LOST AT SEA Part I

By John S. Mickman, Deckhand (All rights reserved)

I always loved the exhilaration of leaving the harbor for the opening of any season, but King Crab Seasons were the best. As we threw off the mooring lines and headed out to sea, I waved to my fiancée Su who was standing on the dock of the B&B Cannery. Some of my buddies went to sea without being ‘sent off’ by their loved ones. Su was always there waving goodbye, and wishing us all well. Cool. A heavy fog had settled in and the bay was like a mill pond as we glided away from the harbor – flat calm, not a ripple on the water. I gave Su one last wave before she was lost in the gloom, then we rounded a small reef and headed for Cape Chiniak, the open sea and the fishing grounds hundreds of miles away.

The 4 man crew of our boat, the M/V Marcy J, was led by Captain Harold Jones. His two sons, Chris and Tony had been fishing with him since they were young boys. Although I had only been fishing for two years, this life suited me well and we worked great together. Chris, at 25, was one year older than me, and Tony was a year younger. That late October morning in 1974 found us four days into the second opening of the Kodiak Island King Crab Season. The first season had been prematurely closed by the Department of Fish and Game, and the crab fleet had really raised a ruckus. Millions of pounds of crab were still left on the annual quota, and all of us fishermen were counting on this season for much of our annual income. Gratefully, they reopened the season, but no matter how many crab the fleet brought in, or whatever the weather, the season was going to be only six days long; ever since, this season is referred to as ‘The 6 day War’. However, Chris, Tony and I were carefree with youth and exhilarated by the ocean and the possibility of a rich season; how could we have known that this was to be the most deadly season of our lives?

We were able to get one load of our crab pots in the water on opening day, and the second day we worked them. However, a screaming gale blew us off the fishing grounds after the second day and we were forced to anchor up in Alitak Bay on the southern most part of Kodiak Island.

We ‘laid on the hook’ for almost 2 days when we decided we had to try to make it back to our crab pots. We needed to get some crab in our fish hold. Crab pots are steel frames enclosed with nylon mesh, six feet square by two feet deep and weigh five hundred pounds each - empty. Since the chopped herring bait in the pots only really ‘fishes’ for 2 days, we were due to get back on the grounds and ‘work the gear’. The grounds we were fishing, were just over 50 miles off the south end of Cape Ikolik, the southwest corner of the island.

My buddy Chris and I were just finishing lashing everything down on deck as we left the shelter of Alitak Bay at 4:00 AM that morning. The wind was screaming at over 50 knots and had whipped the sea into a frothy, living thing. The swells broke sharply along our starboard bow intermittently filling the deck with sea water. We put the ‘stabilizer fish’ in the water which helped reduce some of the rolling motion of the vessel, but this was going to be a rough ride, no question about it. We finished our chores and went inside to the warmth of the deckhouse and grabbed a cup of coffee.

Up in the wheelhouse, Harold and Tony were getting worried. With the twenty foot swells coming in from Shelikof Straight, the Marcy J had to push hard, taking the seas on her starboard beam. We were pitching so violently, that our 45 foot outriggers were coming dangerously close to submerging, as the vessel rolled from side to side. Tony asked Harold, “What do you think Dad; do you think we’ll be able to work our gear?” after a particularly large swell had heeled to boat over almost to 25 degrees. “Once we get to our gear we should be OK,” said Harold. “I laid all our strings of pots on a Northwesterly course so we can keep our bow into it. At least we won’t have the rolling to contend with. If it doesn’t get any worse, and the wind doesn’t change direction, we should be able to get to all of our pots today.”  Tony replied, “That’s a lot of ifs. I can’t believe the Fish and Game won’t give us a season extension because of this storm. Most of the fleet is sitting on their anchors and can’t even fish. The small boats are really going to be hurting if they don’t extend the season. They don’t have a chance in this weather.”

“I know,” Harold agreed. “But there really isn’t much we can do about it except tough it out. The  crab aren’t going to crawl into the boat. Why don’t you watch the wheel for a few minutes. I’m going below to get a cup of coffee.”

