JIM TOTEFF JR. was born into a fishing family in 1948. He grew up in the Columbia River bank side of town of Kalama, Wa., and represents the 3rd generation of a commercial fishing family and his grandfather Peter Toteff began the profession about 1910.
Jim learned at an early age the skills to operate boats and build fishing nets through the tutelage of his father and grandfather. His early innovations created several new concepts
On net building, and he and his father Jim Sr. were on the leading edge of the introduction of jet seine skiffs into the Kodiak salmon fishery.
In addition to gillnetting the Columbia River, Jim has taken part in many Alaska fisheries, but most importantly was purse seining in Kodiak beginning in 1963. He and his wife Rhoda have had three boats built for the Alaska fisheries, all christened with the name Rhoda JeAnne. Also built was the Miss Leah and Anna Maria which were Columbia River gillnetters. During their 45 years of marriage they have brought five daughters into this world who have blessed them with 13 grandchildren.
Jim has been pulling back on the throttle the last few years and has been filling the void with his love of sport fishing, hunting, spending time with grandkids, travelling with Rhoda, and writing.
Jim always liked Jack London and Robert Service, and their influence shows in his writing. Jim’s poetry blends rhythm and rhyme, and either tells a story, has a moral, or some sort of personal philosophy. He drug his heels during the early years of FPG, but with encouragement from his fellow fisherman poet, Dave Densmore, Jim has taken the stage annually starting in 2008. Jim had a CD recorded a few years back titled “Men of the High Sea,” and he will have his short stories and poems out in a book form before he puts his pencil down.
Jim learned at an early age the skills to operate boats and build fishing nets through the tutelage of his father and grandfather. His early innovations created several new concepts
On net building, and he and his father Jim Sr. were on the leading edge of the introduction of jet seine skiffs into the Kodiak salmon fishery.
In addition to gillnetting the Columbia River, Jim has taken part in many Alaska fisheries, but most importantly was purse seining in Kodiak beginning in 1963. He and his wife Rhoda have had three boats built for the Alaska fisheries, all christened with the name Rhoda JeAnne. Also built was the Miss Leah and Anna Maria which were Columbia River gillnetters. During their 45 years of marriage they have brought five daughters into this world who have blessed them with 13 grandchildren.
Jim has been pulling back on the throttle the last few years and has been filling the void with his love of sport fishing, hunting, spending time with grandkids, travelling with Rhoda, and writing.
Jim always liked Jack London and Robert Service, and their influence shows in his writing. Jim’s poetry blends rhythm and rhyme, and either tells a story, has a moral, or some sort of personal philosophy. He drug his heels during the early years of FPG, but with encouragement from his fellow fisherman poet, Dave Densmore, Jim has taken the stage annually starting in 2008. Jim had a CD recorded a few years back titled “Men of the High Sea,” and he will have his short stories and poems out in a book form before he puts his pencil down.
AUDIO
WRITINGS
Uncle Sam's Dam
We'll build us a dam, said old Uncle Sam,
cuz it's cheap hydro power that matters;
with a little soft shoe, we can sneak this thing through,
and build it without any fish ladders.
So, with no trace of guilt, Grand Coulee was built,
the farmers all clapped with a cheer;
but with the governments course, and no public remorse,
the salmon now swam with a tear.
With the river diverted, and her power converted,
to Kilowatts and water for wheat;
Uncle Sam smiled, when our taxes were filed,
as it looked good on the Federal spreadsheet.
When the salmon returned, they all quickly learned,
their journey back home was for naught;
the dam blocked their way, and sadly to say,
they'd soon litter the beaches and rot.
But the people were blind, as the salmon declined,
tho' for years our warnings went on;
and more dams were constructed, and more salmon obstructed,
from reaching their birthplace to spawn.
So a smoke screen was lit, and little bit, by little bit,
the blame was shifted and swayed;
to the squaw fish and birds, and sealion herds,
but the gillnetters are the ones that have paid.
