NORTH TO ALASKA / PART 6

The mood was good that afternoon as Jim contemplated making one more drag before heading back to Kodiak. We had topped off the holds but, with the sub-freezing temperatures, we could accommodate more fish on deck long enough to reach the fish plant by morning. The wind was approaching 40 knots now, which is getting marginal for this type of fishing. Greed is not good.

Jim had been keeping an eye on the barometer and noticed it falling rapidly. He decided a few more fish were not worth the risk. He set a course for Kodiak, some 90miles away as we iced the last of the fish and hosed down the decks. He had made a wise decision. The wind, coming over the top of Kodiak Island and blowing out into the Gulf of Alaska, reached a steady 60 knots. The ocean seemed a mass of white water as the waves became very steep with little distance between them. I learned why the high bow and the small, thick windows.

I witnessed something I had heard about but found impossible to believe. When the bow buries itself into a wave the water that comes over the bow and engulfs the boat is called “green water”, as opposed to spray. In other words, it is a solid wall of water. The combination of 60 knot winds and 10 degrees temperature would flash freeze the water to ice before it could run off the windows. Heavy duty windshield wipers fought hard to provide some visibility.

The course back to Kodiak led us almost directly into the wind. Oncoming waves hit us just to the port side of the bow. The onset of darkness created a very spooky feeling as you could not see the monstrous waves coming. Even with the steady onslaught there was always the thought that there was a real brute lurking out there. The only warning we had was when the bow began to rise, at which time Jim would pull the throttle back to slow the climb. The unknown was how high it was going to rise and how steep the drop on the other side. The larger waves would leave a good portion of the Collier Brothers suspended in mid-air for what seemed like an eternity before crashing downward and burying itself in the next wave. Every inch of the boat would shudder with the impact and then shake as it fought to lift, not only its own weight, but that of tons of sea water. It was a time when you thank God for every rivet and weld in the 90 feet of steel hull.

I put on my slickers and walked out on deck to take it all in. Because we were now loaded with 100 tons of fish, the boat was riding very low in the water. As a result the deck was awash. I held tightly to a stair railing as sloshing water made footing unstable. It was an eerie scene. It was at one magnificent and terrifying. The high winds had blown all cloud cover away. I looked up to see an explosion of stars. The combination of clear skies, northern latitude and being miles from any lights made for an unequaled display of the heavens. I saw more shooting stars in ten minutes than I had in my entire life. The Northern Lights, a celestial grouping near the geomagnetic North Pole, left little wonder of a higher power. At the same time, nature was giving us a beating. The brunt force of the waves striking the hull was sending spray as high as the tip of the mast, some 40 feet above deck. As spray turns to ice, it begins to build up and can become a major hazard. Many boats have capsized and sunk, over the years, due to the weight that builds up on the weather side of the boat. As I returned to the warmth of the cabin, the entire port side of the boat was covered with ice.

When conditions are such as these, the captain rarely, if ever, sleeps. Jim would be at the helm all night. He assigned shifts for Jimmy, Ray and me during the night. I was not sure why Jim had given me the first shift until he explained the tasks that had to be done during the night. To combat the ice build up, Jimmy and Ray were to pull on survival suits and, using baseball bats, break the ice along the port side, thus minimizing the weight build-up on that side of the boat. Survival suits are bright orange, rubberized, water tight, head-to-toe suits, designed to keep you alive in the frigid waters, should you fall overboard. They are also designed to emit a beacon so you can be found. While desirous of doing my part, I did not quibble with the decision to opt for Jimmy and Ray and not me.

In the darkness of the wheelhouse, illuminated only by the red compass light and sweeping arc of the radar, Jim and I discussed our lives and world affairs. He called his wife Sandy, who was in a warm bed at home in Newport, Oregon, over the marine radio, informing her of a successful trip. I went below, shook Jimmy out of a deep sleep, waited to make sure he got up, and then went to my own bunk and fell asleep.