Preparing the Lady Ruth

August 1-10, 2008 — With a seed of the Samish Bay king fishery already planted in my mind in the spring, I took the windshield off the Lady Ruth in April, then thought about the project every time I drove past the boat as it sat along my driveway. I also ordered up enough web for 200-fathoms of 30-mesh deep king gear, plus an easy-to-hand-haul 30-pound leadline to go along with it.

Although both of these projects had their beginnings initiated, I took no further action on either of them until the season was fast approaching. The first opening was slated for Sunday, August 10, which left me an extremely abbreviated time to prepare my boat and net. I didn’t lift a finger until after August 1, and progress moved in sporadic spurts at best.

I always say I don’t want my Puget Sound fishing to cut too deeply into my family time, but I always give myself these tight deadlines that cause me to be consumed by my project, despite my higher ideals. Nonetheless, I tried to graciously blend my family life and fishing into one free-flowing entity. I moved the boat down in front of my garage so it was readily accessible, and filled the “slow moments” in my family time by running out, grabbing the sawzall, and going to work on the Lady Ruth.

The tasks needed to convert this crabber into a gill netter involved cutting away the front combing, constructing floorboards on the newly exposed forward deck, building a set of “horns” for a net guide in the bow, building a windshield in front of the steering station, rewiring just about every electrical component beside the engine panel, adding a red “fish” light and deck pump, eliminating all potential gillnet snags, and then slapping all the gear on the boat needed to actually complete a night’s fishing. Easier said that done, but it is definitely a job that could be completed, so long as attention to detail was tossed overboard along with all the material the sawzall cut away.

Let's not forget about the net. I could have saved more time than I care to think about had I not been so particular about paneling that stupid net together. I bought a multi-strand gillnet so I wouldn’t be sharing that confined deck space with a super-fluffy spider web of a net, which would be the case with a monofilament net. So I went with 150-fathoms of easy-to-handle multi-strand net and only 50-fathoms of obnoxiously fluffy, but better fishing, mono.

I wanted to be certain my competitiveness was not sacrificed for ease of handling, so I cut up that 50-fathom piece of mono into about 20 pieces, and then cut the rest of the net up so the mono panels were spaced evenly throughout the net and sewed it all back together in panels, which made a very fishy and very competitive net indeed. This procedure involved way too much cutting, trimming, and sewing, sewing, sewing. I thought there would be no end to it. I spent some late nights out in the garage screwing around with that damned net. I think I had as many hours into that net as I did the boat itself. I’m not sure — I didn’t keep track; but my wife Maureen, well, she didn’t keep official track, but I know I made some significant withdraws from the “love bank” in my spending so much spare time with this sport-gillnetting project.

I kept my fingers crossed that the end product would be a cash deposit to justify those withdraws from the love bank. But even then I know that money can’t buy love.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Without a Boat

August 2008 — I returned from Bristol Bay on July 27, 2008. Although there was no sockeye fishery planned for areas 7 and 7a (San Juan Islands), the Frasier River Panel opened it up for a few days in the first week of August. I had no intention of scrambling out to make those openings, since it seems we are allowed to fish only when there are no fish around, which turned out to be the case once again.

A friend of mine who understands the logic of the Frasier River Panel said that even when there are fish in abundance, if there are just a few fish present from a river that has been designated a "stock of concern" then they shut it down so we won't catch those particular fish.

Even if I wanted to make those openings I would have had a tough time because I stored the Satisfaction in LaConner, with the thought of reconfiguring the deck. My net reel is permanently mounted in the back deck, and there's only a pitiful three-feet to pick fish between my net reel and the stern roller. I want to move it to a slider so it could be secured above the hatch when fishing, and pushed back toward the stern when it was time to deliver. This would give me 10 feet of fish picking space, which would allow me to pick lots of fish very quickly.
 