Now the salmon are few, and our warnings came true,
when we spotted the political scam;
so when pointing a finger, you'd better remember,
we gillnetters fought every damn dam...
_____________________
To the Bilge
Once there was a mighty ship,
so proud with mast held high;
she plied the oceans far and wide,
her course straight down the sky.
Through wind and rain and gales howl,
she was the envy of the seas;
n'er snow nor ice both fair and foul,
she never sought the lee.
With main sail set full to the wind,
and always wanting more;
the jib full furled, a loyal friend,
comrades to the core.
A normal clipper she was not,
she was as alive as you or me;
from tiller handle to yard arm knot,
each part an entity.
Each leech and luff and tackle sheave,
always worked together;
gentle breeze or heavy heave,
it mattered not the weather.
From rudder post to cockpit rail,
each plank and fitted beam;
each rib and batten bolt and nail,
a member of this team.
And each new fully well its' place,
no jealousy of position,
each always wore a happy face,
none needed recognition.
But came one day it's sad to say,
there was a confrontation;
'tween bilge and helm there came a fray,
concerning reputation.
Of low esteem the bilge had sank,
at the helm a different story;
the bilge felt not of equal rank,
as the helm got all the glory.
The anchor intervened this spat,
as it also had a beef;
"I hope you ne'r have not forgot,
when I've held us off a reef."
Now things grew awfully loud quite fast,
as the rudder and keel joined in;
along with the main and mizzen mast,
boisterous was the din.
And soon things got out of control,
from decks to bulkhead beams;
from transom planks to bow sprit pole,
she was bursting at the seams.
It happened just that way that day,
spontaneous rebellion;
pride should have looked the other way,
of what jealousy was sellin'.
This mighty ship, a legend now,
so fast and hell for stout;
her own demise was she, you see,
as she fell from inside out.
So all the trials of life you face,
hold steady come what may;
though a bilge might be a lowly place,
once you've landed stick and stay...
_____________________
The Salmon
Come spring of the year in a stream far away,
they emerge from out of the gravel;
and of the ones that survive that first day,
many thousands of miles they'll travel.
Five thousand eggs some mothers will lay,
across oceans her children will roam;
hardships and danger each step of the way,
only 2 will make it back home.
On the day they are hatched their journey begins,
competing with sisters and brothers;
swimming back to their birth stream their lives will end,
and they'll become fathers and mothers.
They'll range the oceans in search of food,
death will hunt them each day;
survival needs luck as each day they're pursued,
by predators searching for prey.
On storm tossed seas and wanderlust tide,
unknown what lurks each tomorrow;
to forage or linger or lay low and hide,
if eaten, no tears nor no sorrow.
Sea lions, seals, and birds take a toll,
and dams author many an obituary;
but all of these forces, man can control,
are we salmon's friend or adversary?
So what is the worth of the trials they endure?
these salmon that God has given;
I'll tell you one thing, and I know this for sure,
they've blessed families like mine a good living...
_____________________
An Old Gillnetter's Lament
Oh what a grand adventure it's been,
roaming the rivers and seas;
Weathering the times thru thick and thin
breathing air that's never been breathed.
Cursing the wind while bucking the tide,
on troubled waters we thrive;
Tis a wonderful day to smell salt spray,
thanking God we are alive.
We have stayed the course with a future grim,
and drifted the ageless waters;
From Legacies left by Sea Faring men,
as we are their sons and daughters.
We've listened to the rhythm of time and tide,
and the sounds of the stars at night;
We've learned to read the music they play,
Whilst the helm in our hands is held tight.
But the times they are a changing,
for better or for worse;
And I'm having trouble figuring out,
were we blessed? or were we cursed?
Our money is much harder to earn now,
when we were lads we thought we were rich;
But we're caught in a chase of a new direction,
like a scratch in search of an itch.
Our paths thru life are stamped in stone,
for at birth each script is writ;
And in the jig saw puzzle of life,
at the end all the pieces will fit.
Is a way of life unraveling?
