I spent 7 summers in Alaska. The last 5 commercially fishing. I have thought about writng a book someday about my experiences. I have penned a few rough draft of some stories. This is one what do you think?
We were as happy as two clams at high tide. We had been trolling for King salmon for a week off Noyes Island; the fishing had been good, the weather tolerable, and the company great. Trollers are basically a happy lot, because they have chosen a fairly low-key fishery with the sport of hook-and-line catching, as opposed to catching fish in a net. A friend of mine, tongue in cheek, called it ?the gentleman?s fishery?. You don't get rich, but you have a lot of fun!
I was deckhanding for my friend Wayne, as I had been doing for several years in the Summer. It was a good Summer job, but sometimes a mixed blessing; Wayne, like a lot of skippers, was not the easiest guy to work for; and, to use his own words, it was a ?crude way to serve the Lord?. But we loved the business and the beautiful Southeast Alaska setting.
We were, more specifically, working the ?Shaft Rock drag? along the rugged shores of Cape Addington , on the southwest corner of Noyes Island. The closest city is Ketchikan, about 130 miles; we were from Wrangell, which is about 100 miles in another direction. The closest town to us, where we delivered our fish, is Craig, which is about 25 miles?Wayne had gotten ?hooked? on this drag because when he first started trolling he had, at sunset, in beautiful weather, and all alone, caught three slug Kings totalling about 150 pounds. It isn't just the fish that get hooked. So we made trip after trip to this same place, accepting the agonies and ecstasies; occasionally, if it was REALLY dead, we would try another drag, but this was ?our? place. There were about five other trollers who felt the same way.
This trip was about over! We had sized up the situation last night at anchor, and were getting low on ice, bait, and groceries?and patience. It was time for a ?turnaround?. You run to town, sell your fish, and have enough money for the necessities of fishing. We even rewarded ourselves with a dinner at Ruth Ann?s Restaurant after we cleaned up.
So, we would catch the morning bite and take off on the three hour run to Craig. Yeah! I always enjoyed our short trips to town because we always seemed to have some unexpected excitement.
Craig is one of those typical fishing villages in Southeast Alaska. The population tripled in the Summer due to the salmon run and the need for prompt processing of the fish. There had been a cannery, but now most of the fish were frozen prior to shipping. We had gutted them and packed them in ice for the duration of our trip. The town had gravel streets and the bare necessities to support the fishing fleet. A lot of boats came here from other towns during the run, but there were also the ?home guards? who lived here year ?round. Summer is the busy, happy time of the year, with people everywhere. The stores were overcrowded and the streets busy, giving the impression of a fast-growing city with the need for good city planners. In reality it was not growing at all. The contrast between Summer and the rest of the year is striking. In the off-season you could wonder why the town existed. Short days, long nights, gloom, rain, snow, gloom. Then the only ?downtown? activity seemed to be in the bars, where the fish stories blossom??
We didn't really know much about Craig. Our turnarounds only involved the businesses within walking distance of the docks. We didn't know if they had a police station, jail, firehouse, or city hall---although we were destined to find out about them.
We dealt with the fish company, gear store, grocery store, fuel dock, and, hopefully, Ruth Ann?s. The Skipper didn't even go into the bars, as he was wont to do in our home port of Wrangell.
So this day we were heading for the big city, and as we hauled the anchor that morning I felt some excitement. Fishing is great, but after seven 16-hour days and no shower??
There was always some amusement in Craig: running into old troller friends, watching our dog, Rhino, get into trouble with the local dogs, and the dinner at Ruth Ann?s ! And I might get to sleep in past 4 A.M.!
As we headed for the ol? Haystack to drop our gear, I could see the thick foam along the rocks. The swell was long and lazy and there was not the slightest breeze, The morning haze actually seemed to accentuate the whiteness of the foam. A beautiful Southeast morning ---and a great time to take a break!
Well, it didn't turn out that great as far as the fishing went. In our first few passes we didn't catch a single King. However, Wayne, as usual, wasn?t ready to give up yet. It often seemed to me that he looked at our lack of success as a personal challenge from the sea. Mother Ocean was testing us, to see if we had the persistence to wrest the fish from her depths even when she was uncooperative. He used to recite something about ?Nothing can take the place of persistence?? some old rhyme , I guess. We couldn't quit when we weren't catching fish because if we did, we had given up---and we didn't give up on anything!! Ironically, when the fish were biting, we wouldn't think of giving up! So we often bashed our heads into rock walls---literally. I, on the other hand, felt secure in knowing that some days were just not good fishing days; what mattered was that you kept the gear wet as much as possible. If you were persistent ?and consistent?in fishing hard, you would catch more than the average fisherman. Like today: even though we were ready to head for town, I wasn?t surprised when we continued to make pass after pass at the Shaft Rock ?cookie jar?.
