My girlfriend returned to the Three Sisters later that afternoon, having abandoned her quest to return to Cordova. No one said a thing about her absence. With two greenhorns on the crew, we were better off with her commercial fishing experience than without it.
Our fishing adventure started at 3 am that morning, as we shoved off and headed out of Valdez toward, we hoped, the fish that awaited us. In this commercial fishing business, the fish rule everything. Our skipper, like most experienced fishermen in the fleet, had his favorite spot and he wanted to hit it by dawn.
Purse Seiner with skiff in tow, Valdez, Alaska
As we chugged into Valdez Arm, the skipper told us that Bligh Reef was lurking dead ahead. He was quick to communicate our most important lesson for this leg of the journey: always stay to the starboard side of the red navigation buoy at Rocky Point. This was the marker that led us away from those treacherous rocks on which the Exxon Valdez had foundered.
But I had a different problem. It was that damned diesel stove. No matter the fixes the farm boy had put in, the thing kept going out at the most inopportune times. Which, when you’re cooking, is pretty much any time. And I had breakfast to fix for four hungry crewmembers at the crack of dawn. There would be eggs, scrambled. Lots of eggs. Bacon, fried. Lots of bacon. And toast. Whole wheat toast. Plus sandwiches for the skiffman.
We’d fish from dawn to dusk, the skipper said. We were going for the money. The crew needed full bellies. The downside was that we’d have precious few moments to eat; we’d have to grab and go between sets. The skiffman wouldn’t even have time to come in for his meals. Under those circumstances, a recalcitrant stove was the last thing I wanted. We’d try one more fix. When we had time.
I got the feeling this was a problem I’d have to work around. Not just daily, but hourly.
Especially after I learned about my other job. I would be stacking net after each set. K. would be the lead stacker, so at least I had someone to show me the ropes. My imagination nevertheless took me places it didn’t belong.
Stacking net as I imagined it
Now I had to figure out how to cook, stack nets and keep the stove going. I was most worried about the latter. My mind raced to things I could start on the burners and then finish in the oven. Casseroles. Oh God, the dreaded casserole.
Copyright Leland E. Hale (2018). All rights reserved.
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