TOM HILTON. FisherPoet/Gillnetter. UnionTown, Astoria, Oregon. Tom is the adopted son of Finnish immigrants who gillnetted the Lower Columbia River for Salmon. He has drifted the Columbia from Oneonta in the fall to the breakers on Jetty Sands in the spring. Starting at age 13 for 15 summers he fished for sockeye in the tide rips and the seams of Cook Inlet with his dad, A.V. "Kid" Hilton. They fished for Kenai Packers. In the summer of 1982 Wally Nelson taught him how to fish the seams. Bill "The Swede" Gunderson let him run his gear in 1993. He walked away from Kenai in 2006 returning to the Inlet in 2013 on the deck of the Cheryl Lynn where he drifted with local Kenai artist Thor Evenson. He has fished for sockeye in Bristol Bay, and on the Salmon Banks of Puget Sound, and for herring on the muddy shoals of San Francisco Bay. He promotes the conservation, enhancement and eating of wild salmon.
AUDIO
WRITINGS
Grounded
July 22 2013. 457AM
The peak of the Kenai Reds
The essence of patience...
Thor takes Cheryl Lynn out of gear
Her bow gently running aground on the corner at Chinulna Point in front of the Kenai City Dock...
Facing North.
Timing is everything, watch the ebbing tide
Moon set
Sunrise
Throwing ourselves into a trusting state of mind
We glance at each other, belaboring our alibis
Out dew covered windows
Across the horizon, a vast expanse
A palpable canvas
His mind entrenched in sketching
Verbalizing with enthusiasm his renderings
Charcoal Silhouettes of the anchored drift fleet
Black sharpie tree lines jagged edge
Redoubt glaciers alpine glow
Translucent river licks a brown muddy bank, running up to green gold tundra grass
Shrouded in a thin layered pastel fog
Purple Lupine, Cow parsnip and Fireweed
Thick broad brush strokes of blood orange, grapefruit pinks, teal, baby powder blue....ivory
Glazed yellow treasure map eyes caught in hypnotic sleepless trance
Stare down river at the old Salamatof Cannery's gold buildings bathed in sunlight
Outlined shadows, hazy memories hide
Riley waters rippling, pirouette around pilings
Synchronized choreographed elegance
Beauty in every heart beat
In every Breath
Reaching for his sunglasses, clearing his throat,
reflecting on tomorrow's yesterday's: Kenai Packers; Bird Boats, Cat Boats, Fish Boats, Indian Boats, and Moose Boats.
The Tin Can Fleet...
Tallymen...
Columbia Wards...
Sailboats...
Bookey's...
Libby McNiel...
Mabel E...
His voice thick as wet sand, sticky as Inlet mud...
Sweet as caramel
Smooth as gravel
How the bluff swallowed the Harbor View, and upper range marker
Filling the channel into a narrow gut forcing it Northwest
Gracefully eroding, pulling down trees
Exposing black root wads, suspending them at various angles of falling, rotting, dying
Caught in freeze frame animation
Wind blown hesitation
Crumbling walls of Black and Tan
Like a sea legged fisherman
Slowly staggering, drifting to Kenai Joes...
Wandering
Edging towards The Devils Triangle;
The Rainbow Bar, The Rig and Casino
He puffs, Smoke billows swirls
Our dreams are eerily sleeping
All the broken pieces of yesterday's strife
They don't want us to be free
He says
Our tiny island drifts downstream
This is where our words gasping for life,
drown for meaning
Like warm pudding
We slurp our poor man's mochas
He stirs his with a handle from the stove
Sitting patiently because we can
Waves slap her hull
Quiet knows no meaning
Interpreting the physical world
Steam rises from his breath
Living for tide
Surrender brings forth greater understanding
Truth lies where you find it
Define it
The end is the beginning
Can you taste the beauty?
