What do fish prices and anvils have in common?

With three openers under our belts the fishing season here is starting off with a bang.  The first opener, which was 12 hours, the fleet caught 155,000 sockeye salmon verses an anticipated
32, 000 according to the Alaska Department of Fish and Game (ADF&G) www.adfg.alaska.gov and the price was pretty high at $4.00 a pound!  Not as many kings as anticipated were caught, 1,100 verses an anticipated of 2,100, but at $6.50 a pound, we’ll take it!  The sonar is clicking away steady, counting fish up stream that are returning home.   The cumulative count, as of May 23^rd is more-less on track at 17,184 with an anticipated count of 18,418 fish. 

Tender and gillnetters out on the fishing grounds

Monday’s opener turned out to be a good one, too, except for the fact that the price dropped like an anvil in a Road Runner Cartoon.  But the weather was nice and there were a few fish around.  The fleet caught 219,000 reds.  That is huge!  The anticipated catch was 94,000 reds.  1,300 kings were caught verses an anticipated of 3,455. The price is still shaking out and there are a few discrepancies between canneries, like one offering $3.10 a pound for sockeye and the other offering $1.75.  That’s a big price difference.  We’re still waiting to see if the low ballers are going to come up on price or how on that. 

Tender out on the fishing grounds

I just got in from another 12-hour opener, our third of the season.  It started out pretty sloppy out there, not much wind but tide running against the current, seemingly both against the wind.  Just made it lumpy.  My guts took a beating when we ran.  Nothing too bad, but you certainly couldn’t make Eggs Benedict.   That’s how I gauge how bad the weather is out there.  Is it a peanut butter and jelly day or can I make an actual sandwich?  Can I fry an egg or will it end up paper thin and the complete diameter of the pan?  Crepes are probably a good thing to cook out there on a snotty day, the thinner the better, right?  I was working on a tender one summer and tried to bake a cake.  For some reason or another, we had a port list.  And the cake, you guessed it.  Lemon list cake.  One side was about a half in high and the other was 3.  Anyway, I digress. Like I said, I'm writing this after the fishing opener.  I'm still rocking.

The price dropped again for reds (sockeye) to $1.30 a pound! I think that's lower than it went last year and this is only the 3rd period!  Wouch!  That is what I heard anyhow maybe it will come up.  But I’m curious.  What are you guys paying a pound at the store?  And where?  Do tell!

Rain-gear blowout.  I thought I felt a draft....

First time for everything, part II

Skirting the rail along my boat, I shuffle along the cabin to my stern.   I look down into the water and sure as shit I can see net piled all around my props.  Another stream of swear words comes out of my mouth, which seems like the next appropriate action.  I skirt the rail again and back inside.  I get back on the radio and report to Lenny that I just ran over my net and I need to know what to do now.

He tells me I need to raise the lower unit so I can reach the props with my net wrench and preform surgery.  A net wrench is a technical term for a knife used to cut net. 

So I turn the key and am jolted by the sound of my loathsome low oil pressure alarm.  I push the toggle switch and hit the button to raise my lower unit.  I hear the motor whine, but I don’t hear the higher pitch sound it makes when it’s raised all the way up.  I figure enough time has passed for my unit to have gone up, as this gauge doesn’t really work either.

I tell Lenny I’ll call him in a few and head for the stern with my knife in hand.  Easing my way down to my swim step, which is a fiberglass platform mounted on the stern just above the water line for times like these, I quickly realize just how small it actually is.  It’s about a foot and half wide and about two feet long but the angle of the stern makes balancing on impossible.  I need one hand to hold on or I’ll fall into the drink.  So, with my net wrench one hand and my rail in the other, I’m ready to operate and remove my net from my egg beaters.  Egg beaters is another name for duel props or duel propellers.  One prop is big and one is small and they spin in different directions.   It’s more efficient that having just one big prop, but the down side is when you run over your net, the net gets tangled in the action.  As a result, the engine cuts itself.  

