Dennis, fired up the 'Destination' while I quoted a recent poem about him: "Piloting his DESTINATION, fired up Hay's IMAGINATION...." Laughing, he asked me if I had memorized the entire poem. "It has a sing-song quality; making it pretty easy to remember - don't you think?", I replied. "Yeah, it's fun....but now I have to live up to the hype." He was smiling and I could tell he secretly enjoyed the challenge imposed by the flattering poem penned by a VERY HAPPY fishing client.

" Where we off to 'cap'?", I inquired. "We're going to troll to the 'cove' (referring to Elfin Cove), and then get you snuggled into your digs in Pelican." I didn't plan on sport fishing during my stay. The purpose of my visit was to get a 'feeling' for Pelican as Alaska's next sport fishing mecca. I had previously fished these fertile waters and was very familiar with how predictably productive they are. After all, boats from as far away as Sitka will venture up to these parts to enjoy the spectacular fishing action.

I was curious if Pelican had the capacity to serve the requirements and desires of picky anglers. The fishing was a no-brainer; after all, Pelican's motto 'closest to the fish' had real merit since many migrating fish pass through these waters prior to reaching their southern birth streams. Knowing Pelican's proud commercial fishing history and orientation; I questioned if it could support the same numbers of eager anglers as, let's say, Elfin Cove, where Dennis had pioneered the area's first sport fishing lodge. I also wanted to establish the level of service one could expect for lodging and meals.

Our trip to Elfin Cove was awesome! A couple of frisky porpoise trailed in our luminous wake as Dennis cranked up to 16 knots; they put on a great show zigzagging like kites tugging against a taunt line, then disappeared. Late September, yet sunny and moderately warm. The turquoise water around the small islands shorelines was particularly beautiful. We observed a distant pod of humpback whales;their enormous black bodies barely breaking the surface as they traveled along. Probably making their way to warmer waters down south, I thought. This was the off-season, and I could sense a change in the air. I hadn't checked the projected weather pattern, but fully expected it to become rainy soon.

Dennis, put the boat on auto-pilot; cooked up a fresh pot of java and poured me a cup. "Care for some cream?", he asked. "Sure, but just a splash", I replied thankfully. He doctored the cup with some half and half. 'Seattle's Best', it smelled and tasted really good. "There's some smoked salmon and crackers downstairs, if you like." I did like, so availed myself to the moveable feast. Nothing like thick morsels of smoked salmon - especially the way Captain Hay cooks it up! The story of how he came upon the 'secret' recipe is an interesting one. Turns out it originated from a Tlingit Indian friend of Dennis' from Hoonah. I had missed breakfast and had skipped the perfunctory in flight tidbits, so it was yummers! (to borrow an appropriate term from Rachael Ray), and took the edge off my cranky stomach.

The 'boys' were playing poker as we motored down the vacant waterway past Lemesurier Island. The hum of the 'Cummins'; oldies playing on his 'Sirius' band radio; the smell of coffee, combined with sleep deprivation, caused me to doze off. Dennis woke me as we were motoring down Lisianski Inlet. "Want to pilot the boat for awhile?", he inquired. He vacated the captain's chair and I tentatively took over the controls.