A fisherman’s tale
Prologue
As I was typing up a list of fishing stories I have heard while working on crabbing boats, I remembered I had a few myself. Although few will believe, I have fished commercially. Apparently my “dainty” hands aren’t convincing enough, especially to women in Kodiak, Alaska. But an observant person will notice that I wear a sailors knot around my right wrist. A sailor will sometimes have the knot tattooed on his wrist to signify that he is a deckhand. I tied that knot at the end of the 2017 salmon fishing season as a way to remember that summer. Not that I can easily forget it. I’m going to tell you why. So get yourself a drink, have a seat, and enjoy A Fisherman’s Tale. Disclaimer — All names are fictional, as for the characters — I wish they were.
Beginnings
Hmmm, where to begin. Do I start with why I wanted to fish? No, no one cares about your intentions. How about why I chose the tiny fishing community of Sand Point? Na, people do not care about the choices you make. When telling a story, people want to hear the happenings; Actions are what define a person. Because that is all that others will absolutely know about you.
I was sitting on the tiny two prop, 20 seat passenger plane, the noise from the engines deafening my hearing. As I hunched over to look out the tiny view-port window I saw the dead brown of Popof Island, soon to be my home for four months. The town is characterized by two giant wind turbines overlooking a scattering of small mobile homes. The island itself is asymmetrical; half of it is a flat bog covered in berries of all flavors and containing the fishing village Sand Point, the other side consists of steep cliffs and jutting mountains rising sharply from the ocean. As we were taxiing down the runway, I began talking to the gentleman in front of me. “Oh, my grandson, he’s been fishing since he could walk. This last season he took an eight inch steel ring to the head from 30 feet up. Knocked him clean out for a few. He wanted to keep fishing, but I made him sit it out for a bit.” he chuckled. “He had go to Anchorage for brain surgery three times in the last six months.” he says this while smiling fondly as he recalls having to fly back and forth to Anchorage with his grandson. His grandson is in high school. Welcome to the world of Alaskan fishing, I thought as I got off the plane. Also what were 8 inch steel rings doing suspended 30 feet in the air?
I would have to wait another two months to find out. This trip was my “find a fishing job” trip. I picked up my bags and began the walk to my brothers place. An Aleut kid on the flight identified me as the younger brother of one of his teachers. Which is bizarre. Several times throughout my stay in Sand Point locals said my brother and I looked like twins. I don’t know what they all smoke, but my brother is blonde, blue-eyed, a nose only an ogre could love, and the body of a greek god. I, however, have brown curly hair, dark brown eyes, make olympic sprinters appear fat, and look like David Garrett, that is to say, damn good looking. Maybe it’s like white people trying to tell Asians apart? Anyways, back to getting a ride — The kid asked his father if they could give me a ride. Thank god, I had two miles to walk underneath a bright and frigid sun. It was mid march and the ground was still frozen solid. The family was friendly enough, they chatted back and forth, while I looked out the window. At one intersection a truck had driven into a stop sign. I raised an eyebrow as the mother mentions something about a drunken mayor. At this I inquire and but they were mum. Moments later they turn the music up and I go back to looking out the window. Only much much later do I learn — One night the mayor got a little drunk, drove the city truck into the stop sign and threatened to fire any of the police officers if they tried to write him up on a DUI. Subsequently that summer, one officer was fired when he tried to go on vacation, the other two quit. I don’t know if those events are related, but huh.
I arrive at my brother’s place and am greeted with a warm welcome, good food, and we began our scheming on how we are going to get me a job. You see, the trick to finding a job in Alaska is knowing people and having a good reputation. My brother just so happened to occupy a teacher position, an excellent starting point or so we thought. We began making a list of people to talk to, established a game plan which began with him talking to his students, the chattiest most rumor mongering bunch you’ll find on the island — that’s saying something. In these small fishing towns, people know what you did before you’ve even done it, for good or bad.
Visitors to Alaska often comment on how friendly and welcoming people are. Well, they are wrong. That facade is intended to keep you at arms length while you cough up your money. Also, anyone who tells you that, clearly has never been to a fishing town in the middle of no where. Literally, middle of no where. If you google “middle of no where” Sand Point will be at the top of the list. You just googled it, didn’t you? What, you didn’t see it? Exactly my point, it’s so remote google can’t even find the place.
In particular, I am thinking of the harbor cafe in sand point. $20 dollar burgers and the roughest customer handling I’ve ever had. I felt like I was getting the authentic experience when the waitress told me to move my ass if things got busy. That is actually what she said. It took a few days of showing up regularly before the waitress began to soften a little, but even then… In general, outsiders will be tolerated, but don’t expect any sort of friendship.
