<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><rss xmlns:atom='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' version='2.0'><channel><atom:id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680</atom:id><lastBuildDate>Wed, 06 Jan 2010 16:39:38 +0000</lastBuildDate><title>The Science of Change</title><description></description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/</link><managingEditor>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</managingEditor><generator>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>35</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-3626776379202225641</guid><pubDate>Wed, 06 Jan 2010 07:15:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-01-06T08:39:38.959-08:00</atom:updated><title>Reflections</title><description>Its been about a year and a half since I got back from my adventure in Alaska. There have been times when I missed it... parts of it. There's not much that can compare to the gentle, quite rocking of the ocean early in the morning, the crisp wind pinching your cheek as it passes over the mud flats, across the grass lands, up the towering mountain scape on the horizon. The open expanse has a comforting loneliness. There's room to think - trapped with yourself. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Would I do it again?  ...yes, differently. Am I glad I did it? Absolutely! :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-3626776379202225641?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2010/01/reflections.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-7175359174862916664</guid><pubDate>Mon, 28 Jul 2008 00:47:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-07-27T17:47:27.174-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 70 - Bad Karma</title><description>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;July 13&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;“Not this again,” is what goes through my mind as the fish laden net rolls into the back of the boat. Before I can justify to myself what I’m about to do I grab hold of the fish tangled in the net closest to me and shake it violently in a shower of blood and scales, attempting to break it free. But the fish doesn’t budge. What now? I have to get all these fish out of the net, that’s my job. With brutally physical force I grab the fish by the back of the head and dig my fingers under its gill plate searching for a way to loosen the nets strangle hold. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Time stops as I notice the fish scanning his new surroundings. It looks at the net, it looks down at the fish already on the deck, and then it looks up at me. My heart freezes as I see the fear in its eyes – “Where am I? What are you going to do to me?” I feel like an alien who’s plucked my next victim from its home – SNAP! THUD! The fish falls to the deck with a crunch that sends a chill down my spine and lays there gasping with what’s left of its head – I still have its gill plate in my hand as I reach for the next fish, my captain screaming over my shoulder to pick faster – SNAP! THUD!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-US"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;I pity every fish I pluck out of the ocean. Every time I make eye contact with that scared sole I want to apologize – “Fish, you survived four years out in the treacherous ocean to be snatched on the last and most important leg of your journey and life. You set off to fulfill your most important purpose – carrying on the species, and I came along and ripped half your head off. The saddest part is that I’m not even the one who’s going to eat you, in fact – I’m not even hungry. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-7175359174862916664?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/07/day-70-bad-karma.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-5835203772479351366</guid><pubDate>Mon, 28 Jul 2008 00:43:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-07-27T17:45:53.884-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 65 - The North Line at Ugashik</title><description>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;July 8&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;I’m changing. I can feel it. I’m finally in the flow of things, at least more than I was on this boat. I still don’t want to fish for halibut with Dave, but at least we’re being a little more honest, and civil with each other. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Fishing on the north line in the Ugashik district here in Bristol Bay is a crazy experience, and can only be described as polite and hostile mayhem. Dozens of boats all trying to politely steel each other’s fish. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;One of my jobs as a deck hand is to pick fish out of the net as fast as I can as we reel it in. For anyone starting this for the first time, this is the most frustrating part about this job (aside from having a captain that’s a complete jerk). Some of these fish lodge themselves so thoroughly in the net the only way to describe them (thanks to my friend Tim) is by comparing them to Steve McQueen wrapped in barbwire as he’s trying to escape from the Germans in The Great Escape – “Steve McQueened.” It was the most dreaded part of my day for the first week, but I’m getting the hang of it now, after pulling a couple thousand fish out of the nets so far. My hands are very sore. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;It turns out my decision to come to Bristol Bay was incredibly fortunate – the entire salmon season in Kodiak has been cancelled due to a lack of fish. This is the first time since 1965 they have had to close the salmon season in Kodiak. If I had been a deck hand on a boat there I would not be making money, and I’d probably be on my way home now – which I’m sure my mother was hoping for. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;I miss my family and friends. I’ve been stranded on this boat in a relatively desolate part of Alaska for weeks now. It’s not like I can simply get up and walk away – take a break. We fish when there’s fish. We follow the tides, the times Alaska Fish and Game allows us to fish – we sleep when we can, and we eat as we work. In fact this is the first time I’ve had a few minutes to sit down with my computer and write – because I’m on net watch. We’re drifting along the coast with our net in the water. Everyone is asleep but me. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;This experience has been affirming. I set out to have an adventure – I think it’s safe to say I’ve accomplished that much. I’ve learned a lot of technical know how, and that I work better when I whistle or hum classical music. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-5835203772479351366?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/07/day-65-north-line-at-ugashik.