Or
What the H… Have I Gotten Myself Into?
By Jim Farrell
So far, the sailing trip north through the inside passage to Glacier Bay had been far and above any and all expectations either my best mate Becky or I had envisioned. The weather had been prefect. The wild life, eagles, humpback, orca, and even a grizzly or two had been all that we’d dare to hope for. The snow covered mountains plunged to the water edge level were breathtaking to say the least. Envision the peaks of the Cascades thrown together, and surrounded by large bodies of water.
The only element missing was my inability to catch anything except crab. Not that crab is bad; it’s that I’d like to catch at least a couple of salmon. My ability as a fisherman is, well, to tell the truth consists of mocking fish. “Ya know”, the kind that jumps all around the boat and mocks any attempt on your part to catch them? I know that given the proper gear, bait and a quite a lot of instruction, I’d be able to catch at least one while sailing in Alaska. Not that I haven’t caught any. I have been known to be fishing for tuna offshore, sailing along at seven knots or so and somehow a ‘silver’ or two have accidentally grabbed my lure, and I’ve jerked them aboard for a quick BBQ dinner.
Those experiences have left me with no alternative except praying to any god that I think would listen, to help me catch a fish. Some would say that if I’d kept my praying to just one god, I’d probably had better luck. Maybe so, but I was desperate. My wife, partner and imparter of praise on many of my better attributes, kept wondering aloud if the hundred bucks I spent for a fishing license was worth it given my dismal attempts thus far.
Somehow, one or maybe all the deities that I prayed too granted me my fervent wishes. As Becky and I were walking along the dock heading toward downtown Petersburg, Alaska, I happened to run into a friend that docks next to Autumn Daze, our Beneteau 423, in Tacoma. He is a commercial fisherman and deck boss for the F/V Sea Fury out of Gig Harbor. Pat and his Captain, Gregg Lovrovich, invited me to visit their boat when I got back. Little did I realize that maybe; just maybe, they had an ulterior motive?
It seemed that they were short a man on their crew, and they had been looking for someone to fill the missing skiff man’s position for the upcoming salmon opening. All the qualified fishermen in Petersburg were already working with the rest of the ‘purse seiner fleet’ and seeing how they were leaving in the morning, meant they were desperate. Why else would any captain in his right mind even begin to look at a 63-year-old, out of shape, inexperienced and possibly not too smart sailor? Maybe he just figured at least I wouldn’t get sea sick, or that it had something to do that I could scuba dive and had the equipment, just in case they got their nets caught on something.
The offer did intrigue me not only because ever since I was a wee lad growing up on the Olympic Peninsula I’d heard stories about fishing in Alaska; as a photojournalist, how could I pass the opportunity? What could happen to a boat that was built in 1948 out of wood left over from making mine-sweepers for WW2, and was still fishing every year in Alaska? All I had to do now was get the blessing of my, hope to be understanding, wife to be gone for three days and dump her in Petersburg with not much to do. After all, it doesn’t take long to partake in the sights and sounds of a town of Petersburg’s size.
Somehow she was more than happy to get rid of me, leaving me deep in thought, thinking it was all too easy. Did she know something that I didn’t? Why was she so anxious to get rid of me? She had mumbled something about having work to do for her long-term insurance business while she had internet and cell phone connection available and she thought it would be nice to be alone for awhile. I didn’t have much time to think about her reasoning as I reported the next morning bright and early aboard the F/V Sea Fury and stowed my gear in the forecastle bunk assigned to me.
Ice aboard and off we went through Wrangell Narrows to meet Gregg’s brother, Tom, and his F/V Tradition. The Lovrovich brothers come from many generations of Croatian fishermen out of Gig Harbor, Washington. So far so good, once at anchor, a pleasant evening with some of both crews fishing off the boat as it gently rocked to and fro. Good company, great hamburgers and even a couple shots of whiskey over the rocks. I’m beginning to wonder why people think that commercial fishermen work so hard. Hell, I should have left for Alaska years ago.
0400hrs. as I wake up, the others in the crew Pat (deck boss), Tom McCarty (lead line), Dan Whitney (skiff man) are stirring and getting dressed. The opening is only an hour away and Gregg has weighed anchor and is heading for Ernest Sound and Deer Island where he and Tom his brother on the Tradition have decided to fish. A good breakfast of pancakes, eggs and ham, then all hands about their duty.
