Homer.... and some how the Isle of Man TT....

Living on the outskirts of Homer is lovely experience. Homer is true fishing town. I'd be very surprised indeed if any marriages take place between the beginning of June and the end of September! Homer consists of town which tapers off to a natural spit of land 4.5 miles in length. The spit houses, restaurants, cafes, bars and the main fishing harbour and marina.

Catie has been a wonderful host allowing me to make full use of the facilities, including the hot tub on the decking overlooking the mountains across Kachemak Bay. Most evenings I cook for myself, Catie and Garrett (a young commercial fisherman who is currently working 12 hour days to get a boat ready for the 8^th June). Catie is getting ready to head off to her daughter's graduation and then off to meet her husband Tom, fishing from Pilot Point from the 15^th June until some time in August.

Since being here I've been salmon fishing with Silver Fin Guide's Gary Sinnhuber on the Ninilchik river. There are many rules and regulations here which almost put me off sport fishing. The rivers are
open from midnight on Friday night, then close at midnight on Sunday night. This means the small 'fishing holes' get busy quickly, over crowded really. The locals don't practise catch and release, but are limited to two king salmon per river per season.  The rivers then open fully on 1st July.  The local annual license costs $34.00, the same price as a daily license for moi!  

The Ninilchik.

 The previous evening Gary the guide did land a 16lb king salmon on the final cast. Lovely fish!

Gary is a true gentleman with a wealth of knowledge of the resting spots on the rivers where the fish lie up. He is keen to put folks on to these local salmon runs and has been guiding for many years.

Fishing rod attached to the crossbar...
Just like when I was a kid!

After an unsuccessful evening on the Ninilchik river  I decided to take advantage of the 24 hour fishing permit and headed toward the lagoon on Homer Spit to try and catch me a king salmon.  I was lucky enough to catch a couple of small Jacks.  I retained one 3lb 'Jack' king salmon from the lagoon which was plenty to feed myself, Catie and Garrett that evening.  The lagoon as it is locally known, a man made tidal pool, somewhat reminds me of a little coarse fishing hole. By the time I'd left there were 15 guys standing around hurling spinners, spoons and float fished herring strips trying to snag hatchery salmon up to 20lb in weight. I witnessed a couple of good king salmon to 12lb being caught a few days earlier, but this particular morning I only saw one other fish of 5lb being taken.

Bald headed eagles soared above the lagoon then came to rest on vehicles and cabins to survey the area for discarded fish heads and entrails. These birds are huge, with wingspans up to 7.5 feet and a weight of almost one stone (14lbs) they are a worthy adversary in the fish head eating stakes!

I've spent much of my time at Tom (who has already headed off fishing, with Maggie their youngest daughter) and Catie's place writing. Working on bringing Amanda's story together. It's vast and will take more time than I had originally thought. It will need editing, re-editing and re-editing again no doubt!

The weather here in Homer over recent days has been stunning, touching 20 degrees Celsius. Yet if the chill afternoon breeze picks up it soon brings the temperature down. The weather feels similar to that of the Isle of Man, but with an overall coolness in the air. The average summer temperatures range from 12 degrees to 18 degrees. Like the Isle of Man, Homer suffers it's fair share of annual rainfall. According to meteorological reports throughout July, there is a 50% chance of rain. It seems to me the Isle of Man and the UK have pretty nice climates in comparison.

The walk from Tom & Catie's place to the beach 400 feet below could well be classed as more of an abseiling adventure than a walk. It involves an incredibly steep descent. So steep in fact that some kind soul has installed 400 feet of heavy rope to avert a stack of adventurous beach goers bodies building up at the bottom! It's quite something. Walking the beach brought me back home to the Isle of Man. Deep, golden tidal sands dotted with rocky outcrops and large boulders. 

The Beach at Homer....

Dead crabs and starfish sunbathed under the blue sky. Bald eagles soared atop the crumbling headlands which housed cabins that each year gain an extra few feet of beach view in exchange for a much reduced front yard.