Silty grey current pushing
Ebbing tides gravity pulling
Lifting Cheryl Lynn's hull
Starboard stern first
Dipping port bow down
Bouncing, hitting solid ground
We observe our relationship to points of land
Attaching meaning to our presence
Taking reference on fixed objects
Her sleek lines were built for speed
Not elegantly bumping along glacier sand
Waiting can be a very powerful thing for those who lack understanding
Just one sincerely surrendered moment
A wise innocence
Reflection
When love matters more than anything
Humbling
nothing else really matters
All that you are seeking is seeking you
Relax in the knowing
Trust; Is a shift in how we perceive a situation
without expectation
How we experience the experience
Let it develop
We sit Motionless
Defining existence
The world paints around us
Watching
drifting mind
Colors
tide
Life affirming
These words are a pale lifeless shadow of the thing that came to life in our soul...
Breathless wind carries cries of a million sea gull's
Some land on the flying bridge, fair leads
Sound reverberates
Water is a great conductor
Skiffs racing at various speeds
Outboards changing pitch and tone
piercing our feet through her hull
Taxi fishermen to their boats
Bacon eggs hash-browns toast
Wakes
She rolls slightly, rocks skipping
Listen to the cool breeze
We hear every single solitary stone
Crunching grit between your teeth
Grinding her hull like sandpaper
Can you smell the sunrise?
Pastel fog
Muddy banks
Cobalt sky
Lavender Alpine glow
Translucent river
White hot peach sunrise
Moon setting gold
Waiting is an art that can achieve things hidden from our view that only God can see in our heart...
It is only with the heart that one can see rightly
What is essential is invisible to the eye....
Timing is everything...
Patience is essential...
"I have always liked the view from here," Thor says..."what a beautiful place..."
---------------------
Cause It’s One Drift and We All Go Home
Man,
Now that you've got your ticket
The weather will be great
The reds will be thick
Just enough to keep the boat off the gear
Hangin like grapes
The girls will be friendly
Food will be delicious
Jokes will be told
Legends made
And....chasing dogs is foolish
The cast is all gathered
New faces and old
Greenhorns and Legends
Lookin' for the big score
From Ninilchik, Homer and Halibut Cove
To the West-side Set-netters
And the girls on Fisherman's Road
They'll be counting down the minutes
To Throw the buoy ball
Looking for bunches hitting
Telling stories in the mess hall
Cause it's summertime in Alaska
And along the Kenai Peninsula
The salmon are running, jumpin and finnin
Their way home
They are runnin.....
Up,Up, Up, the Inlet
That's how they run
In the Land of Milk and Honey
And the Midnight Sun....
Maggots line the college hole bank
Pukers with full boats
The dippies are up their necks in our wakes
An eagle flies alone
The South wind blows
Pizza at Paradisos
Sun never sets
Baseball at Oiler's Park
Drive down the North Beach
The Boy's belly up to Kenai Joe's Bar
The smell of blood, sweat and gurry
The gulls shuffle along the tin roof of the bunkhouse
Hurry, Squawkin', talkin', sharing a meal
No time to lick your wounds
Or let the bruises heal
Not so young anymore
No youthful zeal
Ice in the cooler
Boats cleaned, windows washed
Crank up the tunes......(insert name here)
It's your turn for wheel watch!!!
No time for sleep
Looking for jumpers
Radio crackles that sound of squelch
Last sip of coffee
Mountain Dew belch
South 210
That's the heading
South-end of the island
That's what we are betting
The Red's are layin' along the edge of the bar
Last of the flood
High-Water Down
Load the boat
Head to Town
Cause It's One Drift....and We all go Home!!!
East on the flood
West on the ebb
That's the rules to follow
Look for the Jumpers
Follow the seams
Up, Up, Up, the Inlet
Sunken net in your Dreams....
Cause it's summertime in Alaska
And along the Peninsula
The Reds are runnin, jumpin, and finnin
Their way Home
They are runnin
Up, Up, Up, the Inlet
That's how they Run
In the land of Milk and Honey
And the Midnight Sun......
---------------------
'Miss Stress....
There is a place where waves are born of silence
A place where the whispers of the heart a rise
There is a place where the tide runs through my veins
A place where the current floods my mind
There is a place where I praise your beauty
A place where every wave carves your image in my soul
There is a place in your fathomless abyss where all your secrets hide
A place where I can run to, unwrap, unravel, untangle
There is a place where you breathe life into me
A place where you take my breath away
There is a place where you seduce me
A place where you capture my heart
There is a place where I long to be a lone with you
A place where you make my dreams come true
There is a place where you teach me how to love
A place where salmon run
There is a place where I watch you ebb and flood
A place where you rise and fall
My soul-mate lives in your body...