I eventually did find myself a boat. Ironically, it was someone who I had called a few months back. The guy never got back to me. When people found out I was a true greenhorn, they’d point in the direction of this guy. You’d think that was good thing right? As in, oh, here is someone who is interested in fishing, lets send him to the guy who likes greenhorns and doesn’t mind teaching them. The truth is this pointing has more to do with that one captain inevitably needing a new person every year.
The captain’s boat was dry docked at the time. I walked over and called up to him. “I’m a greenhorn looking for a boat to fish on! I hear you might be looking for someone.” he looks down in panic, apparently overwhelmed with my over qualification as a greenhorn. “Nope, not looking for anyone.” then quickly follows up with, “wait, I’ll be down in a moment.” That fat tub of lard wheezed his way down the ladder of the boat. He was working on repairing his boat. His words were “I rented the boat out to some guys this past winter and they trashed it.” Which may or may not have been true. He followed up with “I also didn’t get around to winterizing the cooling system and the pipes busted when it dropped below freezing.” this he wheezed while laying on his back trying to reattach the external keel cooling pipes. Stop and think about that for a moment, cause that’s what I should have done. Shortly after blaming the poor condition of the boat on someone else, he admits to not taking proper care of it. I noticed, but choose to ignore it as this was my only lead. I suppose it’s good I did ignore that red flag as this summer wouldn’t have happened otherwise.
The old man was having difficulties bolting the pipping onto the haul, so I jumped down in there and began helping him. Afterwards, he showed me his boat, spent an hour telling me about all the dangers of fishing like how his daughter lost a finger to one of the winches. Of course, he laughed at this. Laughing at terrible and painful things must be a cultural thing. While he talked fishing, he mentioned in passing how he sometimes get excited and raises his voice. I thought of my ornery grandfather and figured I could handle whatever this geezer would throw my way. He drove me to the school where my brother taught and dropped me off. A few days later, his grandson let my brother know I’d have a fishing job if I wanted one, I just had to give his grandfather a call.
The man is a legend in his community and for good reason. He has been heavily involved in building the community. At the age of 70 something, he is considered an Aleut Elder. A title he has earned. He brought buffalo to the island in the 1970s. He climbed the local and very active Pavlof volcano. When someone crashed into the bow of his boat once upon a time, he beached it before it sank and then created a mold and fabricated a new bow for the ship. When he found someone’s behavior unsavory, he was known to knock them out, tie them to a chair, wake them up, and shove a gun into their mouth while making it clear in no uncertain terms what sort changes in their behavior he expected to see in the near future. Do I need to say it again, the man is a legend……and a fucking asshole. It’s only fitting to call him Dick
I flew home three days later, quit my job shortly there after and began preparing for fishing in Alaska. A month later I returned to Sand Point. It was mid May. My brother greeted me at the airport. So did the family of my captain. The captain had four grandkids. Three of which I would be working with over the next few days as we prepped the boat for fishing. Their names were Fox, Falcon, Ned, and I forget the fourth. I never saw the fourth one again. Falcon, the youngest, enthusiastically exclaimed “My real name is Andrew Jackson ……(insert random last name)!” …Awkward silence as I processed that. The kid was full Aleut, the native american tribe in this part of Alaska. For those who didn’t pay attention in history class, Andrew Jackson was responsible for the Trail of Tears and putting Native Americans on reservations. I wasn’t sure how to respond when his grandmother and aunt were standing right there. I hesitantly said “That is, uh, an unfortunate name.” Hawk looked confused. “Why?” he asked. I looked at his grandmother who saved me by laughing and saying “someone needs to pay attention in history class.” Phew, that could have gone differently.
They informed me that I was to be immediately brought to the boat. We tossed my bags in the back of their truck and drove to the harbor. There was my introduction to the other crew member and what was to be a fascinating few days of learning about a different world.
The Ms. Olga
Dick and a relative were sitting around the table in the galley. I was introduced to Fred, told me where to toss my stuff, then immediately gave a talk about staying busy. The moment Dick opened his mouth to talk about work ethic his grand kids evaporated like ice on a hot summer day — straight sublimation. I have never seen kids look so intent and focused on their tasks. Their jobs must have been mission critical and it was taking everything they had to work on it. Those kids knew how to look busy, even if they were watching paint dry. While I didn’t aspire to their level of achievement, I too was schooled in the art of looking busy.
