Heron Medicine (Be Safe Out There)

The fisherman had been home. For a few days. It was blowing off-shore and he’d driven a rental truck full of blast-frozen albacore up the coast. With his deckhand and the aging chocolate lab that the kids missed fiercely.

He’d been up since 3 AM that morning. Waiting to get in across the Columbia River Bar. They didn’t call it the Graveyard of the Pacific for nothing.

The drive went well and he got home in time to see all of his family. Mostly. The boy was in bed. It had been his first day of school.

The fisherman’s wife wanted to talk. A lot. He had come to understand that this was because he was gone. A lot. Commercial fishing is isolating. Not only for the fishermen but also for the wives at home. Sometimes for the kids.

The fisherman finally told his wife how many hours he had been awake that day. She chastised him lightly, telling him he should have mentioned it earlier. Truth be told, he was enjoying the company too.

Neither the fisherman nor his wife needed an alarm to get up the next morning to see the kids off to school. They drove their son to his grade school, stopping by a coffee stand on the way back home. They both took to drinking instant coffee during the fishing season. It was cheap, fast, and easy to make. At home, there were a few granules at the bottom of the jar. Slightly stuck to the bottom. An emergency stash.

They savored the steaming joe. His paper cup had a lot more sweet stuff in it. She still liked to drink hers hard core black with extra shots. To celebrate the occassion, of her husband being home, she had asked for a bit of cream.

It took awhile for his wife to fully wake up. He already wanted to be off returning the rental truck. She kept talking about guitar lessons, and all sorts of meandering subjects. He had learned to sit tight. Mostly. At home, she was the skipper. That was their agreement. He had learned that when he tried to take over the controls, that all hell broke loose, eventually.

It still baffled him.

How he could be so proficient at catching fish and keeping a boat running for days on end, but mess up getting groceries in the house and feeding two kids, while trying to keep track of family appointments. Turned out, after years of trying, that he did not have to do all that. He just had to pay attention to his wife’s schedule.

It kept the ship running smoothly.

Sure enough, that afternoon he assessed the day, and was amazed at how smoothly it went and how much had been done. He had enjoyed a cold can of soda while his wife had another coffee during their son’s guitar lesson. He got a kick out of the music store owner sharing aviation art. After the lesson, they drove back to the house and it lit his son up to no end to go with him when he returned the rental truck. His wife had followed them driving the ’72 Grabber Blue Ford F-250 pick-up they owned. They planned a run to the local garbage dump.

The fisherman had the unenviable task of cleaning out the bucket of dog crap that had accumulated for the past few months. He had to take the two yellow kayaks out of the back of the Ford pick-up truck to lower the tailgate just to get that bucket into the bed of the truck. He could understand why his wife had asked for his help. That sucker was heavy, maybe 60 lbs he told her.

He understood, less, why she kept mentioning all the way to the dump that she was anxious that they would be late. He hardly ever looked at a clock or watch. Didn’t need to, much, on a fishing boat.

As it turned out, the gate to the dump was still open. His wife looked frazzled. It was exactly 5 PM, according to the attendant, when the fisherman upended the steel bucket of plastic bagged dog crap into the dumpster. Closing time.

That evening was one they would remember the rest of their lives. They had done a lot of chores throughout the day, everything on his wife’s list was crossed off by the time the work was done.

The Seahawks were playing their first  league game than night. The fisherman had been looking forward to it. So he, his wife, and son walked up to the neighborhood bar and grill. They waved to another family that his wife  knew as they walked to their booth then ordered a plate of appetizers. He and his wife split a burger.

The Seahawks won the game!

The walk back home was about a mile or so in length, gently downhill. They peeked into the auto shop window at the top of the hill and spied several classic vehicles. The street lamps, the professionally landscaped newer neighborhood with the manicured lawn next to the sidewalk and the big box store were all such a contrast to the coldness of the diamond-plated aluminum deck of their fishing boat.

They especially appreciated the bit of the walk on the Olympic Discovery trail which led nearly up to their home. That stretch of the trail went by the opposite side of the road from the old red barn and the Raptor Center.

Their son grabbed both of their hands and tried to swing his feet as he had once when he was a little boy. They all three laughed because he was too tall to do it well anymore.

The boy was late getting to be that evening. It didn’t matter. His #3 Russell Wilson Seahawks jersey had kept him warm on the walk home. The fisherman had given his wife a larger version of the same jersey for Christmas earlier that year. Before the team had won the Superbowl. She was wearing her jersey, too, much to the fisherman’s delight.

Their daughter was home when they all got back to the house. She had been away in the neighboring town working toward landing her first job. The fisherman was tired but he stayed up later than his body was absolutely willing to listen to her stories. It was very late by the time he and his wife got to bed.

The fisherman was planning on leaving for the boat the next day, anticipating driving the ’72 Ford pick-up. He wanted to hang out with his son and daughter more. His wife kept talking about yard work and garage cleaning and…. It became a hum in his head.

He liked taking albacore with his wife to the Raptor Center earlier that afternoon. Turns out the person that had bought the albacore and ran the place understood commercial fishing. Perfectly. She been out on fishing boats  herself. Her father had welded on the boat lift out at the old Peters Neah Bay Resort back when folks came from all over the country to catch King Salmon there.

She knew the three  fishermen that had gone down on a crab boat off of Cape Flattery years ago. She knew one of them very well. Knew the family. In the same way, closer actually, than the fisherman and his wife did. She told her story to the fisherman and his wife. About the day that boat went down. All three knew, they would be bonded for life over the events she conveyed. That is how it is in the commercial fishing fleet.

The Great Blue Heron recovering at the Raptor Center wanted to get out. He was ready to go. Agitated. He could hardly wait to get back fishing. The fisherman and his wife admired his long neck, his piercing yellow eyes and his long sharp beak. Most of all, they admired his spirit. The fisherman  remembered when a Great Blue Heron nearly brushed his wife’s  shoulder when he flew over  her the day they took both their kids to visit the old Peters Neah Bay Resort.

Shy-pokes, as locals sometimes call Great Blue Herons are not known for approaching humans in any way.

Peters was the maiden name of the fisherman’s wife. Peters Neah Bay Resort is where she first learned about how to catch fish.

The fisherman and his wife  had attended the memorial service for those three men that went down on the crab boat off of Cape Flattery near Neah Bay. It was held at Fishermen’s Terminal in Seattle. Three fishermen lost. The three women partners they had left behind gave the fisherman and his wife hugs at that service. All of them said the same thing:

“Be safe out there.”

