[pagebreak] Salmon Slaughter
We first discovered what we were up against after finishing the early morning run from Cordova in the hard blue-white Alaska light. Greg throttled back, slow-motoring us into a huge cove. As we prepared to fish, we saw boils of water bulge up around us as though depth charges had gone off far below. A big fin appeared, followed by several others, until at least a dozen shark dorsals were cutting the slick surface, scribing wandering figure-eights. Hamm looked at us and smiled. Then he pointed to a red-handled knife, its sheath taped to Frankenwhaler's windshield. "In case somebody needs to cut somebody loose," he said.