But as I get down there I notice my unit did not go up.  It’s sticking straight down about 2 ½ feet and I can’t reach it.  The lower unit is on a hydraulic hinge so as it rises, it comes up at an angle.  This allows a guy (or in this case, a gal) to access the props, to change them or cut web away from them and what not.

I know there is a release lever down there somewhere as I used it when my boat was on land.  I launch my hand into the cold clear water.  It’s not long before it stings. I feel around for it and find it but I can’t release the lever and raise my unit manually while holding on with one hand.  Besides once I get it up, how will it stay up?  I need some line.  I head back to the deck and grab a piece of line.  I come back to the stern and tie one end to the railing mounted on the stern.  I then thread the line around the lower unit and reach my hand into the cold ocean again searching for the lever.  I realize this plan is only going to work in theory.  I need a third hand, which I don’t have since I fish along. Deflated, I go back inside and call Lenny again for an update and advice.  He says he just pick up his gear then will head over.

I take a moment to survey my surroundings.  I’m in a good spot, really.  No much current, no one around me.  I’m out far enough away from the beach and rocks.  No eminent danger.  The weather is even nice.  All in all, a good spot to be dead in the water.

Lenny pulls up next to me.  I tie up a few buoys up and throw him a line.  He secures his boat to mine, comes aboard, gives me a kiss, then heads for the cabin.  He tries to raise the lower unit.  Again, we hear the motor going, but nothing happens.  I tell him my plan to use the release lever, lift the unit manually and tie it up.  We both scamper to the stern, one on each swim step.  This time he offers to plunge his hand into the cold water to reach the lever.  I let him.  As he does, I lift the unit.  So far so good.  I grab the line but we are unable to tie it up.  We just can’t get the right angle on it.   It’s too heavy for just one person to hold it while the other cuts the net away.  Now what?

I tell him I’ll grab my snorkel and mask,  hop in my survival suit  dive down and cut it out that way.

The look he shot me was priceless,  as if to say “there is no way in hell I’m going to sit here and let you get in that icy cold water.   “You are not jumping into the water” he says with clear disapproval of my idea.   “Lenny, it will be fine. I’ll get in my survival suit and you will be right here if anything happens”.  “No” he sighed. “I’ll go.”  

He hops back to his boat and emerges a few moments later in his bright orange “Gumby” suit, otherwise known as a survival suit.  A survival suit is a type of waterproof dry suit that helps protects from hypothermia in cold water.  They typically have built in feet, a hood, and built in gloves.  These gloves normally have two fingers and a thumb making dexterity impossible, hence the name “Gumby suit”.

I try not to chuckle as Lenny comes aboard in this bright orange suit, as he is doing me a huge favor.  I offer him my mask and snorkel, but it’s too small, he has to do without.

He scurries to the stern and lowers himself down into the water.  “Is it cold” I ask, feeling a bit guilty that he is getting in the water instead of me.  “What do you think?” was his reply.  I hand him the knife.  He takes a breath and dives under.  His feet pop up and fill with the air in the suit.  He comes up with a gasp.   His face is already a reddish purple from the cold, and he was only under about 20 seconds.  He shoots me a look as he takes another deep breath and dives back down.  After a few dives he ends up with a handful of web.  I help him aboard and I try the engine.  It fires up.  I don’t know if he got all the web clear, but he got enough. 

I thank him profusely.  He stoically says “Ah-huh, you’ll get my bill”.  I smile and thank him again. “Thank you, Lenny” I draw out in my cutest sing song voice. 

He hops back aboard his boat, unties and pulls away.  I get back to business.  I suit up in my rain gear and carefully, giving it a wider berth than necessary, I run to the end of my net and pick up. 

I wish I could say I learned my lesson that day and never ran over again but I ran it over three more times that season.  Having used my one and only get out of jail free card, I had to jump in the water myself to cut it out. 

Kenai Fisher Poets

Break, break.  I have a mid-week report.