Dick gave us a list of odds and ends to do around the boat. Since I didn’t know anything, I took up the noble task of cleaning the various spaces in the sleeping area. I was impressed, contrary to their claim of having cleaned it recently, it had the dustiness and clutter of a decades worth of stuff piled on top of eachother. In one cupboard, a gallon bucket of paint primer had fallen over, affixing everything inside the cupboard to the bottom of the floor. In another, I found an old school Nintendo gaming system, straight out of the eighties. The grand kids hadn’t even know it was there. Underneath the debris in another corner were snacks from the mid 90s. I got the impression this is how real fishermen live; in a state of constant chaos.
While I was working on cleaning, fox was fixing the engine room ventilation system. He was using duck tape to seal up the new blower motor he’d installed. He also used the duck tape to cover quite a few areas where the ventilation duct had rusted through. Another little project we worked on was shaving small pieces of 2X4 into pegs to fill holes in the floor. I never got an answer why someone had drilled holes in the floor. Curious. I am guessing it was for ventilation or for installing the new engine. That was the first day. It seemed benign. I could do this, all it required was keeping my head low and staying busy.
At this point in time though I was starting to notice little quirks about the boat that told a story of neglect. The engine room had standing water and oil in the bottom and everything was dirty. The hydraulic line fittings were extremely rusty. The interior space looked like a jigsaw puzzle of mismatched paneling and different screws sticking out. None of the plumbing was actually connected, just taped together. The bathroom looked straight out of a horror movie about flesh eating bacteria.
While out fishing, things often break and a fisherman’s life depends on being able to fix just about anything with duct tape and whatever line is laying around. Unfortunately, this craftiness results in things never actually being fixed, just jury-rigged to keep running until there is a catastrophic failure and people die or the boat sinks. I know this, because over the course of the summer I spent a number of mornings and afternoons fixing various critical electrical, hydraulic, or mechanical problems. Critical, as in we weren’t going anywhere if it didn’t get fixed. In hindsight, I am glad I trusted my gut instinct. because a boat’s condition says a lot about the owner.
The second day. I took it upon myself to begin the process of replacing the kitchen sink. One of the kids had disconnected all the plumbing. I saw an excellent opportunity to prove my handiness. I jumped in and started to break the caulking bead around the sink and lift up. We eventually got the thing out. Dick was oddly absent during most of this. Not sure what he was doing aside from what all captains do — sitting around and complaining about your crew to other captains. He produced some white paint spray cans for painting the area underneath the sink and then disappeared again. When he came back I had finished. It was a shit job, not enough paint. I asked if was good enough. He walked away. Not a word. I realized later on, this is another part of fishing culture. The only time you get feedback is when you are being yelled at for fucking up. I took it as a “good enough” and moved on to install the sink.
Interestingly, the captain had ordered the wrong the sink. In the lower forty eight, you can just take it back to home depot and buy the correct size. When you live in the middle no where, that’s not an option. Shipping alone is a small fortune, never mind the amount of money you’d lose not fishing while waiting several weeks or months for the sink to arrive. This is where the fix anything attitude of fishermen comes in handy. I talked Dick down from cursing up a storm, showed him how it could be cut and got to it. But not before we grabbed some diesel and steamed over to what’s called “the wall”. A sea wall where boats could load and off load fishing equipment.
This is when I got my real introduction into fishing. We started by grabbing the several thousand pound “power block”. The power block is what pulls the net onto the boat deck. We jumped into the back of Dick’s truck and drove up to his shop. He used a forklift to dump the thing onto his truck, the truck sagged under the weight. We jumped into the back to steady the power block as we drove back to the dock, cause ya know one man and two kids are strong enough to steady a ton of steel. Dick encouraged us to jump off if the thing started tipping too much. This casual attitude to danger is another important part of the fishing life and being a “man”. You are constantly putting yourself in danger, safety is an afterthought. As in, after you get injured or die.
Once we got the power block on the boat, Dick commenced screaming at me whenever and for whatever I was doing. If I was standing in one place too long he’d scream. If I asked a question he’d yell. If I was doing something, of course I was doing it wrong. I realize the man was in his 70s, had probably taught hundreds of fishermen in his life and was tired of saying the same over and over. But damn, the guy knew he had hired someone as green as they came. At one point I was pulling a line towards the mast. I asked what it needed to go over, “just throw the !@#$ thing over the !@#% thing!!!!”. “Yes sir!” Dick….
