by Wil Bosbyshell
I dropped my baited hook into the water of the Cook Inlet, Alaska. I had only caught one small halibut that morning and was hoping to catch a much larger halibut now. We were in deep water, as my hook sank to the bottom, I felt something strange. My ears popped. The air seemed to swell and fill up in a way I had never felt before. I looked up just in time to see the volcano erupt.
Now, let me back up a bit. This story begins a little before the volcano erupted. You can relax, I lived.
I am a native Floridian and fished as a boy. But let me tell you, the fishing in Alaska is a lot different from fishing in Florida. In Alaska, many times after you CATCH the fish you must SHOOT the fish before you bring it onto the boat. (Of course, you try not to shoot the boat in the process.) Now that's what I call fishing! Halibut are like flounders, but as big as barn doors. If you bring them onto the boat alive, they can flip and break your leg.
I was living in Alaska and had gone fishing several times for salmon and white fish. My buddy, Dave Hall, and I wanted to go halibut fishing. Because it was the early 80s, Dave was referred to as Monty Hall of Lets Make Deal fame. We planned this trip on a chartered fishing boat out of Homer.
We set off early in the morning in broad day light and drove from Fairbanks to Homer on a Friday. The drive took 12 hours. We arrived around 7:00 PM in broad daylight, sun still high in the sky. When you arrive in Homer you have to pay homage to the “Eagle Lady”.
Once a month, much to the delight (or horror) of her neighbors, the eagle lady takes one of her cows down to the front of her property close to the road and shoots it. Sorry about all the shooting in this story, but its Alaska. The cow falls over dead in her front yard. Fortunately for her neighbors her front yard was quite large. Then over the next month, Eagles would come from all over the area and eat the dead cow.
Strange you say. In North Carolina or Florida this would definitely be against several city ordinances; however in Homer this was a major tourist attraction. On our visit that day there were over 80 bald Eagles sitting in her front yard. Some eating the dead cow, others just a basking in the endless summer sun.
After visiting the eagle lady we went down to the dock where our Charter Boat Captain explained to us that the other four people on the charter had not shown up yet. Dave and I had a drink at the bar on the jetty. We pitched our tent and camped out for the night, in board daylight, on the jetty.
Bright and early the next morning we arrived at the boat. The four Japanese businessmen who were sharing our charter had canceled at the last minute. They had paid in full, so we had beer and food for six people with only two people fishing in addition to the captain and the first mate. A great start if I say so myself.
Back to the volcanic eruption. I had never seen a volcano erupt in person before, but I know one when I saw it!
I looked in awe as black smoke billowed high into the sky out of an island in the distance.
“Shit,” I said.
My buddy Dave came up beside me, “Fuck,” he said.
A blast of warm air hit us. The first mate ran up, “Holy fucking shit.”
Not to let the string of expletives run down, I added, “Fuck shit fuck shit piss.” I’ll have you know that I learned to cuss from my father, the Episcopal priest.
The Captain rushed over. I thought he would join and extend our string of expletives. However, instead he bolted for the bridge yelling, “Pull up the anchor”, to the 1st mate. The Captain fired up the engines and did something I was not expecting he turned toward the volcano.
I looked at the first mate and said, “We're going toward the volcano?” He did not look back at me but said two words that were quite chilling, “title wave.” Fortunately, we were far enough away that we were not killed in the initial blast.
It was not like we were hiking near Mount Saint Helens and caught in the actual explosion. We were in pretty deep water, so the tidal wave was only about 3 feet high and not cresting. The boat lifted gently with the rolling swell. I breathed a sigh of relief. The captain yelled down from the bridge, “We're going in.” Dave said, “I need a beer.” He was, after all, a lieutenant in the US Army.
The sky turned black. Ash rained down on the boat. Not too bad, I thought. We were alive, we had beer, a little ash won’t hurt us. A flake of ash landed on my bare arm. Surprised, I screamed like a little girl. Wow, that hurt! I brushed it off quickly and we ran for the cabin. I would learn later that when volcanic ash mixes with water it turns to hydrochloric acid. My arm was wet, because we were on a fishing boat in the middle of the ocean, the boat was wet, and we were in big trouble. We got rain slickers on as the paint melted off the boat.
We made it into Homer. The dock had been damaged by the tidal wave, it was much larger by the time it hit Homer. The bar on the jetty was spared. With the dock mostly gone, the boat pulled up to the jetty and we just jumped out. We thanked the captain for a very exciting trip! Fortunately, my car was far enough up at the jetty that the tidal wave did not reach it, however the ash did take a great deal of paint off the roof and hood.
Dave and I looked at each other, “Best fishing trip ever!” we said in unison.
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