And will it be forever lost?
Is it a sacrificial life we are travelling?
and are the memories worth the cost???
_____________________
Clam Digger Jake
Old clam digger Jake packed a shovel and a rake,
on his hip hung a big 44;
quiet and shy, a solitary guy,
his legend lives on ever more.
The old timers say he was spotted one day,
on Kodiak Island's west side,
a scruffy clad man who was roasting a clam,
a giant of a man bonafide.
He would then disappear for maybe a year,
just vanish, no trail would he make;
but the tell tale sign, when spotted next time,
was that infamous shovel and rake.
Once three fingered Lou back in seventy two,
happened upon Jake unaware;
when Jake gave a bellow, Lou's legs turned to jello,
old Jake was big as a bear.
Then Jake pulled his gun and Lou made a run,
Lou knew he was staring at death;
but Lou made it to town and the story that went down,
he spent a week just catching his breath.
They could not find, it boggled their mind,
they searched all over the land;
they hunted year round but all that they found,
were foot prints and holes in the sand.
And not since then has there ever been,
hide nor hair seen of Jake;
and no more marks in the sand from this stealth loving man,
from his notorious shovel and rake.
Some say he died eating clams from red tide,
though a verdict has never been reached;
some say he drowned but no body ever found,
just a bucket of clams on the beach.
Yet people of late, still speculate,
was he man or apparition?
or did he just lose the taste, for the clams that he ate,
and get a boat and try his luck at Fishin'...
We'll build us a dam, said old Uncle Sam,
cuz it's cheap hydro power that matters;
with a little soft shoe, we can sneak this thing through,
and build it without any fish ladders.
So, with no trace of guilt, Grand Coulee was built,
the farmers all clapped with a cheer;
but with the governments course, and no public remorse,
the salmon now swam with a tear.
With the river diverted, and her power converted,
to Kilowatts and water for wheat;
Uncle Sam smiled, when our taxes were filed,
as it looked good on the Federal spreadsheet.
When the salmon returned, they all quickly learned,
their journey back home was for naught;
the dam blocked their way, and sadly to say,
they'd soon litter the beaches and rot.
But the people were blind, as the salmon declined,
tho' for years our warnings went on;
and more dams were constructed, and more salmon obstructed,
from reaching their birthplace to spawn.
So a smoke screen was lit, and little bit, by little bit,
the blame was shifted and swayed;
to the squaw fish and birds, and sealion herds,
but the gillnetters are the ones that have paid.
Now the salmon are few, and our warnings came true,
when we spotted the political scam;
so when pointing a finger, you'd better remember,
we gillnetters fought every damn dam...
_____________________
To the Bilge
Once there was a mighty ship,
so proud with mast held high;
she plied the oceans far and wide,
her course straight down the sky.
Through wind and rain and gales howl,
she was the envy of the seas;
n'er snow nor ice both fair and foul,
she never sought the lee.
With main sail set full to the wind,
and always wanting more;
the jib full furled, a loyal friend,
comrades to the core.
A normal clipper she was not,
she was as alive as you or me;
from tiller handle to yard arm knot,
each part an entity.
Each leech and luff and tackle sheave,
always worked together;
gentle breeze or heavy heave,
it mattered not the weather.
From rudder post to cockpit rail,
each plank and fitted beam;
each rib and batten bolt and nail,
a member of this team.
And each new fully well its' place,
no jealousy of position,
each always wore a happy face,
none needed recognition.
But came one day it's sad to say,
there was a confrontation;
'tween bilge and helm there came a fray,
concerning reputation.
Of low esteem the bilge had sank,
at the helm a different story;
the bilge felt not of equal rank,
as the helm got all the glory.
The anchor intervened this spat,
as it also had a beef;
"I hope you ne'r have not forgot,
when I've held us off a reef."
Now things grew awfully loud quite fast,
as the rudder and keel joined in;
along with the main and mizzen mast,
boisterous was the din.