Eventually we were ready for the net to be put on the boat. There are four jobs when hauling a fishing net onto the deck. The captain is usually on the hydraulic controls adjusting the speed at which the net is pulled onto the deck. While this is happening one person stacks the cork line. At the same time another person is stacking the lead line and a third person is keeping the webbing from getting in their way and trying to keep the webbing stack level. The most difficult job is stacking the leads. Imagine taking a 20lb weight and lifting your arm straight out from your side repeatedly. Now do that for hours on end. That was to be my job.
By the time we got the net on the boat, my left arm was dead. I could barely lift it. Judging by the expression on their faces, it wasn’t the prettiest lead stack they’d seen, but it was good enough. Fred and Dick huddled together afterwards. I’ll never know what was said, but apparently that was a deciding moment. Dick was going to keep me on as a deckhand.
I got back to installing the sink. The next step was cutting it. In the interest of not getting yelled at more, I asked if one of the kids wanted to try their hand at using some power tools. Ned said he wanted to. Dick saw this and didn’t say a thing. But apparently he interpreted this as my needing help cutting the sink cause I didn’t know how. Another lesson, when someone has a specific viewpoint about you, it is incredibly hard to change and people will find and accept any explanation fitting their opinion about you, regardless if it is true or not. In his mind (I can only guess) I was a city slicker who had never worked with his hands or worked hard in his life.
We had just finished cutting the sink and were standing on the deck. Dick and Fred were in the process of lifting the holding tank top. Falcon jumped out of the way and accidentally bumped the stand the sink was on, it fell over and I caught it, unfortunately with a bare hand. The freshly cut side sliced into my hand a few times before I could get it under control. All the cuts were fairly shallow, but bled. Ned and I went inside to find bandages. He helped clean and bandage the cuts. Every single time Falcon would walk by, Ned would say “See what happens when you fuck up” or “stop being so stupid and pay attention to whats around you.” The first time this happened I thought it was appropriate, the third, fourth, and fifth time he harassed Falcon were uncalled for. I finally told Ned to leave him alone. Both Ned and Falcon looked at me in surprise. As if the concept of kindness was foreig. After that exchange, Falcon consistently asked if there was anything he could help me with.
The sink was cut, I took it inside to do a test fit. I was crossing my fingers that Dick was preoccupied. Nope, he materialized out of thin air. With a sense of apprehension I placed the sink into the counter. It didn’t fit. Immediately Dick started screaming about fucking his sink up and how I hadn’t measured it correctly. It took a few minutes, but I was eventually able to show him that my measurements and Ned’s cut were exact. The sink had a lip underneath the uncut side that was hitting up against the counter. All I had to do was sand down the counter top at an angle and it’d fit. He walked away without saying a word. I guess that’s the plan then.
At this point in the day, it was late and we went home. The following morning I showed up and got to work on sanding the sink down. It took awhile. Sand a bit, check the fit, sand a bit, check the fit — back and forth I went for a few hours. At one point Dick came up and showed me some clips that were for securing the sink to the counter. He described how after installing the sink I was to slide the clips on. He’s the boss man, I do as he says.
Shortly before I had arrived Dick and Fred had finished installing a new $25,000 engine. The day I was working on installing the sink, they were doing some tests on the engine. At one point, I noticed the engine noise getting loud. A few moments later the kids all dashed out of the cabin. I had no idea what was going on. I had been wearing ear protection so I hadn’t realized how loud it was. The engine kept getting louder and louder. Dick ran down into the engine room. A few moments later I went to follow the kids, but Dick was coming up the ladder from the engine room. The engine had been shut off so I was in no immediate danger and I didn’t want to get in his way. He reaches the top of the engine room stairs, sees me, and screams !@#%$ out of here you !@#%.
That was the beginning of what can only be described as one of the most inspired speeches ever given by a fisherman. Even now, almost 8 months later his words still ring in my ears. “Jesus mother!@#% Christ! Could you be more !@#%. blah blah blah, some stuff about common sense, yadda yadda.” He stops to catch his breathe. Getting old has taken a toll on his endurance. “Wheeze, wheeze.” Silence. He rediscovers his inspiration. “Jesus !@##% Christ people!” He was apparently a very religious man and felt deeply moved in that moment. Unfortunately, he was preaching on the deck of his boat to an audience of grandkids and me. To my slight schadenfreude, his grandkids were a captive audience and he was including them in his outpouring of grace. At this point in their lives they had learned the importance of keeping a straight face. Their ability to look properly chastised for doing nothing wrong was impressive. They have some serious acting talent. A useful life skill when your boss is screaming at you.
