SITKA -- When the Kathleen Jo pulls out of her stall at noon, I am there to see them off.

My 5-year-old shipmate waves wildly through the starboard window. I wave back. When they turn the corner for the breakwater, I begin the trek to Old Thomsen Harbor.

Today is a panting raven kind of day, corvids parked in the dusty lot with oil-slick bodies radiating heat and beaks hanging open. Too hot to hop away, they allow me to pass closer than usual as I return to the first harbor I called home as a child but a place have spent little time in since. Until now. Having turned my longline job over to my friend Mike so I could use this time to write, I’m eager to make a temporary home aboard his sailboat. I stroll down the main float with sun-burned shoulders and a  broad smile.

A smile that freezes as two men approach me.

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