gives us a quick briefing. We’ve already been assigned rooms in a bunker house on the property. We are to go to our rooms, leave our luggage, get a laundry tub, and then meet at the company cafeteria at 8pm for orientation. Things are already moving fast-paced. At the end of the briefing, as the bus pulls away from the curb at the airport, he enthusiastically shouts in his far-projecting voice, “Now, are you ready to make some money?” The whole bus erupts in cheers.
The small town of Sitka has all the feel of a place and time far away. With a population today of less than 9,000 Sitka was once known as the Paris of the Pacific having been the most important port on the West Coast during the early 1800’s and served as the Russian capitol in the America’s during that time. This area was formerly known as Shee At’iká by the Tlingit people that lived and thrived here for more than 10,000 years before. The rich history of Alaska began to be mixed with Russians in the 1700’s with explorations to map Russia’s far east Siberian coastline and then especially with the discovery of the fine skins of the otters that abounded in Alaskan waters. Greed and exploitation led to many bloody battles throughout the numerous islands of Alaska but especially in Shee At’iká where the original Russian settlement was destroyed by the Tlingit people killing almost everyone. The Russian warship, led by the governor of Russian-America, Alexandr Baranov, returned heavily armed and bombarded the Tlingit fort until the Tlingit’s supply of ammunition eventually ran out. The Tlingit then deserted the fort and the Russians established a permanent settlement there named New Archangel. The Tlingit remained on the fringes of the new colony holding on to what they could of their culture. A turn of events resulted in the eventual sale of Alaska to the United States in 1867 and the name of New Archangel was then changed to Sitka.
Silver Bay Seafoods is located about six miles southeast of the town of Sitka. The bus weaves down the two-lane Saw Mill Creek Road flanked on either side by steep heavily forested slopes. On the left the mountains rise quickly to nearly 4000 feet while on the right side of the road the base of the mountains disappear into the sea. A perfectly clear sky provides a crisp view of the distant rocky peaks with patches of snow on the northern faces. The vivid blues and greens of the sky and landscape are complimented by the equally vivid pink flower stalks of showy fireweed plants growing along the side of the road. This spectacular land and seascape is the most stunning I’ve ever seen.
The bunker house is a two-story wooden structure with one hallway down the middle on each floor. Doors to rooms of equal size are on either side of the hall. One men’s and one women’s bathrooms are located in the middle of the building next to a small laundry room. The plain white-walled rooms are furnished with two bunk beds and a simple shelving case made as a cheap do-it-yourself project of unfinished plywood. We are issued laundry tubs containing our bedding and reminded to be at orientation at eight p.m.
My three roommates that were on the same flight as I are joining a fourth roommate that arrived a few days earlier. Mackenzie, a young Asian-American man from the Miami area takes the bunk above Marvin, a young white guy with dark hair also in his early twenties from Los Angeles. Marvin, the one that arrived a few days ago, is already well installed in the temporary accommodations. His suitcase lies open with unfolded clothes creeping out and exercise bands hang on the aluminum posts of the bunk bed. He gives us a brief overview of the work. My fourth roommate is Melvin, a thirty-something black man from the Memphis area. And then there’s me, a forty-year-old married man with children from the San Diego area. We make a pretty diverse group. Mackenzie is a student studying engineering. Marvin, I’m not quite sure what he does. Melvin is a DJ and sound designer. I am a photographer, actor, and model. We make small talk and share our places of origin and the reason we are here. Everyone seems to have a very different background but one thing in common – we are all here with the optimistic belief that we are going to make better than average income. As we chat Melvin takes the lower bunk and I arrange my bedding on the top bunk. Our window faces north. Construction materials and fishing nets are scattered on the property outside but beyond that lie towering mountains connected by a common ridge that runs east-west. A nearby waterfall can be heard somewhere on the other side of the road.