Jumpers off the port bow and Fisher Poets in Kenai.  Check it out!  I'm all the tale end of the YouTube video.

The rhymes of the mariners | Peninsula Clarion

Rich King, me, Steve Schoonmaker, Meezie Hermansen, & Pat Dixon

Grumble grumble

Grumble Grumble

This is the grumble edition of PickFIsh Tales.  A rant, if you will.  What I’m sick of.   I ‘m just going to list them, in no particular order,  not most to least or vice versa and I think if I listed them alphabetically, you’d all think I was anal retentive or have OCD or something.  However, despite what I just said, I think I am most sick of the weather.  I know, I know.  It’s Alaska, it’s supposed to be cold. Well, even 49 degrees is cold for Alaska in June.  This part of Alaska anyhow.  I’m sick of being cold.  Of working in it on the boat, working in it in town while mending at the warehouse, of waking up in it in the morning (I still have yet to figure out what is wrong with my heater in my camper.  It only works if you manually turn it on, which I do in the morning once I wake up but I still have to wake in the cold.)  I’m sick of the rain, too.  I might be more sick of that than the cold.  If it were sunny but brisk I think that would be better than rain. 

I’m sick of being tired all the time.  I made the mistake this morning of adding up all the hours I’ve been putting in.  I remember doing this once a long time ago then going one step further and figuring out what I was making on an hourly basis.  It’s a good thing there weren’t any sharp objects around then because it was a pretty dismal amount.  Like 7 bucks an hour or something.  I knew better this time to stop where I was and not add up my hourly wage.  But, I didn’t know enough to not add up how many hours a week I was putting in.  We are currently fishing two 36 hour periods a week here on the Flats.  That’s 72 hours just in itself.  Then figure in run time and skipper likes to leave the night before.  Just leaving the night before twice a week adds at least 24 hours, possibly more (but I’ll say 24 hours because anything more than that will just be too depressing).  Then ballpark that I’m mending about 15 hours a week and that’s ……holy shit!  111.  No wonder I feel like I don’t have time for anything.  I don’t!

This is on top of the fog in my brain created by lack of sleep.  Its only 2 nights a week but somehow it lingers.  On those 36 hour openers, I get about 6 hours of sleep but it is broken up into 11/2 to 2 hour chunks.  Nights before the opener, I usually get 5-7 hours of sleep.  Trouble is, when I get to back to town, my body only sleeps about 6 or 7 hours because that is what it is used to.  Besides, sleep cuts into other activity time. 

This fog creeps in and you lose the ability to think.  All fishermen know what I’m talking about or anyone else who is sleep deprived on a regular basis.  You get that 1000 yard stare and just look at something, blankly, and know you know it but you can’t think.  Then someone else will come along, who is not a sleep deprived fisherman, and look at you, incredulously, and will give you a hand.  “Jen, 2+2=4”.  “Oh, ok, uh..thanks” and I’ll sheepishly walk away.  The other morning I woke up on the boat and couldn’t remember the skipper’s name.   Shit.  What’s his name, what’s his name?  I mean, this is only the 2^nd season I’ve fished with him.  I’ve only known him for about 10 years.  Jack? No.  A list of all the guys I used to fish for came pouring in.  Dave? No, that was the Gene S back in ’94.  Mike? No, good guess, there were 2 Mikes, the Coral down in southeast and the Whiskey Creek out in Bristol Bay.   Louie? Christ no, it’s not Louie! It did come to me, eventually, but what a feeling not be able to think of something so simple, something that I probably say 100 times a week  and a face that I see more that I get to see my own boyfriend’s!  Anyway, I’m sick of that.

I’m also sick of my hands being sore.   Not just the little nicks and cuts I get because my hands get dried out from salt water and crack, but sore from picking fish and mending.  I’m sick of the ache in the fingers and the sting in my knuckle of my right middle finger, the knuckle just under the fingernail.  It’s a small joint, but it hurts.  I’m also sick of smashing my hands on things when they are cold and wet.  Under the hatch covers, the level wind….I haven’t smashed them bad enough to cause any damage or bruising, just enough to smart for a while.  And you know how things hurt more when your hands are cold.  I know, I know, I should be grateful I even have a job.  I’ll try to remind myself of that next time I slam my fingers in the hatch cover.

