by Chris Riley
We pulled up to the docks and parked the truck. I stepped outside and a salty breeze rushed past my face, stirring up a flurry of emotions. I felt vaguely depressed, knowing that we would be leaving soon. This feeling came as a surprise, though it is not uncommon for fishermen to get a bit down prior to the start of a season. Leaving the safety of land often means leaving the ones you love—perhaps forever. It’s a dreadful thought for sure, but it’s mitigated by excitement. Within every crab pot pulled up from the bottom of the sea lies the prospect of a hefty paycheck.
At present, I felt more than depression and excitement. I felt anxiety. My hands trembled from fear. My whole body tingled with dread—all because of Dave. I had felt this way many times before, back in high school, when I watched one bully after another taunt the hell out of Danny. The fear of becoming yet another of their victims held me back from making even a slightly courageous gesture to defend my friend’s honor.
Up on the ridge north of us, I spotted a brown bear leaning against a tree, scratching its rump on the bark. I saw this as a good excuse to break the tension among the three of us. No one had spoken a word since Dave had lost his temper on the street corner. Not while Danny and I had loaded our gear into the back of the pickup. Or in the ten minutes it took us to drive through town and to the docks.
“Look up there, guys,” I said, pointing. “Isn’t that a grizzly on the hill?” Neither Salazar nor Danny replied. They both looked at the bear, but only Danny stared at it for more than a few seconds.
Salazar was quick to get back to work. He pulled a dolly from the truck and began to load it with boxes of supplies. He seemed morose, obviously upset in his own way over how Dave had talked to us. Salazar was a solid man, classy. Although still young, in his mid-thirties, he always reminded me of an old cowboy in a Western movie: a man of few words who minds his own business but is a crack shot when the bullets start to fly. That said, Dave Jenkins wasn’t his fight, and unless he was pushed into a corner, that wasn’t about to change.
A flock of seagulls passed over our heads, squawking. I heard a couple of guys laughing from a boat off in the distance, breaking the lull of the midday harbor swell. And again, the smell of the ocean air assailed my senses. Thick with brine, the odor was a curious reminder that Alaska is teeming with life, and that brought me back into the moment.
“Let’s go, Danny,” I said. “Let’s get your gear stowed down below.” I picked up a bag and slung it over my shoulder. “We’ll be back to help,” I said to Salazar, who just nodded in return, never taking his eyes off his work.
Once on the boat, we tossed Danny’s gear onto his bunk in the stateroom and then headed back to the truck. “You can sort your stuff out later,” I said, “after we help Salazar.”
“Okey-dokey,” Danny replied. His voice seemed calm and steady, not shaky like I’d expected, considering our confrontation with Dave. Not shaky like my own. But I reminded myself that Danny had a lifetime’s worth of confrontations behind him. I assumed he was just used to guys like Dave.
As on all crab vessels, it was absolutely necessary for the crew to have several weeks’ worth of supplies on board before we headed out. Just about anything a person can think of is a mandatory item on a fishing boat, ranging from food and first aid kits to movies, books, and pictures of home. Salazar still had a few more trips to make into town.
“It’s gonna be a long day, Danny,” I said, an hour later, standing in the galley. We were unpacking the boxes we had brought down from the truck, placing a variety of items onto the dining table for sorting. “I want you to put all the canned food over here,” I said, pointing to one side of the table, “and everything else on the other. Oh, and keep an eye out for tools, Danny—they go over there on the counter.”
“Ed … are they going to kick me off the boat?” Danny said without warning.
The comment caught me off guard. “Are they going to what?” I replied.
“That man in town—he’s mad at me. Will I have to leave the boat, Ed?”
“No, Danny, don’t you worry about that. Nobody’s going to kick you off the boat.”
“But who was he, Ed? Who was that man who was yelling at me?”
“Well … he’s with our crew. He’s with our boat, and he’s been here for a while, but he can’t kick you off.” Suddenly, I felt like a fool. Tangled up by my own concerns, I hadn’t even bothered to tell Danny who Dave was. More importantly, I’d misjudged my friend, how much the incident with Dave had affected him. “He used to be the deck boss, actually,” I continued. “Now, he’s just a deckhand, and the ship’s engineer. But don’t you go and worry about him, okay?”
