Getting Ready for the Opener

Late night, August 8-9, 2006 — When I brought the boat back to Friday Harbor on San Juan Island, Wash., I was on a tight schedule. An opening was announced for the next day, and if I wanted to make it I would have pull an all-nighter and leave with hopefully enough time to take a nap in Griffin Bay.

I worked in family time during the day, and decided to leave the majority of the boat chores to the evening and late night. I decided when I bought the Satisfaction that it wasn’t going to take priority over my wife and kids. Even so, part of the family time was having my pre-teen girls help me load my net. In addition, I had to take ice that afternoon, and get groceries before the store closed at 6 p.m. (things close early on San Juan Island).

With the family winding down for the evening, I headed down to the boat with a truck full of gear — jacklights, buoys, ice chests, clothes, mattresses, etc. But before I could even start loading the gear, I had a list of small boat projects I needed to complete in order to keep things operating smoothly on the Satisfaction. Those small projects always take longer than one can imagine, and by the time I was done it was after 2 a.m.

With the projects complete, it was time to load the gear and supplies onto the boat, which was tied near the bottom of the main ramp at the Port of Friday Harbor. I parked my truck at the top of the ramp on the main pier and proceeded to make about 20 trips up and down the dock loading stuff onto the boat. As I put it all away, I discovered more projects to complete in order to start with a trouble-free, ship-shape fishing vessel. Again, time slipped away as I organized my boat, and by the time I was finished, it was near 3:30 a.m.

With everything all loaded and my boat ship-shape for the opener, I was ready to go fishing. I ran double-checks through my frazzled brain as I paced back and forth on the float next to my boat; the only thing remaining for me to do was leave. So at just before 4 a.m., I let loose the lines and headed out for fishing.

I managed to grab a couple hours’ sleep in Griffin Bay, then tooled around Goose Island in Cattle Pass, around Cattle Point, and I was on the fishing grounds. I set about a mile off the southern shore of San Juan Island between The Trap and Eagle Point, and breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a long journey getting this net set out into the water.

As I sat contemplating my toil, my cell phone rang. It was my wife, Maureen. She was asking me an interesting assortment of questions, prodding at my late night preparations in getting ready to go. I couldn’t figure out what she was after, until she asked, “Are you sure you didn’t forget anything… like your truck?”

My truck? How could I for get my truck? “Whad’ya mean, my truck?” I asked.

“You forgot to park your truck. You left it at the end of the dock with the door wide open and your keys in the ignition. Patrick [our neighbor] saw it there at 6 this morning and parked it for you up by the courthouse.”

OOPS.

I had done something like this once before when I was fishing in Everett. I left my old fishmobile car in the fire lane, and there was nobody there that knew me, so nobody noticed it and parked it for me. It got towed away. The tow truck driver said he was so embarrassed towing my Sockeye Special car that he took side streets all the way to his yard.

I guess in both instances I was so focused on preparing my boat and going fishing, I forgot I had things to think about on land.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Addicted to Fishing

Early August 2006 — I swore I wasn’t going to fish the Salmon Banks off of San Juan Island, Wash., this summer.

I had way too much stuff to do in my life that wasn’t related to fishing, and I know that if things really need to get done shoreside, sometimes a fishery might have to be skipped altogether. My plan would enable me to get way ahead of a ton of projects I had been neglecting, but there was one aspect I did not factor into the equation: I am addicted to fishing.

I was back for less than a week before I determined the most important thing for me to do with my time was to dash off to La Conner, Wash., and get my Puget Sound gillnetter, the Satisfaction, ready to go fishing.

I drove my truck over to La Conner, and I didn’t even leave a way to get it back to San Juan Island. I went right to work on the out-of-the-water projects. I installed a new transducer for the upstairs depth sounder, changed the zincs, and touched up the bottom paint.

To keep my bunk dry I changed out my leaky porthole so I wouldn’t have to live with a wet sleeping bag all season long again. To keep the bilge dry, I installed a new float switch in the engine room bilge.