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-7365285921796492225</guid><pubDate>Mon, 28 Jul 2008 00:36:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-07-27T17:40:49.391-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 58 - Yes Master</title><description>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;July 1&lt;sup&gt;st&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Dave and I have too similar personalities. We’re both prideful and stubborn. I like to have control over my life and he likes to micro manage everything and everyone around him. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Our relationship has deteriorated to the point where I simply ignore him unless we’re fishing because any attention I give to him he takes as an opportunity to try to make me angry by insulting me somehow. When I’m ignoring him he storms around slamming doors and cabinets. Whenever I make an attempt to participate, Dave will step in, try to take over and tell me that I don’t know how to do anything. I’ve been trying to be civil. I’ve been trying to be nice… My father recently pointed out to me that I don’t like confrontation. He’s right, when I can avoid using anger or loud voices to “communicate” I do. I prefer looking at a situation from a collected point of view, logically, and let it be – rather than getting upset about something I have no control over. The trick is maintaining a positive attitude. We’re here on this world together, we’re not sure to what purpose, and eventually we’re going to leave this world – something we have no control over – so why worry? Worrying just brings unnecessary stress to an already uncertain existence. Dave’s primal animal does not agree with me… he needs some kind of hostility in his life to feel comfortable. I’m sure it’s a survival technique he learned growing up. If I don’t appease him with hostility I just end up making him angry. So I’m stuck between being my optimistic, un-confrontational self, and letting my anger bubble over to appease Dave’s primal instinct. I don’t like the way my anger makes me feel. I put that person away a long time ago because he wasn’t doing me any favors. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;One thing is for sure… as soon as my contract for this salmon season is over I’m getting off this boat. I should have known when Dave said he’s been doing this for 25 years and he’s hiring a completely new crew. After talking with other deck hands who have more experience with Dave than I do, I found out he talked to them about working for him – they all said there was no way they would do it. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;So here I am, stuck between being myself and not caring about what anyone else thinks, and unlocking my angry side (even if its just for show) to appease someone else’s outdated emotional program. I know that being my optimistic self will continue to piss Dave off – so if I continue to act that way am I trying to make him angry? I don’t like to think that I’m that kind of a vindictive person. But then again I shouldn’t give up my beliefs – no matter what. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-7365285921796492225?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/07/day-58-yes-master.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-2230190832088644469</guid><pubDate>Mon, 28 Jul 2008 00:26:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-07-27T17:35:55.695-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 50 - First Contact</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SI0UZLUq9wI/AAAAAAAAAGc/eqJRSQlXHbk/s1600-h/IMG_2684.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SI0UZLUq9wI/AAAAAAAAAGc/eqJRSQlXHbk/s400/IMG_2684.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227857165215790850" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;June 23&lt;sup&gt;rd&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;It’s been almost two months since I arrived in Alaska. I’ve been working on a fishing boat almost the entire time I’ve been here, but I hadn’t touched a single fish until today. I didn’t just touch fish – I was covered from head to toe in blood and scales. I was relieved and excited to finally be catching fish… I wasn’t so excited about Dave screaming at me to pick the fish out of the net faster. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;I’m the greenhorn on the boat, which means I get a hard time from more experienced crewmembers (particularly Dave) – an archaic form of fraternal initiation. The purpose of which is to toughen me up, or weed me out. But under that, Dave is the kind of guy who isn’t happy unless he’s angry about something. Being the greenhorn I am the target of most of his aggression – which also happens to be his teaching technique, negative reinforcement. I’ve been scolded like a dog (Dave owns four, no children), humiliated, threatened, and made to feel guilty for going to college and not learning how to jumpstart a bulldozer. The way I see it, I have a couple different options… the first and most obvious is quit. Who in their right mind would put up with continual emotional abuse in a work setting? The other option is stay – put up with the abuse, close myself off emotionally so I’m cold and “tough.” Or stay and cheerfully remember that there are things in this world I cannot change, I cannot change Dave. He is going to act out his dated emotional programs he learned growing up and there’s nothing I can do about that, and as much as he tries to intimidate me he has no control over me. So I simply remind myself of the things I do have control over. I have control over myself, my reactions, my thoughts, my feelings, I can choose to let Dave into my head or not. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;I’ve been reflecting back on my past teachers, and the ones that stick in my mind are the ones who used positive reinforcement to teach. They encouraged me to take chances and stretch my comfort zone. Even when I failed over and over they encouraged me to try again and again. So the lessons I find myself drawing on while stranded on a 32-foot boat in Bristol Bay are those of encouragement and determination with a great desire to purchase my own video equipment and put the education that didn’t teach me how to jumpstart a bulldozer to use. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-2230190832088644469?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/07/day-50-first-contact.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SI0UZLUq9wI/AAAAAAAAAGc/eqJRSQlXHbk/s72-c/IMG_2684.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-578717582644433019</guid><pubDate>Mon, 28 Jul 2008 00:24:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-07-27T17:26:24.211-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 41 - Over a Barrel</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SI0SJfeqrUI/AAAAAAAAAGU/tkb_ROFudwI/s1600-h/_MG_3855.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SI0SJfeqrUI/AAAAAAAAAGU/tkb_ROFudwI/s400/_MG_3855.