That advice had saved their lives and their boat more than once. Sometimes, when they had felt like pushing in really bad weather, they had turned around for port.

Remembering the voices of those women, remembering their tears.

The fisherman left the next evening. He had hoped to have steak with his family on the warm cedar deck on the South side of their house. The kids had a different idea though. They were hoping for a take-out treat. He and his wife relented, heading for one of the local drive-thru hamburger joints. They had their meal at a local park, where the fisherman used to take the children a lot when they were younger. To swing, to see the ducks, to hook up with other kids.

By the time he left home, it was 8 PM. He did not know that , though, as he hardly ever looked at a clock. His family watched a TV show and went to bed. He drove until he got to the marina where the boat was moored. When he arrived, close to 1:30 AM, he texted his wife:

“I love you”.

She did not see it until much later that morning.

When she did see it, his words, she texted him an apology. For talking so much. They talked on the phone a bit. He needed to get groceries and fuel. She needed to shake off her sadness, get the house back in order.

The fisherman called his wife again after the boat had crossed the bar on the way back out to sea. He said the ocean was coming down nicely. He’d been fishing since early April of that season and it was now September. About two more months of the fishing season left if all went well. It was a gift, to have long seasons once again.

The fisherman’s wife had tears in her eyes when she hung up the phone. “Be safe out there”,  were her last words to him. As was the case with every phone call they ever had when he was on the ocean.

She and her husband were looking forward to her volunteering at the Raptor Center. They had made friends there.

The fisherman and his wife knew to embrace Heron medicine.

Turning 50! (Celebrate with me)

50! Milestone birthday for sure.

For years, I was fishing on a boat somewhere on my birthday. I was lucky when friends planned a celebration for me.

This year, I am home. With my now adult daughter. Getting ready to switch things up a bit. It is time to get the party started!

50, baby, and I ain’t sitting on my hands this year doing nothing!

Our family fishing boat, the Saint Jude, is heading in and it looks like my husband and son will be home tomorrow too. I have not seen either of them for weeks. That is the nature of us being a commercial fishing family. They will not only be able to celebrate my 50th birthday with me tomorrow, on August 23, but my daughter’s 18th birthday too!

As a fishing family, our important events tend to get celebrated in a cluster fashion. When everyone is together.

Today, truth be told, I started off wanting to get the house cleaned up more for my husband’s arrival. Boring. Conventional. I chose to write instead. I told my husband this on the phone today and he gave his blessing. He said he’d pitch in around home when he got here. I like that. It seems to mean our marriage is in a good place. That we have both learned that there is much more to life than a perfectly clean house.

I also want to spoil myself, one last day, before my son is home to get ready for the school year. When my husband goes back fishing, when the weather settles down, I will be seasonally single-parenting once again. Granted, it is much easier now than when the kids were younger and a big outing was a trip to the grocery store to buy diapers.

These days, I have a lot more time to myself. It is a transitional time, ripe with possibility.

I want to live the rest of my life with little or no regret.

Turning 50 gives me a chance to reflect on how to go about this.

Things I regret NOT doing in my first fifty years of life:

1. Not working as a Registered Nurse for at least awhile. Why? 2 years of pre-nursing college classes and 2 years of Nursing School is a lot of time commitment to have never worked in a field. The money was good, for that stage of my life when I was in my early 20’s, and it would have built confidence. I also learned it is not good to let myself get talked out of doing something that is in my best interests. It is a trap for letting resentment build. About 11 years ago, I took a refresher course to try to renew my license. The field had changed so much, by then, that I could not do this. So I will remain mandatorily retired from professional nursing and lose the resentment.

2. Not paying automobile insurance for 6 months while commercial fishing when first married. Why? Insurance companies frown on this even when a car is not being used and it is tricky getting reinsured.

3. Not hiring a housekeeper more when the kids were younger? Why? I would have had more quality time to do more with the children when they were younger and have been way less tired. The quality of our life would have been better and we would have had more people over to the house. I could also have used other skills I possess for doing things that would have had a more positive impact in my life and that of others. Like writing.

Things I don’t regret:

1. Supporting my husband with his passion of commercial salmon trolling. Why? It makes him happy.

2. Having a family home built before the kids were born. 27 years ago. Why? At one time the 2,500 sq. feet and over an acre of property seemed too small. We have used every inch of space in the house. We have had lovely celebrations. Even through tough times during the recession, while dealing with some expensive medical issues when salmon seasons were drastically cut back for 5 years in WA, CA, and ORE, the house provided sanctuary. I was 22-years-old when we had our home built. It is fun to share.

3. Owning the Saint Jude with my husband. Why? Taking a baby fishing on a commercial fishing boat for 5-6 months is challenging. The Saint Jude has seen us through some tough weather and tough times. She is all aluminum and easy to maintain. She is also lot of fun and I can tell our son enjoys her a lot.

4. Having pets. Why? They keep me humble. We will also remember them long after the objects we own, including our boat and home, become no longer useful to us.

5. Having kids. Why? They keep me humble. They also, just by their very existence, force me to grow. To live better, learn more, be more. I want for them to be happy.

6. Raising kids in Sequim, WA. Why? We are rural and there is an abundant amount of natural beauty here. A lot of people at the stores and other places know my kids, remember them when they were in preschool, ask me how Al is doing when he is away fishing. Folks trade us for fish sometimes. This is how we get our Christmas tree, some professional services, sometimes other food for our table. There is a lot of heart in our small community and it is close to my hometown, Port Angeles.

7. Getting help when needed. Why?  I have been fortunate to find out fairly early in  life that is important to not get run down too far. Not good for self to do that, not good for family. Self-care is important.

8. Listening to others. Why? My current world is fairly small. I still stay at home a lot with the kids especially when Al is away fishing. This is changing once again as they are growing older and getting more independent. I want to broaden my world view through more travel, reading, education, physical activity, socializing.

We are all different. Some things we all have in common. I like getting to know people and trying to find the common ground.

To get started, on my Facebook page today, I asked folks to share the title of a favorite book they have read, and/or favorite place they have traveled, and/or their favorite swimming pool or ocean they have swam in, and/or the most radically silly thing they have ever done.

Here is what I have to share with you so far:

My favorite book: Trinity by Leon Uris

Best place I’ve visited: Alaska and traveling by boat up and down the Inside Passage

Best Swim: Lituya Bay, Alaska

Most radically silly thing I’ve done: Swam in Lituya Bay, Alaska – more than once on different days – it’s really cold!

