Kyle Larson is a wanderer.

Every so often he makes his way back to the realities of a societal existence where he struggles with a normal life. Trickery is pursed often in the forms of self medication. Thinking that this time will be different. That this time maybe, perhaps we can settle. Be at peace.

A strong affinity for the working class has ensued as he's found himself struggling along with the general population for most of his life all the while clutching his camera like it were ritalin.

It was back in 2004 when he came up to Ketchikan hoping to fill in the missing pieces from the stories his grandfather, Karl, would tell about fishing in Alaska.

I never thought I'd make it this long……..

"You don't belong here", he told me one afternoon, "I can see it in your eyes", were the words Mr. Lindblom told Kyle when he rescued him from the slaughter house.

5 years later finds Kyle upon the F/V Intrepid where he has been documenting Commercial Seine fishing in South East Alaska.

As the aging takes place time quickly dissolves, the days fly by quickly shaping a person into a thought composed of a thousand experiences that the eyes have lavished on.

The work is hard and the men are aged with a thick layer of skin turning the ocean back onto its self.

The sweat is pouring off my body to the puddle on the floor where I step out to begin the one continuous never ending cycle of my life upon the Intrepid.

Its damp and dark. Cold, uninviting rotting its way in through to my coffin. Settling upon me enveloping my body as I squirm restlessly until I become intoxicated drowning in the Abyss.

I swallow ridding my throat of phlegm, the reminder of days past.

Can't seem to slow the process of igniting a fire between the lips. Hoping, wishing that the flame will come tumbling in distinguishing the rot from within my brain. One after another to no Avail. The sting of alcohol has ceased to exist within me.

They come crashing onto deck flapping violently, tails whipping around sending them into the air. They slide and bounce one last time in front of you. Slime and blood fills the air as their tails smash about trying to find what it is that keeps them perfectly balanced. Water.

You're killing an animal for money.
It becomes an obsession.