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227854696725261634" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;June 14&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;The fishermen catch the fish and give them to the tenders, who work for the canaries. The canaries process and ship the fish to supermarkets and restaurants where consumers purchase Alaskan salmon. The most fishermen get paid for their fish up here is about a dollar a pound. Somewhere between here and the supermarket the price is inflated to over 20 dollars a pound and often higher. The fishermen know this, they don’t like it, but they don’t know what to do about it. They’ve tried striking, but there is always someone who is willing to work for the offered price, they end up catching all the fish because they’re the only ones fishing and it screws everyone else. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;The price fishermen have been getting paid for their fish has not changed since the 70s. Since then fuel prices, expenses for food and expenses to maintain their boats has steadily increased. The overhead to fish has become too cumbersome for most. The canaries will not raise their prices because they know the fishermen have nowhere else to go. Sadly the fishermen are not organized enough or willing to work together to increase their profits. Instead they’re distracted, quarreling amongst themselves, settling for the low prices and grinding away their existence. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-578717582644433019?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/07/day-41-over-barrel.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SI0SJfeqrUI/AAAAAAAAAGU/tkb_ROFudwI/s72-c/_MG_3855.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-5919025397505557752</guid><pubDate>Mon, 28 Jul 2008 00:18:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-07-27T17:23:18.695-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 39 - Paul</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SI0RbKWV1HI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZF2U-javluE/s1600-h/_MG_3951.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SI0RbKWV1HI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZF2U-javluE/s400/_MG_3951.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227853900779213938" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;June 12&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Yesterday our second deckhand arrived. I’m very glad to finally have the company of someone other than Dave. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Paul is 37-year-old single father. He lives in San Mateo and works in the docks in the east bay. Paul and I got along right away. We could relate to each other. This is Paul’s third year fishing, he understands more about how this game works than I do, and he’s helping me along. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;There’s only one problem… Paul is a party animal and we’ve been getting very little sleep. But we’ve been having a lot of fun – a welcomed change of pace from Dave’s constant and amazing ability to not take pleasure in anything he does.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-5919025397505557752?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/07/day-39-paul.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SI0RbKWV1HI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZF2U-javluE/s72-c/_MG_3951.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-2204156245242962958</guid><pubDate>Fri, 13 Jun 2008 06:43:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-06-12T23:44:10.164-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 35 - Naknek, AK</title><description>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:150%"&gt;June 8&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Unshowered, unshaven, erratic sleep pattern, and back in another dry dock. Naknek is empty for most of the year, until salmon season approaches. The town becomes a hive of activity as the fishermen prepare their vessels to fend off the wave of sockeye that rushes in when the weather warms. The temperature is still in the 40s during the day and low 30s at night – much too cold for the fish to run. It’s a late year… now we switch our gear from halibut to salmon, and wait, poised, prepared to pounce. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-2204156245242962958?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/06/day-35-naknek-ak.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-5490103103269027015</guid><pubDate>Fri, 13 Jun 2008 06:41:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-06-12T23:43:06.544-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 34 - False Pass</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SFIW6xD-3eI/AAAAAAAAAGE/bP1pk3G7VWI/s1600-h/_MG_3813.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SFIW6xD-3eI/AAAAAAAAAGE/bP1pk3G7VWI/s400/_MG_3813.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211252917679349218" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;June 7&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Being on the boat is all about thinking ahead… not very far, just enough. Everything we’ve brought is packed, and to do anything takes preparation. For instance, if we wanted to cook a meal, we would have to take the frozen meat out so it could thaw at least the night before. So we’re already thinking about what we’re going to have for dinner tomorrow night and getting it ready. This is different for me. I’ve always eaten when I was hungry. Lived moments as they came. I try not to plan anything too concrete because I know my plans may change. That’s not the way things work on the boat and I have to adapt to this lifestyle. It’s taking a little time, but I’m getting better at it. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;We reached our passage into the Bearing Sea. A shallow rip current only passable at high tide called False Pass. It sucked us through with the tide and shot us out into what felt like the other side of the world. The upper side of the Aleutian chain is very different than the lower side. The volcanic chain along the ring of fire is a result of the Pacific plate being pushed under the North American plate. The ocean on the southern side of the Aleutians is very deep with mountains that guard the coast. The northern side of the Aleutians is shallow and flat. Most of the landscape is marsh and grassland that stretch far out into the ocean. Even the water seems different. I watched the sun set on the Bearing Sea for the first time – as the color in the sky mixed with the bloated ripple of the water, I felt as though I had been holding my breath my entire life to emerge into a Monet painting. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-5490103103269027015?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/06/day-34-false-pass.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SFIW6xD-3eI/AAAAAAAAAGE/bP1pk3G7VWI/s72-c/_MG_3813.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-5285845124941214300</guid><pubDate>Fri, 13 Jun 2008 06:40:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-06-12T23:41:19.631-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 33 - Sand Point</title><description>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;June 6&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Sand Point is a small town on the way down the Aleutian chain. It was one of our refueling stops. