Last night I dreamt that my husband drowned.
In fact, about the time I had the dream, my husband was skippering the Saint Jude somewhere off of the Washington coast in the dead of night. Solo. Al and I had driven our van down to Astoria two days before. Stayed two nights in a nice hotel overlooking the Columbia River. Waiting. Waiting…
For better weather.
The first look we had at our boat was with a mixture of pride and some sadness. She has new battle scars on the starboard side. Scratches from a cleat that had broke off the dock in a storm a couple months before. The Port of Astoria harbor master had called with the news. After that incident, the boat had been moved to a berth right in from of the harbor office. Waiting…waiting…to go home.
The Saint Jude leaving Astoria, Oregon to cross the Columbia River Bar on her way to Port Angeles, Washington on January 12, 2015
Winter can be a tough time to get a small fishing boat up the coast. From Astoria, Oregon to Port Angeles, Washington
In Winter storms, weather buoys break their moorings and get washed ashore. Wind can come up unexpectedly. For the Saint Jude, it is about a 28 hour run, depending on wind, tides, and currents. Straight through without stopping.
My job is to take care of the kids at home. Try not to show the anxiety. It showed up in my sleep.
Our kids
Shaking off the dream of a drowned husband I got out of bed this morning and checked for text messages from my man, the skipper of the Saint Jude. There were none. Then a bit later, in real time, one appears.
Him: At Tatoosh (with a time stamp of 6:44 AM).
Me: (immensely grateful my husband is alive!) Did you sleep?
Him: Slowed down and ran 5 knots for 2 1/2 hours off of LaPush. Out deep without having to drift in trough. Cat napped. With radar watch alarm set. South current pushed the boat along at 1200 rpm.
At this point, my husband has been at the wheel for 19 hours. He untied the Saint Jude from the dock at the Port of Astoria about noon the day before (January 12, 2015).
Him: See the lights of Neah Bay
Me: Are u planning to sleep more once in the strait? Anchored I mean?
Him: Have flood tide till 9 am.
Me: What I mean is do u plan to sleep anchored somewhere?
Him: Bucking E wind here a bit. I will let you know after listening to Canadian Wx for strait.
Me: Okay, are u inside the strait yet?
Him: Yes.
Me: Good! Can u send some morning photos – our fans will love those!
Him: Wind in strait increasing 20 after noon. I will keep coming and take some pics.
Me: I see. ETA to PA?
Him: S.E. winds increasing today off S coast Vancouver Island. E 8 this morning at Race Rocks. Making 8 knots with current now, ETA around 2 PM.
Me: Yes. Photos of Sunrise?
Him: Probably closer to 3. Will take sunrise pics when it gets here.
Me: Okay. I will come to PA when Cody gets out of school.
Him: U.S. Wx calls for light E winds in straight. Canadian Wx has gale warnings on S coast this morning. Will see you and Cody after school.
Me: Yeah – we know how to pick our weather windows don’t we?
Him: Yes. We do.
Photos from the boat follow. Images of the radar and the depth sounder. Slightly blurry because it is still dark in the wheelhouse. Still, the image on the radar clearly shows the outline of the breakwater in front of the Makah Marina. A photo is sent that was taken right around day break. It a a darker image and I ask my husband if it is Waadah Island.
Him: Must be big lings on the sounder back there.
Me: Oh, Seal Rock!
The meaning is rich. Seal Rock is at the mouth of the Sail River, near Neah Bay, Washington. The site where my paternal grandparents, Willard and Hazel Peters, owned a fishing resort from the 1940’s to the mid-1970’s. One gorgeous summer day, I caught my first fish on my own – a ling cod – off of the end of a floating dock there. King Salmon were weighed at the base of that dock by sportsmen from all over the country. It is one of my earliest memories of life. King Salmon.
Several more photos follow. Sail Rock. Propeller wash from the stern.
No more words.
I take my son to school. Return home to start laundry, make the bed, and wash the dishes. To care for the six family pets. To write.
My daughter comes home from school and I tell her that her dad will be home this evening. That we need to be very kind as he will be very tired. I tell her it is dangerous to bring a boat home from the Columbia River, the Graveyard of the Pacific, to Port Angeles in Winter. It is a calculated risk. One that was instigated by the skipper of the Saint Jude having a tooth break below the gum line while on the tuna grounds in September. I tell her it would have been even more dangerous for a skipper to drive a boat with an abscessed tooth. So the Saint Jude stayed put in Astoria while her skipper waited for his tooth to be pulled and the infection to clear. By then, Winter storms were back to back with only tiny weather windows. I tell my daughter that her father beat a gale.
It is close to noon. 24 hours since the Saint Jude left the Port of Astoria yesterday afternoon.
Her skipper will be very tired when he gets to the dock today. When I pick him up, I will help him check the tie-up lines. Make sure the power cord is secure. Make sure the electrical panel switches are off. That the radios are off. That the battery switch is in the proper position. That the auto pilot, radar and fathometer are off. Make sure that the heat lamp is on.
My son will be with me. A third generation salmon troller. I will explain to him, as I did my daughter, why we brought the boat up from Astoria, in the middle of Winter for Spring boat work. I will tell him that it is so his father can spend more time with the family while he works on the boat. It is so his dad can be home to watch him crossing over from being a Cub Scout to being a Boy Scout. It is so he can be at home when our son works on his go-cart project that will help him earn a Supernova award in Cub Scouts. It is so our son can see the boat work getting done, to help paint the bottom, to maybe be on hand when the zincs get welded. He has the fishing in his bones, our son does. Some boat kids do. Like me. Having the boat home soothes my soul.
Commercial fishing is not the kind of profession that is taught in a classroom or from a textbook. Time at the boat yard and on the ocean is the best way to learn about boats…and fishing. Our son’s education, in the ways of the sea, has begun. As our daughter’s high school education is ending. She will graduate this Spring. Both of her parents will be nearby as she gets ready for the next major transition in her life. Truth is, I asked my husband to bring the boat home. For our family, for all of us. Our favorite welder has already been contacted about the scratches on the Starboard side of the Saint Jude. He has reassured us that it can all be fixed. We are already pre-scheduled to have work done on the stiff arms and to have the repaired generator put back in the engine room.
The Saint Jude will have the best of care. She is part of our family. It will be good to have her home.
At 1:25 PM another text appears.
Him: Am 2 hours out from Ediz Hook Bouy, 12 miles out.
Me: Awesome!
Him: Love u.
Me: Love you too. More photos follow from the boat.
Him: That is Tongue Point.
Me: Thank-you for bringing our boat home.
Him: Thank you and Kendra and Cody. And the Glass Family.
Note: While Al and I were in Astoria waiting for a good weather window so Al could get the boat home, our son stayed two nights with the Glass family. They took him to see a U.S. Coast Guard helicopter at the Coast Guard air station on Ediz Hook and texted photos to of us of our son in the pilot’s seat, grinning from ear to ear. Zach Glass is a U.S. Coast Guard helicopter pilot and we are eternally grateful to he and his family for his service.
O, God, Thy Sea Is So Great And My Boat Is So Small – Breton Fisherman’s Prayer
Integration 