LaConner Bound

December 26, 2005 — I woke up in the bunk of the Satisfaction on the morning of Monday, December 26. My plan for the day was to complete a few minor boat projects, buy supplies to winterize my boat, and then run her up to LaConner where she would spend the winter hauled out on the beach. It was after 2 p.m. by the time I had left Fishermen’s Terminal. The run up was really nice; I had a gentle breeze on the stern, and I had the current in my favor.

I run the Satisfaction easy on the throttle, so she takes her time in getting places. I ran steady, stopping only in Edmonds to top off the fuel tanks, and wound up approaching the entrance to the jetty heading into the LaConner slough at around 7 p.m. It was a dark, dark night with no moon, a gentle but consistent breeze from the south, and low water slack on a minus tide. It looked to be a challenging leg of this journey.

I had been steering all day from inside the cabin, where the only operable depth sounder was located. I had my GPS/plotter hooked up downstairs, and although I could plug my other GPS/plotter in upstairs on the flying bridge, I had neglected to do that on the run up. My spotlight was somewhere in the cabin; I wasn’t exactly sure where. I had been on a holiday cruise, and when it came time to be on point for the tricky transit through the entrance of the slough, I was no where near prepared.

The prudent mariner would have taken a moment to prepare the flying bridge, which commands the best outlook of the surrounding conditions. But I suppose I’m not the most prudent mariner, or it could be I had the confidence of traveling through this slough many times in the past.
I knew, for example, that on a minus tide a row or rocks would show themselves on the northern edge of the channel, creating a sharp contrast, even in the pitch darkness, where the edge of the channel meets the mudflats. I knew the jetty on the southern side would be totally exposed, which would be an easy guide to follow. And I knew the log rafts and pilings up ahead on the southern shore mark the boundary of the southern side further up the channel. Above all, my most effective tool was my excellent night vision; I feel I can see so well at night I think I may possibly be gifted with echolocation.

I climbed up onto the flying bridge, me and my echolocation. I lined up the range, kept the jetty on my starboard and headed into the channel. It was dark, to say the least, but the faint glow of distant cities reflected off the overcast night sky gave enough light for me to see. I could see the rocks on the edge of the mudflats to the north, and the brutal rock pile of the jetty could not be missed. I could see the lines of the tiderips in the water as the slack current shifted on the minus low tide. My senses were keen to everything around me: seagulls on the shoreline, sticks in the water, trees on the shore. It’s just as well I didn’t have a sounder or a plotter — they would have been too distracting for me at the time.

The channel seemed to darken as I approached the corner by the cliff with the big fancy house atop, but I was aided by a green navigation light on the shore. I swung the corner and saw the red and green nav lights marking points ahead, and I saw directly the lights and the glow of the houses lining the slough. It was easy sailing from here, all the way up to Maritime Ed’s yard. I had to search out his yard, as I wasn’t sure where I was going, but I finally found it and tied up to the staging float aligned with the travel-lift dock.

My journey complete, I tended to the post season wrap-up of the engine with an oil change and adding antifreeze to the coolant. It had been a hair-raising final leg through the entrance channel, so I unwound with a shot of whiskey as I worked on the engine. The Satisfaction had made its final voyage of the 2005 season.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Merry Christmas

December 25, 2005 — The Satisfaction slipped into a time capsule after the 2005 Puget Sound fall chum salmon season ended. I came back and checked it a few times, but for the next six weeks everything pretty much stayed as it was at the end of the season: My rag net was piled and stretched out in the net yard, my new net from Bruno was still on the drum, the cabin looked like I had just finished an opener, and my bilge pump in the engine compartment was still on the fritz. The pump worked fine, but the brand new Rule Super-Switch didn’t always turn off, so it would run the battery dry then would pump no more (just a minor problem).

I tarped off the hatch so the heavy winter rains wouldn’t leak through the non-watertight hatch covers and flow from the hatch into the engine compartment. This worked very well, as each time I popped in to check the boat, there was just a tiny bit of water that accumulated in the bilge from the rain. But in mid-December when I pulled off Bruno’s net and brought it home, I needed a tarp for the bed of my truck, so I took the one that was covering the hatch cover, leaving my boat susceptible to the winter rains. I called and checked a couple of times, concerned with my boat and its faulty bilge pump, and each time everything checked out just fine. I kept canceling my planned trips to Seattle, so I never had a chance to re-tarp the hatch to keep the rains out.