Me? Well, Pat and Tom were trying to explain how the net would go out and how we’d bring it back in. Keep in mind that I’ve never even seen a purse seiner, fish before. Dan will be dropped off the stern of Sea Fury in the skiff, pulling the net out while heading toward shore and holding his position as Sea Fury begins to close the purse. The purse is about a 1/3 mile long (250 fathoms), 96’ (16 fathoms) deep with the corks on top and a 2” leaded line holding it down the 96’. Dan will then start back toward the Sea Fury, closing the purse and handing the hauling line to Tom who attaches it to the boat, as Dan speeds around to the starboard side to take a line from Pat which is a bridle attached to the fishing vessel fore and aft to keep her from drifting toward shore as the net is closed.
As the net begins to come back aboard, Pat piles the corks while Tom will stack the lead line. Me, I’m to lay the 96’ of webbing neatly into a pile between the two of them while pulling out any sticks, fish or what have you that get caught in the webbing, all the while the net will keep coming aboard without stopping, because if they stop the net, the fish will escape. When the net is ½ way in, we all climb over the stacked net (up to my chest by now) and stack the remaining half on the stern so the net will play out without snagging.
As the purse is finally closed and the fish are coming in over the side of Sea Fury, Pat and Tom jump over the net. Pat grabs the bridle from Dan in the skiff, Tom attaches the last ring to the boat as Captain Gregg lifts the crane bringing the fish filled net on board while I grab the skiff’s painter line from Dan on the stern, attach it, then jump over the net to begin sorting the fish out as we dump them in the 2’ square opening in the hold. Kings, Sockeye and Coho are all to be put on a line as they bring more money and the “reds” are kicked into the hold.
OK, I got it. Sounds easy enough…sort of… 0500, off the stern Dan drops with the skiff and the net feeds off in good order as he works his way to the shore. Just as Dan starts to close the purse, a line gets tangled in the prop of the skiff and a flurry of words comes over the radio. Now Gregg is this tall, soft-spoken, not given to expletives, kindly Croatian, or at least that was my impression when I came on board. As Dan (Dan is usually working the web, not on the skiff) was trying to get the line untangled, (we couldn’t continue to bring in the net and fish began to escape, the words of that kindly, soft-spoken Norwegian were anything but approving of Dan’s action, and even at my rather advanced age, brought red to my face. It seems that the first set of the day is the most important, as it usually has the most fish in it.
Alas, not to be. We had to pull the net in and let the ‘Tradition’ start her set. Now is where I begin to really know how hard fishermen work. As the web (net, as I used to call it) started to come into the boat, I had to guide it to make the pile level, and not bunch up in the middle. Sounds easy, right? Wrong. Keep in mind that between the corks that Pat was neatly throwing, and Tom’s lead line, was me trying to neatly fold 16 fathoms of net that was coming over the end of the boat in a steady stream. Web, that had the occasional stick, fish or what have you stuck in the net.
I’m under the net, err web, pulling and pushing it here and there, while at the same time trying to pull the offending sticks and fish out, as they could tear the web as is played back out on the next set. Did I mention jelly fish? I’m working under the net as it get comes down filled with water, jelly fish and seaweed, all pouring over me and my bright yellow rain gear. The translucent jelly fish aren’t bad, but the brown ones sting and when they get caught in my beard, they tend to sting and sting. My hands are covered with cotton gloves as to let me feel the net and stay somewhat warm, however the jelly fish still find a way to let their presence known.
Pat is telling me to just push and pat the web where I want it to go instead of grabbing, clutching, yanking and pulling like I’ve been doing. The net is coming in faster and faster (well it seemed that way), bunching up, and I’d grab a handful jerking it into a low place, only to have another mountain of web to appear just as a couple of dog fish, and or sticks, needed to be pulled out of the web, requiring me to jump up on the by now, 4’6′ pile of net, (ok, I’m a little on the vertically challenged side) and try to get them out. Every so often, Tom would jump over and jerk them out if I was being too slow. Slow? Hell, I’m breathing so hard now that my lungs are going to bust. “Switch aft”? Man, I just got the forward part somewhat down.
Pat begins to throw the corks on the port side, and Tom has switched to the starboard with his lead line. Me? I’m still in the middle after trying to jump over the web that’s still coming aboard at a fast clip, almost covering me as I try to get into the correct position aft. Finally, after much pulling, grabbing, jerking and finally a little patting, and batting the net is finally aboard, along with Dan and the skiff. Gregg, well, still a little miffed at Dan.