“What’s the deck boss?” Danny asked.
I had already taught Danny some of the different terminologies, titles, and specifics about being a crabber. But I knew how things were for my friend. He had trouble learning new things through an exchange of words. I knew it would be difficult for him to retain information unless he stepped right in and got his hands dirty. His dad was the one who explained this to me, actually, years ago. Mr. Wilson had said that Danny had a limited short-term memory. When he needed to teach Danny something complicated, he would practice with him repeatedly, day after day. Things like the alphabet, reading, using a calculator.
That said, for any skill that required muscle memory, Danny couldn’t be beat. I had considered this when I first pictured him on our boat. Much of the day in and around a crabber’s life was dedicated to physical labor, requiring little thinking and lots of doing. And for Danny’s position—as our bait-boy—I didn’t think he would have too much difficulty learning his job. In fact, I knew he wouldn’t.
“The deck boss is the guy responsible for running the deck,” I replied, “and that’s Salazar. Dave used to have the job, but he’s too much of an asshole. The crew kept complaining about it, which pissed the captain off, so he gave the job to Salazar.”
“So, is Salazar our boss, then?” Danny asked.
“That’s right,” I said. “When we’re running gear on deck, Salazar’s our boss. But remember, the captain is the boss of everyone, all the time.”
“But then why was that man yelling at him? Salazar is the boss. You can’t yell at the boss.”
I scratched my head and looked up. “Well, it’s kind of complicated, Danny.” I wondered how many times my friend had heard that phrase in his life. How many times from me alone? “Just don’t worry about it, okay?” I slapped him on the shoulder and moved on.
Danny kept quiet for the next few hours while we stowed away all the gear. It’s a big job getting everything organized on a boat, but this was good exercise for Danny. It helped him to learn his way around, which is a necessary skill in the event of an emergency. There’s certainly more than one tale of a fisherman who has crawled through the inside of a sinking vessel, in the deepest blackness and a rough sea, to escape his impending tomb. Only his time spent on board, unconsciously mapping out the lay of the boat, with its corridors and recessed rooms, had saved such a man. Knowing the ins and outs of the vessel was what guided him to the proper exit—be it the ready-room, wheelhouse, or whatever existed for him at the time.
“Get to know the boat, Danny,” I said, gesturing to the various corridors. At present, we were in a stateroom putting away canned goods. “Get to know the Angie Piper, ’cause you never know when you’ll need to bail out of here in the darkness.”
“What do you mean?” Danny asked, his eyebrows scrunching up tight.
“If this boat ever flips on us and the lights go out, you’ll need to know where to escape from.” I saw the look on my friend’s face and the way his body responded: frozen, both hands holding a can of pork and beans in midair. “I’m just kidding with you, Danny. Don’t you worry, this boat is solid.”
And that was no lie. By the time I was hired on as a greenhorn, the Angie Piper had an excellent sailing record. She had kept a crew of six men busy fishing for close to two decades. Millions of pounds of crab had passed i
n and out of her hold, earning her crew millions of dollars over the years. And all that time, she’d never had so much as a “close call” on the open seas.
As the story goes, Fred had bought the Angie Piper from an old Tlingit captain named Henry Fall. The boat had only been on the water for five years, so she was still considered rather new for a fishing vessel. According to Fred, he had also gotten her at quite the steal.
We were anchored down in a small bay, waiting out a ferocious storm, when I first heard the captain’s tale. It started out as a bet—an arm-wrestling match in one of the bars of Unalaska. Fred got his “ass handed to him,” as he would say, by a man who looked like he had been dead for fifty years. Feeling sorry for Fred, Henry bought a round of drinks, and before the end of the night, they were talking business. One thing led to another, and a few months later, Fred became the new owner of the boat, which Henry had been trying desperately to get out from underneath. However—and here’s the irony—two years later, Fred ran across Henry in Kenai. He said the man looked like he had gotten twenty years of his life back. His face had lost a few wrinkles, and his eyes looked “young again.” Fred commented as much to the old man, who just laughed and replied, “That’s funny. I was thinking you looked twenty years older, yourself.”