You are in my blood....You are.....My first love....
---------------------
Uniontown Supreme Court: If The Pilings Could Talk
All that's left is legend,
Names etched in a granite
Wall
Black and white photos
Folk Lores For sale
In the maritime museum store
Boats of wood
Hands of Steel
Hearts of gold
All races
Colors
Creeds
A man was valued
By his word
Firm handshake
His deeds
White aproned Super-models
Grinning From ear to ear
Days measured by seasons
Not years
Tattered edges
Faded Yellow Brown
Ripped
Torn
Memories of the glory days
When gillnetting was born
Dilapidated docks
Rotten pilings
Broken tops beneath our tidal view
Skeleton bones
Partially Submerged
Floating Homes
Lonely Net racks
Empty Bluestone tanks
Broken windows
Moldy musty dusty dank
Wooden corks,
Lead lines,
Linen nets
Stripped clean of all their glory
No more Mug up,
Coffee Time
Just Empty Chairs
waiting for stories
Court is no longer in session
Yesterdays myths
See thru faded
Transparent
Not bitter
Jaded
Today's Mono-filament
Tangle Nets
Jesus Box
Deadliest catch drama
Overstated
Overrated
Prima Donnas
If those pilings could talk
What tales would they weave? Would they be fortuitous of sport fisherman's greed?
Countless stories
Work is our Joy
Fortunes made
Love
Families
Togetherness
Life
Salmon
Laughter
Heartbreak
Lost
Of Butterflies
And Bowpickers
Double-enders
Power scows
Cash buyers
And Tenders
Four bits a pound
Clifton
Brookefield
Altoona
Alderbrooke
Uppertown
Uniontown
Celilo
Where did they all go?
Salmon Culture
A menagerie of people
A colorful past
Romanticized
Plagiarized
Eulogized
By people like me
Fishing is more than Tradition
Governor
Its a Religious Ceremony
Ebbing current
Tides shift
Surge of change
Pulling our nets
Taking us under
These words bury my pain
Black and white photos
Names etched on a granite wall
Let's not forget them
The true legends of fall!
This mighty river
What It was back then
Full of Salmon Sturgeon
Seiners, Trollers, Gillnetters
Cannery women
Stomper
Astoria's Fighting Fishermen
The Story is over...
All the Legends have died
Our Eyes welled with wet
Politicians lied
Last of my tears shed
Cried
So if pilings could talk
Ask one how it was back then....
It will probably tell you
Those days are gone forever
Kid
With a stroke of a pen...
---------------------
Bay of Assumption: Desdemona Night
Behold the copper sky
A thrashing turquoise sea
Windswept golden locks shimmering
Constantly mocking me
Misty glittering emerald eyes
Bring forth fortuitous dreams
Binding passionate hearts
Playing tricks on my eye lid screens
Starboard chops into the westerly gale
Ripping cleats of lesser men
A sturgeons scoot has gashed our hearts
I cast her away again
My skin grows cold and clammy
Acid Stomach churns
To mend our broken hearts
My fishing passion burns
Unwrapping, unravelling, untangling
Give life's meaning to thee
The Bay grows light with caps of white
Frothy foaming swells
We prayed for life
On this moonless night
To tell this wretched tale
It's time to pick
Our low water drift
In The Graveyard of The Pacific
In the waning ebb
I am relieved of dread
The squall has all but subsided
A flash of white
Desdemona's Light
By her we will be guided
One after one, One after one
Appearing from the salty brine
Silver bright thrashing tails
Upon picking light did shine
The net pulled taunt
The lines stretched tight
Hydraulics began to squeal
Our net did snag
Upon the hag, of a sunken schooners keel
I struggled with the great weight tangled in my gear
My knife, My heart
My picking hook
Our web did rip an tear
I did not see her tentacled head break the velvet waves
Nor did I see the festering barnacles covering her face
I did not see the thousand tiny creatures in the sockets of her skull
I did not see the crabs in her smile until her rib cage slammed the hull
My mouth dry as sand
My throat tight as an Indian drum
My heart did beat and pound
For ghastly sight
Black Velvet night
In my dreams
In my tears
She drowned
I heave, I wretch
I gaff her in the head
Splattering as she hit the deck
I Look upon her decaying flesh
Slimy Oozing Moldy breath
Vile rotting horrid stench
Decomposing nightmare Lady Death
Her skeleton hands did reach for me
Swiping where my heart use to be
My load lay dead in my dreary eyes
Her crumpled skeleton at my feet
A time of fear
A time of hope
A time for both
July 22 2013. 457AM
The peak of the Kenai Reds
The essence of patience...