Over the Christmas holiday it rained and rained and rained. Because of all the distractions around our house, I never had a chance to call and check on the boat. Finally, at the end of the evening on Christmas Day, I made the call.

I talked to the security guard on shift at the terminal, and asked him what the boot-stripe looked like at the waterline in the bow of the boat. Judging by his detailed description, I knew there was a lot of water in the engine compartment of my boat, which brought the bow down. I knew there was so much in there, in fact, that the boat had to be pumped out now, or it would be up to the engine next time it rained, which could be that very night.

I asked the security guard if he could step aboard and switch over to a fresh battery, which would pump the boat out. He said he was not allowed to go onto the boats under any circumstances, unless it was sunken. That didn’t do me much good, so I called around to a few people who were near my boat, but nobody was home. It was quite a lot to ask of somebody on Christmas Day evening, and I was really hesitant to even call, but I was trapped on the island and it was all I could do without heading down there myself. But since I found nobody to assist me, I packed up a few things and shot off the island on the last ferry that night.

We were planning to go off island the day after next anyway, so I was only leaving a day earlier than planned. I figured I could take advantage of this opportunity to run the boat up to LaConner and haul it out of the water, where I knew it couldn’t sink. Then Maureen and the kids could pick me up in LaConner and we would be right back with our holiday plans.

I got off the ferry and bee-lined down to the terminal, arriving around 11:30 p.m. on Sunday, December 25. I examined the waterline as I walked toward the boat, and the bow was WAY down. There was a lot of water in there, and I was kind of afraid to look. But I had to, and when I lifted the floorboard I saw the water was just a few inches below my hydraulic pump. Then I stuck my head right down there and looked under the engine; the oil pan was partially submerged in water, but the starter was still clear of the water level with one inch to spare.

That was a really close call. One more good shower and I would have been changing the starter. I reached up and flipped the battery switch, and the pump began to pump out the water. It pumped for close to an hour before all the water was out. That was all the security guard had to do, was flip that battery switch. But oh, well; it’s just as well I came, so I could put my boat away properly and not have to worry about it sinking at the dock.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Bruno’s Net

November 13-17, 2005 — The end of the season was fast approaching and I still didn’t have a net I was satisfied with. I kept sending out feelers for a net, and over the girls’ fish-selling weekend I contacted Bruno, a longtime fisherman friend of mine from Tacoma, who agreed to sell me his old fall net.

The net was exactly what I was after: 180 meshes deep, a full 300 fathoms long with sections of multi-strand and sections of mono, with no antiquated Super-Crystal. And I knew his net would do me right because of all the positive energy it held from being built and maintained by such a good-karma guy as Bruno.

My plan was to leave for fishing on the last ferry on Tuesday, November 15, and make a few sets starting early the next morning off of Skiff Point. I would still be close to the terminal, so I could run the boat back in, zip down to Tacoma, and grab the net from Bruno. From there I would slip over to Johnny’s Seafood and grab some ice and fish bags, then zip back up to the terminal, load the net onto my boat, and then fish Wednesday night to Thursday morning. The best part of my plan was that Tuesday was my birthday, so I was guaranteed to catch a few.

I caught the late ferry off of the island because the whole family went out to dinner in celebration of my birthday. It was a lot of fun and worth missing the big set to spend that time with my family. I made it out onto the fishing grounds by 3 a.m. on Wednesday, November 16, which was perfect timing to make a few early morning sets. The big anticipation was the coinciding timing of the slack water and the morning change of light; I was certain to load up on this one.

My first set, which I made when the tide was still pushing in, was a skunk. This didn’t faze me — it was pitch black so my net may have been somewhat visible from the phosphorescent “fire” in the water, plus the fish were spotty. The current was barely creeping in and my net was lying perfectly during my second set, and I picked up a little sooner than I normally would have because I wanted to give myself time to pick the fish and still be in position to set for the slack water/change-of-light set. I couldn’t believe it when I picked up another skunk.

A SKUNK! Once again, as I had many times before during this season, I blamed the poor fishing on my net, even with the two new pieces in it I fished for the first time last week. Thank God I was just hours away from getting a new one! My third set was perfect: right off the point, high-water slack, all through the entire change-of-light periodÉ and once again, unbelievably, I got ANOTHER SKUNK! Three skunks in a row, with perfect conditions! And I’m hearing guys on the radio catching 30s and 40s. Shit. I had enough of this crap. And I could just hear myself telling my old pal Bruno, “Sorry, I cannot give you any fish to thank you for the great deal on my net because I DIDN’T CATCH ANY! How embarrassing! And what a CRAPPY birthday present from the FISH GODS!