I didn't actually do those improvements, so they remain on the wish-list, but I did have the guys at the yard install a bow thruster tube (I will install the thruster myself). With a bow thruster I can simply thrust myself out of the tight jams I get into out there fishing by myself in the middle of the night.

With no sockeye fishing and my boat in LaConner, the only fishing boat at my disposal was my 18-foot crab skiff, the Lady Ruth, which I tried unsuccessfully to sell the year before. Since the craft wouldn't disappear from my life, I decided it could be easily transformed into a crude, open-to-elements, hand-hauling gillnetter that would be perfect for the Samish Bay king, and Bellingham Bay silver fisheries that happen in August and September.

I fished Samish Bay the year before on the Satisfaction with a borrowed 150-mesh net, and I swore I would never go back to that shit-hole. It took me three hours to get there, and during that night's fishing I caught what seemed like 500,000 crab and 100 metric tons of eel grass. I was up all night long picking crab from that damned net, enduring an endless pincher-torture as I fought to free those ungrateful bastards. The nice thing about catching all those crab was it made pitching the tons of eelgrass overboard seem like a cakewalk.

The three-hour, sleep deprived, 8-knot put-put back to Friday Harbor the next morning was spent damning the existence of that miserable fishery, and I vowed never to return to Samish Bay in a slow boat with a deep net. But now, with the prospect of the summer lapsing without any fishing, the idea of converting my underutilized crab skiff, the Lady Ruth, into a small, open, fish-in-the-shallows-while-I-haul-it-by-hand gillnetter sounded like a great idea.

A return to Samish in a fast boat with a shallow net that would not catch so much crab and eelgrass would trump all the horrid aspects of my previous experience. The nauseating 3-hour run would become a one-hour thrill ride, and what a "neener" it would be to be able to catch fish in the shallows and avoid all those crab. The drawback about the whole proposal is that there is no shelter on the Lady Ruth, and I would spend all night exposed to whatever elements God decides to lash upon me… all for the sake of strangling a few king salmon.

I was up for the challenge... it sounded like fun to me!

TO BE CONTINUED...

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Leaving the Crew Behind

July 14-25, 2008 — It was quiet on the Sunlight III after Dave left for bigger and better things, and Bruce had left us a few days before. Now it was just Edward, Anthony, Madeline and me. It was kind of nice for us each to have our own bunk, but we were definitely overstaffed for the amount of fish we were catching, especially when we ground it out to the bitter end.

I finally threw in the towel when I realized I wasn’t having as much fun as I should, because scratch fishing can be pretty boring, chasing an elusive few sockeye around the tide rips. Our last delivery came on Saturday, July 19, which was the remainder of the fish we high-graded from our go-out-and-catch-our-home-pack day of fishing.

We anchored in the river and gave the Sunlight III it’s final scrubbing while waiting for water to get to the dock. We hauled out on Sunday, July 20, and completed the remainder of the scrubbing, which included every last bit of that boat, inside and out, before it went into the warehouse at the end of the day. After the initial scrub-down I took my time with the other aspects of winterizing the boat, which helps me unwind after living with such intensity for the past two months.

The nets were a major project, as there was a humongous tangle in the net loft, a product of two boats drawing off the same pile of gear. Organizing what needs to be hung next year, and deciphering which ripped-in-half corkline goes with which ripped-in-half leadline always takes a couple of days. This time it seemed to go on longer because as we became more organized we kept discovering more net bags that needed attention.

This slow progression at the end of the season was fine with me because my flight home wasn’t until July 25, so I had time to unwind before I reentered the madness of our “normal” society.

Anthony and Edward both were set to fly out after the 25th, so when it was time for me to leave, they were still there, hanging out in the room. This was a little different for me because I usually go through this sort of meditative ending to the season as I drift around the camp like a ghost, just me and only me, doing whatever it is I do up there at the season’s end.

This year I had Madeline buzzing around, so I always had to keep track of her whereabouts, and also my two crew guys, just hanging out. It distorted my accustomed ceremonial ending to the season, but I could handle it.