It was common for our captain to exaggerate his stories, particularly when he was in a good mood. All that mattered was that the Angie Piper had not been a ship plagued with bad luck. Some boats broke down just days prior to the beginning of a season, costing their owners thousands of dollars before they caught a single crab. And of course, others never made it back home, breaking down in the middle of a winter storm, loaded with ice-covered pots, their crab tanks brimming over, and with three-story waves crashing over the decks. The Angie Piper had her expenses, like any other boat, but when the crabbing was hot, she never failed to run her gear, or make the cash. Until we took Danny out there for his first season, she’d never broken down.
Danny and I were almost finished unpacking a box of canned goods when we heard Dave hollering up in the wheelhouse. “You’re making a big mistake, Fred!” It surprised me, as I hadn’t known he was on the boat yet. “Mark my words: this is a huge, fucking mistake! Having someone like him on board is just ridiculous. Not to mention bad luck.”
“I need you to shut up, already!” replied the captain.
“Think about it, Fred. That kid will be nothing but a liability—for all of us. You know how easy it is to get killed out here.”
“I’m done talking to you. We’re done. Get to work already, or get off my boat.”
Danny looked me square in the eye. His face was pallid, ghost-like, marked by a fear I’d never seen in him. It sickened me to see him that way, but the truth was, I felt the same. Dave could be a bastard when he was unhappy, and he obviously had no intention of letting go of his first impression of my friend.
“Don’t worry, Danny,” I said, rather unconvincingly, as I reached out and touched his arm. “Once Dave sees how hard you work, he’ll cool off.”
“Are you sure they won’t make me leave?”
“No way, buddy. Fred is a good guy. And he’s tough—a lot tougher than Dave. He’s the captain, and what he says around here, and when we’re out to sea, is like … well, it’s what goes.” I gestured to another box of canned goods, and Danny opened it. “Forget about Dave. He’ll come around.”
Just then, I heard Dave leave the wheelhouse and stomp down the stairs. At the bottom, he glanced up and spotted Danny and me in the hall. Under the glow of yellow lamplight, I saw his face turn the color of a lobster. Then his lips twisted a bit, revealing an inner struggle, as if he wanted to speak but was battling with his rage.
Dave walked down the hall but then turned to direct his piercing stare on me for a long moment. He shifted his gaze to Danny, then back at me. “You know, Ed,” he said, casual-like, “you really disappoint me. I suppose … well, I guess I used to think you were something special, Ed. Hardworking kid and all. Level-headed.” He glanced again at Danny and I saw it in Dave’s eyes, the sheer magnitude of his resentment. I thought I even saw a touch of fear. “But now this,” he added. “Really?”
“Look, Dave, we don’t want any trouble with you. Can’t you just give him a chance?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Ed?” Dave paused, almost on the verge of a grin. “Well, you can forget about it. By the end of this season, you’ll both be off the Angie Piper. I’ll make sure of it.” Then he turned and walked down the hall, through the ready-room, and slammed his way out onto the deck—an ugly storm of hate and fury and menace. I wondered what had happened to the man that he should react this way. What was it, exactly, that bothered him about Danny’s presence? There was something about my friend that tapped into the absolute worst of Dave.
“They’re going to make me leave, Ed,” Danny said, handing me a can of creamed corn. But then, he delivered a classic Danny line. With a laugh, he pointed at my face and said out loud, “Special-Ed. That’s funny.”
Chapter 7
Minutes after Dave left, the door from the ready-room leading out onto the deck opened again. The short, brown-skinned man, who would later egg Danny into arm wrestling, stepped inside, carrying an olive duffel bag. Eloni Popo Winston, otherwise known as Loni, was our sixth and final crewmember. He threw me his trademark no-holds-barred grin before he turned to shut the door.
As a senior deckhand, Loni had been crabbing with Fred for almost ten years. He was well known and well liked throughout the fishing community, mostly because of his upbeat personality.