I’m sick of my feet being clammy in Xtra-Tuff’s all day long.  I’m sick of my clothes smelling like fish.  I’m sick of smelling exhaust.  Sick of my ears hurting from wearing earmuff’s while running. (I have this nice expensive pair of Bose Noise Cancelling head phone that are light and comfortable, but I can’t wear them on this boat because there is too much vibration and they make noise.) I’m sick of flip-flopping around all day.  Sick of slamming into things and getting all bruised up like an apple.  Sick of having to hold the throttles for the entire 2 hour run down to Softuk because they don’t stay up themselves.  Sick of the loud bang everything makes on an aluminum boat.  Sick of the color of aluminum.  Grey.  (On a side note, did you know that you can’t put an copper bottomed pot on aluminum?  Electrolysis.  The copper eats through the stainless steel.  On the other hand, if you have meat that needs to be thawed out, just slap in on the aluminum deck and it will thaw in a minutes.  You can’t just set the Styrofoam package down, you have to put the meat side down.  Makes me wonder if I strip down if I would thaw me out? Just a thought.)  Let’s see, I was on a roll here………Oh, sick of my hair being a mess,  sick of not getting enough showers, sick of looking at my huge pile of laundry and mail and the too tall grass in my yard and my unplanted flowers. Sick of not posting my blog on time. There is more, I’m sure, but you get the idea.

But then, on the other hand,  after all that, I get my paycheck and think, OK.  I’ll do it one more time. 

Cruiseship Part II

I speed up my hydraulics and pick a little faster.  I hear my buddies call on the radio. I don't have time for the radio but know they will worry if I don't respond.  I run in and tell them quickly that I see the ship and that I’m picking my net right now and have to get back out on deck.   I’m sure they were worried and could hear the panic in my voice.  I was 28 and it was my first fishing season. 

            I race back out of the cabin and back to picking my net.  I look over my cabin again and now, I’m alarmed.  But, on the other hand, there is still a little sense of denial, like maybe I’m over reacting.  Maybe I just look like I’m in his path but he’ll really go around me.  I think there is often a little element of disbelieve when bad things happen to us.  A moment of “this can’t be happening”.    Although, that moment was fleeting and in an instant I’m back to reality.  This monstrosity is heading right for me there is no denying it now.   No time to pick the fish out of the net.  I realize I need to get my net in now!  I consider my options while picking up my net.  My mind is racing. With more than half of my net still out, there is no way I can maneuver the boat anywhere. My engine doesn’t have enough horsepower to just tow the net out of the way.  Besides, this thing is so big, it’s hard to judge if I even could tow out of its path.  I make the split second decision to either get my net aboard or cut myself free of it.  I stop and think for a second where my in case of emergency knife is.  The one that is brand new and I don’t use in order to keep is sharp for instances such as these.  I look over and it’s hanging in its little case next to the steering station.  I thank my lucky stars that it’s there.  I grab it and set in next to me, just in case I can’t get the entire net in and have to cut it free.  I figure with me towing on one end it should be pretty tight and relatively easy to cut.  Especially if the cruise ship grabs the other end of the net, it will be tight as a drum then.  But, I’ll have to be quick.  If I linger too long, I’ll get sucked into the bow wake of the ship and it will slam me against its side.  And at $5000 for a new net, I want to get my net aboard. Looking back, I can’t believe I was more concerned about a lousy $5000 fishing net than I was about my life!  But, I think there was still that element of denial going on.  As if I hadn’t accepted anything else except best case scenario of getting me and my equipment out of danger.   The reality of having to choose between myself and my boat hadn’t sunk in yet.