I misbooked my flight, so in order to travel with Madeline I had to fly stand-by. We flew out around noon, caught an afternoon flight down to Seattle, and Maureen picked her husband and daughter up at the airport that evening.

My Alaskan fishing merry-go-round had ended for the year, and now I could finally relax with my family. But I knew the relaxation would be short-lived, because right around the corner was the opportunity to catch local San Juan Island salmon and sell it to my loyal island customers.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Dave and the Redman

July 13-25, 2008 — We arrived at Nornak camp to put on our levelwind as the light from the day was fading from the sky on July 13. Our mission was simple and brief — grab the levelwind off the dock, maybe get a few groceries, let the guys take a shower, and then head back out for more fishing.

The most time-consuming part of going to the dock was bullshitting with all the other fishermen who had come, as we had, to regroup after a long and grinding season. When the crew was fully assembled, we all climbed onto the Sunlight III, which everybody agreed really stank, since our bodies and noses were now clean and we could actually smell the living environment to which we had become accustomed.
 
As we pulled away from the dock, Dave came up to the flying bridge and told me Mike, the guy I go longlining with, was thinking about buying one of the boats at Bumble Bee, which concerned him because one of those was the boat he had his eye on, the Redman.

Dave had been talking about that boat more and more as the fishing action had waned through the season. I told him he should buy it now, borrow a permit holder who is on a boat that is calling it quits, and then fish the end of the season with the boat so he knows what it needs for next year.

He thought that was a great idea, and since I had just come up with it I had to agree. The only thing I could do was turn around and drop him off back at camp so he could pursue his notion of running a boat in Bristol Bay.

Dave negotiated a price with Leroy, but needed the money to buy the boat, so I authorized the Peter Pan office to advance him the funds from his earnings, and suddenly Dave was in the fishing business.

He got a lot of help getting the boat ready from Bumper, who was around the dock because he had quit fishing for Giuseppe on bad terms, but didn’t want to go fishing anymore this season.

For crew Dave took Serena, a gal who was fishing with her Uncle Chris on another boat in camp, and for his permit he arranged an emergency transfer from somebody who was done fishing and going home anyway.

I sold him (at a great deal) some old nets I wanted to get rid of, and for a market, since he wasn’t allowed to fish for Peter Pan Seafoods with that awful wood boat, he fished for Bay Watch Fisheries, who was paying $0.35 for chum salmon, so it was a better deal for him anyway.

In just a few days’ time, Dave had amassed everything he needed to go fishing. It actually took him longer to get out there than it should have, partly because he was a bit nervous about going. He showed the classic signs of dilly-dally and procrastination, including a blowout of a part on his boat, which he says was necessary to usher in good karma.

He finally made it out around Monday, July 21, for some heavy-duty scratch fishing. For Dave, the importance of this year’s fishing was all about giving the boat a trial run to get the feel for it and see what it needs for next year, and not so much about putting in the pounds.

No matter how many fish he caught, Dave was happy with his new boat. It was what he had been talking about, and now he had it. Good going, Dave.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Levelwind Fish

July 12-13, 2008 — The peak had passed, and the 2008 Bristol Bay sockeye salmon run was winding down. Catch limits were gone but not forgotten, and we were fishing longer periods for less fish.

I would sit on the flying bridge and watch my crew guys push the net onto the reel as it was hauled in, human levelwinds in action. Then I thought about the levelwind I had sitting up in the locker, which, after of years in mothballs, I got ready to go for when fishing slowed down. And it looked like fishing had slowed down.

I’ve fished without the levelwind since 2000. During heavy fishing it is nothing but a hassle — it has to be moved out of the way at the end of each set before I can shut the hydraulics off, it creates another snag for the net when we set, and it is always breaking down. It causes more stress than anything, so why bother?

I figured my current crew guys are sharp enough to diminish the negative aspects so they could enjoy the benefit of having the machine ease the burden of directing the net onto the reel. The next slow opening I decided to run up to camp and put the levelwind on.