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;The storm had passed. I stood on the flying bridge (the top of the boat), with the wind weaving through my hair. For a moment I closed my eyes, I remembered why I liked being on the ocean. The sensation of wind through my hair represents moving, changing, traveling to a new and exciting place I haven’t seen yet. It also feels really good. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-5285845124941214300?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/06/day-33-sand-point.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-6981683216502605829</guid><pubDate>Fri, 13 Jun 2008 06:05:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-06-12T23:40:08.143-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 32 - The Storm</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SFIWMJLildI/AAAAAAAAAF8/y3b__lA1lsw/s1600-h/_MG_3804_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SFIWMJLildI/AAAAAAAAAF8/y3b__lA1lsw/s400/_MG_3804_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211252116699649490" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;June 5&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;My next wheel watch was not as relaxing as my first had been. Not more than fifteen minutes after I had taken the wheel, a wind picked up as we passed a valley on the mainland. Quickly the waves were as tall as the bridge (where I was steering). The boat bobbed and dove on wave after wave. I was taking green water over the bow. The front windows started to leak. I winced every time the bow of our boat dipped into another wave. I realized a 32-foot boat isn’t very big compared to the power of the ocean. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Dave woke as he levitated out of bed on one of our plummets down the face of one wave only to be thrust back into bed violently as we stopped on the next. To me relief, he took the helm. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;After four hours of pitching I couldn’t wait any longer and I had to use the head (bathroom). If you’ve ever been on a boat you know how small the bathroom on a boat if. For those of you who do not let me try to explain what using the head in ten foot swells is like… Imagine being locked in a coffin with a coffee can nailed to one end while perpetually rolling down a rocky embankment and you’ll have an idea of what it was like. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;As the fear drenched my heart with every wave, I noticed Alan Jackson playing on the XM radio’s country station – the song “Good Times.” It seemed fitting. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-6981683216502605829?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/06/day-32-storm.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SFIWMJLildI/AAAAAAAAAF8/y3b__lA1lsw/s72-c/_MG_3804_1.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-8660368239588408848</guid><pubDate>Fri, 13 Jun 2008 04:59:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-06-12T22:02:15.085-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 31 - Voyage to Naknek, AK</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SFH_NkcHtQI/AAAAAAAAAF0/5vyRS2zVSlk/s1600-h/_MG_1921_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SFH_NkcHtQI/AAAAAAAAAF0/5vyRS2zVSlk/s400/_MG_1921_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211226852429378818" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;June 4&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;“We’re finally leaving,” I thought as I took a Dramamine (less drowsy formula). Not that it would do me any good because we were already on the water and starting to feel the pitch and roll of the ocean. I sat outside in the cold air as it usually settles my stomach. I couldn’t tell you much of the first three or four hours of our trip because I passed out from the less drowsy Dramamine. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;When I woke up the water was calm. We were passing through Kodiak Island and were protected from the open ocean. We weren’t the only ones who took piece in the calmness of the water – I looked out and saw a geyser spout in the distance. It was so subtle I wasn’t sure if I had really seen anything – but then it happened again. A gray whale broke the water gently with its enormous body – well over the length of our boat – then another, and another. I could see at least a dozen gray whales leisurely making their way through the pass. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;It was my turn to drive the boat… It was my job to get us safely across the Shelikof Strait: a notorious divide between Kodiak Island and the mainland. I’m proud to say I didn’t sink the boat. And I had company to guide me… While I was hanging half out the window to get more air, I was still feeling a little sick, the surface of the water broke again, this time six feet from the side of the boat. It came up so fast I jumped – “What the ****?” I didn’t see what it was or where it had gone. Then I saw them… one cut across the bow then cut back in a tight zigzag. Another leaped next to me and darted ahead. Dolphins had surrounded the boat. They played in the wake for an hour. Dave was sleeping, I was glad to have the company. There was something soothing, calming about their presence. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-8660368239588408848?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/06/day-31-voyage-to-naknek-ak.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SFH_NkcHtQI/AAAAAAAAAF0/5vyRS2zVSlk/s72-c/_MG_1921_1.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-1559809825875242368</guid><pubDate>Wed, 04 Jun 2008 03:28:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-06-03T20:37:38.870-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 30 - Leaving in the Morning</title><description>June 3rd&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're packed and ready to leave. The weather has broken. We set off with the tide in the morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This will be my last post until I get back from Bristol Bay (6-8 weeks from now).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is it... I'm going fishing!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-1559809825875242368?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/06/day-30-leaving-in-morning.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-1293211949906783430</guid><pubDate>Mon, 02 Jun 2008 07:16:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-06-02T00:21:32.531-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 28 - Waiting on the Weather</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SEOfaprjzFI/AAAAAAAAAFU/w9KMdpomxAQ/s1600-h/_MG_3705_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SEOfaprjzFI/AAAAAAAAAFU/w9KMdpomxAQ/s400/_MG_3705_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207180874384395346" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SEOfa5rjzGI/AAAAAAAAAFc/JJ9GzEpiX7I/s1600-h/_MG_3719_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SEOfa5rjzGI/AAAAAAAAAFc/JJ9GzEpiX7I/s400/_MG_3719_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207180878679362658" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SEOfbJrjzHI/AAAAAAAAAFk/LTI8lsqI4xg/s1600-h/_MG_3718_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SEOfbJrjzHI/AAAAAAAAAFk/LTI8lsqI4xg/s400/_MG_3718_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207180882974329970" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SEOfbJrjzII/AAAAAAAAAFs/YqyUft4QM58/s1600-h/engine+room+panarama.