It’s 3 am. Our first overnight in years. Gone are the times when openers were measured in days; now they are meted out in hours.
The water is calm and glassy with a little leftover swell. Not a problem, just a reminder of the sou’wester that blew through.
We gently motor to the gear, careful to avoid nets and cork clusters between camp and our locations. The sun has set, but no one told the northern sky. There is still light. Faint, but enough to find the way without a spotlight. Or maybe day is already dawning — it’s hard to tell in Alaska this time of year.
The full moon shimmers on the water off our stern. As we pick the gear the moon descends, turns the color of a sectioned grapefruit or blood orange, then disappears.
By the time we head back to camp to deliver our catch, day has clearly dawned. A beautiful transition, worth the lack of sleep. Gotta love the night tide.