 Finally, I stop picking the fish out of my net and just drum it all aboard.  Everything is going on the drum, net, fish and all.  This is very poor quality handling of the fish and pretty much ruins them, but given the circumstance, I can't care about quality right now.  Yet, the idea of fish quality still flashes through my mind.  Nevertheless I remind myself that the quality isn't going to be very good if they are splattered all over the bow of a cruise ship and I’m at the bottom of the ocean, either.  But drumming fish aboard my boat is a risk, too.  If I have too many fish, they won't all fit on my drum.  Then my drum will be full and I'll still have net out.  In that case, I'll have to pull the rest of the net in by hand, which is doable but, takes forever and is not even an option this morning.

I look up again and now I am looking straight up at the bow of this cruise ship.   I bump up my hydraulics and put the boat in reverse so the net will tighten and fit on the drum better.  I wish I had thought of this sooner.  Otherwise, like I mentioned, my drum will fill up and I’ll have to pull the rest of the net in my hand.  This is not something I have time for this morning and neither is beating myself up for not thinking of things sooner.  I rev up the engine again to bump up the speed of my hydraulics, again, and am running them faster than they are designed to go.  I’m hoping I don’t blow a hose as I'm listening to them whine.   Actually, now I’m praying I don’t blow a hose. It’s funny; they say if you aren’t religious when you go out fishing, you will be by the time you get back.  I think there may be an element of truth to that.

 Looking up again, I realize now I’m seriously in trouble.  I have been out on deck about 7 minutes and awake about 15 minutes.  I am looking at this giant wall of metal getting bigger and bigger and as it gets closer it gets closer.   I am right dead center in its path.  If I don’t get out of its way, I will be run over. There is no longer any doubt, no longer any room for denial.  He is not going around me. He is heading right at me.  I throttle up again to speed up my hydraulics which are now screaming.  Fish are flying aboard and smacking the deck as they are going around the drum, thud, thud, thud.  Water, jellyfish, and fish blood are flying everywhere.  I grab my in case of emergency knife.  I am ready to cut my net in order to get out of the way.     It’s looking like I’ll have to cut my net after all.  Not my first option, it’s the last.  However, I am running out of options.   If I don't get my net aboard and this ship hits my net, he will suck me along side and I’ll be crushed against the side of the boat.  I’ve heard of this happening to guys down in Puget Sound. It’s a bad scene and right now, best case scenario.  If this ship hits me, well, let’s just say I won't be worrying about my net anymore. 

All the while, I’m thinking “This is it? This is how I go?  Really?  I don’t at least get the honor of being taken by a wave in Kokinhenik, the most dangerous bar on the Copper River Delta, like so many other great fishermen.  I have to be killed by a big, tacky cruise ship? How indignant.  I want a more honorable death.”

            Needless to say, adrenaline is running high, my heart is pumping and I am doing all I can to get my net in a get out of this guys way. I keep looking at how full my drum is, how much net I still have aboard, and back at how close the cruise ship is. I’m practically giving myself whip-lash just assessing the situation.  Finally, in comes the end of my net. I rejoice a small moment.  Never mind the fact that I’m not religious, I thank god I was able to get the whole thing in without blowing a hose or filling up the drum.  My buoy comes flying in and smacks down on the deck. Thud!  Quickly, I run inside to shut off my hydraulics because my outside switch broke. I don’t want to risk the hydro’s blowing when I got full throttle to get out of here.  I think to myself I really need to fix that switch. My net is aboard but my boat is still in the way.  I race back on deck and push the throttle into full forward, down as far as it will go. The diesel engine roars and I feel the bow rise up and the stern squat down as it picks up speed.  I run out of there full bore, as fast as I can.  I look back and see that I am clear of the boat, except for his bow wake coming at me.  I quickly turn the wheel and I get my boat turned around just as his bow wake is hits my bow.  Because I’m so close, his wake is steep and fast.  Catching it on the side would probably flip me.  My boat climbs up then slides back down each individual wave, about four of five on them in total, each one about six feet tall, but becoming smaller.