Eventually Dick used up his vitriol and we got back to work. Dick disappeared to have some choice words with the manufacture, I wish I could have heard what he said. I continued sanding and fitting the sink. Eventually Dick returned and I had got the sink to sit snuggly in the counter and was trying to figure out the plumbing. At one point Dick came up, looked at my sanding job, and asked if I realized how uneven a section was. “Yes Dick, that was intentional”. The man was relentless. A little later I asked him if he had any drain cement for securing the drain into the sink. He berated me for not understanding how sinks work and showed me how he wanted it done. I showed him the manufactures directions which were the exact opposite of what he said. He berated me again, then took the directions, read them, threw them on the table and walk away without saying anything more. I installed the drain as he had instructed. His boat after all.
A short while later i was trying to find the old hot/cold water sink hoses without success. I asked Dick and he said he’d grab some from his shop. By the time he had returned I had found the old ones. He started yelling at me about how he was an old man with a bad back. I just looked at him, he must have seen something in my eyes because he stopped immediately.
As I was trying to re-jury rig the sink plumbing Dick and another captain were sitting at the galley table watching me work. I was trying to ram some hose onto tubing without much success. I tried more creative ways. Eventually Dick started to make comments such as “stop thinking so hard and put some muscle into it” or “ya gotta learn how to fix stuff if you are ever going to get married”. Curious, because I was of the impression I was fixing stuff.
I eventually got the water running. Dick noted that there was standing water in the sink around the drain. I pointed out that’s because of how the drain was installed and asked if he wanted me to switch it to how it is supposed to be installed. He says no. I felt a bit smug and I was getting worn a little thin by the guy.
Finally we got everything sorta together and I put a bead of caulk around the rim and installed the sink. The last thing to do was slid those clips on and fasten the sink down. Huh, what’s this? The clips aren’t clipping onto the bottom of the sink rim. I’m on my back and the angle is really bad, so I try a few other positions. Nothing, I couldn’t seem to get the clips completely seated. At this point, Dick and the crew are all in the galley watching me. Dick smugly tells me to get out of the way and let Fox try. I guess he thought I was so incompetent that Fox would be able to jump down there and stick the clips on. Ya, Fox couldn’t get it.
Dick is getting worked up now. He yells for the container with the drill bits. Ned grabs it for him and we start rummaging through it. Fox and I try handing bits to Dick and he screams we don’t know what he is looking for. he also doesn’t say what he is looking for. Silence. We try again. He wheezes loudly at us again that we don’t know what he’s looking for. Silence. Finally Fox asks what he’s looking for and Dick finally tells us. That was a weird moment. What person yells at someone for trying to be helpful and then doesn’t follow it up with an explanation of how they can actually help?
Eventually he found the bit he wants and starts drilling holes into the rim of the sink. He was going to screw the sink onto the counter. The drill bit breaks after only drilling halfway through the sink rim. There are no more bits. He is getting red in the face at this point.
While this is happening I am trying to figure out how the clips actually work. I think I had it figured out and try explaining it. Dick ignores me and decides he’ll get more drill bits from his shop the following morning. Right at that moment Fred grabs the sink installation instruction manual from the box. I read it and think “oh shit”. The clips are supposed to be attached to the sink before installing the sink into the counter.
I try to explain this to Dick who bellows at me to prove to him that my other idea would work. I try to show him what I meant and follow up by explaining again that’s not how it actually works. I wave the instructions at him. He looks at it and shouts why I hadn’t done that in the first place. I tell him because he told me to do it differently. He responds he wasn’t the one installing the sink. I ask if I can do it the correct way. He says it’s too late now, we can’t take the sink out because it is already caulked. I get quiet and say in a meek voice that I want to do it right, please let me stay late and I will pull the sink back out and reinstall it correctly. I forget exactly what he said next, all I really remember is finally losing my temper and yelling back at him. We went at it for a few moments before he realizes whats happening and gets really quiet. I ask if he is going to let me do it. He says yes. I tell him the conversation is over then. He is confused and asks what’s over. He thought I was quitting. I said I wanted to get back to work. As he left, he told me that there was only room on the boat for one man, and that was him.
Fred stayed late that night, mostly working in the engine room while I worked on the sink. It took banging on the clips with a hammer to get them secured onto the sink. I re-caulked and installed the sink. Fred drove me home. I walked back to the boat later that night, packed my stuff up and left a note on the sink thanking Dick for the opportunity, but that I didn’t feel like I was a good fit for the boat. I wished them the best fishing season ever. From my understanding, it was. I heard the grandkids all made over six figures that summer.
Little did I know, that was just the beginning of my fishing adventures.