It took just a day to get her seaworthy and in the water, heading back to Friday Harbor. Of course the boat was still in disarray, and I figured all the smaller, non-essential projects could be fit in any time I have a spare second when I’m on the boat.

With all my traveling back and forth, leaving my truck in La Conner, getting the net loaded onto the boat, and taking extra time to get her ship-shape, I had devoted a solid three days to the get-the-boat-ready project. Right away there was an opening, which was the reason I was doing all this nonsense, and that slurped up a couple more days.

Before I knew it, a week had vaporized. This would normally be just fine, but I was supposed to be starting work on the addition to our house, and my office was so backed up on paperwork it wasn’t even funny. People were calling me asking where I was and what had happened to me, befuddled at my disappearance and my neglect for the commitments I had made.

And these relatively unimportant people in my life were the least of my concerns; I had also neglected my wife in the same manner. She deserves better, I know. She understands what fishing is about, and I believe she understands better than I, my addiction to fishing.

So with the notion of taking the summer off, I was once again geared up and ready to embark on another gillnet season in the sunny San Juan Islands.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Season Summary

June and July 2006 — I arrived Naknek on May 24, 2006. I had way more stuff than I wanted to do, with the installation of the refrigeration unit on the Claude M. Bristol and also an extensive hatch/fiberglass project on my boat as well.

It was an overtaxing preseason, but we managed to have the boats in the water and ready to go fishing Wednesday, June 14, in order to make the Thursday 9 a.m. opening in Egegik. The following week we fished the 48 hours of scheduled fishing in Ugashik, which was basically 12 hours of fishing each day, starting Monday, June 17.

I spent those early openings running drills with my entirely new crew, consisting of Conor, a longtime friend of Crosby’s, who fulfilled the Maine requisite on the SLIII; John, who is the guy who leases my Puget Sound crab permit; and Edward Albert, the man with two first names, who called me via a reference from one of my Santa Barbara friends.

My wife, Maureen, became an advocate of his hiring because of his disadvantaged upbringing and his need of a leg up in life. All three of these guys turned out to be great hands, although they lacked the speed on this first season, which would come with time.

Crosby spent the early time in Egegik running drills as well, along with other antics, such as searching the mudflats for his bow thruster propeller, which spun off because the nuts weren’t tightened enough to hold it on. In Ugashik he spent the majority of one opening anchored up because his battery was dead. This was the beginning of a chronic alternator problem that would lead to a small engine fire, and much lost fishing time later in the season.

Upon our arrival back in Naknek after the preseason fishing, we welcomed aboard the PSG film crews, who were shooting a documentary about the Bristol Bay fishery for the National Geographic Channel. They came out with us during several openings of fishing in the Naknek River Special Harvest Area.

Fishing was slow all over the place; the run was late. The fish were still trickling in on the second of July. Nobody was really panicked, because the runs have been coming in late all over Alaska. And that is what happened in Bristol Bay as well, and finally the fish started showing up in big numbers. The fleet was moved out into the Naknek and Kvichak districts later in the season, and the fish kept coming. In fact, they kept coming all the way through the end of July.

Crosby had no end of problems with the Claude M. Bristol during the season. The alternator caught fire; the high-tech hydraulic pump kept blowing hoses; the U-joint drive shaft to that pump spun out of round, and then the pulley to which it was mounted on the engine spun out as well; he blew hydraulic lines on the antiquated deck system; he got the web in the wheel a couple times; he got the bow line wrapped up in the bow thruster; and he had a hell of a time keeping the engine room pumped out because the float switch didn’t work on the bilge pump.

There was more than that which burdened his season, but those were the highlights. But through it all, he kept up a good attitude, and he managed to land a respectable season despite all his in-season disasters.

While we were fishing outside in the Naknek side, catching good fish in some really shitty weather, I found it a slick trick to deliver to the Stellar Sea, Peter Pan Seafoods’ floating processing vessel; I actually delivered to whatever tender was offloading its fish at the time.