What is your favorite book? Most awesome place you have ever visited? The favorite pool or ocean in which you have ever swam?

What is the most radically silly thing you have ever done?

Are you living the life you want to be living? I’d love to hear!

 

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Where Is Home?

 

Notes from a fish wife asking the cosmic question: Where is home?

Fishing Season 2014 – Week 2

My husband, Al, is out on his second fishing trip. As he said he planned to be. Still, I got up early this morning, made a quick cup of instant coffee, and dialed the boat cell phone. Just in case.

I love talking with Al, about fishing, in the morning. When the kids are still in bed. On week-ends, when there is not the rush of getting breakfast and everything ready for a day of school. If I’m really lucky, he is actually fishing and I’ll talk a King Salmon into biting for him. That’s just boat talk and fishing lingo. Radio chatter. It can’t really happen quite that way. It’s just how fishing partners speak to one another. Even long-distance from hundreds of miles away, I feel as if I am in that wheelhouse, watching a spring pump back up near the trolling pole. Listening to the cowbell ring. Hoping for a clatter, where more fish bite all at once.

This morning though, I quietly sipped the coffee made too strong, and thought about where the boat was. Robotic automatic voice mail messages do not make for good conversation.  The view out to the backyard, of a newly leafed-out Katsura tree, a freshly scrubbed deck, and snow-topped Olympic Mountains gives way to the sun-kissed sparkle of a blue sea. In my mind.

For years, I intentionally kept my mind off of the boat.

Instead, I took college classes, finished an associate degree and picked up a Bachelor’s degree. I volunteered here and there and I worked part-time. Some of the time. I contemplated careers that would work with Al’s fishing.

The one career that seemed to make the most sense would have been nursing. I had the associate degree. I just needed to refresh to reactivate my license.

That would not happen. The book studying went fine. The clinical evaluation in Spokane was okay. The actual working with clinical evaluation in a hospital was a dismal failure. 20 years of not working in that field was too much. There was no way I would be able to be competent without going through an entire nursing program again.

I continued to focus on raising the kids at home. Devoted more time to marketing fish. (You can check out our fishing family facebook page at: https://www.facebook.com/DungenessSeaworks  )  That is where things have been for awhile.

Til last year. When I was on the boat. For a couple weeks. It all came back!

There was no feeling of incompetency. No lag in decision-making. It was almost as if I had never left.

Trying to remember dozens of medications and nursing procedures compared to remembering how to land a King Salmon. How to put the auto-pilot on u-turn. How to clean a fish well enough for the white tablecloth market.

It was easy to tell where I have spent most of my life. Those that have known me better in recent years would perhaps think that I have been taking a back seat to the fishing and  embrace being a stay-at-home mom, a “seasonal single-parent”, for the best part of my life. They are partially right.

The other best part of my life has been on the deck of a boat. As a commercial fisherman’s wife, it is true, I’ve been “seasonally single parenting” for the most part of the past 15 years.

Before that, though, I fished. A lot.

Starting off as a boat kid/deckhand at 12-years-old, I fished at least part of every salmon trolling season (except two, as a kid, when I needed to have and to recover from bone surgeries) until I was pregnant with my first-born. At 31-years-old. Even then I fished up until 4 weeks before the due date! After my  daughter came along, she and I spent two full seasons on board the boat.

I came to appreciate the nuances of fishing and boat life better than I have ever come to understand full years on land in the past 16 years or so. 

Part of that is my fault. It is easy to get addicted to the sea. To the thrum of sea life that is everywhere. Birds, whales, dolphins, otters. To get used to the relative isolation from everyday worries. To enjoy the comforts of having another adult around, most of the time, to pitch in with the work. To waking and working beside my husband, every day.

To me, that is home. “Home (Where I Wanted To Go)” – Coldplay

 

 

Home, here on land, is something that has always made me feel a little uneasy. Especially when Al is at sea, without me.  I feel a little like a fish out of water. I have to make it a point to focus on everyday tasks. How to interact with others. How to keep track of time.

This is seldom the case on the boat. Time has little meaning throughout the average fishing day. It starts at sunrise and ends at sunset. Mostly. Everything seems to fall into a rhythm. The primary focus is to catch fish!

Folks that hang out on the docks, also, seem to understand that people that have been at sea are not often particularly articulate.

In my experience, we are all a little quirky.

Quirkiness is hard to adjust for on land. Even the standard for personal hygiene has a different protocol for my home on land compared to the boat life. If I don’t shower for a few days, here, people will notice. On a boat, it simply means a freezer trip has recently begun. No one cares! It is more important to conserve water to make it through what could be a two week trip or longer.

Still, I am grateful for being able to spend so much time with the kids on terra firma. To step out on a warm cedar deck with bare feet. To feel warm sand, at a beach, between my toes. To admire the colorful flowers planted around the house and to watch one of my children water them.  To walk with a friend who is only a phone call and a few minutes car drive away.  To smell the freshly cut grass. To hear the breeze rustling the new Spring leaves in the trees. To help my son with his homework in a quiet room with every conceivable comfort close at hand.  To watch old McGyver episodes with the kids on a Saturday night. To shower with plenty of hot water and freshly laundered towels that don’t smell even a little bit of boat.

These are privileges in my life as a land-lubber.

I’ve made a bet with Al, for the past two Springs, on where the best fishing spots would be for the King Salmon openers. I can no longer keep my mind off the boat. All those years of fishing experience seem to be roaring to the surface from some latent part of my being. When Al tells me where he thinks the fleet is catching the most fish, I am rarely surprised when it turns out to be true. Often, it is where I told him where I thought the fish would be.

Maybe I was not meant to spend a lot of time working in the halls of a hospital or nursing home. Maybe things have unfolded exactly the way they should be unfolding. Maybe I am meant to fish. With my husband.

My husband, wherever he is.

“Home is wherever I’m with you” – Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros

 

 

Singing, ” Home is when I’m alone with you”.

 

Where is home for you? Is it where you want to be?  Do you have more than one home? Do you imagine living somewhere else?

 

 

 

Fishermen’s Buzz

Al’s been gone from home a week. He had a smooth trip getting the Saint Jude to the fishing grounds in Oregon from Port Angeles, WA. He and crewman, Devin, were even  able to catch some King Salmon. King Salmon. In early April. Boom! For anyone who has ever been a King Salmon troller or is a King Salmon troller, this is nirvana!