Three miles later the soft sands guided me from the beach towards 'Two Sister's Bakery'. A counter housing many delightful cakes and sandwiches awaited me. As I deliberated over cake or sandwich a caramel drenched bun scattered with pecans caught my eye. Oh dear I thought as my Alaskan style beard became caked in layer of golden stickiness.... The addition of creamy hot chocolate to the upper lip portion of beard made for the finest tasting facial hair in Alaska and the lower 48! I rested and observed for twenty minutes in the lovely atmosphere of this well run community business.

Living outside of the main town also allows me to keep fit.

Safeway (supermarket) is 3 miles of downhill.... The return journey isn't!

The fishing lagoon is 4 miles of downhill with a 2.5 miles of flat. The return journey isn't!

Derek at work...

Yesterday I spent the day trying to get Sam's bicycle luggage frame repaired. Derek who runs Cycle-ogical snipped the zip ties which had supported my frame for over 500 miles, then got to work drilling. His efforts were worthy, but didn't go according to plan. He apologised then supplied me with more zip ties. He then told me of Bernie. Bernie was a young fellow out back who had access to a machine shop. Derek suggested he may be able to help. I introduced myself to Bernie who agreed to meet me at 6pm at the workshop. He seemed confident that he'd be able to help. I cycled back to Tom & Catie's.... Back up the hill. I'd already covered 11 miles.

Bernie assesses the situation....

At 5.30pm I free wheeled down towards The Spit and Otto's Machine Works.

Bernie got to work. We chatted about biking and pack rafting. Bernie is a cool guy. He'd been out on the herring fishing boats for a couple of weeks, and just turned down a salmon fishing season in place of working for the forestry and the much beloved workshop (which he really enjoys). The potential of a big salmon fishing pay packet wasn't enough to tempt him away from his tinkering, welding and drilling.

Let the welding souldering begin!

45 minutes later and both sheared bolts had been skillfully removed. What a man! Bernie removed the bolts from his own bike and popped them in to mine to hold the frame in place. I'd get them back to him soon as I'd purchased some new ones.

I offered Bernie $20 for his time and skill. He refused the cash. I told him that's what I'd agreed to pay Derek had he been able to remove the sheared bolts. He reluctantly agreed to take $10, telling me to buy a beer with the other. I suggested with the other I buy him a beer. He agreed, and we arranged to meet at a local bar 5 miles away. Twenty minutes later Bernie was ordering his choice of Homer's fine ales, whilst I perused the selection.

'Hi Bernie (in his mid twenties)' said the barmaid. 'Can I see your friends ID please? (friend, 39)'

'I don't have any on me (dumbfounded Manx man). I assure you I'm of legal age to consume alcohol. I am in fact 39 years old.'

'Sorry sir I have to see ID for you to be on the premises.'

The initial delight of having someone working behind a bar assume that underneath this facial shag pile rug could well be the youthful looking face of a twenty year old was soon quashed by the revelation that under US regulations, bar owners must see proof of age through one form of photographic identification. Twenty one or seventy one, it matters not to the powers that be.

'Can we go out on the decking and talk?' asked Bernie.

'Sorry Bernie, the decking is still our premises.' replied the barmaid.

The guy to my left suggested I try the Salty Dawg Saloon on The Spit. It was four miles back in the other direction. I wasn't that desperate for a beer, though I had been looking forward to wetting my gullet with the icy crisp refreshment that only a glass tankard of the amber coloured liquid we know as beer can achieve. I passed Bernie a ten dollar bill to hand to the bar maid (she wouldn't/couldn't accept payment from me) dried my eyes and left. We arranged to grab my beer another time.

It seems bizarre that here in the state of Alaska I could wander in to a store and purchase a hand gun and ammunition pretty freely, yet there's so much fuss over ordering a pint of the golden elixir!

