fill those needs. There was no job I wouldn't do, no job I wouldn't try. My goal was to please him and the rest of the crew. I slept when they slept, worked when they worked, and joked when they joked. In time, I’d explored every nook and cranny of the boat. There was no part of that boat I didn’t learn about and no piece of gear I couldn’t operate. It was hard work, as hard as anything I had done in my life, but there was something I loved about it. It was the sea, the fishing, the rugged beauty of the Alaska wilderness and, most of all, my mates. By the end of this first trip, I had my sea legs and was never seasick again. I carried my weight and was by now a full-fledged member of the Pacific Lady’s crew—and damn proud of it.
Between our five-to-seven-day fishing trips, we’d spend a day or two docked at the Ketchikan boat basin. Here, we’d sell our catch, refuel, re-supply, and re-rig for the next trip. Captain Skip allowed me to stay aboard the Pacific Lady while he, Jack, and Tony went home to their families. During these times, for the most part, I’d read, write letters, and write in my journal, which was never far from me. I loved to walk the streets of this unique, rough, and picturesque little fishing village. At the time, the only way in or out of Ketchikan was by boat or floatplane, so all the food and supplies were barged in, mostly from Seattle. Here, a nickel Coke cost a dime, a newspaper from the lower 48 that cost two cents was a nickel, and you could buy a hamburger and fries and pay almost two bits. The only thing that seemed to be cheap was the beer. Anyhow, it must have been, because there was a bar on every corner and a drunk on every sidewalk. Jack and Tony had asked me to go out on the town with them a few times, but I always found an excuse to say no. At sixteen, I might have a smoke every now and then, but going to those bars and what they called “sporting houses” just didn't appeal to me.
That first summer, I met Captain Skip’s family only once, and that was when his wife had me to dinner, the night before I returned to the east. They lived in a modest house in the hills, overlooking the village and its harbor. His wife was a small, blonde-haired Norwegian lady named Louise, who cooked one of the best meals I’d ever eaten. The menu was simple—what she called seafood stew. While I can't remember exactly what kind of seafood she used, I remember telling myself it had been the best meal ever. At the dinner table that night were their two daughters. Laura, 17, was about to leave for college in Seattle, and Nancy, 20, was about to marry a sailor down in San Diego.
The next day, as Skip walked me to the ferry, he told me that while he’d miss “his gals,” Ketchikan was no place to raise a family and that most young people got out as soon as possible. Later, as the ferryboat moved slowly past the city, I stood by the railing, looking out at the little fishing village. I felt sorry that Skip and Louise would be without their daughters, as I’d found this little hamlet so unique and picturesque, but then, I didn’t have a family to raise here. With my pockets full of money and my head full of memories, I left Ketchikan for the first time. But I knew I would return.
As we moved through a small gully, I glanced up, watching the last of the blue-gray mist whisk away from the top of Thunder Mountain. Stopping my little caravan, I reached into my saddlebags for my binoculars. Through the glasses, I got my first really good look at that gigantic granite monolith.
What I saw frightened me, and for the first time in my life I tasted fear in my cotton-dry mouth. What loomed before me was a forbidding, unforgiving, massive wilderness that could swallow up my little party in one quick gulp. The trail ahead was pitted with dangers and I knew that I could count on no one but myself.
Replacing the binoculars in my saddlebag, I cussed myself for looking. Why didn’t I have a spine? Why had I agreed to this adventure? Grandfather and I were utterly different, fire and ice. I never measured any man by his pocketbook. I never expected anything from others that I wasn’t willing to give back and I never judged others, only myself. How had I turned out so completely my grandfather’s opposite? Maybe, just maybe, I was more like my father, after all.
Missions
Life’s a crap shoot when it comes to family, sometimes you win and sometimes loss. Families can have strange and funny traditions. In my case it was this “mission” stuff. This “back to the earth” notion was just so much bunk to me and from my earliest years, I let everyone know how I felt about it. This wasn’t something that I intended to do or that I would even consider doing in the future.
That wasn’t something Grandfather wanted to hear. For the most part, he wouldn’t even listen to my loud protests. He simply ended our conversations with the same short, stale, stern statement: "You will return a man... a better man."
On the other hand, Uncle Roy would sit and listen to me point out all my reasons for not making such a journey. But in the end he would always tell me, "Look, Dutch, think of it as a colossal adventure. It would make your Grandfather so happy if you did this one little thing for him." A one-year ordeal in a wilderness didn't seem so little to me! But in the end and from his grave, Grandfather would, as always, get his way.
Grandfather loved to tell me about his mission, back when he was young buck. Dutch Eric Clarke was the first-born of a Mormon family near Denver Colorado in 1868. His father, Odo, from the Netherlands, was a dirt farmer. He owned a small farm a few miles outside the city. His mother, Grace, from Scotland, gave birth to seven children over the years. All were boys, but only two would survive. Uncle Roy had been born the last child, when Grandfather was already fourteen years old.
The Clarke family was hard-working, poor, and uneducated. When his father lost the farm in the 1886 drought and had to move into town, Dutch struck out on his own. Some months later, he had saved almost $20 from doing odd jobs around Denver. In those days, $20 was a good grubstake for starting a new life.
While working in town, he learned from some local silver miners about gold being found up in the panhandle of the new state of Idaho. He’d sworn never to be a dirt farmer, and the thought of free gold sounded awful good to young Dutch.
When he arrived north, he found that most of the gold claims had already been taken and that the mines were now being worked. Signing on with one of the local companies, he worked at learning the trade of mining. He would later tell me that working a mine was ten times harder than working any dirt farm.
While laboring in the gold fields, Grandfather befriended an old Indian who lived close to the shack he’d built near the company mine. The Indian told Dutch of a deep valley with a large river running through it, up in the northern mountains, close to the U.S. and Canadian border. He said that few white people had seen this land and that there just might be gold up there.
That's all it took; Dutch started his mission. With only two pack mules full of supplies and tools, he set off to find his fortune. After weeks of searching, he located the valley the old Indian spoke of. Nestled between navy blue and purple mountains, the valley was small, but did have a good-sized river running through it. Here he worked and survived on the banks of the river for a full year. It was hot, it was cold, it rained, and it snowed. He built a small cabin and hunted the forest for the food he ate. He did find gold, but never the mother lode or source of the gold in the river and streams. At year’s end, he packed out over $10,000 of dust and nuggets on the backs of his two mules. This was a great deal of wealth in those days and these riches were to become the seeds of our family’s fortune and future.
Dutch returned to Denver to find that his father had gone under and his mother dying of tuberculosis. Within the month, she, too, passed away, so Grandfather took his younger brother Roy and moved east. They settled in New Jersey, where Dutch worked for many years at a buggy company that