As Tom and the crew of the Tradition begin to close their purse, Gregg moves Sea Fury into position and Dan is dropped off the stern again, playing out the net that I worked so hard to evenly lay out. Now the work begins all over again. Pat has finally got it through to me that I’m working the web too hard and showed me how to bat and gently pull the web to fill the low spots, letting the hills take care of themselves. Yep, the sticks, dog fish and jelly fish still rained down on me, but I wasn’t working quite so hard. Now, after jumping over the net to lay the rest of it over the stern, a new twist was added. Bringing the fish aboard.
As the purse is closed, Dan in the skiff is pulling hard against the starboard side of Sea Fury, as the purse begins to come over the port side with its load of fish spilling onto the deck, and as the last of the fish comes aboard, Dan drops the bridle as Pat brings it aboard while Dan races around to the stern to hand me the painter line hook as I’m folding the rest of the web. Then I climb, fall, and generally stumble over the folded net to help sort the fish by kicking the reds into the hold, then sorting out the money fish to slide onto their lines.
While I kick the fish into the hold, Gregg begins to move Sea Fury into position for the next set just outside his brother’s net, as the Tradition closes his purse. Then Tom and I grab the water hose and clean the side rails and deck of the jelly fish, seaweed, fish slime and blood that have accumulated from the last set. I have about ten minutes to rest until we begin again. This routine continues throughout the day, as I try to find a way to stretch my back out and think about where I may have left my nitro pills! I haven’t worked that hard since I worked in the ‘rodding room ‘at Reynolds Aluminum in Troutdale when I was a very young buck, stacking 90 pound copper rods.
I finally figured out after the third set that Pat was indeed right about the best way to work the web. The only problem was that I exhausted myself on the first three or four sets and now found myself breathing hard and thinking only of laying out on the deck forward to ease the pain in my back. This was the easiest job on the boat? Well the truth be known, when doing it right, it probably was. Gregg let me work the lead line, cork, and I was even allowed to do the Captain’s job at the hydraulics control, lifting and lowering the power block (a small crane) on the last set of the opening when it ended at 2000hrs (8:00PM). We had made 18 sets through the 15-hour opening and caught 53,000 pounds of reds and probably 75 money fish. Not bad, though not great given our first lost set. At least I wasn’t the one to lose it. I’m now relived that even though Dan was less experienced in the skiff, I on the other hand would have been a disaster!
Gregg began to work our way back towards Petersburg to unload the fish. Dan, Tom and I cleaned the boat and put away all the gear in an orderly fashion. Sea Fury may have been built in 1948 (I was only 2 to 3 years old) but she has been well maintained by Gregg and crew. Pat also serves as the ship’s cook and was about preparing supper. Me? I’m so damn sore and tired that it takes every bit of energy that I can muster just to eat the fantastic salad, burgers and beans that Pat prepared. Oh, but they were good! After the dishes were done, some crew brought out cards, or a book as Pat went up to the helm station to relieve Gregg. I on the other hand, couldn’t find my bunk fast enough.
I woke about 12:30 and managed to climb with my stiff and sore muscles up to the helm to keep Pat company or at least awake. As we approached the Narrows, Gregg and Dan came back up and took over the helm, letting Pat and I return to the bunk. At 0300hrs, I awoke to silence. Gregg decided to wait for the change of the tide to go the rest of the way into Petersburg and let go the anchor near the middle of Wrangle Narrows. Blessed sleep! 0700hrs we were moving again and Pat has on the menu sourdough pancakes, eggs and ham. I’m feeling somewhat better, ok, I’ll live, but I’m ever so thankful that the missing crewman was coming back.
When we got back to the cannery to unload we found that we wouldn’t be able to unload until the afternoon, so Gregg put Sea Fury back into her slip while I packed my gear and prepared to head back to Autumn Daze and my lonely wife who and I was quite sure had missed me by now. Well anyway, she’d be ready to head back to sea. The crew gave me a nice sendoff, telling me how great of a job I’d done keeping up with them. Little did they know how close I was to collapsing and how beat up my body was. Had I had to go out with them for the next opening, I’d died right there. Yep, dead, I had nothing left except to make a retreat to my own boat and hope to hell that Becky didn’t want to leave that day and I could crash!
Luck would have it, she did miss me, just a little and no, leaving tomorrow would work for her too. Later that afternoon Gregg, Pat, Dan, Tom and the guy who I’d replaced came by to visit and tell my loving wife that I really wasn’t a deadbeat after all, and they even teased the skiff man that I could replace him. ” NO”! I’m basically on my way to Glacier Bay and my lovely mate would never let me leave again, would you honey?” A long pause on her part and a mischievous smile, “well, maybe……if… ….you can’t catch fish any other way.”