The wind whipped across Johnson Hill on another day of crappy weather on July 12. Very few fish came across the line for most of the evening flood, so I decided this would be a good time to run up and put the levelwind on. With a little bit of the flood remaining, I ran with the wind and tide up to Nornak camp, making 10 knots all the way.

As I ran I kept an eye on other nets in the water, and noticed there were a few fish hitting 5 miles north of the line, closer to the mouth of the river. I slowed down and va-rumped the motor a few times to signal the guys we were going to set. I thought they would be surprised, but they immediately popped out on deck ready to go. They were more surprised I had decided to run in, and expected I would be making a few sets on the way.

Part of my decision to go in was because it was really blowing, and I was getting tired of beating my brains out running up to the line for no fish. To avoid the weather I ran right up close to the bank in the lee of the offshoreish wind, and set out my net. And waddyaknow — there were a few fish around!

I viewed these as bonus fish since I had already decided to run in, so I just put the towline on the bow and hung on it in the wind, which I guess was blowing about 35 knots at this point. Then I went down and relaxed, instead of towing the end around in the nasty weather; I figured just being here was enough — I didn’t have to kill myself!

The wind did a great job of pushing us offshore back into the swell, and when it got too rough to be comfortable, we picked it up, ran back in, and made another. We were one of the few boats fishing, so there was always a set, and we enjoyed pretty good, easy fishing for a few hours.

When the ebb started pushing out real fast the fishing slowed down, and I jogged with the tide back down to the line and delivered. With the levelwind idea on hold until the wind, and the fishing, slowed down, I fished another opening through the remainder of the blow.

By Saturday evening, July 13, the storm had moved through, and so had the fish. Nobody was catching anything to speak of and I knew this was the time for a run to camp. We traveled in flat-calm seas, and didn’t miss a thing when we put the levelwind on.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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No Problems… Almost!

Saturday, July 5, 2008 — I had an excellent year regarding breakdowns this season. Compared to last year, this was a dream. I would ask for such a record every year, but there was one breakdown that cost me fishing time, and my goal is zero.

It happened on my first set of the morning tide on Saturday, July 5. The fish were starting to come across, and I had run most of the way back up to the Johnson Hill line when my boat started to go its own course, and my steering wheel became really easy to turn. I knew right away some part of my steering system had let loose, so I slowed the engine down and took the boat out of gear.

I stayed at the helm even though I had no control of the boat. As the boat slowed, it headed toward another boat that was in a set. It probably wouldn’t have been a problem, but I didn’t want to freak the guy out by getting right next to him, so I put the boat into reverse. Immediately I heard a loud CLUNK!, so I took it right back out of gear. OOPS — I knew I shouldn’t put the boat in reverse, because my rudder wasn’t attached to the tiller, and when the propeller drew water toward it in reverse, it sucked the rudder into it as well. After that my formerly smooth-running propeller vibrated for the rest of the season.

The damage from that bonehead maneuver could be addressed later, but first I had to fix my steering and get back to fishing. I opened up the hatch to the lazarette and inspected the steering mechanism. The bronze tiller arm had broken from stress, right where it clamps onto the rudderpost.

There was no quick fix for this one because the business end of the tiller arm was now in two pieces. I knew this fishing period was over for me and I would have to run in and get this fixed in the machine shop at Nornak.

I bummed a tow in from Crosby, but I was zigzagging all over the place behind him, stressing my bow cleat, and threatening to snap the tow line, so we bagged that idea, and Crosby went on his way to catch some fish. Now on our own, we switched to using a large crescent wrench as a tiller arm, and Anthony as the human steering ram.

I think he really liked that assignment; it seemed to be a transcending experience between him and the wooden boat he likes to work on — and it worked pretty good, too! I couldn’t run very hard, but we had the tide in our favor, and we made it up to camp in pretty reasonable time.

