A Future Worth Fighting For

When Molly Ekstrom was five years old, she climbed aboard her dad's salmon troller in Yakutat, Alaska, for the first time. She got seasick almost immediately.

“My dad took me to the store before we left town and let me pick out whatever snacks I wanted for the day. As a little kid, I felt like I had won the lottery. But the excitement didn’t last long,” she chuckles. “We had barely left the harbor before I started throwing up all over myself. My dad hadn’t brought me a change of clothes, and because our little boat didn’t have a shower, he cleaned me up as best he could with paper towels. I spent the rest of the day wearing one of his sweatshirts.”

She remembers lying in the damp, musty, bunk below deck, wishing she were anywhere else. Everything smelled like diesel, fish slime, and mold, making her seasickness worse. The day dragged on and on, but eventually, the lines came in and the boat headed back to the harbor. By the time they were back at home, the misery had disappeared, and  she was already asking to go out again.

“I always got sea sick, but I always wanted to go. I guess it taught me to be resilient.”

Those childhood trips became summers on the water. Summers became seasons. Seasons became a career.

Before long, Molly landed a job on a longliner and was fishing from Southeast Alaska to the Aleutian Islands and the Bering Sea.

"I've always found a million reasons to come back," she says.

Some of those reasons are easy to picture. Watching a pod of rarely seen beaked whales surface next to the boat and then disappear back down into the depths. Or looking on in awe as smoke drifts from a volcano on the horizon, a humbling reminder that the land is still being shaped by the same forces that created it.

Others are harder to put into words. Living in close quarters with three other people for weeks at a time. Every meal, every challenge, and every success shared. Learning each other's routines until words become unnecessary. Moving around the deck in a kind of silent choreography, each person anticipating the next, knowing instinctively when to step in and when to step back.

“My husband and I always joked that we were performing an industrial ballet."

As the years passed, the little girl who once spent fishing trips curled up in a bunk became someone her crew depended on. She ran gear, stood wheel watches, and took on the added responsibility of feeding the crew. On a commercial fishing boat, everyone wears multiple hats. Molly learned to shift seamlessly from deckhand to cook and back again.

She cooked around tides, weather, and the unpredictable rhythm of fishing, knowing that a hot meal at just the right moment could lift spirits after a hard day on deck and prepare everyone for the next one.

"Food is one of the greatest ways that humans can connect, no matter their background, everyone loves food when they are working hard," she says.

Fishing shaped nearly every part of Molly's adult life. It was how she made a living. It was how she paid for college. It was how she got together with her husband. 

Together, they imagined one day running a boat of their own, with children growing up on deck just as they had. Like many young fishing families, they believed years of hard work would eventually lead to ownership.

Molly and her husband invested years learning the trade, managing boats responsibly, and building someone else's operation with the hope that one day it would become their own.

It didn't.

"My husband and I lost the boat we ran for years because we couldn't afford to buy it when the owners decided to sell," Molly says.

Their experience is becoming increasingly familiar in harbors across Alaska. For many young fishing families, the path from crew member to owner has grown increasingly difficult.

“Our parents’ and grandparents' generations had so much more opportunity and flexibility. They were able to build their businesses with so much less risk than we face today.”

Even with the challenges, Molly and her husband remain hopeful about their future in the industry. 

“I think that a lot of people hear our story and feel sorry for us, and they wonder why we continue on in this industry. There are definitely parts of our story that are sad, losing our boat was hard, but I don’t think that defines us. If there is one thing about fishermen, it’s that we are resilient.”

She pauses before adding, “We are still here, we are still fishing. It looks different than we always imagined, but we continue on because there is still hope. Fishing is all about hope.” 

Then she laughs.

“And we’re a little stubborn too.”

Today, Molly's work has shifted ashore. She joined Alaska Marine Community Coalition as Program Coordinator in 2026, bringing with her not only years of experience on the water but also a deeply personal understanding of what Alaska's fishing families are facing.

“AMCC represents and advocates for people just like me and my husband. People who are small-boat fishermen without a lot of financial resources backing them. I’m proud to have joined the AMCC team. If I can help just one fishing family avoid what my husband and I have been through, then I’ll feel this new career of mine has been successful.”

In addition to her new role at AMCC, she’s raising a young child while her husband continues fishing. The rhythms have changed, but the connection hasn't.

She still texts her husband one simple message whenever he starts hauling halibut longline gear.

"Five fish."

It started years ago as a superstition among the crew. Somehow, saying those two words before hauling always seemed to bring good luck.

Today, they mean something more.

They're a reminder that fishing is built on optimism. Every hook in the water, every set of gear, every new day carries possibility. Every season begins with hope.

“I hope our daughter has more opportunities and a smoother path to success than we have had, and I’ll fight for her to have that.”

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Although every fishing family's story is different, the thread that runs through them is often the same: pride in the work, commitment to community, and the belief that life on the water is worth fighting for.

Those are the stories AMCC is here to tell, and the communities we're here to serve.

Have a story of your own? We'd love to hear it. If you'd like to be featured in a future Tidelines story, reach out to us at fish@akmarine.org.