"Kings of Old"
“Like Heathen Kings of old”. The phrase, uttered from Uncle Rich back in the early nineties was engrained in my memory and summed up the meal before me. For five or so years in a row, he had come up to Alaska to visit, a pilgrimage of sort. He too had sat at this table, at this season, with this feast laid before him.
In place of the weathered wood plank banquet table, our Walmart patio set would do. Still, I would feel better with a battle axe at my side or at lease some chain mail. In truth, I was focused entirely at the task at hand.
The meal set before us represented unbridled gluttony. The thing was grilled whole, laid out on a giant platter for all to reach. Leaning over the table, Corey hacked off another hot dripping chunk. A small piece fell off the spatula on the way to his plate.
I ignored the sides at this point. Who could be bothered by a stupid baked potato, or a green salad? I slurped another bite off my plastic fork. Perfectly done. I ate slowly.
“Holy Palamino this is good!”, I offered. All I got were nods of agreement. We were smack in the middle of the best meal of the year, hands down,…again.
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“ Bubba?” I shouted a whisper at the top of the ladder steps.
Mama and Haze wouldn’t appreciate being woken so early.
“ Bubba, it’s time to go fishin!”
Eventually, my whisperings were met with a grumble, then a groan, followed by a quieted “ Morning Dad, I’m coming.”
It was 5: 30 AM, a tough time for anyone especially my ten year old. Corey has never been known for his early morning prowess, but he is a fisherman. Slowly we pulled on our clothes, boots, and then, after a few more minutes our motivation followed suit. Gingerly shutting the door behind us we hiked down the hill, along the walkway and onto the dock, finally to the boat.
By 6:10 the king was in the boat. By 6:12 the king was bleeding and hanging from our stringer over-side the boat. By 6:20, we were back at the cabin waking Mom and Haze. We had news.
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