Water

I went to Alaska a few years ago to work the salmon season. Life in my small town was

stale and I needed to do something, anything, quickly. I was also technically homeless.

I had been living with the guy that played guitar in our band for a few years and

things just weren't working out. He was a neat freak, I am a slob; he wanted to practice all

the time, I wanted to write; he couldn't get laid to save his life, and I had women falling

all over me. It was doomed to fail.

At any rate, he moved away and I moved in with my older brother on a temporary basis.

He is a weekend father and it was too crowded there for me to stay very long. I’d met a few

people over the years that kept bringing up fishing in Alaska. It seemed tremendously crazy,

not to mention dangerous... it was exactly the sort of dumb shit I fall for.

I met up with a guy in Seattle that hired me on the spot and then flew out to Kodiak

Island to try something new. My new boss had a camp set up on a tiny island named Bird Rock

near a cove at the very tip of Uyak Bay. He and his wife stayed in a large cabin on a hill

and he had two large sheds at the base of this hill that housed all of his equipment.

Whatever crew he hired for the season slept in a small two story cabin on the hillside off to

the side of the rest of the camp. That year el jefe (the boss) was trying to save money and

only hired one crew member, me.

This crew cabin was approximately twenty yards from the shoreline, but at high tide the water

would get as close as five to ten yards from my front door. I would sometimes sit in my tiny

kitchen with my feet up at the table staring off into the water to pass the time. I had a lot

of time on my hands. A lot.

Crew members had the choice of sleeping in a small bedroom on the first floor or up

in an attic where two or three mattresses were leaning against a wall. I chose to sleep in

the bedroom because it was close to the kitchen, which made up the rest of the first floor.

The bedroom also had the luxury of having a door to separate it from the kitchen in the odd

event that el jefe walked in while I was doing something naughty to myself. Again, I had a

lot of time on my hands…

I stayed in Alaska from June to September with maybe only a few days off when it was

very slow. I worked from sun up to sun down, and if you know anything at all about Alaska,

that is one long fucking day.

I didn’t have much company either. El jefe and his wife aside, there were only maybe ten

other people in a twenty mile radius. Everyone in the area knew each other well and some of

them were relatives of el jefe that had operations of their own further up the bay. When I

wasn’t on the water pulling pea brained salmon out of our nets and throwing them into our

collection tubs, I was lying on the floor of my cabin reading or sleeping, or playing my

guitar, whatever made the time pass.

Another thing about Alaska is the constant raging weather. There was almost always

cloud cover day and night. Strong winds would rock my cabin on pitch black nights while small

swells beat on the shore, rocking our skiffs in the water causing them to clank against each

other. When there isn’t a hint of civilization around you for miles the sounds of nature are

clearer, almost deafening. I would often be startled from my slumber by a sudden gust beating

against the walls, or a spot rain storm pelting the corrugated tin that made up the roof of

the cabin. A few times I was woken up by things I cannot explain. Things that scared the piss

out of me.

One rare dark and quiet night I was up late reading Shogun in bed. The sky was clear

for once and I had stayed up that night with hopes of catching the aurora borealis only to

see the same boring stars I’ve seen a thousand times before. The water was unnaturally still

and looked like a bed of smooth black glass broken here and there by the shallow rocks that

made navigating the cove dangerous at night. I went to bed disappointed, and began to read to

lull myself to sleep.

I had just started to nod off when I suddenly heard footsteps on the porch outside my

front door. It sounded like a small child running up the steps with wet feet, which of course

made no sense; there weren’t any children around for miles. My eyes shot open and my skin

puckered as I heard whatever it was try the knob on my front door. I’m a paranoid guy and

even in the middle of nowhere I had a habit of locking my door at night. The knob jiggled a

few times and then there was silence. I let out a deep breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Whatever it was it was gone so I lay down and tried to forget about it.

No sooner had my head hit the pillow when a loud thud beat on my door once, twice,

and then a third time followed by the wet sounding slap of flesh run down my front steps. I

didn’t get back to sleep that night.

The next day I elected not to tell el jefe about what happened. He was fond of

practical jokes and made it a habit to poke fun at me whenever things were quiet on the

water. I figured if I didn’t bring it up he would eventually start to make some jabs at my

expense. I waited all day for him to say something, but if it was him he obviously wasn’t

going to say anything. I decided not to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d scared the

crap out of me and let it slide. Jerk.

A few weeks passed without any excitement. The salmon had started to thin out until

we were catching three or four, then one, then none at all in a day. El jefe and the wife

decided to take advantage of the lull and said they were going into Larson Bay to pick up

supplies and hang out with some friends of theirs. They planned on drinking and wanted to

stay the night so they wouldn’t have to drink and pilot the skiff back in dark waters. In

case you aren’t aware, drinking and boating don’t mix. Boating in the dark is also a bad idea

due to the aforementioned shallow rocks along the cove. I hardly saw them after dinner

anyway, so I didn’t think anything of being left alone on the island. It was a nice night

without much wind or clouds so I sat out on the porch reading yet another book under the

light of my lantern. Eventually I nodded off.

I awoke to discover that it was very late, although I wasn’t sure of the time because

I detest wearing a watch and it was too dark to see anything anyway because my lantern had

run out of fuel while I was asleep. In a sleepy daze I stammered into my cabin and went to

bed.
I’m not sure how long I was asleep before I heard a clamor in the kitchen. Suddenly I was

very awake and I lay very still.

Did I just imagine that?

The sound of pots suddenly clanging together in the cupboard told me otherwise.

Something was in my cabin and I realized at that moment that I had not locked the front door.

In fact, I don’t even think I remembered to close it in my stupor. There was more rattling

from the kitchen, as if something was rummaging through my cupboards. I was very afraid that

a bear had wandered onto the island and came into my cabin looking for food. Bears frighten

me and Kodiak bears even more so. Any native of the area will tell you in very plain words:

bears are monsters.

Then I heard those footsteps.

Now I wished it was a bear because I did not want to know the alternative. Those

footsteps were moving about my cabin digging around and looking for something. I dared to

open my eyes and look toward the bedroom door to find that I had managed to remember to close

and lock it, but whatever was in the cabin didn’t seem to care about me, it was looking for

something specific.

I was paralyzed with fear.

All my life I had had this unusual obsession with aliens and ghosts and other

paranormal phenomenon and I was beginning to worry that something otherworldly was suddenly

too close for comfort. Was I going to let some alien take me aboard his ship? Was I going to

go without a fight?

Fuck no.

After a moment of deliberation I decided to confront my fear. I sat up in bed and

tried to address the thing in my cabin.
At first only a squeak came out of my tight, dry throat. After another deep breath I tried

again.

“Who’s out there?” I shouted, “What do you want?”

To this day I wish I had never spoken and just let whatever it was go about its

business and get out of there. Then I would not have to wonder what it was that replied back

in that terrible, high, and guttural voice.

“Waaa…ter… waaaa…ter.”







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Author's Note:
You can sorta see the camp here.

maps.google.com/maps?q=bird+ro…

al&client=firefox-a&um=1&sa=N&tab=wl


(it's the little set of building on the northeast corner of the island)