Thor takes Cheryl Lynn out of gear
Her bow gently running aground on the corner at Chinulna Point in front of the Kenai City Dock...
Facing North.
Timing is everything, watch the ebbing tide
Moon set
Sunrise
Throwing ourselves into a trusting state of mind
We glance at each other, belaboring our alibis
Out dew covered windows
Across the horizon, a vast expanse
A palpable canvas
His mind entrenched in sketching
Verbalizing with enthusiasm his renderings
Charcoal Silhouettes of the anchored drift fleet
Black sharpie tree lines jagged edge
Redoubt glaciers alpine glow
Translucent river licks a brown muddy bank, running up to green gold tundra grass
Shrouded in a thin layered pastel fog
Purple Lupine, Cow parsnip and Fireweed
Thick broad brush strokes of blood orange, grapefruit pinks, teal, baby powder blue....ivory
Glazed yellow treasure map eyes caught in hypnotic sleepless trance
Stare down river at the old Salamatof Cannery's gold buildings bathed in sunlight
Outlined shadows, hazy memories hide
Riley waters rippling, pirouette around pilings
Synchronized choreographed elegance
Beauty in every heart beat
In every Breath
Reaching for his sunglasses, clearing his throat,
reflecting on tomorrow's yesterday's: Kenai Packers; Bird Boats, Cat Boats, Fish Boats, Indian Boats, and Moose Boats.
The Tin Can Fleet...
Tallymen...
Columbia Wards...
Sailboats...
Bookey's...
Libby McNiel...
Mabel E...
His voice thick as wet sand, sticky as Inlet mud...
Sweet as caramel
Smooth as gravel
How the bluff swallowed the Harbor View, and upper range marker
Filling the channel into a narrow gut forcing it Northwest
Gracefully eroding, pulling down trees
Exposing black root wads, suspending them at various angles of falling, rotting, dying
Caught in freeze frame animation
Wind blown hesitation
Crumbling walls of Black and Tan
Like a sea legged fisherman
Slowly staggering, drifting to Kenai Joes...
Wandering
Edging towards The Devils Triangle;
The Rainbow Bar, The Rig and Casino
He puffs, Smoke billows swirls
Our dreams are eerily sleeping
All the broken pieces of yesterday's strife
They don't want us to be free
He says
Our tiny island drifts downstream
This is where our words gasping for life,
drown for meaning
Like warm pudding
We slurp our poor man's mochas
He stirs his with a handle from the stove
Sitting patiently because we can
Waves slap her hull
Quiet knows no meaning
Interpreting the physical world
Steam rises from his breath
Living for tide
Surrender brings forth greater understanding
Truth lies where you find it
Define it
The end is the beginning
Can you taste the beauty?
Silty grey current pushing
Ebbing tides gravity pulling
Lifting Cheryl Lynn's hull
Starboard stern first
Dipping port bow down
Bouncing, hitting solid ground
We observe our relationship to points of land
Attaching meaning to our presence
Taking reference on fixed objects
Her sleek lines were built for speed
Not elegantly bumping along glacier sand
Waiting can be a very powerful thing for those who lack understanding
Just one sincerely surrendered moment
A wise innocence
Reflection
When love matters more than anything
Humbling
nothing else really matters
All that you are seeking is seeking you
Relax in the knowing
Trust; Is a shift in how we perceive a situation
without expectation
How we experience the experience
Let it develop
We sit Motionless
Defining existence
The world paints around us
Watching
drifting mind
Colors
tide
Life affirming
These words are a pale lifeless shadow of the thing that came to life in our soul...