View outside our room in the bunker house
We quickly arrange our belongings and then walk together to the processing plant which is about a quarter-mile of road through the construction yard with large piles of coal, gravel, and miscellaneous construction materials. The plant is a large rectangular-shaped nondescript building made of concrete and steel walls with a high roof. Truck trailers are parked next to a loading dock with an adjacent door that leads upstairs to the office and cafeteria. We and the rest of the newbies meet Kyffon, the HR coordinator, who gives us about a ninety-minute orientation. He covers things like timecards, hourly wage, tardiness, injury reports, break schedules, and safety measures. We are then issued our rain gear and rain boots to keep ourselves dry in the cold wet working conditions. After all this we are invited to partake in the buffet. Three people work in the kitchen preparing cafeteria-style meals for the workers. We will be served three meals a day. As I struggle to find food worth eating among the limited choices I begin to worry about my future health here at Silver Bay and begin to ponder the idea of foraging in the forest and along the shore. Cheap packaged salad mix consisting mostly of iceburg lettuce can be complemented by canned sliced beets, artichoke hearts, sliced cucumbers, cherry tomatoes, toasted sunflower seeds and dried cranberries. For the main part of the meal there’s mashed potatoes, steamed canned vegetables, dry biscuits, and a few types of beef. It wouldn’t be so bad if the food was of better quality and better prepared. When I actually eat it I realize how poor it really is.
I discovered when I arrived that my T-mobile cellular service runs on a different network here. Worse is the fact that the location of the plant is in an isolated area next to tall mountains further obstructing cell phone coverage. I have one bar,… if lucky. I manage to make a few calls to my wife and parents to share my day with them. At ten-thirty it is still dimly light out in this northern latitude. I take in a deep breath of the fresh cool air as I treat my eyes to the sight of scenic purple-tinted mountains reaching far beyond the bay. Untouched snow lies in shallow valleys near the tops of the mountain peaks. A sliver of the moon and dim stars begin to appear in the clear sky above.
Panning fish
Monday morning I wake up early to my alarm, visit the bathroom and then make my way to the cafeteria for breakfast. Meals are served at specific times so if you miss the appointed time, you’re out of luck. We were all told to present ourselves for work although only some will be working today. For breakfast I serve myself plain yogurt, cottage cheese, and scrambled eggs. I refuse to eat the high sugar foods of waffles and pancakes and equally avoid the cheap meat products of bacon and pork sausage links. I happen to sit across the table from the young man on the plane, the one that was telling the old couple that he was going to be working as a fish processor for 16 hours per day. Michael is from Florida. He had wanted to come to Alaska for a long time and found this to be the perfect opportunity. His short hair stands straight out from his head like thin black needles and reminds me of the physical reaction of a cartoon character being shocked by a strong electrical current. His friendly outgoing personality goes well with the electrocution hairstyle.
My name isn’t on the “work list” so I suppose that today will be a day off. Downstairs on the plant floor a huge working space is filled with large steel tanks, conveyor belts, and godly-looking machines that are fed whole fish and then spit them out on the other end, head and guts removed. Dozens of people in blue rain gear work the assembly lines, their hands constantly moving as they perform their assigned tasks. The sound of the machines and hissing of the hydraulics reverberates through the plant. A large open bay door leads to the dock where a boat is parked unloading its catch of salmon which is pumped from the hull by means of a large pliable orange tube that goes up to the tanks inside the plant. While observing the operations inside the plant, Lenin, one of the foremen, notices me and, apparently short on workers for the day, asks me if I’m ready to work. I was looking forward to doing a short hike today but I reply with a firm yes. I immediately slip into my rain gear and clock in. Lenin is a twenty-something no-nonsense Hispanic man from the Dominican Republic. His stern concentrated expression and posture command full respect. He leads me past the big godly machines known as “the butchers” to a long conveyor belt by the back wall. About a dozen others are on the same assembly line all wearing blue rain coats, overalls, boots, gloves, and those ridiculous-looking white hairnets. I get a quick ten-second tutorial on what to do and away I go working although I’m not yet exactly sure what it is that I’m doing.
Fishing boat’s catch of salmon is pumped out of the boat
Welcome to the job of a fish panner. After the salmon pass through the butchers, they pour onto another belt lined with workers that grade the fish and remove the guts and eggs from any that weren’t successfully gutted in the machines. Fish are graded by the color of the meat. White meat is called number one, pink meat number two. Number twos are placed onto a different belt. The fish then fall into a tub where they receive a quick rinse before being carried up another belt and then falling through a metal chute onto the panning belt at a rate up to 250 fish per minute. Pink salmon is the bulk of the catch and most of them weigh between one and three pounds a piece. Each panner’s job is to quickly grab the fish and arrange them into a large plastic pan measuring about twenty by thirty inches that is sitting on a scale next to each panner. When the scale measures fifty pounds the pan of fish is then slid onto a lower conveyor belt where it is sent to the freezer. The task is both repetitive and physical. I have always had the impulse to push myself in everything I do. I even time my speed and push to improve. After a couple hours of laboring I have improved my speed and I figure I can pan an average of one tray per minute. After doing the math that’s a conservative figure of more than 35,000 pounds of fish passing through my hands in a 14-hour day! As a result, my hands become quite sore along with my forearms, biceps, shoulders, and even chest. The smaller fish I grab one with each hand and toss them into the pan. The bigger ones must be picked up with two hands. I don’t know how long they will keep me on this position but I will probably develop a death grip capable of crushing the skull of a small bear. The first day I actually worked a full 14 hours.