Even though we missed the Oregon April 1st King Salmon opener, due to yard work, it is still the earliest either Al or I can remember a King Salmon troll season opening in the history of our fishing careers. That’s saying a lot as Al is on his 43rd consecutive year of King Salmon trolling. My mom cannot remember the season ever opening that early either and her memory in trolling goes back further than mine since our family had purchased a wood troller when I was a kid, in 1968!

This early opener, oh my, what a tremendous contrast from the unprecedented King Salmon troll closures that affected fishermen in WA, ORE, & CA from 2005-2010.

Those years, Al worked as a bus washer/mail delivery person for the Sequim School District. I pitched in, selling items on Ebay.

During those short fishing seasons, we had halibut long-line quota and Al fished in SE AK for King Salmon and coho for two months. Those were tough years for us financially, as they were for many folks. Many trollers sold their boats and got out of fishing. Lots of people struggled during the recession that hit our country during that time also. A tough situation all the way around.

It was also an amazing time for our family. We had Springs and Falls together at home. Many of our children’s milestones, during that time, were witnessed by Al. We planted flower gardens and went to the park. We played outside in the green grass and had warm weather picnics on the deck. Often. As a family.

Still, it wasn’t easy. The boat was kept in Alaska. To save money on fuel costs it would have taken to get her down to Washington. It is tough on boats, to be away from their owners for long. We’ve been making it up to the Saint Jude over the last couple of off-seasons while she has been moored in Port Angeles. Home. With her family. This year she is sporting a newly painted wheelhouse floor and a newly modified rudder for fuel efficiency. She is thriving with the attention. Al is happier, too, these days.

It was tough on Al to be away from the boat during the off-season. Those shortened seasons were damned tough on him all the way around.  He was making the same amount during an entire Winter, 8 hours a day, that he had been used to making in one fishing trip. In the 1980’s. However, we had full benefits and that was a huge plus. Dental, medical, vision, retirement. Those things can really add up. Especially if a family member needs extensive medical care. In some ways, our family had never had a better safety net. Self-employment, in commercial fishing, is challenging when contemplating the “what if’s.”

These days, I don’t worry so much about the
“what if’s”. I think, mostly, that Al and I are just so grateful to have the opportunity to continue trolling for King Salmon. I think this is infectious and that our kids pick up on it.

There is a buzz in the air for the West Coast Salmon Troller Fleet!

Celebrating the Saint Jude landing her first King Salmon, in early April of this year, has been really special. Like relief, gratitude, excitement, joy, and a feeling of awe all rolled into one emotion! A feeling of “Wow! We’ve made it through the dark years. There is light on the other side.

Our fishing family and the crew of F/V Saint Jude are looking forward to a great Fishing Season in 2014!

The Saint Jude and the Port Angeles Boat Yard: A True Tale

Notes from the fish wife:

Capt. Al just left for the boat yard. Pissed. He’d been in touch with our welder, Brian. I heard bits and pieces of their phone conversation – “not happy”, “play in the shoulder arm”, “doesn’t seem to be their best work”, and “apprentice”.

My husband looked over at me as he got off the phone, before he left, before putting on his sun-faded Hoonah Cold Storage ball cap and completely metamorphosing into Capt. Al. He took one last wistful glance out our kid-and-dog-smudged slider window door toward his unfinished deck rebuilding project. Home stuff. Never a priority when the boat is hauled out.

We had a short chat. He said, “Brian’s not happy with it”.

Now, I must admit right here that a lot of the boat jargon is not something I have ever book studied or had a formal education in. I have not served as an apprentice in any of the boat building trades. Hell, I have not even fished a boat on my own. Here’s the thing: I barely remember a time in my life, when I was a baby and a toddler, when trolling salmon was not a part of who I am. My essence. But back when I was that little, I was already spending time out at Peters Neah Bay Resort. Where sport-fishermen liked to play. That’s my maiden name. Peters. My grandparents owned that resort.

King Salmon fishing is my heritage. I love it well.

What I bring to the table in our current fishing family business is a lifetime of experience. A troller entered my life when I was about 4-years-old in Westport. Her name was the Acadia. That is when my commercial fishing education began.

I can tell you at around 10-years-old, my son’s current age, that my favorite place to be on the planet earth was the Little Hoquiam Boat Shop. I was especially fond of the steam box which bent the curved pieces that would become part of the wood cap and guards on the stern of the Kay Angela. Our family fishing boat that would become my summer home for a number of years.

I have a newspaper clipping of my uncle’s boat when it was built. Not my Uncle Keith, who had the Jaeger built – another Little Hoquiam. No. This article is about my Uncle Wally who had a Hansen built. He had a short bunk installed for my cousin Raechel who was a baby at the time. She and her husband now seine their own boat in Chignik, AK. With their two beautiful young daughters sometimes on board.

The Saint Jude is my boat. Well, I actually share her with Capt. Al and, really, she belongs to our company – Dungeness Seaworks (to learn more about our fishing family business by clicking here – https://www.facebook.com/DungenessSeaworks?hc_location=timeline). She is aluminum. We are bonded. In the troll fleet, she is a one-of-a-kind. Reportedly, it cost over $300,000 to build her. In 1989. We bought her for around a quarter of a million dollars. She was paid for the first year we owned her after our first season with her.

I call it the season from hell.

To make that boat payment, in the Fall, after struggling learning how to freeze salmon all summer and catching a dismal number of cohos to compensate for our inexperience, we long-lined halibut.

In SE Alaska. Just Al and I.

By October, we were still short the money for that boat payment. So we caught a weather window and headed for Spencer Spit off-shore near Cross Sound.

I told this story to Brian in the Port Angeles boat yard yesterday. He was complimenting us, again, on how well-built the Saint Jude is. Irreplaceable, we agreed.

I told him, for the first time, about the gale force winds that came up while we had about 3,000 pounds of uncleaned halibut on the deck. How we dogged-down the door and the wheel-house hatches.

The green water on the front windows was nothing. Not that day. It was the green water on the side windows that scared us. I had never seen it there before. Never. Haven’t since.

Boats have gone down right there where we were that day. Vince Cameron’s last boat – renamed the Becca Dawn – that’s where she rests. Her crew on board, did not all make it.
I told Brian I thought of that as the Saint Jude struggled to make 2 Knots. Headed for Sitka.

Al hit the bunk. Sometimes even seasoned captains get scared. He let me drive. He thought we were going to die. On the Hoquiam we had owned before, I am convinced we would have rolled and sunk. The halibut would have blocked the scuppers and water would not have been able to have cleared off the deck.