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SEOfbJrjzII/AAAAAAAAAFs/YqyUft4QM58/s400/engine+room+panarama.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207180882974329986" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;June 1&lt;sup&gt;st&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;We’re packed and all systems are a go, but the weather has postponed our departure. The preparations we’ve done in the past week are reminiscent of a long camping trip, an expedition. It took four trips to Costco in the pickup truck to get all the dry food we’re bringing… we still have to buy perishable and frozen goods. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;I’ve packed all my gear… Computer, DVDs, books, journals, camera gear, extra underwear, extra socks, t-shirts, pants, sweatshirts, jackets, deck shoes, casual shoes, boots, rain pants, light rain jacket, heavy duty rain jacket, extra gloves, glove liners, boot liners, arm warmers, baseball hat, knee pads, Victorinox knives (aka: Vicky), one set of nice clothes for when I’m not working, and lots of Dramamine. The most important things are the little articles of clothing that make a long day (or days) on your feet as comfortable as it can get. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;My diet while I’ve been working here consists of meat – that’s all, just meat. There are very few fresh vegetables in Alaska and they’re very expensive. Every day on the boat is equivalent to a long day lifting weights at the gym. It takes its toll on your body – I’m surprised some of these fishermen are in as good condition as they are after doing this for 30 years. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;I wish somehow I could express my excitement to being so close to leaving. I can’t wait to get my hands on some fish! Dave has a number of people lined up for our third crewmember, but he’s picky and is taking his time to find the perfect person for our team – we have a lot of good choices. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;I’m in disbelief of how much I’ve learned so far, I’m still absorbing everything… and we haven’t begun fishing yet. I’ve learned about hydraulics, engines, cooling systems, electricity, and chemistry – all of which (and more) are needed to run and maintain this boat. I can’t imagine what else I’m going to be learning in the next few months. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;The salmon season in Bristol Bay lasts for one to two months. I doubt I’ll find Internet access in that area of Alaska – but there’s always a possibility. After the bay we’ll be fishing for halibut. Halibut is caught on a different system than salmon. Salmon has a season where it can be fished for a certain amount of time – regulated heavily by the number of salmon running. If there are fewer salmon, there is a limit on the number of pounds per day each boat can catch. Halibut can be fished year round with a permit. There are a set number of permits that are owned and do not expire. Each permit is for a specific weight – usually between 10 and 30 thousand pounds per year. One person can own more than one permit. If the owner of a permit does not want to fish, they rent out their permit for a percentage of the earnings. So far we have 50,000 lbs of halibut to catch. The price for halibut right now is a little more than four dollars per pound. As a deckhand I’m getting paid a percentage of everything that we make.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;“Here fishy fishy fishy!”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-1293211949906783430?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/06/day-28-waiting-on-weather.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SEOfaprjzFI/AAAAAAAAAFU/w9KMdpomxAQ/s72-c/_MG_3705_1.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-5024780843843616656</guid><pubDate>Thu, 29 May 2008 06:42:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-05-28T23:43:05.359-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 24 - Theft of Services</title><description>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;May 28&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;As I was posting last nights blog, sitting at a picnic table in the high school playground at eleven o’clock at night, a police officer pulled up next to me, rolled down his window and informed me that if I was using the unlocked internet network from the high school, which I was, that I could be charged with a misdemeanor classified as “theft of services.” There are now laws preventing people from taping into radio waves that we cannot prevent from traveling through our bodies. I laughed. After agreeing that it was a silly concept, the nice officer drove away satisfied that he had done his job. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-5024780843843616656?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/05/day-24-theft-of-services.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-3851965873765513838</guid><pubDate>Wed, 28 May 2008 06:38:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-05-27T23:45:19.571-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 23 - Practice Humility</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDz-M5rjzEI/AAAAAAAAAFM/MBSdPMatWek/s1600-h/_MG_3692_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDz-M5rjzEI/AAAAAAAAAFM/MBSdPMatWek/s400/_MG_3692_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205314766928858178" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;May 27&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;“On the occasion of every accident that befalls you, remember to turn to yourself and inquire what power you have for turning it to use.” &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;- Epictitus &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:150%"&gt;I’ve discovered the role Dave is going to play in my life… He doesn’t realize it, but he is going to teach me humility. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;The path to my goal is potholed with difficult lessons. My sword is humor, my steed persistence – keeping my eye on my destination I cut through the trivial impasse with laughter. I can only trust when I achieve my goal I will be a better person for having had the pleasure of vaulting the hurtles along the way. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;   &lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-3851965873765513838?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/05/day-23-practice-humility.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDz-M5rjzEI/AAAAAAAAAFM/MBSdPMatWek/s72-c/_MG_3692_1.