As I cycled the 6 mile journey home my sandpaper tongue lolled about like a thirsty Labrador hanging from a car window. My conscience had convinced had me convinced that I was now suffering from accute dehydrating brought on by the of denial of a cool, fresh beer.

As my pedals pushed me up hill past the ten places of worship along the road to Tom & Catie's, (Episcopal Church, The Faith Lutheran Church, The Salvation Army Centre of Worship, The Seventh Day Adventists, Homer Christian Church, Homer United Methodist Church (maybe the local soccer teams own personal place of worship!), Homer Independent Baptist Church, Glacier View Baptist Church, The Jehovah's Witnesses place of worship and finally the Church of Nazarene) I made my own personal prayer that at least one of these holy establishments had been converted in to a place of alcoholic consumption since my passing them two hour previous. It was not to be.

According to the 2012 census Homer's population is somewhere in the region of 5,300. There seems to be a huge presence of holy erections (maybe not the correct partnership of words there!) for such a small population, many of whom disappear fishing for at least 3 months of the year.

I personally had hoped to be getting out commercial salmon fishing with Catie & Tom's crew this season, but due to various foreign immigrant working hurdles it didn't happen. I heard many stories of deck hands working on the Seine fishing boats earning between $40,000 and $70,000 last season for three months of hard work. This isn't ever guaranteed, and Tom & Catie's set and drift netting is less profitable than the large boats. The salmon fishing industry is a fickle one determined by the current price of salmon, the size of the runs, the weather, the time restrictions placed upon the different fishing techniques and finally being in the right place at the right time. A deckhand could just as easily earn $10,000 for the three months, which in my mind is still a fine amount of cash! Aside from the money I'd love the experience of working on an Alaskan salmon fishing boat for a few months. I'll try to be more prepared for next season and apply again!  The US fishing industry is classed a moderately dangerous place to be working, whilst our very own Isle of Man TT is constantly being accused of being an overtly dangerous (which of course it is) way of making a name for ones self or indeed earning a living. 

These guys know what they''re doing, they know the risks, and they love what they do. But really is it any different to me taking silly risks fishing on slippery rocks in bad weather or an overly flood filled river? Or heading out into rough seas to surf over solid rocky reefs?  Yes it is.  It's faster, more exciting and death defying.  But that said there are huge numbers of deaths each year related to climbing, equestrian related activities and of course modern extreme sports including BASE jumping..... 

Of course driving to or from these activities could lead to an untimely demise. 

The difference between TT racers and those who pursue more dangerous than average pastimes is that most of us tend to spread our risk throughout the year. These guys pack their risks in to a fortnight of madness. Of course the risks are higher and the statistical chances of injury or death are far higher when fined down to how much incredibly high risk each of us can fit in to our lives per second per day of each year whilst avoiding the scythe of the reaper himself..... Very few of us pack so many seconds of high risk of high risk entertainment in to our lives if any at all.

On average over the past 10 years, during the three month US commercial salmon fishing season, 55 fishermen have died each year. Or 18 each month. Or 9 each fortnight. On average in the TT there's an average of two racing related deaths each year. But statistics can reflect whatever we want them to. Does it matter how many folks are involved for the resultant fatality figures to be so high? I don't think so. Fatalities in fishing matching every thing up as well as I can with an estimation of TT participants including sidecars at approximately 160 over a fortnightly period would give any one fisherman a 0.008% chance of being one of the unlucky folks out of the 115,000 of those fishing each year who loses their lives to machinery or the sea. Whilst the TT stats would suggest a 1.25% chance of losing ones life. So does this make the TT races 156 times more dangerous than a fortnight's commercial salmon fishing in the US? Statistics aren't always what they seem and they take little in to consideration. As a TT rider your life span depends on your own personal level of skill, natural ability, how much you are willing to push your own personal limits, how good your support crew and mechanical team are and finally chance. Working on a fishing boat in Alaska is the same. Each and every boat and crew has outside influences that put them nearer or farther from the statistical average. I'm not a fan of statistics.