By early afternoon we only had one mediocre King. We were more than ready to get that far away look in our eyes. Wayne came out on deck and said that he had been talking on the radio to our old friend Ron Rau, and that he was heading this way to run in with us. When he shows up we will pull the gear. Yeah!!
Ron is from Michigan, and is a real character. He moved to Wrangell a few years back, and combined a writing career with commercial fishing. He has a small troller, the ?Bluegill?, 29 feet long, as compared to our 40-foot ?Seven Bros.? He writes mostly for Gray?s Sporting Journal, but occasionally he gets a story into Sports Illustrated. Ron has a great, but sometimes abrasive, sense of humor. He makes ends meet with his combination of professions; he writes interesting and humorous stuff, and his fishing is equally successful. We seldom fish near Ron, due to the differences in boat size. He usually fishes the Inside Passage, while we most often work ?outside?. Also, he is a ?hand troller?, reeling up his lines by muscle power, while we are a ?power troller?, which means we use hydraulic power to reel in the lines. Consequently, we are able to handle more gear, and do it faster. It usually pays off, but the hand crankers can do better than us sometimes. I wasn?t sure why he was in the area this time, but it would be good to run with him.
We ended up with only two kings for the day, so we were very happy to see Ron and have an excuse to quit. The run to Craig takes about three hours, and it is a beautiful route winding through the passes between islands. The day was fine, and the water like glass. Wayne chatted with Ron on the CB while I iced our great catch and tidied up.
When we got close to Craig harbor, the dog Rhino became more and more excited with the scent and sounds of civilization. His routine is to sniff, and whine, and run around the deck; most of the time, however, he stayed at his whale-and-porpoise- watching post at the very bow of the boat. Rhino is such a character, and had provided much entertainment barking at fish when we land them, as well as the distinctive behavior regarding the cetaceans. He actually seems to sense them, or perhaps hear them.
At least his high-pitched whine sounds like some of the recordings I've heard?..but I may be guilty of anthropomorphizing.
As we approached the fish dock, we saw that they were very busy unloading boats; so we figured we had time to fuel up prior to delivering. But, wouldn't you know, there were boats at the fuel dock too---so we tied up temporarily to the transient float nearby. Ron pulled up and laid the Bluegill across our stern; he made it look like he was being sociable, but what he was really doing was blocking us in so he could get the first open spot.
We B.S.ed (a thing all fishermen are experts at) for about a half hour before we saw a seiner pull away from the fuel dock. Wayne and Ron both ran for their respective pilot-houses. Ron was actually in the best position, but Wayne wasn?t going to let Ron get there first if he could help it. He put the Seven Bros. in reverse and ?T-boned? the Bluegill across our stern , locking it there. A clever move, but one that brought out a lot of cussing in our direction from the skipper of the Bluegill!!! We pushed him out into the harbor until we could pull ahead at full tilt to get to the spot. Ron tried to race ahead, but only got alongside as we approached the dock; we had the inside track,and nudged him away as we pulled in. He actually made our landing easier because he pushed us into the dock! The more he yelled, the more we laughed---we had aced him out, and we happily tied up and began fueling.
Caught up in the busy routine of refueling, we forgot about our competitor until BANG! --- a loud, sharp report that could only be a gunshot! BANG! again, behind us! We turned to see the Bluegill just off our stern with Ron standing on deck with a smoking pistol aimed up at our trolling poles!! BANG! He yelled he was going to shoot off the tips of our poles, but so far they didn't appear damaged. Wayne ducked into our cabin and emerged with an old 30-30 Winchester. BOOM! He shouted that if anyone was going to shoot off pole tips it would be us! Luckily, nobody was that good of a marksman, and everything remained intact even though Ron emptied his gun. After the episode was over, Ron pulled up and tied alongside. We had a good laugh and resumed our refueling.
