I worked for 10 years as a commercial fisherman in Alaska beginning in 1972. For most of those years I was a deckhand on the family owned boat, the F/V Marcy J. She was a 100 foot, steel hulled combination dragger and crabber. As a dragger, we were always one of the Highliner’s in the Kodiak Shrimp Fleet, able to bring in 250,000 pounds of shrimp per load; in our best trip, we loaded the boat in Deadman’s Bay at the south end of Kodiak Island in a day and a half. We were always successful fishing both Tanner Crab and King Crab too.
Life on the Marcy J was one of the most rewarding times
of my life. We always had a great deck crew, led by my best buddy Chris Jones.
Although he was unquestionably the leader of the deck crew, he led by example.
There was no job that Chris wouldn’t tackle, from mending nets to swabbing out
the hold after a shrimping trip. We use to sing old rock ‘n roll songs at the
top of our lungs down in the hold because we thought we sounded just like
artists did in their albums (not!). I’m certain that anyone listening thought
we must be a couple shrimp short of a full shrimp cocktail.
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| Captain Harold Jones |
Captain Harold Jones owned the Marcy J, and his sons,
Chris and Tony fished with their dad during the first couple of years I was on
board; the four of us made a fabulous crew. We all had our strong points and we
filled out a very efficient team.
It was only by luck that I was able to get aboard the
Marcy J. I had fished with Tony for one trip on an old, beat up dragger called
the Pacific Pearl the year before. The Pacific Pearl sank the next year and 2
men of the 4 man crew were lost at sea. Tony’s and my friendship grew to the
point that he asked me to crew on his dad’s new boat, the Marcy J, not long
after it arrived in Kodiak in the Fall of ’73. I soon made fast friends with
Tony’s brother Chris too. The three of us were all short and stocky and all
were about the same age. Many people in Kodiak thought that maybe Harold and
his wife Marcy had 3 sons instead of two.
But Harold was the ship’s Captain, and the Captain is the
final word at sea, for a good reason. This was not a democracy, and although
Harold would listen to our input on important decisions, he would always decide
the best course for his ship and her crew. The system works well.
Harold is a man of honor and has a strict code of ethics.
There was no alcohol on the boat and we had to watch our language when he was
near. On deck, we spoke like seamen; around Harold we spoke like gentlemen. The
other skippers in the fleet also respected Harold for his clear thinking and
unabashed, direct way of making his points during discussions. Over all the
years I fished with Captain Harold we had developed a close friendship, and I
literally spent years up in the wheelhouse with Harold talking about virtually
every topic imaginable. We told stories, discussed politics, religion,
economics, fishing, hunting – everything. A mutual respect developed and to
this day, 30 years later, I still value his friendship.
On opening day of the King Crab Season in 1980, we were
150 miles offshore in the Bering Sea, waiting until noon – the official
‘starting time’ for each Crab Season. The quota for the season was in tonnage,
about 30 million pounds of King Crab. With over 150 boats in the fleet, we all
wanted to get our share of crab. That morning we ate breakfast, chopped all the
bait we were to need for the day, double checked the engine room, the lines,
the hydraulic systems; by 11:00 o’clock, we were completely ready to start
fishing.
Although there was a good sized ground swell left over
from the last storm, the air was still and a dense fog had settled in around
us. As Chris and I stood on deck, with all of our chores finished, we began
talking about how we knew that the rest of the boats in the fleet were
beginning to fish, in spite of the fact that they were supposed to wait until
noon. We knew dozens of crewmen on other boats, and they all thought it was
crazy that the Marcy J would actually wait until noon to even start to bait our
crab pots. Many of the boats would actually be putting crab in their holds on
opening day before noon. Enforcement is very strict now, but back then, there
was really no one to enforce that part of the season - with hundreds of boats
in the fleet and the whole ocean to patrol. Our competition would always ‘get
the jump’ on us because they would start early.
Chris and I, well the whole crew really, were pretty well
broke as the shrimp fishery had collapsed and we had made hardly any money
since the previous winters’ Tanner Crab (Snow Crab) Season. As Chris and I
talked, we decided that one of us should talk to Harold about starting to fish
early too. I was elected to talk to the captain about it.
So, I went up to the wheelhouse and started making small
talk with Harold, working my way into the conversation about starting to fish
early. “Well Harold, I can’t believe how thick this fog is’, I began. ‘We can’t
see even 50 yards into this pea soup fog”. “Yup”, Harold said, “and I don’t
think it will lift any time soon either. There isn’t a breath of wind and the
barometer hasn’t moved a notch for hours”. I walked over to the radar and took
a look to see if there were any boats near us. “Look at that Harold” I
commented, “the closest boat to us is over 20 miles out and moving away. No one
is anywhere near us.” Harold replied, “It’s a big ocean but I’m surprised no
one is fishing closer. This is the spot we had our great season last year. I
know we’re sitting on top of huge school of crab just waiting to crawl into out
crab pots.”
This was the opening I was waiting for, and I said,
“Yeah, that’s what Chris and I were just talking about Harold. We’d sure like
to start baiting this string of gear we are jogging on. The crab won’t crawl
into our pots until we put bait in them. What do you think about starting to
bait some pots?” Harold looked right at me, kind of cocked his head and said,
“the season doesn’t begin for an hour yet; we’ll start baiting our pots at
noon.’ I knew that was what he would say, and I was ready to lay out the new
idea. “Yes I know Harold, but in this fog no one would see us and there are no
boats close enough to get to us within an hour. No one could possibly know if
we started baiting pots a little early. We won’t actually be fishing until we
put some crabs in our hold. Surely starting to bait pots wouldn’t be so bad. No
one will ever know!”
Then Harold spoke slowly, carefully, and looked right at
me with a heartfelt gaze. I’ve never forgotten what he said, and I’ve tried to
live my life according to this statement. “John”, he said, “You and I will
know, and we are really the only ones that matter aren’t we.” He looked at his
watch and said, “We will start baiting pots in 58 minutes, not one second
earlier.” I looked back at Harold, and knew he was right.
The 1980 King Crab
Season was one of the most successful seasons I ever fished. I had never made
that much money in my life. Captain Harold Jones has more integrity in his
little finger than most people have in their entire being. He has had good
times, and some of the worst times of anyone I’ve ever known. But win or lose,
Harold always did the right thing – because he would know. The world would be a
better place if we all had more of Captain Harold Jones’ character.
As of this writing, Captain Harold Jones is in his late ‘80’s and still manages his
beloved Marcy J. He is spry as a spring chicken and can hop around the boat
like a young deck hand. My Captain still is not shy about letting you know if
you’re doing something wrong - and when you’re doing something right. We should
all be so lucky.
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