We all have the right to choose how much time and energy we like to place around our own demise, but I feel, personally of course, that we shouldn't really have the right to force others what to do, or to impose how they should live their lives. Where do we have the right to perceive their own peronal relationship between life and death.

Today I watched an interview with Bridget Dobbs, Paul Dobbs' wife who died. Paul died in a fatal accident in the 2010 TT races. Bridget married a guy who loved racing. She understood the risks. She loved Paul for who he was, what he was. 'Dobsy' left behind a wife and two young daughters. They continue to enjoy memories of Paul and how he lived his life and the time they shared with him. Did he race with the intention of leaving them behind? Of course not. Is it selfish to put ones life at risk when you have a young family.... I don't know, I'm in no position to judge, but I don't think so. Had 'Dobsy' given up racing on the birth of his second daughter may have later been diagnosed with cancer or killed in a car crash.... The media tends to place too much focus on the fact that these courageous guys lose their lives whilst participating in the Isle of Man TT Races, rather than them losing their lives whilst living out their dreams. Yes families and friends are left behind, but is this not the same when someone suffers a death through involvement in an alternative past time, employment or death by disease. There will always be those left behind to cope with the loss of partners, fathers, brothers, uncles, grandfathers or friends. The family's of the guys who lost their lives whilst racing in the Isle of Man TT will always know that their loved ones died whilst living their dream. It seems like a small emotional compensation package for those left behind I know, but last year, having witnessed my beloved wife Amanda dying slowly over a period of months from the ravages of cancer at the brief age of 42, my view on death changed. I'd have been far more content had she had been taken whilst participating in some sort of high risk adult ballet production.... where we both aware of the risks involved. It would offer peace deep within to know that when the time came she had been filled with health, vitality, joy and excitement. This type of loss is immediate and no doubt absolutely shocking, a huge emotional explosion which leaves what feels like an irreparable hole. But is there a peace left behind due to the knowledge that this racer, this gladiator of the roadways was participating in that which made him feel alive, regardless of the risks he was taking? I hope those left behind can find peace in this. Love shared between husband and wife, family and friends is all encompassing. Love requires courage and strength along with the ability to share another's passion for what they enjoy or what they see as their role in life. It is not for us to change them through our own fearful perception of what they pursue.

Of course I speak not from experience and these are my personal views. These views are as malleable and soft as a marshmallow filling. Rigidity in personal beliefs, viewpoints and perceived knowledge has in previous times shown me to be ignorant and actually lacking in knowledge.

For those readers who know not about the TT races they can check it out here..... and many other places on Youtube!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7HlrI1COSs&feature=kp

In my eyes, the riders of the TT make their own choices, they are brave men living on the edge of their lives for a fortnight each year. Their family and friends can either choose to get behind them and shower all the love and support they can muster. Or they can choose to live in fear that one day the track will take them. What we must try to accept as human beings is the inevitable, that one day the track of life will take us all, and our life's path, even having avoided becoming a participant in the Isle of Man TT races as a career choice, holds no guarantee for a long healthy life shared with a circle of much cherished family and friends..... Life at some point becomes death for us all. And at some point we have no choice. Up until the point we do have choice we should use this freedom to the maximum of our personal physical and mental capabilities. Find contentment , love, joy, excitement and peace within ourselves. If that means straddling a machine that propels us around the roads of the Isle of Man at over 200mph so be it. Our choice has been made.

Good luck to all involved in the TT races 2014 and onwards, and may I offer heartfelt sympathy and condolences to those who live on in the absence of their beloved courageous Tarmac Titans who lost their lives chasing the dream.

Wow I really did digress there. From salmon fishing in Homer to defending the road racing masters of the world and the Isle of Man's TT races.....

Homer. It's fishing a fishing town. People seem nice. There's a hill to climb out of it.

Enjoy Alaska!

Love to you all.

Mark.