I woke up underneath a low sloping tarp with a blanket protecting my body from mosquitoes. Bruce was yelling to me.

“Get up Will - there's fish in the box- Willll!”

I offered a still half asleep smart ass response back then got up. The fish Bruce had been stammering about had been hauled up to shore and was being cleaned. 

Jack and I soon gathered our things, offered our thank yous and goodbyes to Gino, Bruce, Zeb and the kids- Doran, Chad, Dakota and others. Gino scribbled down his address and phone number in my notebook. Last night he offered to guide me on a moose hunt any time I want, saying “Even if its 5-10 years- you give me a call or write me, you pay for gas and we’ll go shoot big bull!” in his accent that had hints of Gwich'in and Russian mixed together. 

We pulled out of fish camp tired and depleted from a late night with Gino and the boys. After a few miles on the water we stopped on a gravel point for coffee, hashbrowns and a solid midday nap. 

By late afternoon the wind had picked up, forcing us to work for our miles. A few white capped waves poured over the bow of the boat. The wind had died by evening, when we found a nice campsite on a sandy island/sand bar.