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hold?” he asked.
    I was more than a little relieved. “I can barely lift my fork,” I answered. “A hundred and forty-one kings, Tor. I can barely believe it. I suppose you’ve caught more than that in a day?”
    â€œClose to three hundred once.”
    â€œBy yourself? How?”
    â€œJust did it.”
    â€œOver the years, how many kings make what you would call a good day?”
    â€œI’m always trying to break fifty. Fifty is a good day.”
    â€œAnd we caught a hundred and forty!”
    â€œSure, but the price is down, remember? These days you have to catch a hundred to make what you used to make catching fifty. So in reality, we caught seventy.”
    â€œI guess it must be pretty discouraging.”
    â€œI plead guilty to being cynical about our industry.If you’d been fishing as many years as I have, you would be, too.”
    â€œI’m trying to work my numbers,” I explained. “Not on the cohos; I know they’re only paying thirty cents a pound. Any guesses what the average weight of our king salmon is running?”
    â€œClose to seventeen pounds, dressed out.”
    â€œWhat are they going to pay if we factor in number ones, number twos, and extra large?”
    â€œOn average, around ninety cents a pound.”
    I reached for a pencil as he was serving the salmon. The fish was moist as can be, just the way I like it. Torsen had baked it in a mustard sauce and put slices of red onion on top. “Let’s see,” I said, “that’s about twenty-three hundred and eighty pounds of king salmon down in the hold, times ninety cents, would bring two thousand one hundred and forty-two dollars. Fifteen percent is my share, which would be…three hundred and twenty-one dollars. Can that be right?”
    Torsen went back to eating and looked at me impatiently. “Sure, that’s right. Give yourself another ten or twenty bucks for the cohos.”
    â€œThat’s amazing! I’m already out of the red and into the black!”
    â€œEat up,” he said.
    â€œMan, I can’t believe it! I picked the right boat, eh?”
    â€œThe other boats might be doing better.”
    â€œNo way—I’ve been watching. Say, how come youdon’t play the radio out the deck speakers so you can hear what the other boats are saying about the bite?”
    â€œToo distracting. It’s just talk, anyway. Guys complain they aren’t catching fish when you know full well they are, and vice versa. If they talk about gear that’s working, it might be to throw you off. The only time they tell the truth is among their own code group, and then it’s not on the regular frequency; it’s on their second radio that’s scrambled so nobody but them can pick it up. I tune into the weather when I’m in the wheelhouse. I pay attention to news about when the season might close. What else do I really need to know?”
    â€œThis salmon is as good as my mom’s,” I said, “and that’s saying something. She’d serve it with kelp pickles and beach asparagus, though.”
    â€œNever had ’em.”
    â€œYou don’t know what you’re missing!”
    â€œPrince of Wales Island has been pretty well logged off, hasn’t it?”
    â€œPretty much,” I said. “The logging communities went bust. Most of those folks left.”
    â€œAnd the commercial fishing is going bust on account of all the farmed salmon flooding the market. Prince of Wales must be hurting.”
    â€œIt is,” I said. “There’s government jobs, that sort of thing, sport fishing lodges…and there’s always subsistence. The subsistence families will be able to hang on.”
    The big man looked irritated. “Is that what yourparents want for you? Just to hang on living a subsistence life?”
    â€œNot really,” I said, surprised by his reaction. “My sister thinks