I told Brian yesterday, “Every single fucking time a quartering wave hit, that boat righted herself”. He looked at Al who said nothing. Because it was so. I don’t swear a lot. It is how I feel about that boat.

Irreplaceable. Al and I left the yard knowing the Saint Jude was in good hands. Brian has worked on her since the first season we owned her. Back in 1995. He is old-school. It took awhile to earn his respect. I know we have it. Now. More recently, Brian’s son, Jeremy, has worked on our boat whenever we have needed it. He is a better welder, now, than Brian. Maybe the best in the business. Ask Tom Pope, the surveyor, he’ll tell you that.

So when Brian is on the phone and he’s not happy, I’m not happy. My life has depended on that boat. She got us out of a bad spot. More than once. She got us across Queen Charlotte Sound, during a storm warning. That is another story in and of itself. How a Canadian native in Namu, B.C., came on board and told us how and where to tie to a tree if a storm wind were to come up in Queen Charlotte Sound. I was pregnant with our first-born at the time but didn’t know it. It was late November and our daughter would be born that upcoming August. Guess where she was conceived. Somewhere between a gale and a storm. Al and I never slept on shore during that first long fishing season that we owned the Saint Jude.

When it comes to the lives of my kids, we take many less chances. My son was 100 miles off-shore albacore fishing last summer. The boat did her job. Caught fish and took care of her captain and crew.

It’s my turn. I do not need “play” in some boat part that is not made well. It is unacceptable.

So Capt. Al told Brian to take the rudder assembly back apart. He called the shop and he told them in exacting terms that he expected them to get the job done to meet our specifications. He was mumbling, “micrometer” as he went out the door.

This decision may mean more days in the yard. It may or may not mean more money spent on the boat this Spring. What I know to be truth, is that when the boat work is done right, it may mean it saves our lives.

Before we took the Saint Jude out on our first season with her, we had Brian reinforce her stiff arms. There had been “play” in the way they had been assembled before. That one day in October on Spencer Spit, in gale force winds, Brian’s recommendation and work undoubtedly saved our lives. The rigging held. The next season I fished aboard her in California. While pregnant. The season after that, we long-lined in the Gulf of Alaska, once again, that time with our 8-month-old daughter on board. The boat was happy and so were we.

When Brian is working on our boat and is not happy with something, the Saint Jude is not happy. I listen to that. Hard.

The Saint Jude has caught a lot of fish for us over the years. Capt. Al will probably never say numbers. He is old-school. However, as a fish wife I can say he had the best King Salmon season of his career last year.

We will do our best to keep the Saint Jude strong, to make her systems right, so that she is sea-worthy. So she can do her best, to get everyone home safe.

In the end, that is all that really matters.

Thanksgiving

Feasting and celebrating

Thanksgiving Day 2013 at home in Sequim with my husband Allan and our kids Kendra and Cody. Spent over an hour wondering what to write on our facebook page, “Dungeness Seaworks” (you can link to this FB page and learn more about our fishing family by clicking https://www.facebook.com/DungenessSeaworks ) . Photos? Inspirational quote about the sea? A picure of our fishing boat, the Saint Jude? Nothing seemed right. Taking ego out of it, we went to the default setting of, “Have a Happy Thanksgiving from the crew of F/V Saint Jude”.

It seemed enough.

Then the inside wave of emotions. Memories. Some painful. Many lonely.

The first year Al and I owned the Saint Jude was in 1995. We fished the season in Alaska. Had a substantial boat payment to make the following fall. Our first year freezing salmon on board. We sucked at it. Inefficient, slow, and miserable most of the time. It would not be easy, as the season progressed, to remember the highlights.

A visit by a father and daughter who presented us with two brass Superiors. The really old, heavy ones. A present for the new boat, they said. Those spoons caught fish for us that year. It was a great gift and we had no idea then how much it would come to mean to us later, their generosity of spirit.

The folks at the co-op who showed us how to cut a head off of our fish. Told us to practice. These folks encouraged us as did many others. We remember their kindness.

Bruce Gore who came down to our boat and offered to let us take out his deckhand so he could show us how to freeze fish on board. Oh my heavens, how egotistical was it of us to say, “No”, to this suggestion from a man who helped pioneer freezing salmon at sea.  We struggled for months, if not years, after that in learning to perfect the technique. Not seeing the gift for what it was. Bruce kept an eye on us and eventually offered to buy our fish. We became one of an elite group of trollers that produce some of the finest seafood on the planet.

Before that, though, we almost lost our lives. That, is what this story is mostly about.

Making a boat payment can be tough. Damned coho in SE AK start to get scarce in September. And the weather.  We’d heard our entire career about how the weather can turn ferociously wicked in the Fall in SE Alaska. Al had, in fact, spent a Winter trolling out of Sitka earlier in his career. He knew. Sort of.  How bad it could get. But we were reckless, felt desperate, and had a boat payment. So we fished the coho extension that went until Sept. 30^th in 1995. Anchored a good portion of those days behind St. Lazaria Island and in Gilmer Bay. The sea turning darker and more ominous looking by the day. Malicious. Winter water is a deadly force to be reckoned with.

Our plan was to fish until the end of the coho extension and then mop up our halibut quota in 3A. Great plan! Only on paper.

We pointed the Saint Jude North heading out of Olga and Neva Strait. Protected waters, relatively speaking. Guys had told us there were still halibut out on Spencer Spit. A fishing spot about 20 miles off-shore out from Cross Sound. Our plan was to anchor in Graves, catch a weather window, and get the halibut. In one set.

We made it to Graves. Steadily baiting the 1,500 circle hooks attached to the gangions coiled on the back deck. The bait did not smell much. Nothing on the back deck smelled much. It was too cold. We did not even need to put the tubs of baited hooks back into the ice hold. We sat in Graves for 3 days. Blowing. Blowing. Steadily blowing. Gale force winds. Dark and cold and boring sitting on the pick.

Then a break. A 24 hour weather window with winds coming down to 10-20 SE. We left the protected anchorage and headed straight out off-shore. First flagged pole went overboard and Al and I alternated snapping on gangions from the cockpit. We set about 3 miles of ground line. By the end, the weather was changing. Quickly.