Tony was right about the smaller boats not being able to work in this weather. Two days before a 53 foot crabber had gone down not far from where we were fishing and two men were lost. Tony had spent most his 23 years in the Alaskan fishing industry, and knew how tough it was to earn a living from the sea.  With just a glance of a hull with rigging on a distant horizon, Tony could identify every boat in the fleet. He also knew who was running each one, how successful they were, and in most cases, who was working on deck. Tony had made many friends at sea, and had lost many friends there too. But right now he was thinking about Anne, his wife, who was expecting their first baby. Just before leaving they had listed all the things they wanted to get for their new arrival, and they needed a good crab season to be able to buy all the necessities.

As Harold climbed down the ladderway I asked, “What’s the latest on this weather? Is it supposed to lay down some?” 

“Nope. The barometer is still down,” Harold replied. “And we are going to be running through the trough until we get to the grounds.  Rough ride, isn’t it,” he said with a grin on his face.

Chris was relaxing in a corner of the galley bench enjoying a cup of hot coffee as the chill from the deck left him.  “Has Oscar reached his gear yet Dad?”  Chris asked. Oscar Dyson was Harold’s fishing partner and we had gotten an earful of stories from him the night before. If either one of the two boats found good fishing, they would report to the other in code over the radio. Over the years, both had profited from the friendship.

Harold replied, “Yes, he got there about half an hour ago. They are working the edge about ten miles north of our northern string. He says they are getting about 100 crabs per pot but he isn’t sure how long they will be able to fish. The seas coming out of the Shelikof Straight are beating his crew up pretty bad.” This was not good news as The Peggy Jo was 25 feet longer and much beamier than we were. She could weather a gale a lot better than the Marcy J.

“Well Harold, if we can get 100 crabs per pot I want to work them as long as we can hang on. Remember, I’m going to America to get married next week, and Su and I really need a good season. We’re going to make it work,” I said as I negotiated my way back from the galley stove on the pitching floor after pouring Harold a cup of coffee. “It might be slow going, but if we can’t fish today, by the time we get to our pots we’ll have to load them on board and head for the harbor. The season will be over”!  

“I know guys,” said Harold. “We’ll just have to see how it is when we reach our gear. Maybe it will lay down some.” Suddenly, a gigantic swell picked up the Marcy J and leaned her way over on her port side. I looked through one of the port side portholes as I adjusted to the roll, and  watched as the end of the port outrigger dove deeply into a huge, green, ground swell. As she righted herself and the outrigger came out of the water, the Marcy J took up a tremendous shudder. Then the boat rolled way to the starboard, and as I watched, the port side, the 100 pound stabilizer ‘fish’, which is attached to the tip of the outrigger by a 60 foot long cable, cleared the water and careened wildly through the air toward the hull of the boat. It landed back in the water just before it would have smashed into the hull.

“The stabilizer just about hit us,” I reported as Harold bounded up the ladderway back to the wheelhouse. I took my cup of coffee and headed out to the deck to have a cigarette.

In the protected entryway behind the deckhouse, I watched the maelstrom build. The seas were now over 20 feet high with the tops blowing off each one. With the Marcy J traveling through the trough as we were, most of the seas were slamming over the starboard side of the vessel and washing over the entire deck. As I smoked my cigarette, I thought how nice and clean the deck looked after being blasted so hard for the past few hours. With the exception of the bait box and the bright orange life ring which was lashed to the stern railing, the deck was scoured clean.

The lonely wail of the wind in the rigging is a sound most people have never heard. It is a loud whistling howl that changes octaves with each new gust. At times when the rigging cables reverberate, it sounds like the eerie song of some unknown sea beast. The shrieking wind and crashing seas combine to a crescendo that required us to yell to each other when we communicated. Most of the guys I have fished with didn’t like storms like this. Gales make for slow, dangerous work. But I love it. Crab fishing in a storm in the open ocean is more thrilling than anything I have ever done in my lifetime.

Next week in ‘Lost at Sea’ Part II, find out if the seas layed down for the Marcy J crew.

John Mickman