We then heard a commotion on the dock ramp, and looked up to see two police officers heading our way??.Wayne and Ron again disappeared into their cabins, Wayne to blow through the gun barrel of the Winchester, while Ron tried to mask the smell of powder in his pistol with WD-40. The cop was not fooled and put Ron under arrest, complete with handcuffs! The other cop said he heard we had fired a shotgun back; Wayne told him he didn't own one, and said he could search the boat. He did, and came up with the 30-30, which he sniffed and decided it had not been fired. He really wanted to find a shotgun, and when he didn't he was satisfied that we hadn't fired back. They took Ron away, and we yelled at him that we would come and bail him out.
We had work to do first: we had to get the Bluegill tied up and get to the fish dock to deliver, clean up the fish hold and get more ice and bait. We did so, and returned to tie up next to the Bluegill and go find Ron. We eventually found the jail, and there we were told that the magistrate would not decide about bail for Ron for an hour or so. We did get to speak to him briefly; he was loudly complaining that he had not been allowed his one phone call. I thought he was maybe wanting to contact a lawyer, but when I asked him he said that he wanted to order a pizza to be delivered!! He knew his rights, he said. I don't believe that such services were even available in Craig, Alaska! We told him we would be back later to bail him out.
We realized then that the Craig officials were taking this incident seriously; but I also knew that the day would come when it would be a great story in this little town, as it was soon to become in the fishing fleet.
Wayne and I then went to get much-needed showers and groceries for the next trip. Wayne even treated himself to a six-pack of beer to celebrate Ron?s forthcoming exoneration. When we returned to the jail we were told that the bail was $1500, which Wayne paid. No ?O.R.? for this hardened criminal! He was to return for court in the morning. As we paid the bail I was certain I saw a glint of humor in the bailiff?s eye.
We finally made it to Ruth Ann?s ! We had a great dinner, and a pleasant evening. Of course, Ron took every chance to inform all who would listen of the over-zealousness of the Craig police. I was starting my second year of Law School that Fall, and during dinner Ron pumped me for information regarding how he should approach the Magistrate in the morning. One year of law school doesn't make you an attorney, or teach you how to deal with this type of situation. However I did offer what I thought was some common sense advice. I told Ron that the Law seemed to be taking this quite seriously, as evidence by the bail amount as well as making him wait several hours to determine whether to give him bail at all. I said that he should NOT treat this as a joke, and if I were him I would be very serious and apologetic before the judge.
When we went over to the Bluegill the next morning, it was obvious that Ron had decided on his own course of action. He emerged from the cabin wearing a black-and white striped shirt, like the prisoners in the old movies! It was his old referee shirt he had from his days as a city league basketball referee. No boring apologetic court session for him!! Wayne and I couldn't believe it! We knew this was going to be interesting?.
Well, it was. The magistrate turned out to be a large, tough looking woman in her 50s. I knew Ron was in for trouble. She called for the case of ?The People Against Ron Rau? just like it was one of many she had to deal with that day; while we knew full well that this was about the biggest excitement the Court had had for a long time. She did not react overtly to Ron?s garb (which I think disappointed him) but asked if he denied shooting a gun in the city limits. He promptly admitted that he had done so. She then asked if he had anything to say in his own behalf. Of course Ron did: he eloquently presented his defense, based on the premise that Alaska is the last true frontier, how it is not like the ?Lower 48? with their strict laws and regulations, and how it is good that there is still a place for people with a desire for adventure. He stated that these remaining Pioneers should not be restricted with burdensome laws, and that shooting a gun in the air was nothing to get excited about. Ron assured the judge that he knew guns and safety, and that he had been careful; he knew his shooting did not endanger anyone. He ended his defense with a plea to the judge to let the incident pass without penalty because it was a silly but harmless event of a fisherman happy to come in from a long trip. Just ?having some fun, your Honor?.
Well. The judge betrayed no emotion during his speech, but showed a faint smile as she began to speak. She stated that the city of Craig, however small and isolated, is NOT the Wild West, and citizens deserved to be free from the fear caused by such an incident Gunshots within the city limits are forbidden not only for the possible damage they can cause, but for the fact that they ?scare women and children? as well. Ron was disturbing the peace. The Laws of the State of Alaska were enacted for a valid reason, and not to be disregarded just because some fisherman wants to ?have some fun?. Later Ron related to us that ?the longer she went on, the more hundred-dollar bills with wings I saw fly away, just like in the comic strips.?
And fly they did. 15 of them; and besides the fine, he had to spend three days in jail. The only good news was that he was allowed to serve the time in jail after the fishing season. That gave Wayne a better chance of being repaid soon, although I don't think he was worried about it: it was just the price of entert