Usually, it is good practice to let a long-line set soak awhile for fish to bite. Waves started slapping against the hull. The ocean felt jumpy and the sky was darkening rapidly. We headed straight back to the start of our set and started pulling. The boat started pitching around. Al was hanging on by one hand to the boat while unsnapping the gangions from the ground line coming aboard. A few halibut came and we tied them off to rails on the Port side of the boat. Water started washing across the deck through the rails on the far side. Al put on a safety vest and tied a line around his waist to the boat. When a halibut came over the side, I would haul it over and tie it to the other side. It was getting too rough to clean a fish.

At one point, we may have contemplated buoeying off the line to retrieve it later. Not much chance we would have recovered it that time of year. And we wanted to get home. To Sequim. About 800 nautical miles away. As the crow flies.

So the gear kept coming aboard, and the boat was constantly awash with sea water. Two hours later we grabbed the flagpole and bag and hauled it aboard. Ducked into the wheelhouse and dogged down the door. Only then realizing we were in serious trouble.

The throttle was put forward into our normal running speed position. Boom! A wave crashed over the bow, over the top of the bridge. Forcing us to back off the throttle. Late October. It occurred to us, belatedly, that Spencer Spit was not a good place for us to be that time of year. Our boat was too small and too slow.

We could not stand. Could not hold on long enough to any of the numerous handholds in the wheelhouse to get anything to eat. Our black lab, Tug, and gray tabby, Gremlin were both literally quivering. Have you ever heard of the expression, “Hanging on for dear life?” Yep. That was us. When we were not slowing down for oncoming waves, our fastest speed on the Echotec plotter was 3 Knots.

Night came fast. It does that in SE Alaska in the Fall. In the gulf of Alaska. By then, waves were completely obliterating the side windows. Al thought, out loud, that we were not going to make it. My thought, out loud, was “We are not going to die. Not on this night.” Al hit the bunk while I took over the helm. 3 Knots. Slow down while a wave crashes over the bow. Repeat. All night long. Somewhere along the line we made it past Cape Cross. Something changed. Ever so slowly. We picked up speed. 4 Knots. Then 5.  A CD found its way into the player. Elton John came along for the ride.

“And I think it’s going to be a long, long time…Rocket Man…”. A cup of tea was made. The black lab started snoring softly in his accustomed spot under the galley table.  He had spent most of the night cowering against my brown Xtra-tuff boot clad feet braced against the pipe under the stainless steel wheel at the helm.

Mast lights on the horizon! Black-codders fishing outside of Yakobi. An immensely welcoming sight. Like a small city afloat carrying the message of hope. We were going to live! Al got up and took wheel watch. He was so tired that we nearly missed the opening into Squid Bay which is where we planned to clean the halibut. We double-checked the paper chart against what the green radar screen was showing us through blurry vision and readjusted our course. So tired. The C-Map plotter helping us to stay on course as our minds buzzed with the need for sleep. Fear has a way of doing that. Sapping strength and mental acuity.

Squid Bay had never looked so amazing. Flat water, still, quiet. The pesky mosquitos that had tortured us all summer were not a problem that gray October day. We cleaned halibut. And cleaned and cleaned. Backs aching. Close to 3,000 lbs.  No one remembers who iced the fish. It got done. We washed the knives, deck, and hatch cover. Pulled the anchor and went back out on the ocean toward Sitka.

The halibut on board would help to be enough for us to make our boat payment that year.  With enough to spare for a trip to Hawaii. Those thoughts kept us upbeat for what would be the beginning of the next part of a perilous adventure.

Not many Washington State trollers talk about the Inside Passage in November. A few. We should have listened better, in hindsight.

Ketchikan. Oddly, while tied up there, I could no longer stand the smell of coffee. We were there for 4 days. Bought a small carved paddle. Tglingit made. An eagle painted on the surface. The clan of the artist who made it. It fit , beautifully, on the wheelhouse wall between the two book racks. I wanted to fly home.

Snow Passage was behind us by then. It had been blowing up to 100 Knots of wind. We relied on tug boat captain reports on the VHF to know when to move. It was pretty much how it would go the rest of our way home. We got across Dixon Entrance and it started to snow. We anchored that night at Lewis Isand, below Prince Rupert, and it snowed more. The radar screen was snowed out the next morning and we could not rely on it for navigation. We needed to stay anchored to avoid ship traffic.  Eventually, the seemingly innocuous falling snow, stopped drifting down on our boat. So beautiful and cleanly white. We were able to make way.

Namu ahead.

F/V Saint Jude in Namu, BC. November 15, 1995.

Canadian soil and were not supposed to get off of the boat as we had not cleared customs. Being around people seemed a difficult job. Still, they came to visit. Most noteably the gill-netters. They told us about a native. Told us to listen to him. He came on board too. Showed us on the paper chart where to tie to a tree on Egg Island if the wind came up when we went across Queen  Charlotte Sound. He said it would hold in a hurricane.

When we left Namu in the morning, 3 days later, several gill-netters were standing on the dock getting their boats ready for a day of fishing. They gave us a hand salute. That time of year, mariners become as one. No matter the country of origin.

Finn Bay. The wind howling overhead. Storm warning on the coast. In the morning, we started across Queen Charlotte Sound. The weatherman calling for a storm warning there too. He missed, seemingly. It was variable winds. Not for long though. About mid-way across a Canadian Coast Guard cutter dropped a rubber raft full of coast guardsmen that started heading our way. The waves were stacking and they turned back for the safety of the cutter. The water started hissing. Ominously. By the time we made it to Port Hardy, green water was going over the bow. Again. We were starting to get used to it.

The next part of the journey was marked by a lot of logs and other debris in the water. We started to relax.  A little. The wind was not much of a problem by then and that was a relief. By Alert Bay, we knew we’d be home by Thankgiving.

Getting across the Strait of Juan de Fuca can be scary. That was not the case for us that particular  year. The boat knew she was close to home and we got across at 9 knots heading straight for John Wayne Marina. We’d been married there 9 years before. We tied the Saint Jude to the boards, thanked her and put Tug on a  leash. We all three walked the 4 miles home. Then drove back to the marina to get our boat cat, Gremlin.

It was 4 days before Thanksgiving.

We did not know it that day, but suspected it when turkey on Thanksgiving did not hold the same appeal as usual.  Not once had I been seasick all that long fishing season so at first thought I was landsick. It was apparent a doctor visit was in order to confirm what was going on.

It was with great celebration that we visited Hawaii after Thanksgiving that year. We knew that we were going to have a baby! She would be born of love, a splash of the sea, and moments of greatness.

1995 was a  year of much difficulty. It was also one of the best of our lives. For within those difficult times confidence was forged and the beginning of us having our own family!