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-8665850387149444589</guid><pubDate>Sun, 25 May 2008 06:17:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-05-24T23:19:37.312-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 21 - Finally Floating</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDkE2Jrjy_I/AAAAAAAAAEk/OJ2pURy6nhs/s1600-h/_MG_3677_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDkE2Jrjy_I/AAAAAAAAAEk/OJ2pURy6nhs/s400/_MG_3677_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204196172761385970" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDkE2ZrjzAI/AAAAAAAAAEs/dPqsENDslGs/s1600-h/_MG_3511_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDkE2ZrjzAI/AAAAAAAAAEs/dPqsENDslGs/s400/_MG_3511_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204196177056353282" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDkE2ZrjzBI/AAAAAAAAAE0/yItcIqOTxjk/s1600-h/_MG_3468_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDkE2ZrjzBI/AAAAAAAAAE0/yItcIqOTxjk/s400/_MG_3468_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204196177056353298" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDkE2ZrjzCI/AAAAAAAAAE8/6gJlHdBxUog/s1600-h/_MG_3592_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDkE2ZrjzCI/AAAAAAAAAE8/6gJlHdBxUog/s400/_MG_3592_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204196177056353314" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDkE2prjzDI/AAAAAAAAAFE/UBBFVacRYUc/s1600-h/_MG_3649_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDkE2prjzDI/AAAAAAAAAFE/UBBFVacRYUc/s400/_MG_3649_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204196181351320626" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;May 24&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;My first experience with the Vestige in the water was spent in the engine room… plugging a hole with my finger. It’s not uncommon that there are kinks to work out when putting a boat back in the water after five months on a dry dock. My job was to watch the engine and report any abnormal leakage. Not two minutes into our trial run I came across a hole gushing oil. It wasn’t just dripping – oil was pulsating into the bilge. So like the doctor’s assistant I stuck my finger into the wound to stop the bleeding. Luckily that was the only leak… from the position I was in I wouldn’t have been able to spare any more fingers. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Some of the events at the Crab Festival are like none I’ve ever seen. They used to have seal skinning competitions – but they decided killing baby seals might not be the best way to… well, I’m not sure why they decided to stop – I don’t think they stopped out of humane intentions. But some of the other events are still very engaging. I watched dozens of people submit themselves to the icy waters of Alaska in the survival suit race. People gathered their teams of four, raced to get into their suits, plunged into the water and swam a hundred yards to a raft. The high school swim team won with the best time over crews of fishermen and even the coast guard rescue swimmers. But this event wasn’t just for the adults or young adults… there was a team of three young girls with their mom who ranked in the top five best times – with a more positive attitude than the big boys about being in the frigid water. The race continued even with a thousand pound sea lion that positioned himself between the racers and the raft while checking out the action. He glided effortlessly around the swimmers, who looked like floating orange marshmallows, but soon lost interest and left.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-8665850387149444589?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/05/day-21-finally-floating.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDkE2Jrjy_I/AAAAAAAAAEk/OJ2pURy6nhs/s72-c/_MG_3677_1.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-2133322764244436679</guid><pubDate>Sat, 24 May 2008 06:38:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-05-23T23:40:59.497-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 19 - Life Without Internet</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDe4a5rjy8I/AAAAAAAAAEM/Si2xk1CxkzI/s1600-h/_MG_3343_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDe4a5rjy8I/AAAAAAAAAEM/Si2xk1CxkzI/s400/_MG_3343_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203830666749529026" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDe4a5rjy9I/AAAAAAAAAEU/rkGC2aFf3QQ/s1600-h/_MG_3354_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDe4a5rjy9I/AAAAAAAAAEU/rkGC2aFf3QQ/s400/_MG_3354_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203830666749529042" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDe4bJrjy-I/AAAAAAAAAEc/97_YbsyC20k/s1600-h/_MG_3358_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDe4bJrjy-I/AAAAAAAAAEc/97_YbsyC20k/s400/_MG_3358_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203830671044496354" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;May 23&lt;sup&gt;rd&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;The 50&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; anniversary of the Kodiak Crab Festival started yesterday. I indulged in a large plate of king crab legs for 15 dollars. They were quite good – I ate too much and got a horrible stomachache. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Tomorrow is our launch date… FINALLY! I’ve learned so much about this boat. I know where everything is and how it works. It fought us every step of the way; little projects turned into careers. I’m ready to be in the water – where I’m sure I’ll learn a lot more. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;There is deckhand culture in Kodiak who only have two things in common; they’re in Kodiak to fish, and they’re not from here. But everyone seems to get along, joined together by Alaska. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-2133322764244436679?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/05/day-19-life-without-internet.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDe4a5rjy8I/AAAAAAAAAEM/Si2xk1CxkzI/s72-c/_MG_3343_1.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-7238415679291268278</guid><pubDate>Sat, 24 May 2008 06:35:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-05-23T23:38:09.058-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 16 - First Night on the Boat</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDe3v5rjy5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/nKxw3-tN9GI/s1600-h/_MG_3335_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDe3v5rjy5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/nKxw3-tN9GI/s400/_MG_3335_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203829928015154066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDe3wJrjy6I/AAAAAAAAAD8/znlwJ6ojKbg/s1600-h/_MG_3330_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDe3wJrjy6I/AAAAAAAAAD8/znlwJ6ojKbg/s400/_MG_3330_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203829932310121378" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDe3wZrjy7I/AAAAAAAAAEE/J06Ni3icmZM/s1600-h/_MG_3327_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDe3wZrjy7I/AAAAAAAAAEE/J06Ni3icmZM/s400/_MG_3327_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203829936605088690" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;May 20&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Last night was my first night on the boat, which is still in the dry dock. I’m surprised how comfortable I was. It helped that I was tired and stayed out with some friends a little later than I should have. I’m much closer to down town Kodiak on the boat – which is very nice, I feel more like a tenant than a guest. Dave had a few bikes laying around that he never uses anymore, so I cleaned one up, and it has become my faithful transportation. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;After spending a couple weeks in Alaska, my definition of t-shirt weather has changed… A nice sunny day to break out the t-shirts and shorts peaks at about 50 degrees. But springtime has finally arrived in Kodiak – blue skies and budding trees. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;The people here in Kodiak are friendly… and some of them very backcountry. There are plenty of four-wheel drive ATVs, guns, trucks, Christians, and the occasional racist slip. Their favorite stories to tell are about hunting trips or crazy neighbors. But that’s only one end of the spectrum. Kodiak is a place where people come to find what they couldn’t find where they were before. The average residency is about seven years. Which creates an amazing amount of diversity for such a small region. All the stereotypical political and social groups can be found here, but they’re ignorant of, or chose not to acknowledge each other – live and let live. Everyone has created their own perfect world that revolves around themselves – without being egotistical or selfish. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:150%"&gt;The sun stays out longer each day. When I tried to look up the sunrise and sunset times I found out dawn starts at 7:15 &lt;i&gt;pm &lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:normal"&gt;even though the sun doesn’t rise until 5:30 &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;am&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:normal"&gt;… The sun sets at 10:40 pm, leaving in the sky a smoldering blue hue that masks the stars. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Living on a boat is a lot like camping… I have a generator, but it’s not strong enough to heat water – I just took one of the coldest showers of my life. The generator is powerful enough to charge my computer – which allows me to continue writing this – however; I’m running low on gas…&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-7238415679291268278?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/05/day-16-first-night-on-boat.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SDe3v5rjy5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/nKxw3-tN9GI/s72-c/_MG_3335_1.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-9205260437305155336</guid><pubDate>Sun, 18 May 2008 07:47:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-05-18T00:48:05.941-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 13 - CAUTION... Learning Curve Ahead</title><description>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;May 17&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;I started writing something for today… everything I wrote was anti-pessimistic and preachy. What it came down to is I’m being challenged. The universe is conspiring to teach me what I need to learn to become a better human being. I expected this road to be difficult – now I start getting the real lessons. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:13.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;"On the occasion of every accident that befalls you, remember to turn to yourself and inquire what power you have for turning it to use."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-indent:.5in;line-height:150%"&gt;-Epictetus&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-9205260437305155336?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/05/day-13-caution-learning-curve-ahead_18.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-1279645307391765000</guid><pubDate>Sat, 17 May 2008 03:04:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-05-16T20:07:43.534-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 12 - "It ain't rocket surgery."</title><description>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;May 16&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;If you think you know anything… come to Alaska and you’ll see how much you really know – useful, daily applicable things that we’ve become accustomed to having done for us in "the real world" (as it's called up here). &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:150%"&gt;I’ve been humbled. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-1279645307391765000?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/05/day-12-it-aint-rocket-surgery.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-5715116922867539186</guid><pubDate>Fri, 16 May 2008 07:26:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-05-16T00:33:28.362-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 11 - Where Do You Leave Footprints?</title><description>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;May 15&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;I am so grateful to have so many supportive people in my life. I can’t help but wonder how my life would be different if I didn’t have the support and love from my family and friends. From the bottom of my heart – thank you. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;We’re close to being finished putting the boat back together. There are so many little things that have great importance that need to be done. I’m getting restless; I can’t wait to get in the water and start catching fish. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;Definition of Vestige… (according to Webster)&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;Pronunciation: \&lt;span style="font-family:Helvetica;"&gt;ˈ&lt;/span&gt;ves-tij\&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;Function: &lt;i&gt;noun&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;Etymology: Middle English, from Middle French, from Latin &lt;i&gt;vestigium&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:normal"&gt; footstep, footprint, track, vestige&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;Date: 15th century&lt;b&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;b&gt;1 a &lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:normal"&gt;(1)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:normal"&gt; a trace, mark, or visible sign left by something (as an ancient city or a condition or practice) vanished or lost (2)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:normal"&gt; the smallest quantity or trace&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;b&gt;2:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:normal"&gt; a bodily part or organ that is small and degenerate or imperfectly developed in comparison to one more fully developed in an earlier stage of the individual, in a past generation, or in closely related form&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;I haven’t shaved since I arrived here… I'm going to grow out my beard. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;   &lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-5715116922867539186?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/05/day-11-where-do-you-leave-footprints.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-8250630920592005081</guid><pubDate>Thu, 15 May 2008 08:44:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-05-15T20:39:05.153-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 10 - Do What You Love and To Heck With the Rest</title><description>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;May 14&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;I guess I should answer the question why I chose Alaska. My first reaction is to say that I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. But I don’t have to prove anything. The more honest answer is I’m here to figure it out. After I graduated from Brooks Institute I was burned out on school and photography – I needed a change of pace. I needed an adventure. To kill two birds with one stone, I chose one that would put a few bucks in my pocket. There are probably lots of moneymaking adventures I could undertake that would be a lot safer. The danger appealed to me. It scares the heck out of me too. The ocean is to be respected and never underestimated or challenged. Growing up in urban advertisement saturated areas most of my life I needed to get in touch with the natural order of things… remember what matters. I’ve never had the right of passage to manhood. Our society doesn’t provide that opportunity for young men anymore. This country was founded by men who rode out into the wilderness, staked a claim, built a house, started a family, and made their living. The cowboy is an idealized hero of young boys – looking at this model of a man in advertising and movies they grow up wanting to be as tough as Clint Eastwood. But the society of cowboys is changing… not dead, but very different from what it used to be. My point, and why I chose Alaska… this is my attempt to create a right of passage for myself into manhood. The most difficult part about it is that I have two models for manhood – advertising, and my father. I love my father, there are many traits he posses that I love, and there are some I don’t. So I’m still confused about what my understanding of manhood is really. But rather than dwell on what I don’t know or understand, I choose to move forward, do what I love, and trust that someday down the road I may have a better understanding of who I am right now or who I was ten years ago. I wonder who I’ll be tomorrow?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;“We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us.”&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:1.0in;text-indent:.5in;line-height:150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;- &lt;i&gt;Joseph Campbell&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:normal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-8250630920592005081?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/05/day-10-do-what-you-love-and-to-heck.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-5923212385600618120</guid><pubDate>Wed, 14 May 2008 06:09:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-05-13T23:12:16.360-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 9 - My First Coveralls</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SCqCWesTcrI/AAAAAAAAADs/1kU-ogKETuk/s1600-h/_MG_3262_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SCqCWesTcrI/AAAAAAAAADs/1kU-ogKETuk/s400/_MG_3262_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200112042460279474" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;May 13&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;They’re amazing… Why did I never know about these before? Every little boy should be given coveralls and sent out to play. Mothers should seriously consider buying these for their children – many clothes would be saved. Sure, they may not be the most fashionable clothes, but they make up for that in functionality. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;The sun decided to poke it head out today for short periods. I think the temperature reached the high 50s. But the best part about it was the view… Since I arrived, there have been clouds covering everything – limiting visibility. Today I saw for the first time the snow capped mountains that surround and isolate Kodiak against the ocean. I was amazed by the expanse of Alaska. The horizon stretches out in every direction, never coming to a resting place. There is so much space up here for me to play in my coveralls. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-5923212385600618120?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/05/day-9-my-first-coveralls.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SCqCWesTcrI/AAAAAAAAADs/1kU-ogKETuk/s72-c/_MG_3262_1.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4914121853774088680.post-7670527828256972961</guid><pubDate>Tue, 13 May 2008 07:39:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-05-13T22:41:17.077-07:00</atom:updated><title>Day 8 - The Engine Room</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SClHmusTcqI/AAAAAAAAADk/y3awyvNrT2c/s1600-h/IMG_2622.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SClHmusTcqI/AAAAAAAAADk/y3awyvNrT2c/s400/IMG_2622.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199765975470404258" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;May 12&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Everyday is a challenge dealing with the weather here. It’s still raining and the temperature hasn’t risen higher than 42 degrees. After living in southern California for four years I’m very happy to have rain again. The unpredictability of the weather keeps me on my toes. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:150%"&gt;After spending a day under an enormous engine, covered in diesel fuel and engine grease, cramped, sore, tired, I stopped – looked around, checked in with what I was feeling and realized that I’ve never been more high on life than right now, this moment. I’m living in Alaska; making money to travel, take pictures, cruise around the Alaskan coast, and fish! I’m living my dream. And this is just the beginning. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:150%"&gt;I also learned the importance and functionality of cover-alls… because I didn’t have them. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4914121853774088680-7670527828256972961?l=dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://dominiccolacchiophotography.blogspot.com/2008/05/day-8-engine-room.html</link><author>DominicColacchio@gmail.com (Dominic Colacchio)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4tpDT3PwOkA/SClHmusTcqI/AAAAAAAAADk/y3awyvNrT2c/s72-c/IMG_2622.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item></channel></rss>