We had to wake up Ed the machinist early from his night’s sleep to patch the broken tiller arm back together, but he was cool with that, because Ed is a good man — and he does good work, too.

He had us fixed up in a couple of hours, and we headed back out to the fishing grounds with the ebb. I lost the period, but that was it — just one period, and then I was back in action.

Next year I’ll be looking for zero breakdowns.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Bruce on Board

Peak of the Run, 2008 — Along with Madeline came Bruce, the Chaperone. Bruce is a great guy and a really good hand because he is always looking for something to do and does things that really help. But I was a bit concerned about his request to spend a few days on the boat during the peak of the run, because it’s not like there is any extra room on my boat. But that was the arrangement we had for him escorting Madeline up, so that’s what we were going to do.

We were already a crew of four on my little wood boat. Dave had built an extra sleeping berth in the preseason, and I cut away a bit of the cabinetry by the floor so we could even sleep five in a horizontal, fore-aft position when Madeline was on the boat, but Bruce made it SIX on board. Fortunately, he was happy to sleep on the dashboard bunk, which I cannot handle when the boat is rocking side to side, just as it does when we are anchored up on Johnson Hill or anywhere else outside for that matter.

Looking at us all on deck must have been a quite comical. There we were, six people, all living and working on a wooden Bristol Bay gillnetter that was originally built to house only two. Most fishing boats in Alaska — seiners, tenders, and gillnetters alike — had fewer people aboard!

When we hauled the net, there were two guys on either side as it was reeled aboard on the drum, and two people up on the flying bridge watching. It was kind of handy during heavy fishing, but it was pretty boring most of the time up there on the flying bridge, and there was hardly room on deck for me to pick even if I wanted to.

What really amazed me was that although there were six of us aboard, it wasn’t any more crowded than with four. An unspoken systematic order evolved, where we each got our shit together and cleared out of the way, and then the next guy did the same. We were working hard, so all we wanted was to get our deck gear off, eat, get comfortable, and go to sleep. Even Madeline worked with this groove, as she was just there like a fly on the wall.

I usually do most of the cooking, but Bruce likes to cook as well, so he grabbed the helm of the propane stove and whipped up some tasty treats. It was nice to have a variety in the way our only food, fresh sockeye salmon, was cooked. And it was nice for me not to have to worry about cooking it.

What I expected to last just a day or two lasted an entire week, which was the full amount of time Bruce could spend on the boat before he had to catch his plane back home. And after he left, we kind of missed having him around. He cooked, he cleaned the deck automatically, he was there to set and haul the anchor, and aside from all this great stuff, he was just great to have around.

It was really an amazing feat to have us all sardined on that boat for so long, and for us all to be so happy about it. It just goes to show that we had some good ju-ju going on the Sunlight III in 2008.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Madeline the D

All Season — Back in 2002 when the salmon price was really in the toilet (only 20 cents less than it is now!), I bought another permit at a fire-sale price. That permit was in my wife Maureen’s name for a few years, but she had to stay home with our 3-year-old, Lucy, and I wanted to take advantage of the regulation that allows one boat to fish an extra 50 fathoms of gillnet (for a total of 200 fathoms on board) if there are two permit holders on the boat.

So over the winter of 2007-08, Maureen permanently transferred her permit to my 12-year-old daughter, Madeline. This took a bit of doing, including notarized letters from two non-family members verifying she had been fishing with me for the two prior seasons, and a letter from Maureen, Madeline and me all explaining why we want to put the permit into Madeline’s name. The reason was simple: she wanted to go fishing as my D (double) permit holder.

The plan was to bring her along starting at the peak, and going until the end of the season. Since she was coming up midseason, Bruce, the Chaperone, who accompanied her last year at the end of the season, agreed to come up with her again, provided he could come aboard my boat and take in some of the real fishing action (last year’s post-season sampler wasn’t enough for him, I suppose).