Breathless wind carries cries of a million sea gull's
Some land on the flying bridge, fair leads
Sound reverberates
Water is a great conductor
Skiffs racing at various speeds
Outboards changing pitch and tone
piercing our feet through her hull
Taxi fishermen to their boats
Bacon eggs hash-browns toast
Wakes
She rolls slightly, rocks skipping
Listen to the cool breeze
We hear every single solitary stone
Crunching grit between your teeth
Grinding her hull like sandpaper
Can you smell the sunrise?
Pastel fog
Muddy banks
Cobalt sky
Lavender Alpine glow
Translucent river
White hot peach sunrise
Moon setting gold
Waiting is an art that can achieve things hidden from our view that only God can see in our heart...
It is only with the heart that one can see rightly
What is essential is invisible to the eye....
Timing is everything...
Patience is essential...
"I have always liked the view from here," Thor says..."what a beautiful place..."
---------------------
Cause It’s One Drift and We All Go Home
Man,
Now that you've got your ticket
The weather will be great
The reds will be thick
Just enough to keep the boat off the gear
Hangin like grapes
The girls will be friendly
Food will be delicious
Jokes will be told
Legends made
And....chasing dogs is foolish
The cast is all gathered
New faces and old
Greenhorns and Legends
Lookin' for the big score
From Ninilchik, Homer and Halibut Cove
To the West-side Set-netters
And the girls on Fisherman's Road
They'll be counting down the minutes
To Throw the buoy ball
Looking for bunches hitting
Telling stories in the mess hall
Cause it's summertime in Alaska
And along the Kenai Peninsula
The salmon are running, jumpin and finnin
Their way home
They are runnin.....
Up,Up, Up, the Inlet
That's how they run
In the Land of Milk and Honey
And the Midnight Sun....
Maggots line the college hole bank
Pukers with full boats
The dippies are up their necks in our wakes
An eagle flies alone
The South wind blows
Pizza at Paradisos
Sun never sets
Baseball at Oiler's Park
Drive down the North Beach
The Boy's belly up to Kenai Joe's Bar
The smell of blood, sweat and gurry
The gulls shuffle along the tin roof of the bunkhouse
Hurry, Squawkin', talkin', sharing a meal
No time to lick your wounds
Or let the bruises heal
Not so young anymore
No youthful zeal
Ice in the cooler
Boats cleaned, windows washed
Crank up the tunes......(insert name here)
It's your turn for wheel watch!!!
No time for sleep
Looking for jumpers
Radio crackles that sound of squelch
Last sip of coffee
Mountain Dew belch
South 210
That's the heading
South-end of the island
That's what we are betting
The Red's are layin' along the edge of the bar
Last of the flood
High-Water Down
Load the boat
Head to Town
Cause It's One Drift....and We all go Home!!!
East on the flood
West on the ebb
That's the rules to follow
Look for the Jumpers
Follow the seams
Up, Up, Up, the Inlet
Sunken net in your Dreams....
Cause it's summertime in Alaska
And along the Peninsula
The Reds are runnin, jumpin, and finnin
Their way Home
They are runnin
Up, Up, Up, the Inlet
That's how they Run
In the land of Milk and Honey
And the Midnight Sun......
---------------------
'Miss Stress....
There is a place where waves are born of silence
A place where the whispers of the heart a rise
There is a place where the tide runs through my veins
A place where the current floods my mind
There is a place where I praise your beauty
A place where every wave carves your image in my soul
There is a place in your fathomless abyss where all your secrets hide
A place where I can run to, unwrap, unravel, untangle
There is a place where you breathe life into me
A place where you take my breath away
There is a place where you seduce me
A place where you capture my heart
There is a place where I long to be a lone with you
A place where you make my dreams come true
There is a place where you teach me how to love
A place where salmon run
There is a place where I watch you ebb and flood
A place where you rise and fall
My soul-mate lives in your body...
You are in my blood....You are.....My first love....