It is on this Thanksgiving Day, 2013 that we share this story with our children. Thanking the universe for our lives…and for theirs.

Namaste and Happy Thanksgiving!

The Highliner Code (dedicated to my shipmate Kyne)

Dear Readers: please forgive the spacing issues. During the original draft, I was home “seasonally single-parenting” as we fish wives like to say. Multi-tasking, parenting and editing can be problematic. Someday I will get to fixing this 🙂 Also, this was an emotional piece.  When you read about the packer that sunk, bear in mind that many of the trollers that were fishing in Yakutat after that sinking, after learning about the tragedy, remained anchored for two days. The weather was flat calm and fishing had been very good. It was a blow, though, reminding us that we are not invincible. In fact, we are actually very vulnerable. As you may already know, commercial fishing is one of the world’s most dangerous occupations. It is a risky sort of business and this is not the only sinking you will read about in this piece. There are two others. When the charter boat went down, Al did not go out for a couple of days fishing afterward. That tragedy shook us to the core. May peace be upon all the survivors of these sinkings and may those that were lost Rest In Peace.

I am at home having a hard time getting my mind off of the boat. Flashbacks of harbor days and time at sea compete with the everyday needs and tasks vying for my attention in my more laid-back landlubber role. I see the kitchen counter, now accumulating magazines, boxes of food, and other clutter. Half-heartedly, I call out to   the kids to tidy the family room. They have been playing video games today. Way beyond the amount  of daily time recommended by the experts. I promise to take my son to the park and  begin arranging play dates for him. My daughter takes off for swim practise. She is a co-captain for her team and does not want to be late.

Flashback

My son is in the wheelhouse of the Saint Jude in his survival suit. His father and I are encouraging him during a pretend Mayday call while conducting a safety drill. Tears sting my eyes as I hear our boy’s 9-year-old voice saying with only a slight waver, “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, this is Fishing Vessel Saint Jude, Fishing Vessel Saint Jude, Fishing Vessel Saint Jude. We are at Latitude ________ and Longitude ________. We are a 46′ aluminum troller…”.

It is our crewman’s turn and his voice catches as his tries to remember the sequence. I hear myself telling him, as I have done many times  before, “It’s okay. This is just a drill. This is a safe boat. But if anything happens, you will know what to do and it can save your life”. On the galley table is a newspaper, with a photo of the F/V Sea Princess, going down. Everyone including the two cats got off safely even thought the boat was lost. The skipper attributes this to U.S. Coast Guard training.

Flashback

The Pacific Lady comes to mind, and the young man who went down with her. I was one of the last people to see this boat and her crew. She was an SPC packer and we, for all eternity, were the last boat to unload fish to her in Yakutat Bay. I took a photo of the grinning crew surrounding the hatch. Full load. She went down in Cross Sound on the way  down to Sitka. Except for the young man who owned the camera, the rest of the crew was rescued in their survival suits. I spoke with one of the survivors in Sitka a few years later. The faraway look in her eyes as she told the story, was haunting. After that conversation, the survival suits on our boat came out from the focsle and would remain in the wheelhouse close to hand. As it is to this day. The photo I took, it would never be developed.

Flashback

I answer the door at home. My now seventeen-year-old daughter was in preschool at the time. I had been in the basement writing a paper for my Human Services program at Western Washington University. It is summer and hot upstairs on this day in the year 2000. The woman at the door has an ashen face and tells me the Coast Guard called. She is the emergency back-up contact for our EPIRB (Emergency Positioning Indicator Radio Beacon). She hands me a slip of paper with a phone number. The adrenaline surges and I pick up the phone and call the number. The Commander on the other end tells me a signal was picked up by the EPIRB on the Saint Jude. My head feels like it is floating off of my shoulders and co-existing in a corner of the room near the ceiling. I can hear myself saying that I just spoke to my husband a few hours ago and he was in Newport and was not planning on going out. Then I called Al’s cell phone number. He answered immediately, rather unconcerned. Said he’d been running a safety drill and testing the EPIRB. Must have forgotten to turn it off. I give him the Coast Guard number on the slip of paper in my hand and tell him to call it immediately. We disconnect.

The woman who brought me the number goes home with her husband. I sit down, and slowly, my mind begins to feel like it is returning to my body.

Flashback

I am on the Saint Jude, cleaning out a galley drawer. There is a baby spoon with a worn plastic handle. I wonder how many meals it was used for when our daughter was little. By the time she was four-years-old she had spent half of her life on the boat, most of the days at sea fishing. Her first four birthdays were spent on the boat in Southeast Alaska. She was not conceived on dry land and it is somewhat baffling to me that she hates fishing. Someday, that may change.

Flashback

I am in the troll cockpit on the Saint Jude. On the Starboard side. Traditionally, this is the captain’s side. I have not turned a gurdey handle or landed a King Salmon in 13 years. I have been home raising kids, and puppies, and kittens. There is a King on the line, and the thrill of watching him bite is as it was in the old days. Exhilarating! I put the clutch in and turn the valve on. We are a power troller and the hydraulics are working well. Up the snaps come and  I watch my gloved hands coil the leaders. Here comes the spread with the fish! I unsnap the leader from the troll wire and attach it to the boat. The line is tight  and I am careful to make sure my arm flexes to give the fish play. In a corner of my eye, I see Al with the camera. I start pulling in the fish and see that the hook is clear through his lower jaw. He is hooked solid. It would be hard to lose him. I grab the gaff hook, and proceed to hit the stern of the boat three times with a decided metallic clank.  I can hear Al say that I need a longer gaff.  I know he is right. My swing is the same as it has always been but on this day we have no ice in the boat and no fish so  the stern is up further out of the water.  I have not landed a fish in 13 years! So finally, I connect with the exact top of the fish’s head. It stuns him. He’s mine. The gaff hook slides easily  under his gill plate and I two-hand him aboard the boat. I cut the gill so the blood can flow free. He will be worked on, babied, until every vein in his body is free of blood. I admire his colors. Briefly.

First commercially caught King Salmon in 13 years. Oregon. F/V Saint Jude. Photo Credit – Allan Richardson

Flashback

I am on the Kay Angela. A brand-new Little Hoquiam that my family had just built. It is 1975. The boat is named after my mother. I admire the curved cap guard on the stern and remember seeing it in the steambox in Howard Moe’s boat shop.  I am 12-years-old. We are fishing off of Washington State. I am told to run the gear on the Starboard side. Fishing is slow. Up comes a King, maybe 10 pounds. Not well hooked. I lose him. He would have been my first troll-caught King Salmon. The rest of my time on board that season, I am allowed to land cohos but not King Salmon. When a large King Salmon is landed, I admire the colors for a long time. Green, gold, purple. The scales of a freshly landed King Salmon are hypnotic, breath-taking. I feel sorry for the fish. I slice through the sheet of congealing blood in the fish checker and think scientific thoughts.