Although the wind was a really shitty southerly of 25 to 30 knots with the waves stacking up absurdly high against the outgoing 2-knot current, the Stellar Sea, and the tramper to which it was tied, and the delivering tender, all swung sideways in the wind with the Stellar and the tender on the leeward side.

This made an ideal delivering condition, with a relatively flat-calm oasis alongside the tender. I even figured out a way to tie off to the leeward stern of the Stellar so I could tend to damaged nets or even take a nap. The Stellar oasis was definitely a cool trick.

The end of the season was kind of a dud for us during this season when so many fish arrived late. I had the best of intentions when I scheduled, even before the season began, to bring the wife and kids up at the end of the season to check out the fishery. Well, dad had a tough time just turning off his fishing switch when there are still fish being caught.

To make a long story short, the family adventure didn’t turn out as I had hoped. It had its good parts, for sure, but my inability to focus on my family rather than the fishing I was not partaking in really fouled this family holiday retreat in Bristol Bay.

The lifesaver of the family vacation was the trip to Brooks Lodge to see the bears chomp down on salmon, and the trip we took to Seward to check out the town that I frequent when I am longlining. That was good, fun family time that helped make up for the distorted family misadventure in Bristol Bay.

All in all it was a good season, full of much adventure and angst, and definitely one to remember.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Distractions and Actions

June and July 2006 — For the most part the National Geographic Channel film crew wasn’t a problem having aboard the boat. They did distract Crosby one time on an ebb set, and he actually wound up drifting over the line (Crosby thought). This was when, in the show, Crosby was saying “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” no less than 20 times in succession.

The only instance their presence was somewhat stressful to me was when they needed to get off the boat in a hurry to catch a ride to shore with somebody, so it put a halt to my program for a few minutes. This kind of spun me out, so I went down and hurried along the guy with the sound bag.

I stuffed his last bundles of wires into the bag, zipped it up, hauled it out on deck, and did a 6-foot over-the-water toss to the guys already on the commuter boat. I think everybody about shit themselves when that bag of vital (and I’m sure expensive) gear went flying through the air over the water, but I had eye contact with the receiver and I knew it would be caught safely.

They really captured some good footage when they were out with me. Within the first few minutes of filming, I smashed into a boat. It was just a love tap, and nobody was pissed, but nonetheless it was reason enough for that high-tech camera to come poking in my face with the standard set of “What just happened?” questions.

Not long after that, my crewman John fell overboard. I had him up on the bow messing with a setnet buoy, trying to drag it around the bow so it was clear of the boat. Well, those buoys have a chain on them so they are heavy, and this one drug him over when he wasn’t paying close attention.

The footage was priceless, but John didn’t like the aspect of his falling overboard being broadcast across the nation where his friends and colleagues could ridicule him, so he told the PSG guys to not show the footage. The result was its use in just a promo clip, but not in the show, so it had viewers wondering what happened to the guy they saw falling overboard, and why didn’t they get to see more?

Another great bit of footage was when Crosby got a bunch of web in the wheel, and I towed him off the beach, then up to the anchorage where he spent the next two hours cutting it out. The funny part about this was that the camera crew was initially on my boat, so they had me wired up with the microphone.

After Crosby’s net-in-the-wheel incident, they wanted to stay aboard his boat and film the saga of the removal, so they jumped aboard the Claude M. Bristol. Well, they left me wired up with the microphone, so the notion of having that little man on my shoulder was really present, because although there were no film guys around me to indicate somebody was listening, I knew for certain that there actually WAS somebody listening, and it was PSG Brian, who was over there on Crosby’s boat. I couldn’t shut up during that experiment, much, I’m sure, to the transcriber’s dilemma.

By far the most exciting part of being involved with the film crew was when they had the helicopter out to get some aerial footage. It was about an hour after slack water, and fishing was slow, but fortunately for the show, this big shot of fish came squirting buy on the north beach.

Me and Crosby were right in the middle of the action, picking up a couple of great sets. It was absolutely insane trying to haul the net with that helicopter whirling overhead. That whirly-bird is LOUD, and it makes this crazy wind that comes right down from the sky! It was hilarious, and a load of fun, hauling that net aboard with that chopper whacking away above us. What a gas.