And soon things got out of control,
from decks to bulkhead beams;
from transom planks to bow sprit pole,
she was bursting at the seams.
It happened just that way that day,
spontaneous rebellion;
pride should have looked the other way,
of what jealousy was sellin'.
This mighty ship, a legend now,
so fast and hell for stout;
her own demise was she, you see,
as she fell from inside out.
So all the trials of life you face,
hold steady come what may;
though a bilge might be a lowly place,
once you've landed stick and stay...
_____________________
The Salmon
Come spring of the year in a stream far away,
they emerge from out of the gravel;
and of the ones that survive that first day,
many thousands of miles they'll travel.
Five thousand eggs some mothers will lay,
across oceans her children will roam;
hardships and danger each step of the way,
only 2 will make it back home.
On the day they are hatched their journey begins,
competing with sisters and brothers;
swimming back to their birth stream their lives will end,
and they'll become fathers and mothers.
They'll range the oceans in search of food,
death will hunt them each day;
survival needs luck as each day they're pursued,
by predators searching for prey.
On storm tossed seas and wanderlust tide,
unknown what lurks each tomorrow;
to forage or linger or lay low and hide,
if eaten, no tears nor no sorrow.
Sea lions, seals, and birds take a toll,
and dams author many an obituary;
but all of these forces, man can control,
are we salmon's friend or adversary?
So what is the worth of the trials they endure?
these salmon that God has given;
I'll tell you one thing, and I know this for sure,
they've blessed families like mine a good living...
_____________________
An Old Gillnetter's Lament
Oh what a grand adventure it's been,
roaming the rivers and seas;
Weathering the times thru thick and thin
breathing air that's never been breathed.
Cursing the wind while bucking the tide,
on troubled waters we thrive;
Tis a wonderful day to smell salt spray,
thanking God we are alive.
We have stayed the course with a future grim,
and drifted the ageless waters;
From Legacies left by Sea Faring men,
as we are their sons and daughters.
We've listened to the rhythm of time and tide,
and the sounds of the stars at night;
We've learned to read the music they play,
Whilst the helm in our hands is held tight.
But the times they are a changing,
for better or for worse;
And I'm having trouble figuring out,
were we blessed? or were we cursed?
Our money is much harder to earn now,
when we were lads we thought we were rich;
But we're caught in a chase of a new direction,
like a scratch in search of an itch.
Our paths thru life are stamped in stone,
for at birth each script is writ;
And in the jig saw puzzle of life,
at the end all the pieces will fit.
Is a way of life unraveling?
And will it be forever lost?
Is it a sacrificial life we are travelling?
and are the memories worth the cost???
_____________________
Clam Digger Jake
Old clam digger Jake packed a shovel and a rake,
on his hip hung a big 44;
quiet and shy, a solitary guy,
his legend lives on ever more.
The old timers say he was spotted one day,
on Kodiak Island's west side,
a scruffy clad man who was roasting a clam,
a giant of a man bonafide.
He would then disappear for maybe a year,
just vanish, no trail would he make;
but the tell tale sign, when spotted next time,
was that infamous shovel and rake.
Once three fingered Lou back in seventy two,
happened upon Jake unaware;
when Jake gave a bellow, Lou's legs turned to jello,
old Jake was big as a bear.
Then Jake pulled his gun and Lou made a run,
Lou knew he was staring at death;
but Lou made it to town and the story that went down,
he spent a week just catching his breath.
They could not find, it boggled their mind,
they searched all over the land;
they hunted year round but all that they found,
were foot prints and holes in the sand.
And not since then has there ever been,
hide nor hair seen of Jake;
and no more marks in the sand from this stealth loving man,
from his notorious shovel and rake.
Some say he died eating clams from red tide,
though a verdict has never been reached;
some say he drowned but no body ever found,
just a bucket of clams on the beach.
Yet people of late, still speculate,
was he man or apparition?
or did he just lose the taste, for the clams that he ate,
and get a boat and try his luck at Fishin'...