Flashback

My son is in the troll cockpit of the Saint Jude. It is August, 2013. He is running the gear  on the Starboard side of the boat. His dad is right beside him. Up comes a coho. My son hands the flasher to his dad, and my husband gently releases the fish. Coho are listed as an endangered species and we are not allowed to retain them. The fish swims off.

I am home now.

I hear my son’s Lightning McQueen video game. I need to fix dinner. Just three days ago we drove up the coast to Sequim from Newport. Every port we went through had meaning for me.  Many, many  flashbacks. Depoe Bay. The first time going under the bridge on the Kay Angela. It was starting to blow. I have not been in there, on a boat, in maybe over 25 years. Garibaldi. Al has been in there, on the Saint Jude, in recent years. A few years back was memorable, and sad. Al had got up in the morning and listened to the bar report on the VHF radio. Rough bar on the ebb. The Saint Jude stayed tied to the boards. A charter boat capsized, soon after on the same day, trying to cross that bar. Eleven lives were lost. The sea can be a cruel mistress.

My mind wanders further back to sea. To fishing seasons past. Then back to the present on the tide of memory.

On my drive home, from my nearly two-week stint on the Saint Jude this summer, I passed through Montesano, Washington. This is where my sister lives. She is my only sibling and fished on the Kay Angela, too, when we were kids. She also went on to be a deckhand on the F/V Pioneer, a freezer boat that at the time, was well-known in the troll fleet. Once, she even spent a short time on Al’s and my boat not long after we had been married. It was just the three of us, that trip, on the  Little Hoquiam that Al had built in 1979.  I remember docking my sister’s pay for not being able to help unload the trip of coho that we delivered in Yakutat, AK. No grudges held, she knew the code. If a deckhand can’t finish a trip or help clean the boat after a trip or can’t help unload, they have not finished their job. She had to fly home to go to college. Her summer earnings would go toward tuition, and she was aiming to be a school teacher.

 

 

My sister Kyne (Peters) Jensen. Circa 1984. SE Alaska. F/V Kay Angela. Photo Credit – Karla (Peters) Richardson

 

Of all the deckhands I have ever fished with, my sister Kyne was the best. I miss her fiercely.

 

So, in Montesano I find my way to my sister’s house. Her son and one of her two  daughters answers the door. My sister’s boy is strapping.  He is a local sports hero.  The previous Fall he had quarterbacked the Montesano Bulldogs to the State Championship. His father, my sister’s husband, was head coach. My nephew gives me a hug.  I ask for my sister and he says she is working. I follow him in my dented mini-van as he drives to the new school where she works. I play a mind-game with myself because it is reassuring to think that a dented van is less easy to vandalize when it is parked in port parking lots for lengthy periods of time. That is not the absolute truth of why we own it. We drive an older van because the boat and fishing business absorb most of our proceeds from fishing. That is how it is for many fishing families, and I am teaching my kids that in this, there is no shame. Money is not where it’s at. Finding a way to get paid for doing that which is a passion is way more important. It is an incredible gift to get paid for fishing. Ask my husband. He thinks so too.

 

At the school, after easily clearing the office, my nephew takes me and my boy to my sister’s brand-new classroom. She is not there and we wait while her son goes to find her. On her front desk she has neatly laid out her outline for the first day. I find a pen and write, “Your sister was here”. My son spins a globe, most of the surface blue, representing the world’s oceans. Soon my sister comes in, and we embrace. I know I smell slightly of boat and sweat from the drive. I know she will not care.

My sister listens, intently, while my son shares his sea stories. He has been on board for the better part of two months, away from home. They have a brief conversation on the importance of a deckhand finishing the job on a boat. Not leaving until the work is done. It is the code, and my son is learning it well. Part of his education is being taught, in that brand new classroom, from an esteemed teacher. His eyes are the color of the ocean. I see the blue of my sister’s eyes. She asked how my husband’s fishing season is going. I told her it is not uncommon for him to have 100 King Salmon days. He has had the best season of his 42 year career.

On that day, my sister is the only person outside of my husband and myself that knows exactly how many King Salmon he has landed this year. It is the highliner code. We know it well. I told my sister that when we docked the Saint Jude soon before I was getting ready to go home, that three fishing boat captains were there to grab the tie-up lines. She and I both know how rare this is. (We know the code).  Usually, it is the deckhands that go help tie up a boat. That is why they are often called “boat pullers”. Captains have more important business to attend to.

Respect

My sister says she should probably get back to her meeting. I am slightly stunned. She had the seniority to leave it for my visit? It is rich with meaning. I vaguely regret tossing all those fish hearts down the front of her Helly Hansens when we were kids.  She has become much more than a deckhand. In this classroom, she is a captain.

As I said, Captains rarely will be on the dock to help tie up a boat. There are  exceptions. Such as when they  are welcoming one of their own back into the fleet. Or paying their respects to a skipper. Or both.

That is the code. I know it well. My son will fish. I will follow him, as I did my daughter on land. Like the tide, my life has shifted from land-to-sea-to-land and I can feel my spirit moving back toward the sea once again. My dream is that my husband, children, and I will all fish together as a family for at least awhile.

There are  women I know who follow the call of the sea. Tele Aadsen, Heather Sears, Kim Brown. Kim and Heather are both fishing boat captains. Tele fishes with her husband and writes about commercial fishing as if she is one with the spirit of the fish, the soul of the boat, the essence of the sea. With few exceptions, these women have the respect of the fleet and they have earned it. There are many other women involved in the fisheries that I have known that are  too numerous to mention. Many would believe that commercial fishing is a “man’s world”.  I have never believed this to be so, as the best  fishing operations that I have known had a woman strongly involved, holding the fort down at home, and/or working on board the boat. My mother, Kay Angela, was one of these women. Whether at home or at sea, I believe these women deserve the same amount of respect as the men in the commercial fishing business. This is how Capt. Al and I are raising our kids. Our boat kids. We are a commercial fishing family and mutual respect for one another is our highliner code. We will stay to the code, and honor our heritage, because this is the future of fishing.

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