Loni hailed from Samoa’s large island of Upolu. This was a man who had been steeped in a rich culture—a culture that also took nothing for granted. Loni hadn’t started out with much, in terms of material possessions. But that Polynesian had much more of what really counted in life—an enormous family who defined love—and the rest of us secretly envied him. His dozens of relatives—cousins, aunts, uncles, brothers and sisters, and of course, his parents—would drop everything to help one another. How many possessions does anyone really need to make the best of things, when they have a family like that on their side?
Since the day we met, I’d liked Loni. I couldn’t help it. He’d spent the first half of his life collecting a treasure trove of experiences and memories on the island of Upolu. As a result, he was a radiant person who promised entertainment at every turn. I admired the man. Upon Loni’s face I could see children running on a beach, laughing in the waves, tossing seashells into the surf. Reflected in his eyes was a warm, orange sunset. Even in the way Loni shifted his duffel bag to his other shoulder and walked down the hall toward Danny and me, I could discern that sharp sense of confidence that poured out of him. Little things like that made me think that Loni had life figured out. And that’s what I envied most. Nothing was more important than a good laugh with those he cared about, and Loni was hell-bent on keeping things that way. It was his mission in life. And that meant cutting through all the bullshit.
“What’s gone up his ass, now?” Loni said, in his thick accent. He rubbed his hands together then gave a short whistle. “Dave-man, he’s all fired up.”
“What’s going on, Loni!” I shouted back. I was excited to see my Poly friend, “Poly” being the slang term he preferred when referring to people from the Polynesian islands. I knew that his presence would help dispel the negativity Dave had brought on board.
“How ya doing, Ed?” Loni replied, glancing from me to Danny. “You ready to catch us some crab?”
“You’re damn right I am.” I jerked a thumb toward Danny. “And this is our new greenhorn who’s gonna make it happen.”
“Hmm ….” Loni scratched his chin, sizing Danny up. “This brother’s got a look to him, Ed. Looks like he might have him some muscle.” Loni placed a hand on Danny’s bicep and squeezed. “Oh, yeah. I can tell. This brother’s nothing but muscle.”
Danny’s face broke into a goofy smile, his crooked teeth gleaming in the yellow
light of the overhead lamp. He shifted his feet, then looked down at them, obviously embarrassed by the sudden attention.
“You’ve no idea, Loni,” I said. “Danny is stronger than anybody you’ve ever known.”
“Oh, is that so?” Loni replied. “Well, we’ll see about that. Got us some real strong boys back on the island.” He looked Danny up and down once again, then said, “Kinda short—like me. Might be good on deck …. Might be bad.”
Loni had a point. It took all kinds of physical talents to be successful on a crab boat. Tall people like Dave were naturally strong, but often clumsy. They had trouble controlling their center of gravity, especially when the boat swayed violently in rough seas. Smaller people fared better on deck, but they were also prone to exhaustion after pushing thousand-pound crab pots around for days on end.
That said, we were talking about Danny Wilson.
“He got him some big hands, that’s for sure,” Loni said. He scratched the black whiskers on his chin, and then looked at me. “This the same boy you told me about—the one who worked in Bristol Bay?”
“He sure is,” I replied, with a smile. Months ago, I had told Loni all about Danny’s processing job up north, just to ease the worry that he wouldn’t be ready for working the long hours. And because Loni was such a friendly guy, so easy to talk to, I went ahead and told him a lot more about Danny.
“And this means we’ve got us a future SEAL-man on board?”
Danny looked up, beaming.
“Yep. The one and only,” I replied.
“Well … guess the Angie Piper might be in for some good fishing this year, eh?” Loni said, punching Danny on the arm.
“Hooyah, master chief!” Danny replied.
“My cousin, Lenny,” continued Loni, “he’s a Ranger with the Army. Says them SEALs are real bad-asses. Says they the toughest men alive.”
“SEALs are the best!” Danny replied, his words slurring together once again. When he got excited—usually while discussing anything that had to do with Navy SEALs—even I had to listen hard to catch everything he said.