When Maddy and Bruce arrived, the run was building at a rapid rate. They hitched a ride from Nornak out to the fishing grounds with another fisherman, and joined us on the Sunlight III midopening. I fished that period with 150 fathoms of net, then grabbed another 50-fathom net I had stashed on a tender. I was skeptical about whether the extra net would actually bring more fish aboard, considering it takes extra time to haul the extra gear, but I found it did catch more provided I was mindful of when to start picking.

Madeline’s job was simply to be on the boat. Aside from that, she could do whatever she wanted. She was only 12 years old, and weighed only 80 pounds, so I didn’t really want her all over the deck. It turns out one of her favorite pastimes was sleeping, and she did it on an odd schedule. When we grogged ourselves up and got ready for the next opening, Madeline jumped into the now-available bunks and started snoozing.

She slept through all the action of the flood, and then got up for the dilly-dally ebb fishing. I was afraid she might think fishing was boring, but she insisted she was having a great time (I think she just liked having complete control over her own time). The problem with this arrangement was she was wide awake during our sleep time on the closures, and she sometimes buzzed around the cabin, driving us bananas.

One time toward the end of the season, the weather was shitty and the fishing was slow. I was sure Madeline was getting tired of all the rolling around so I arranged a play date with the guy on one of the tenders who had his 11-year-old daughter with him. The weather was really nasty, and it was quite a maneuver dropping her off on the tender, which was anchored up on the Johnson Hill line.

After she was safely aboard the tender (along with the extra 50 fathoms of gear, of course), I headed out and made a few sets. It was kind of weird, just dropping her off like a brailer of fish and then leaving to go fishing. I knew the next destination for that tender was King Cove and then off to a different region of Alaska to service some other fishery, and I wondered what would happen if I had some crazy mechanical breakdown or something like that? How would I get Madeline back on my boat? I operated much more cautiously than usual while I was fishing, and picked her up a few hours later, after the weather had calmed.

The whole deal worked out great having Madeline aboard, and we plan on doing it again next year!

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Bristol Bay Recap

June and July 2008 — It was a good year for permafrost in Bristol Bay this year, and the Bering Sea ice pack lingered longer than usual, which brought October-like (in Washington) weather to Naknek all summer.

This cold weather brought late-returning salmon as well. The cold seawater temperatures kept the run at sea a bit longer, which was fine with me because the Claude M Bristol was running late in the completion of its major preseason repairs.

Along with the late start came idle time for the fishermen, who chose to focus their attention on the price of fish, or lack thereof, and what they could do about it. As a show of solidarity, the fishermen of Nornak individually, yet collectively, decided to abstain from fishing during the free week, which ran until 9 a.m. on Sunday, June 22.

There were a couple of news reports about the effort, but nothing really came from it. Lets face it, there were no fish, so it was simply an opportunity for the fishermen to feel like they were actually doing something about the price. But they did show they have the ability to work together if need be.

We finally had our first opening on June 26, which was my brother Frankie’s birthday; he probably had a happy day because there were a few fish around. ADF&G gave us one opening a day through Saturday, June 28, and then we started fishing every tide.

At this point the Kvichak River was behind on its escapement, and the fleet was required by regulation to be put into the Naknek River Special Harvest Area (a.k.a. the River). But this didn’t happen because Slim, the Naknek area biologist, pulled a bold move and kept us fishing outside, betting the fish would show a couple days late, which has been the pattern over the past few years.

Slim’s gamble paid off for him, because in the wee hours of the morning on July 1 the fish started pushing through in a big way. By the morning tide on July 3 just about every buyer in the bay had suspended buying fish from their fleets.

The fishermen were in an uproar. Guys were calling their representatives, the governor, the FTC and probably even the FBI. The fish continued to pour by as the fleet fished with processor-imposed catch limits on July 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8, which was pretty much the whole peak of the run. The limits were usually set around 6,000 or 7,000 pounds per opening, and we caught our limit almost every time.

