Skip looked over at me. "Well, boy, how do you like fishin’ so far?" Both he and Jack laughed out loud. Then Skip turned to Jack and asked, "How’s that barometer doin’?"
"Still fallin’, Skipper," Jack replied.
Another big wave broke across our bow, and this time the boat twisted almost 45 degrees. Turning to Captain Skip, I shouted, "Do you think we should get life jackets on?"
Both men laughed out loud again.
"Look, son, you can put one on if it makes you feel better, but the facts are that you wouldn't last two minutes, floating in the cold waters up here. Only way to stay alive in weather like this is not to fall in. Right, Jack?"
"You got that right, Skipper. Hell, there's more danger in having a little fun in the sporting houses of Ketchikan than in these waters."
Captain Skip spun the wheel to turn the boat into a large wave coming from the right side. Its green foam spread again across the wheelhouse. The sound of its crash was almost deafening, its force shook the whole boat. The little windshield wiper in front of the skipper’s window stopped with the weight of the water and then began again.
Skip replied, "Come on, Jack, the boy just came aboard and you’re already talking badly about our little fishing village. Why don't you go astern and see if Tony needs help?"
"Sure. Why not? There’ll be plenty of time to show the boy how we live up here."
Jack slugged the last of his coffee, put the mug in a holder, and looked out the window for a few seconds, to time his exit with the waves.
Skip turned his head toward me for just a moment and said, "Look, Dutch, there's nothing to be afraid of. I’ve been in weather like this a hundred times, and the Pacific Lady is made of some of the finest timber man has found. She wouldn’t let us down. You go below and get some rest. I put your gear in the forward cabin. Your bunk is the port side."
At first, I didn't know what to say. I wasn't sure I could let go of the pipes above me, and I certainty didn't know what “port” meant.
Skip looked over again. "You can make it. Just go slowly and hang on, you'll have your sea legs in no time. By the way, port is left, starboard is right. With this weather, it’ll be hours before we start fishing. I'll call ya if and when we start fishing, or sinking."
A broad smile crossed his weather-beaten face. Forcing a smile back, I nodded my approval. Then, slowly, I turned and climbed down the rolling gangway ladder at the rear of the wheelhouse and lurched up a dimly lit passageway to the forward cabin. There I found my suitcase sliding back and forth on the floor next to a V berth.
Closing the cabin door, I looked around the small compartment. The only illumination inside the cramped quarters came from four small portholes above me. I was sure I wouldn't sleep, but I crawled into the left bunk anyway. Here, I could feel the front of the boat lift itself out of the water and then crash down again. Each time, I’d hang on to the sides of the bunk. Sometimes my whole body would become weightless as I was bounced into the air. Then I’d fall back into my bunk with a thud.
Damn! This was not how I’d envisioned fishing when Uncle Roy had told me about Captain Skip and working up here in Ketchikan, Alaska. Maybe, as much as I would have hated it, I should have stayed with Grandfather in Fairview for my sixteenth summer.
There was another wave, another loud crash. Then, for some unknown reason, I was asleep in a few minutes.
The next thing I heard was the muffled sounds of the boat’s diesel engine as it pushed the Pacific Lady through calm waters. My eyes flew open and I saw sunlight coming from the small portholes above the cabin. Hopping out of my bunk, I stood on my toes to look out through one of the small, round windows.
The ocean was flat, the sun low in the sky, and seagulls were flying around the boat as it cut cleanly through the water. There was a rocky shoreline with tall trees growing between the rocks right down to the shore. The boat was slowly moving north, with none of the pitching and rolling of the day before.
Looking at my watch, I saw that it was 6 a.m.; I’d slept almost 10 hours! My legs were wobbly, but it was time to get moving. Swinging open the cabin door, I swayed down the passageway like a drunk. As I passed the gangway leading up to the wheelhouse, I saw Jack's legs behind the helm.
Just astern of the gangway, I entered into a small, smoke-filled salon with small windows above. This cabin served as a galley, with a diesel cooking stove on one side, which made the whole room smell of diesel, and a small eating booth on the other side. There, sitting behind the table, were Skip and Tony. They both greeted me with big smiles on their faces.
Tony said, "Hey, bait boy... good morning. I heard you wanted a life jacket yesterday. Here, you can have mine!"
He threw an orange life jacket across the cabin as he laughed.
Catching it in mid-air and turning to Captain Skip, I said, "Thought you were going to call me, sir. Sorry for all that sack time."
Skip looked up. "We didn't sink, and we’re still a couple hours from where we’ll start fishing. Thought a good night’s sleep would help ya. When we get into the fishin’ waters, there won’t be sleep for any of us."
Sitting down on the corner of one of the benches of the booth, I was still a little bewildered.
"Help yourself to the coffee, and there’s food on the stove. After you’ve eaten, I'll give you the first lesson on being a bait boy," Skip said.
The coffee was strong and black, and I poured a full mug. At the stove, I lifted the lid on a large, black, cast-iron skillet. Mixed in the grease from bacon and sausage were two cold, hard, fried eggs. The sight and smell of this mixture made my stomach turn, and I knew I was going to throw up. Turning, I staggered out of the cramped salon as fast as I could.
As I made my hasty departure, I heard Tony say, "Gee, Skipper, we won’t need any bait on this trip. Looks like the bait boy will provide all we need."
Captain Skip soon joined me at the rail. "Don't worry about it, Dutch. It will take some time to get used to all the smells and rolling of a fishing boat. Let’s get to work. It’ll get your mind off it. Let me show you all about being a bait boy."
Even though I remained seasick for the next five days, that’s exactly what he did. He showed me how to remove the barbs from the large hooks we were using and how to take a file to sharpen those hooks. He explained that if the barbs were left on, the fish would be hard to remove from the hooks.
As he helped me file my first few hooks, I really saw him for the first time. He was a tall, thin man in his late forties, with jet-black hair and graying temples. He was part Eskimo and part French, which gave him a love for nature and the temper to back it up. His face had strong features and his hands and arms were robust and thick. When he smiled, which he did a lot, he showed teeth that were white and straight. He was a man that fit his environment.
I took to him immediately. He was genuine with his instruction and had a lot of patience for all my questions. Next, he showed me how to put the bait on the barbless hooks, how to handle the lines, where to throw the fish, and other tips for a landlubber turned bait boy.
My bond with Captain Skip came easily and I worked hard for him. It was important to me to do a good job and I never made the same mistake twice. On a working boat, you need to think