---------------------
Uniontown Supreme Court: If The Pilings Could Talk
All that's left is legend,
Names etched in a granite
Wall
Black and white photos
Folk Lores For sale
In the maritime museum store
Boats of wood
Hands of Steel
Hearts of gold
All races
Colors
Creeds
A man was valued
By his word
Firm handshake
His deeds
White aproned Super-models
Grinning From ear to ear
Days measured by seasons
Not years
Tattered edges
Faded Yellow Brown
Ripped
Torn
Memories of the glory days
When gillnetting was born
Dilapidated docks
Rotten pilings
Broken tops beneath our tidal view
Skeleton bones
Partially Submerged
Floating Homes
Lonely Net racks
Empty Bluestone tanks
Broken windows
Moldy musty dusty dank
Wooden corks,
Lead lines,
Linen nets
Stripped clean of all their glory
No more Mug up,
Coffee Time
Just Empty Chairs
waiting for stories
Court is no longer in session
Yesterdays myths
See thru faded
Transparent
Not bitter
Jaded
Today's Mono-filament
Tangle Nets
Jesus Box
Deadliest catch drama
Overstated
Overrated
Prima Donnas
If those pilings could talk
What tales would they weave? Would they be fortuitous of sport fisherman's greed?
Countless stories
Work is our Joy
Fortunes made
Love
Families
Togetherness
Life
Salmon
Laughter
Heartbreak
Lost
Of Butterflies
And Bowpickers
Double-enders
Power scows
Cash buyers
And Tenders
Four bits a pound
Clifton
Brookefield
Altoona
Alderbrooke
Uppertown
Uniontown
Celilo
Where did they all go?
Salmon Culture
A menagerie of people
A colorful past
Romanticized
Plagiarized
Eulogized
By people like me
Fishing is more than Tradition
Governor
Its a Religious Ceremony
Ebbing current
Tides shift
Surge of change
Pulling our nets
Taking us under
These words bury my pain
Black and white photos
Names etched on a granite wall
Let's not forget them
The true legends of fall!
This mighty river
What It was back then
Full of Salmon Sturgeon
Seiners, Trollers, Gillnetters
Cannery women
Stomper
Astoria's Fighting Fishermen
The Story is over...
All the Legends have died
Our Eyes welled with wet
Politicians lied
Last of my tears shed
Cried
So if pilings could talk
Ask one how it was back then....
It will probably tell you
Those days are gone forever
Kid
With a stroke of a pen...
---------------------
Bay of Assumption: Desdemona Night
Behold the copper sky
A thrashing turquoise sea
Windswept golden locks shimmering
Constantly mocking me
Misty glittering emerald eyes
Bring forth fortuitous dreams
Binding passionate hearts
Playing tricks on my eye lid screens
Starboard chops into the westerly gale
Ripping cleats of lesser men
A sturgeons scoot has gashed our hearts
I cast her away again
My skin grows cold and clammy
Acid Stomach churns
To mend our broken hearts
My fishing passion burns
Unwrapping, unravelling, untangling
Give life's meaning to thee
The Bay grows light with caps of white
Frothy foaming swells
We prayed for life
On this moonless night
To tell this wretched tale
It's time to pick
Our low water drift
In The Graveyard of The Pacific
In the waning ebb
I am relieved of dread
The squall has all but subsided
A flash of white
Desdemona's Light
By her we will be guided
One after one, One after one
Appearing from the salty brine
Silver bright thrashing tails
Upon picking light did shine
The net pulled taunt
The lines stretched tight
Hydraulics began to squeal
Our net did snag
Upon the hag, of a sunken schooners keel
I struggled with the great weight tangled in my gear
My knife, My heart
My picking hook
Our web did rip an tear
I did not see her tentacled head break the velvet waves
Nor did I see the festering barnacles covering her face
I did not see the thousand tiny creatures in the sockets of her skull
I did not see the crabs in her smile until her rib cage slammed the hull
My mouth dry as sand
My throat tight as an Indian drum
My heart did beat and pound
For ghastly sight
Black Velvet night
In my dreams
In my tears
She drowned
I heave, I wretch
I gaff her in the head
Splattering as she hit the deck
I Look upon her decaying flesh
Slimy Oozing Moldy breath
Vile rotting horrid stench
Decomposing nightmare Lady Death
Her skeleton hands did reach for me
Swiping where my heart use to be
My load lay dead in my dreary eyes
Her crumpled skeleton at my feet
A time of fear
A time of hope
A time for both