The smaller buyers like Bay Watch Fisheries really had some harsh limits, if they fished at all. They sat out for all of July 2 and 3, while the rest of the fleet was fishing, and when they did get to fish, their limits were pathetically low — like 3,000 pounds. By July 9 the run had slowed, and the binds of the limits were lifted; but by this time the opportunity to load your boat was pretty much gone as well.

This year the fish didn’t come in over the Johnson Hill line as much as usual, but rather made a strong showing in the upper end of the district by Libbyville, Peterson Point, and the Y. I just stayed at the line and ground away, mostly because I hate driving all over hell on my slow boat, and plus Johnson Hill always pays the bills, so why mess with what works? But the fact remains that there were some really good shots of fish taken out of the northern part of the district while I was down scratching away at the line.

On July 14 they started opening the Kvichak district as well. Again, I pretty much stayed at the line, but having the larger area open made the line less crowded. On July 17 they opened up the entire district for fishing 24 hours a day. Of course there were hardly any fish around by then. Fishing got too slow for me shortly after, and I made my last delivery on July 19.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Claude M Bristol Repairs

April 15 to July 26, 2008 — My other Bristol Bay boat, the Claude M Bristol, underwent more repairs this season than I care to recall. During the 2007 season the keel was damaged, so I contracted Mike Holmes with Commercial Marine Service to do the job.

The engine had to come out of the boat so the keel could be glassed on the inside as well as the outside. While the engine was out, I figured it would be a good time to have a couple of liners replaced on the engine, since they were showing signs of wear, so I contracted someone to do the engine work.

Mike took the engine out in April and his ace glass man, Lynn, went to work on the keel as soon as the weather warmed. He ground down to fresh glass, which took a lot of grinding; in fact, the whole bottom of the keel was removed. Then he went into glassing, and glassed layer upon layer, inside and out, doing it right, until it was done. That boat’s keel is now 2 inches thick on the bottom. And Lynn had the whole job finished before Mike V and I arrived to work on the Sunlight III.

While that was going on, the engine sat around waiting for the contracted guy, who finally laid eyes on it around May 1. His diagnosis was that it needed a whole new set of liners, and the turbo was shot, and the heads were cracked, and so forth. It would have been cheaper if I just had the whole thing rebuilt, or just bought a new engine. In fact the remanufactured Cummins I put in the Sunlight III was cheaper than the repair bill on this engine.

I couldn’t believe how long it took those guys to finish that engine. First, the parts were delayed. Then some parts weren’t included in the kit; then those were delayed. Then, in the middle of the final assembly, he had to run off to Dillingham for some reason. When we heard he was back in town we drove around until we found him giving another boat a test run — and he was pissed that we were tracking him! He promised it would be done soon, and about a week later he finally delivered it, on June 10.

All the while the Claude M Bristol remained ripped apart at the Naknek Yacht Club with a bunch of people waiting for the engine — Mike Holmes to install it, Shoreline Electric to do some wiring, Josh the welder to weld the stack back in place, and Crosby and Simon so they could convert it from a job site into a fishing boat. When it finally arrived it was in the boat that afternoon, and all hooked up and ready to go the next day. THAT is fast service.

While all this was going on, especially while we were waiting for the engine, I was working on the Sunlight III, and Crosby and Simon were working on the Claude M Bristol, attacking a long list of projects on a boat with no engine, no floor, and a hole cut in the ceiling that an engine had to pass through before it could be sealed up again.

After the engine finally arrived I could afford more time to help, but it was Crosby and Simon who led the charge. Crosby’s other crew guy, the Cat Killer, was also helping out, but he was more interested in killing something than doing boat work (he did great on deck… when there were living fish that were soon to die — I never left this guy unattended around my daughter).

It was a long road bringing the Claude M Bristol up to fishable condition prior to the 2008 season, but it finally happened. The boat splashed down on Monday, June 23, and was ready for the first opening on Thursday.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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