            Finally, I am out of danger, with only about 100 feet to spare.  I look up in awe as this white monster fills my entire field of vision.  I watch it go by me and I feel my knees go weak. The rush of adrenaline was gone and my eyes fill with tears.  My knees give out and I sit down on my fish hold and cry.  Through blurry eyes, I see this giant go past me.  I imagine the passengers having a lovely breakfast, gaze out the window and see me, sitting on my boat.   I give them the finger.  

I didn't take this picture.  My boat is that small dot under the dip net. 

Cruiseship

Did I ever tell you about the time that I was almost run over by one of those real big cruise ships?  It was back in 2000, my first year fishing my own boat. I was up in Coghill, in the northwest of Prince William Sound. College Fjord is a spectacularly beautiful and pristine area of the Sound and a popular destination for cruise ships.  The fjord is about 20 miles long and consists of five tide water glaciers, five glacier valleys, and countless other glaciers.  It’s possible to see eight glaciers at once.  It is a narrow stretch of pristine, deep blue water, glaciers, and icebergs all surrounded by spectacular mountains dotted with birds and marine wild life.  There are rafts of otters floating around, cracking clams on their bellies and bald eagles soaring in the sky.   The crystal clear water is peppered with white and blue icebergs.  A sockeye run that goes through there and up the Coghill River.   

Running my net on f/v King-N-I

I’m awakened by Lenny, one of my buddies, calling me on the radio.  It’s early, maybe 4:30 in the morning, but is already daylight.   I had made a night set and finally hopped in my bunk around 1 am for some much needed sleep.  Typically, a set lasts about an hour.  If you are lucky, you can make a night set for about 2 or 3 hours without getting into too much trouble because the gill net acts like a big sea anchor and slows down the drifting of the boat. If you are unlucky, you might get tangled with another boat, wrap a buoy, wrap your own boat with your own net, drift across the line only to be rudely roused by the Troopers writing you a ticket for fishing over the line, drift up onto a reef and rip your net in two, or drift ashore.  There is a plethora of predicaments you can wake up in.   The possibilities are endless.  I know, as I’ve encountered most of them.  However, this morning I would add a new possibility to the list.

Still a novice at “the fishin’ position”, I set my alarm for every hour and half so I could wake up and look outside to see if I’ve gotten into any trouble.  The alarm goes off and I stumble out of the bunk and shock my eyes by going from dead asleep to looking out into the blaring daylight. It usually takes a few moments for them to adjust then another few moments for events to compute while I wake up.  But, if everything looks OK, I go back to bed and set my alarm for another hour and half.  This night was no different.  Now, granted, I do sometime have a biased opinion of “OK”.  I know this about myself.  When I get woken in the middle of the night, or precisely, in the middle of my three hour nap, I’ll deem almost anything as “OK” so I can go back to bed.

The weather is calm, clear skies with no wind.  Everybody is making a night set and I am on the outside of the fleet.   We were all spaced out nicely, with no signs of trouble, yet.  Sure, there were a few ice bergs around, but none so close that I was concerned with wrapping one.  Those are a bugger to get out of the net.  It’s impressive how well they can get entangled. They may look smooth, but in reality, there are thousands and thousands of little edges that like to get caught up in the net. As soon as one corner is free, another gets caught up.  It’s practically endless.  Also, it’s true.  For every bit of ice seen on the surface, there is at least another 90% of the burg under the water.  

My night set came and went without catching any icebergs or any other hitch.  It was morning when all hell started to break loose and it all began with that call from Lenny.  He was calling to make sure that I knew a cruise ship was coming around the corner and heading our way.  I had heard the ship make an announcement on the radio but it didn’t lure me out of my bunk.

