So, um, do you live on a boat, or do you come home to an igloo at night?

Well, you wonderful curious... I practice (and I do mean "practice," because our site really begs the question: if you fish badly, do you really get to call yourself a fisherman?) the type of fishing known as set-netting, which I'm sure you'll have questions about later. In set-netting, we go out 3x a day and get all the fish, and then we come back in a live, sleep, and cook in our Igloo. Below is a picture of our Igloo:


So, as you can see, The Igloo is in this case a massive uninsulated pink cabin with two floors and a basement. It is only "sorta pink" right now, but it used to be so pink that all the fisherman and bush pilots referred to it as "The Pink Palace." Unfortunately, it underwent some color augmentation a few years ago and now is more of a barn color.

Anyhow, the Igloo was built to such an austentacious degree due to a Florida housewife who gave her husband the ultimatum: running water and electricity or fuck you. Well, she was really super-religious, so I don't think she actually said "fuck you," but I'm sure it was implied or would we have had the Pink Igloo? These were the people who worked this site before my family, and so we reeped the benefit of the housewife's picky and certainly unChristian behavior.

Yes, the Pink Igloo is fully wired and has running water. We only have electricity about every other day since we have to run our generator to get things going; instead we usually have to make do with hand-whipping the cream & sugar. The water, on the other hand, gets pumped up to the tower you can see in the above picture, from a pond in our backyard, which you can't see in the above picture.

We used to pump the water about every other day, depending on how many people needed to wash themselves after rolling around in fish guts all day. But now the tower leaks badly, needs replacement, and is still so frighteningly high up there that it will probably rot away into nothing before my 68-year old boss climbs up there or pays (gasp) someone to go up there for her. So, we pump it a couple times a day and chuckle fondly over the constant stream of pond water we have spewing from near our roof.

Other than that, the Pink Igloo is pretty spiff, and I'm especially fond of the completely-pointless nails that the boss pounded up onto the walls after we had a bear break-in about 7 years ago. It's always fun to come back and count how many of the nails have bent over sportingly under the 1/2-ton weight of the Kodiak bears that nose around the Igloo looking for tofu and 5-star bedding.

Anyhow, we use the Pink Igloo instead of roughing it out on the boat because as set-netters, we use a small skiff, which in this case is a 28-foot aluminum open-boat without a cabin. Skiff pretty much means anything that has no cabin and uses a motor on the back, and the noun is also a verb meaning "to use a little boat to come on over," i.e... "Yeah, we skiffed to town yesterday and it went well until we hit the 20-foot swells coming out of Whale Pass and capsized, losing everything but heck that's life." Below is a picture of our beloved skiff, which not only is my personal baby and the love of my life, but is fairly big as far as picking-skiffs go, but not big enough to save us from The Igloo.