NORTH TO ALASKA / PART 4

The entire process was repeated. The day’s last drag resulted in finally stowing all fish below decks well after dark. Since everyone on the boat was far more experienced and skillful at performing the necessary tasks to be done at this time and, I suspect, as another dose of the greenhorn process, it fell upon me to prepare dinner. I rummaged through the refrigerator, looking for something that would be easy to prepare and serve while drifting in 30 knot winds. I came across packages marked “elk.” In the summer months in this area, fishermen hunt between fishing seasons to stock their freezers for the winter. I decided spaghetti with elk meat would be the entree du jour.

Stove tops on boats have adjustable arms that can be arranged to keep pots and pans from rolling off the stove. I arranged the arms to secure a pot for boiling water to cook the spaghetti, a pan for browning the elk meat, another to warm the sauce and voila, Spaghetti ala Kodiak. Told of this later, my wife, who says a three minute egg is more of a mental challenge than I can handle, was incredulous. Nevertheless, the crew showered me with praise. I am sure, it dawned on me later, their motivation was to ensure my continuing as chief cook for the duration of the trip.

As is often the case when fishermen are gathered around a galley table for dinner, there are fish stories told. In this case three of the four gathered were telling tales foreign to all but those who have fished the Arctic regions of the world. It is with good reason that crab fishing in the Bering Sea is considered the most dangerous occupation in the world. The hauling of miles of pots, whirling gears and winches and coiled rope everywhere are disasters waiting to happen. The type of fishing we were doing ranks right up there due to the enormous strain exerted on every inch of the boat as it drags staggering weight through the water. A full net can hold 40 to 50 tons of fish.

Trying to make a living while encountering extreme cold, monstrous seas, high winds and water so cold it will take a man’s life in minutes if he is unfortunate enough to fall overboard at sea, can be deadly, especially when the greed factor is added. More than a few boats have been lost at sea because they ignored warnings of impending severe weather to maximize a streak of good fishing. It can be lucrative but the risks are great. Story-telling wound down and I thought it might be a good time to hit the sack. Wrong! The fish must be iced down.

The ice is stored in bins that run down the middle of the boat from the engine room to the stern. The only way to get to these bins is to drop down through the hatches into the fish bins. This being our first day of fishing, the holds were not completely full, but full enough that we sank in fish up to our chest. Then we worked our way through the fish over to the side boards separating fish and ice, climbed over the boards and down into the ice. The only light was what little filtered down from the deck lights through the hatches. Having just come from the bright galley we had to wait for several minutes as our eyes adjusted to almost total darkness.

The ice, which had come aboard through hoses as shaved ice, was now frozen into a mass. Thus, before we could begin shoveling, we had to break it up by beating on it with shovels. Once broken up Jimmy and I began shoveling it into the fish bins where Ray spread it evenly on top of the fish. With tons of fish being put to bed for the night I hosed off my slickers and boots, staggered to my bunk and fell asleep before hitting the pillow. Naturally, since I made my trip, Jim has refrigerated the holds on the Collier Brothers, thereby eliminating the need to manually ice down the fish.

Three hours later we were on deck again before dawn. It was impossible to see the sun rise. In fact, it was impossible to distinguish any horizon at all. Sea and sky blended into one sheet of gray. The wind, up to 35 knots now, was biting cold. Our gear was in the water and another drag was underway when daylight engulfed us.

Sophisticated electronic gear allows you to return to the exact spot you were fishing the day before, even though you may have drifted many miles during the night. We repeated the same drag, haul back, bleed, shovel, cycle of the day before. The only difference being my fatigue factor and growing realization that this indeed was a young mans game.