Camping on the Homer Spit

Within a week of being in Anchorage I had good news to call home about.  I answered a Craigslist ad from a fishing boat captain in a town I had never heard of called Chignik, and after a few conversations telling him my previous work experience and assuring him that I could cook, I had a job.  My parents were glad to hear that I had at least found a job, but again the questions came at me and I had no answers for them.

I had never heard of Chignik before.  I asked a few people I knew in Anchorage about this mysterious fishing village, and began to wonder if I needed to worry when none of them had heard of it either.  I did some research on the internet and found two mentions of Chignik – one was an article on the cannery burning down a few years previously, and the other was from a month before talking about a wolf attack where a school teacher was killed.

I think it was at this point that I decided not to tell my parents to Google ‘Chignik’ to find out more.

Since Chignik has no roads leading to it, and it was about 400 miles from Anchorage, I began to look at my options for getting out there.  I could fly on Whenair, I mean Penair, for over $500, or I could take the bi-monthly ferry for less than $200 – needless to say, my decision was pretty easy, considering I only had about $250 total.  One quick phone call and my place was reserved on the M/V Tustumena, a 298 foot boat chartered by the Alaska Marine Highway System. Read TRA’s ‘Logistics of Marine Highway Travel in Alaska‘ to find out more about the M/V Tustumena.

The Tusty left from Homer on Tuesday evening, May 25, and I hopped a ride from Anchorage on Sunday morning to get to Homer.  So I grabbed my duffel bags and my friend drove me to the north side of Homer and my time of “sortatramping” in Alaska began.  I met a guy who let me spend the night in his spare bedroom, but the following day I wanted to move on and get down to the boat harbor, so I grabbed my bags and headed to the most vibrant part of the town.  I was in an unfamiliar city with no vehicle, no home, hitchhiking for rides, and I was loving it.

I found a spot to set up a tent out on the Spit, a long peninsula that extends out from Homer. The fishing boats lay in the harbor and the tourist ships bring gawking tourists who looked at me as if I were a local.  I guess I fit the mold, since I was walking the docks with my fishing gear slung over my shoulder looking for work on random boats for the few days that I had to kill before my ferry left.  Having never been around the ocean before, I enjoyed feeling like I fit into this strange but somehow comfortable culture. The atmosphere excited me as I contemplated a summer ahead of me spent at the docks, on the boats, and in the Alaska fishing industry.

And so with a tent set up on the beach, the smell of the ocean that lay spread out before me filling my lungs, and the promise of a job for the summer, I was content.  I was on an adventure like no other I had experienced before, and I was determined to enjoy it.