TULALIP – They were here in the beginning, when there was nothing else.
It’s been at least a decade since most of these boats slid into the water.
They rest just feet away from Tulalip Bay, cocked this way and that, settled atop barrels, cinder blocks, wooden crates. White and blue and rust-colored. They are Chelsea Girl, Nightmoves, Desiree.
Early weekend mornings bring fishermen back to these, their first loves.
There have been marriages, divorces, births, deaths, new jobs and pink slips.
The boats, whether in the water or on land, were here when less than half of all tribal members held jobs. When fishing was the only way out of poverty.
In those days, the boats set out each morning, empty. They returned each evening, loaded with fish.
Each fish brought a little more money.
“I was about 17, and I was fighting fires up in Skykomish,” tribal fisherman Mike McLean said. “Then I came down here and earned in one day what I earned in two weeks fighting fires. I never looked back.”
Changes followed fishing money. Soon, there was a bingo hall, then a casino. A health clinic. Schools, and a natural resources department.
Now, many fishermen are cage cashiers and security guards. They are tribal board members who are in meetings full-time.
During time off, they return to the marina, to be fishermen again.
They turn up the volume on dusty radios and clamber into the cabins, tiny quarters that were their homes during fishing season.
They scrape, sand and paint hulls. They exchange stories of times past, when the future held only hard work.
When there was nothing else.
Nothing but a bay with fish, and a few boats.
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