            I roll out of my sleeping bag rubbing my eyes.  Not being a morning person by nature, it takes a little time for my brain to register information, especially on 3 hours of sleep.  So, I look out my window and had to shade my eyes from the morning sun.  After a few moments to get them to focus, sure enough, there is a cruise ship coming around the corner.  “Ah well”, I thought, diving back into my bunk as I was desperate for sleep.  I remember thinking “He'll go around.  Besides, I have the right-of-way”.  And I plop back in to my bunk.  A few minutes later, Lenny calls me back.  I begrudgingly get up and answer the radio, wishing I had an extension cord for my radio so I can talk on the radio without getting out of the bunk.  Since I’m up, I look out the window again.  Sure enough, there is a huge white cruise ship coming around the corner a few miles away.   It appears that the cruise ship is turning wide enough to go around everyone else fishing.  Everyone except me, that is.   It looks like he is heading right towards me. It’s traveling much faster than I initially anticipated and is a great deal closer to me than I would have thought possible in only a matter of a few minutes. If I stay in my current location, in a few more minutes I’ll be squashed like a bug on a windshield.  Now, a shot of adrenaline kicks in and now I’m awake.  I fire up the engine and stumble around getting dressed.  I hop into my raingear, which is positioned near my door fireman style, with my bibs wrapped around my boots just for instances like this and I need to get into them quickly. I figure there's no time to call this guy on the radio, I'm the one who needs to boogie out of there.  It’s a judgment call, but I know these things don't stop on a dime and even changing course take time. 

            There is no time to let my engine warm up this morning. I turn on my hydro's go outside to pick up my net.  The first thing I feel the cold, crisp air slap my face.  That’s the thing about glaciated areas; they are beautiful, but cold. But, no to dwell on my surroundings, I have a cruise ship coming at me. I start reeling in my net and picking fish.  Since my net has been out a few hours, there are a few fish in there.  And, I don’t say this often, but luckily, there weren’t too many.  I look over my cabin and see this ship is heading towards me faster than I anticipated. They are so big and that makes it difficult to gauge just how fast they are traveling. I look up and see the word “Princess” in big letters on the side of the boat.  She’s about 1000 feet long and 120 feet wide.  It towers fifteen stories in height and cruises 20 knots, approximately 22 miles per hour and is about to run my ass over. 


Tune in next week for the rest of the story.  Until then, eat fish!  Catch ya on the flip side.

Prince William Sound Spill Drill: That'll do 'er

NOFI Current Buster, f/v Morning Thunder with a skimmer and a mini barge along side.  We tow the orange boom around scooping up oil.  The Morning Thunder skims it out of the water and pumps in into the mini barge. 

The state of Alaska mandated a law that oil companies  put on regular oil spill response training after the Exxon Valdez oil spill in 1989.  Several times a year there are on water drills in addition to training, which consists of classroom lectures, hands on equipment trials, and on water drills.

This past week was a surprise drill.   A surprise that even I knew about 3 weeks ago.  Anywho, about 100 or so boats of all shapes and sizes came from all over the sound from Cordova, Valdez, Tatitlik, and Whittier.  We all enjoyed the beautiful weather, total blue birds (and a few icebergs) as we convened at Naked and Story Island for a 3 day on water drill.

What, one might ask, are the qualifications needed to participate in such drills.  I was told that a crewman is qualified if s/he can fog a mirror.  I said sign me up.  I have done these in the past, it's good money but mind-numbingly boring.  This time, I tried to be prepared.

Required gear list: PPE (personal protection equipment) life jackets,  safety glasses, and hard hats are to be worn on deck at all times.  Period.  This means, if you go outside to take a leak, you have to wear a hard hat. Even to ride a bucket. (That reminds me a a poem I recently heard "Those rodeo cowboys got nothin' on me.  I can ride a 5 gallon bucket in 40 foot seas"!)  I find that none of this stuff usually fits me and I keep getting caught up  in it.  I walked to the stern to tie up a line, my jacket got hung up on something on the way back there.  Then I bent over to reach for the cleat and almost fell in trying to keep my hard hat on.  Finally, I squatted down towards the cleat in an effort to keep my hat on, then my jacket road up in front of my face so I had to work blind and one handed to tie a line on the cleat.  All in the name of safety.

