"Looks like she's still got a lot left to work on with," mutters Blaine to Mad Jack under the brim of his cap. Mad Jack lets out a great belly laugh along with few of the other guys, but Molly doesn't catch on. He looks off thinking at the volcano white against the blue sky. He muses. "That really was the damnedest thing this morning." "What?" asks Blaine. "I'm not really sure." Says Mad Jack. Blaine nods smiling and opens another beer. "Well, that narrows it down. What did you think you might have saw, if you saw something, just for the sake of a fuckin' argument?" "That bunch of whales." "Peachy. You would have to tell me that. Did they have my black cod? Were they having a picnic?" "Yeah," Mad Jack guffaws, you could almost say that. They almost seemed like they were having a picnic. Swimming around in circles." "Swell," burps Blaine knocking back some more beer. Mad Jack begins to describe what he saw, but just then Molly bends over to grab a beer of her own and her blouse falls open giving everybody on the other side of the deck a good peak of the scenery. Five sets of eyes click towards the carton of beer. Mad Jack's recounting trails off. He shrugs.

A barbecue fire is started and Blaine brings out two whole salmon. "This is what's good about the other processing ship. You can trade for a few fish on the side for a few other fish on the side. That's why I don't like that bastard, Tom. He won't give you a fair shake if you were runnin' for dog catcher."

The salmon is put on the fire and a delicious scent hovers over the two boats in the rich long northern sunlight. The sun seems to have time on its hands. Its rolls to the north horizon taking twice the time to travel as it would in Seattle. The low slanting light is something to bask in. At 60 degrees, everybody is in shirt sleeves and ready for barbecuing, even at 9:00 at night, there are three or four more hours of sunlight left. The world is luxurious. A bald eagle flaps in a straight line overhead with its square-sailing wings and calls its melodious yodel, like some cross between a seagull and a church organ. The conversation breaks up into small ones and then joins again into a big shout or joke or story the way parties will.

"My nails are strong. They never break," Molly says a bit drunkenly and looks at her hands the way a woman will. "I never use gloves when I wash with fish. I think it gives my nails a gloss, you know, I never use any fucking gloves, I don't like them, I think the fish guts give my nails that nice shine, ya know." Toasty, who is trying to hustle Molly on one side, and Hallie, who is trying to.