Day two is more of the same. Somehow I end up working at the front of the line. That’s right in front of the chute where the fish come pouring out splattering blood and tiny scales on my face and jacket. The conditions are cold and wet here. The door to the freezer tunnel is right behind me. Ice forms so quickly in the -40˚F freezer tunnel that the area outside of the door accumulates a buildup of ice that must be chipped away throughout the day. The concrete floor even becomes frozen slick and causes people to slip as they hurry by. Even the metal platform I stand on is so cold that the chill transfers through the boots and numbs my toes.
After several hours of working inside the plant the constant hum of the massive freezer, butcher machines, conveyor belts, and forklifts mixed with the incomprehensible shouting by the supervisors always pressing us to move faster sets me into a strange trance, especially combined with the constant sight of nothing but butchered fish that were snatched in nets as they innocently swam free to fulfill their God-given destiny of the annual spawn. The whole process is very fast-paced and lots of entrails and salmon roe often end up getting past the gutters and onto the panning belt. When we see roe we are to throw it into another basket to then be sent to the egg house where it is graded and packed for shipping. Occasionally a fish comes through that has ugly deep gashes in the side or otherwise mangled and these are also put aside to be turned into dog food, another product of the plant. Dog food is made of the remaining parts of the salmon not intended for human consumption. They pass it through a meat grinder and then the finely butchered carnage is poured into pans and also sent to the freezer.
Another foreman, Juan from Zacatecas, Mexico, seems to work more in other parts of the plant. He is probably in his early thirties and not quite as intimidating in appearance as Lenin. Juan smiles quite often. Under the foremen are supervisors J.R., a man probably in his late-twenties from the Philippines Joe, an ex-marine in his late-twenties with Hispanic background from Imperial Beach (San Diego County), and Noel, another young man in his twenties with a Hispanic background. Ages are really hard for me to estimate because so many that have worked in this business for years appear so much older. Lenin and I are not on good terms now. After our short mid-morning break he charged Melvin and I for being late and warned us that since we are new he won’t write us up but not to let it happen again. I can’t believe the break is so short. I simply changed out of my rain gear, ran up stairs to use the bathroom, drank some water in the cafeteria, and came back down. Changing in and out of this rain gear takes up a lot of time. My feelings of resentment fuel me to work harder while at the same time I begin doubting my ability to remain working here for the duration of the season.
Meals, although barely edible, do provide some pleasure and, most importantly, a break from the painful monotonous work. Breakfast has been served at five-thirty a.m., lunch at one p.m., and dinner at six p.m. Breakfast continues offering fruit, yogurt, cottage cheese, cereals, eggs, sausage, toast, waffles, and hash browns; hotdogs, hamburgers, salad ingredients, cottage cheese, and potato salad for lunch; and roast beef, chicken, pork, salad makings, cottage cheese, and cooked veggies for dinner. The ingredients aren’t of the best quality so I am careful of my selection. Typically for breakfast I eat some pineapple, eggs, yogurt, and cottage cheese. Then I go outside and pick some wild dandelions for good vitamin content. At about ten p.m. my workday ends with fifteen hours on the clock. I’m exhausted, however relieved that I have survived two very long days and if the rumor proves to be true, tomorrow will be a day off.
(The following short video was not created by me however it provides a good glimpse of some of the operations inside the plant beginning with the salmon being sucked out of a boat and then sorted in the tanks. At 1:49 there is about a minute of coverage of my job, panning. The video then gives a peak inside the freezer and packing. Let it be known that this video is from another season, it’s slowed down, everyone appears very happy as they work at a comfortable slow pace, and all the panners shown are women. In reality, the real speed of the work was much faster, almost all the panners were men, and few people were smiling.)
CLICK HERE TO WATCH VIDEO
…continue on to Chapter 2
THE EXPENDABLES: Escape from Baranof Island 