The other gear lists consists of magazines to read, music to listen to, cribbage board, noise reduction headphones (with ipod attachment) and my new favorite toy, a kindle.  Skipper and I got into a serious match of scrabble.  I totally got my ass kicked the first few times (clearly, he is not a novice at scrabble like I am) but our last match ended as we were pulling back into the slip in the harbor.  I had one letter left, a V and was down by 5 points.  Wanting to take a shower after 3 days on the water superseded the need to win at scrabble and I took the loss.  But, secretly congratulated myself for having come so far in just three days.

All in all these drills are almost comical.  SERVS (not sure what that stands for) is the company that puts it all on.  They cross all their T's and dot all the I's.  They are all PC and say "over and out".  Then they work with us fishermen who only cross T's when we feel like it and say things like "I'll snuggle up to your apex and hang tough".  Yes, honestly, I did actually hear that on the radio.  I even just ran out in my PJ to my truck in the wind and rain (its blowing about 20 here today, forecast is for 40) just to get that quote out of my truck.)

Here are some pics:

f/v Controller Bay, the boat I was on

Towing just the Current Buster which we towed about 12 hours going .5 knots

The state ferry as is cruised by

That's the haps this week.  Catch ya on the flip side.  Eat fish!!

The Calm Before the Storm

Ever wonder what fishermen do to get ready for the season?  If I were to guess, I'd say they would do bench presses, sit-ups, warm ups to reduce carpel tunnel, Zen out on a lotus leaf,  and that type of thing.  Maybe. Maybe that's what other fishermen do. But I find myself doing are all those projects that I've been meaning to do all winter.  Finishing the kitchen re-model project I started over a year ago.  Go to the dentist and have a cavity filled. Have lunch with old professors.   Get my eyes checked at the eye doctor.  Get my studded tires removed and put the summer ones back on.  Get an oil change, clean out my storage unit, have a garage sale, get a hair cut, eyebrows waxed, rent out my place, pack up and move,  etc.  All in the last week before I leave.

Finally, I stopped tripping over those kitchen cabinets and hired someone to install them.  I was going hang them myself, but, then came to my senses and I realized I'd better leave that one to a professional.  Or, more exact, a friend of a friend who does that stuff on the side.  I decided I'd better re-caulk the tub.  That one I decided I can do myself.  I mean, I like DIY projects and fixing things. But in reality I made a mess, the tub looks like shit and I got caulk in my hair.  I have to be honest with you folks, I really didn't enjoy that.  I guess I just want to want to enjoy DIY projects. When I'm not under the gun, that is.  I did enjoy staining all my cabinets.  But I didn't leave myself enough time to do it.  I rushed and ended up with bubbles in my varnish.  But no time to fix it now.  My renter moves in Friday and it still looks like a bomb went off in there.  Seriously, I would take a picture but it's too embarrassing.  But I'll tell you it sure doesn't look like someone is moving in here in a few hours. And I hope my renter doesn't read my blog!

I've been getting up at 4 am (thanks to still being jet lagged from the four hour time change spending last week in Florida) and putting in 14-18 hour days.  Packing, cleaning, getting rid of stuff.  Doing things like finally changing out the shower curtain rod after looking at an ugly one that didn't match anything for 3 years.  I have to wonder why  I do that for someone else, but not for myself.   No time to psycho-analyze my actions now, the clock is a ticking.

The renter moves in Friday (holy crap, that's today!)  We are having a garage sale on Saturday.  I have to pack up the cat and the camper yet and stock up on groceries and all the things I can't get in Cordova.  Then catch the ferry next week.   Fishing season starts in about 6 weeks.  So, I'm frantic now in order to have plenty of time to settle in, mend nets and be Zenning on a lotus leaf next month!

Eat fish and I'll catch ya on the flip side.