Empty handed, I high-tailed it to the locks, full speed. I didn’t slow down until I was approaching the locks, and when I did I noticed the boat was handling sort of sluggish. I looked back behind me and saw that I was dragging about 20 fathoms of net behind me! I must have forgotten to bring my buoy-ball in, and the drag from when I was running pulled it off the drum until the net back-lashed and stopped it from setting (good thing it did!).

After I retrieved my net, I shot up to the terminal and backed into the net-loading spot at the net yard. I was ahead of schedule so I pulled the net off, cursing it all the while. That task completed, I zipped down to Tacoma to lay eyes on my new net. I apologized to Bruno for my inability to catch him any fish and told him how excited I was to fish his net because I knew it would catch fish.

I made tracks back up to the terminal and wasted no time loading my new net onto the Satisfaction. I was running out of time to make the start of the opening, so I scooted down the channel to the locks, waited patiently for my passage through, then bumped up the throttle as I ran out of the channel by Shilshoal Marina and onto the fishing grounds.

I had decided I was done with searching out the perfect set. I was just going to run to the nearest practical set, which was just north of Shilshoal Marina at Meadow Point. I ran that direction until the clock said it was time to set, found my position, and slapped it out with the boat hanging downwind.

The result of this evening’s fishing was the complete opposite of what I had experienced for most of the season. I had 40 fish my first set while everyone around me had 20. Next I had 30 fish while everyone had 15. Set number three brought me 15 fish when everybody else was in single digits. I didn’t run anywhere; I just picked it up and slapped it out again in the same spot. Guys ran over by me to set, which was fine with me, because I knew it was my net rather than my location that was catching all these fish. My final set was for 30 fish, which ended one of my most productive, and certainly the most effortless nights of fishing all season.

This was also the last night of the season, which I didn’t know at the time, because the state decided after that week’s fishing that the season would end. It was a pretty frustrating season, but it ended on a great note, and I had something to look forward to next season: catching lots of fish with Bruno’s old net.

TO BE CONTINUED …

The Marinkovich Junior Fishmongers

November 9-12, 2005 — On the evening of Wednesday, November 9, as I drove home from Everett with a fully iced load of 110 freshly caught Puget Sound chum salmon, my wife, Maureen, called me with a lead on the car of her dreams. She had found a 1980 Mercedes turbo diesel wagon in Bellingham and wanted me to check it out. I called and determined the only way I could do it was to fly over to Bellingham on the commuter plane on Saturday, November 12, but this was the day I had planned on selling fish at the soccer game at the elementary school.

After a day of thought and research, we decided to send me on the car-buying mission, and Maureen and our daughters, Madeline and Sophia, 10 and 8, would sell the fish. I told them I would cut them in on a standard sales commission of 15 percent, which they would split, for an even take of 7.5 percent each. Maureen’s concern fell with Lucy, our baby of nine months, and who would help her take care of her while the fish were being sold. The girls both promised to be good baby helpers and good fish-sellers, and the deal was decided.

On Saturday morning, I loaded up my truck with bags, rags, the required hand-wash station, and my 4’ x 3’ “Top Quality FRESH SALMON” sign, and drove with them to the school to set up before the soccer games started at 10 a.m. There were already many soccer enthusiasts when we arrived, and the girls landed a few customers in the short time I was there before I had to head off to the airport to fly away for the day.

Maureen kept me posted on the day’s progress. Sales were brisk at the school; they had sold about 60 fish before they had to mobilize to their swimming lesson. Maureen planned on waiting inside the gym and chatting with friends while the girls were at swimming, but she never had a chance to go in because people who had heard there were fish for sale at the soccer game sought her out and started buying fish from where she was parked in front of the health club. She had steady customers the whole time the girls were in swimming, and she never even set the sign up; it was partially visible the way it was stuck in the side of the bed, and the big gray fish tote in the back was a dead giveaway that fish were near.

She sold around 20 fish while the girls were in swimming, plus Jack, the guy with whom we trade fish for wood, stopped by and took about 20 fish, which just about finished us off. The rest disappeared over the next couple of days to friends, neighbors and stragglers, and also to our own dinner plates, because we like to eat those tasty dogs, too!

And as for the car; we bought the thing, but it turned out to be one huge repair bill after another. I sort of regret buying the car, but am very glad I made the trip so the girls could cut their teeth as fishmongers on San Juan Island.

TO BE CONTINUED…