After the fleet was moved outside the river into the Naknek and Kvichak districts, the film crew never came out with me, but they did come out with Crosby once more. Our final interaction with them came on the Stellar Sea, Peter Pan Seafoods’ floating processor, when they did the exit interview for the season.

The end result was a highly entertaining, even educational (which should be the case coming from National Geographic) program all about me, Crosby and Bristol Bay fishing. There was a third fisherman, Syd, but he was separate from our dynamic in the show, and they did a portion on the fish cops.

The show had mixed reviews from the people in the fishing industry. It seems the majority thought it showed too small of a segment of the fishing styles in Bristol Bay. Boo-hoo, I say. The show was a fascinating little bit, and it captured the attention of anyone who laid eyes on it. The American public most assuredly will be asking for more. And if it works out, I’ll be happy to give it to them.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Hollywood Head Trips

June and July, 2006 — Probably no one would believe me if I told them I was trying to do something like this on my own in the first place, but when the National Geographic Channel film crew showed up to film a documentary about the 2006 Bristol Bay season, I figured they came upon my order, so I tracked them down, introduced myself, and welcomed them into my world.

The season had already begun when they showed up; Crosby and I were back from the free week shakedown in Egegik, and were waiting for the first Emergency Order opening in the Naknek River Special Harvest Area. PSG Films, a Seattle production company, was just handed this project from the National Geographic Channel only a couple weeks earlier.

National Geographic gave them a budget, and they went to work producing a show. Before that they had never heard of a place called Naknek. In their research about the fishery before they arrived, they contacted Peter Pan Seafoods, who invited them to stay at their “Nornak” facility, which is where I call home in Bristol Bay. They put them up in the Italian bunkhouse, which is where I tracked them down.

I offered them myself and my own unique style of fishing, AND my colleague Crosby LeVeen, five-year veteran deckhand turned first-year rookie skipper aboard the newly rebirthed Claude M. Bristol, as we fished the highly competitive and close-quartered fishery of the Naknek River Special Harvest Area. Brian and his partner, Dan, the owners and producers of PSG Films, couldn’t pass it up.

The first time they were aboard my boat was an interesting experience for me. First off, they mounted one of their cheap throw-away cameras (price tag around $5,000) right on my flying bridge windshield, staring me square in the face. This really didn’t bother me too much, because I am so used to making a spectacle of myself, I figure everyone is watching me anyway, AND I knew only an incredibly small fraction of that footage would be used, so I just pretended the thing wasn’t there.

The thing that did throw me off was immediately after anything significant happened, like if I bumped another boat, or if I had some verbal interaction with another fisherman, all of a sudden they would poke their big, fancy, super HD handheld camera (price tag $115,000) right in my face and start asking questions.

That never happens when I’m fishing, so it took a little getting used to, and a bit of discipline on my part to wait until I was certain I could spare the mental capacity away from fishing in order to answer their questions.

The real head trip for me was being wired with the microphone. It was a cordless unit that I wore on my hip, but it still had a wire running up my shirt that clipped onto the inside of my sweat jacket. The mechanics about the microphone was not the issue, but when I wore that thing they could hear everything I said, whether they were filming or not, even up to a mile away. I viewed it as having a little man on my shoulder — someone to talk to even when there was nobody there.

And talk I did. I would actually verbalize those crazy thoughts that get drummed up through the monotony of the long days of fishing and isolation from regular interaction aside from my barking orders. A crazed thought would pop into my head, and I would fire it off to Brian, or whoever may be listening.

What was really hilarious for me to learn was that when the season was over and all their footage was stored on video and audio digital recordings, the PSG production staff had to turn the 400 hours of footage into 45 minutes of airtime.

Somebody had to transcribe every last mumble, song, obscenity, or random declaration of wisdom or nonsense that spewed from my lips. Unbelievable. I didn’t know if I should feel embarrassed for myself or sorry for the person who had to listen to all of my gibberish, and then type those words into forever recorded transcribed text. YIKES!

TO BE CONTINUED…