conversation, he talked about the bay being sandy and rocky, rich with shellfish, crabs, and fish. All agreed that this area was as beautiful as any they had seen in all of Alaska and Canada. Often, the crew would joke about returning to Nascall Bay and doing a little hunting in the valley they had discovered. These stories were repeated often, each time with the addition of yet another detail. Their tales and descriptions sparked vivid images for me.
At the end of each summer, with nearly $400 dollars in my pockets, I found it harder and harder to leave the Pacific Lady and my newfound friends. Each year, before I left, I’d ask Captain Skip if I was welcome back for the following summer, and each time he would tell me that I would always have a berth on any boat that he commanded. That made me feel good, like I’d found something I did well and friends who enjoyed me for who I was, not just for who my family was.
On the third summer of fishing, I was promoted to deck hand, which meant that I would share in the value of the fish we caught and sold. I left Ketchikan at the end of that summer with over $1,200 in my pocket. This was my money. I’d earned it myself and I would spend it myself. These summers gave me a feeling of freedom, fulfillment, and independence. For the first time in my life, I had my own money, my own friends and something I enjoyed doing. It was bloody hard work, but I was in love with Alaska, the sea and the men who fished for her bounty. These summers were the best of times.
Horsemanship
The way we were traveling turned better as my little caravan moved up a well-traveled game trail. It was now early afternoon, and, to my surprise, the weather was still improving. The bright sun felt warm on my body as I rode through the few forest clearings. Then, just starting up a small, windy hill, I turned to the rear to make sure the mules were in a correct path behind me. As I turned to the front again, a low, thick fir branch hit me squarely on the forehead.
The force of the blow rolled me off my horse and hard onto the ground. The crash knocked me out for a second, and I struggled to get my wits about me again. Slowly opening my eyes, I could see Gus clearly, some 50 feet up the trail. Blaze was standing in front of me with his head down, turning back looking at me, his reins hanging on the floor of the forest.
Both Gus and Blaze had puzzled looks of their faces. Blaze seemed to be saying, "You pointed the way, pal." As I got slowly to my feet, both the mules started to bray as if they were laughing at me. Embarrassed, I brushed myself off with hands and hat, dust rising into the still air. I had to remember that my head was taller in the saddle than Blaze’s head on his neck. Basic horsemanship. As I mounted Blaze once again, I knew that, while my forehead would have a lump, the only real damage had been to my pride. This event only proved what I already knew: I was no cowboy.
Drifting
From old pictures, I could tell I’d grown up to look and be built much like my father. The difference was that he was taller and thinner than me, as I was 6’1” and weighed 175 pounds. He seemed to have had a strong, muscular body, the same as mine. Uncle Roy said that I had my mother's blue eyes, small ears, nose, and cleft chin. From her pictures, she was a very beautiful lady. I wished I had known them both; there were so many questions I would have asked.
When it came to brains, however, I didn't get my father’s. Grandfather liked to say that I was academically challenged, and he was right. Every year, school was a struggle for me as I found only a few subjects interesting. I didn't blame my teachers for this because for the most part I was just not interested in a formal education. I did excel in science, geography, art, and athletics. But math, English, Latin, and history were another story. As it turned out, I had not become the scholar dear, old Grandfather had expected or the athlete that I wanted to be. Cynical with it all, I squeaked through senior year at boarding school as a C student and then attended a private college for almost two years, where I failed many courses. By then, I had a chip on my shoulder and knew it. I was just kind of drifting. Any wind could have blown me in any direction. In the early spring of 1940, I decided, over the strong objections of Grandfather and Uncle Roy, to drop out of school and return to the only thing I enjoyed: fishing in Alaska.
Sending a telegram to Captain Skip, I told him I was coming back and gave him my arrival date. I figured that if he didn't have a job for me, I’d find a berth on another fishing boat. Flying, for the first time, from New York to Denver and then Denver to Seattle, I made the journey in only 30 hours.
When I tried to purchase a plane ticket for Ketchikan, I was told that all the flights were full and that there was a five-day wait for a seat. When I inquired as to the reason, the lady at the ticket counter told me that it had been like that for the past six months, but that she had no idea why the delays were so long. Because of this, I decided to book passage on one of the ferryboats. While it would take three days of sailing, it was much better than waiting five-days for a seat on the airplane.
When I stepped off the boat, I found a much different Ketchikan than when I had left, nine months earlier. The streets were full of people, most of them wearing army uniforms. There were MPs (Military Police) on almost every street corner and hundreds of other “out of place” faces. Preoccupied with thoughts of the Pacific Lady, I hurried to the boat basin. My eyes quickly skimmed the docks to see if the Pacific Lady was still in port.
Sure enough, there she was. Captain Skip had given her a new paint job, a white superstructure that contrasted nicely with the clean, bright green trim. She even had new rigging and gear on her afterdeck.
Captain Skip sat in the wheelhouse, cradling a steaming mug of coffee in his weathered hands. He greeted me warmly and, as he filled a chipped mug for me of the steaming brew, Skip brought me up to speed on the changes in Ketchikan. He told me that the Army was building a number of fortifications up and down the Alaskan coastline and that Ketchikan had almost doubled in size over the last six months.
From his descriptions, I didn't understand why the Army was in Alaska. I knew that some people were talking about a possible war in Europe, but why Alaska, such a long way from Europe? He went on to tell me that the locals hated having the military around and that there had been many fights in town, with the fishermen fighting the soldiers, the soldiers fighting the loggers, and the miners fighting everyone else. At this we both laughed. Clearly, the wild little fishing town of Ketchikan had gotten even wilder.
Captain Skip had waited for my arrival. One of his crew, Lucky, a good old guy with one hell of a temper, was in the hospital after being stabbed by a miner in a barroom brawl. One of his other crew-members, a man whom I had not met, had returned to the lower forty-eight to join the Navy. We would be fishing short two crew-members, a lot more work for all… but our shares in the profits would be more, too. The good news was that the price the packers were paying for fish had almost doubled over the past year. Stowing my gear in a forward compartment, I was eager to trade the port for the sea once again.
We fished almost non-stop from March on, with our average trip lasting anywhere from four days to a week. We’d then return to Ketchikan to sell our catch, purchase supplies, do maintenance on the boat, gas up, and return to the sea. Fishing had been excellent, and we were all making more money than we ever dreamed. While in port, we played hard, spending our money from café to saloon, saloon to café. But Captain Skip issued firm orders that the crew and I were to avoid any confrontations. Not that any of us were afraid of the townspeople. We felt that if we could master the sea, we damn sure could take care of ourselves in any port. We were rough, we were tough, we were fit... and that “chip” on my shoulder had never been so big. If it had not been for the respect I
