I watched Bill's cloudy blue eyes as he talked. For an eighty-seven-year-old, he was remarkable in his ability to remember details. I tried to see through the lines of age in his face to imagine him as a young man working on the Bear and other boats in Bristol Bay. During our chat he talked about crossing Queen Charlotte Sound before radar and how nervous he was when they were caught in a fog near the northern tip of Vancouver Island. I held my breath listening, knowing how many rocks are in the area. He also told me how they were paid by the number of fish caught, and not by the pound. The Bear he said, could hold 5,000 fish, and its scow could hold 10,000. He then paused and wished that his own father, who had wanted him to work at a desk and had said he'd never make much of himself, had lived long enough so see how well he did as a fisherman.