The Sinking of the Angie Piper

by Chris Riley

  Another heavy wave hit our starboard side, sending the Angie Piper into a good twenty-degree list to port. Loni and Danny both chuckled, and I heard Dave curse somewhere in the hall. Salazar simply pushed another cigarette between his lips and lit it. He took a deep drag, and then stared right at me. “Told you so,” he said, before erupting into a burst of smoke and laughter.

  Chapter 18

  Most of the crew managed to get a few hours of sleep before the seas settled down. I had second watch duty in the wheelhouse, but after Loni came up to relieve me, I got four solid hours of rest. When I woke, the storm had passed, and the Angie Piper was skimming through the ocean at a stable pace. I knew we’d start to turn the gear soon, pulling and dropping pots, which oddly enough struck me as a welcoming notion. After the previous night on deck, it would do everyone good to get back into the rhythm of work.

  I climbed out of my rack and got dressed, noticing that Danny wasn’t in the room. Laughter erupted from down the hall in the galley, and I suspected he was in there eating a hearty breakfast. The thought of Danny becoming more and more independent as a deckhand put a smile on my face. Knowing that he didn’t need me to tell him what to do every minute of the day was a relief. Yet more than that, it supported my decision to introduce Danny to this horrible life.

  We still had Dave to contend with, though.

  Coffee was my number one objective at that moment, and I smelled it, along with a mouthwatering combo of eggs, bacon, and hash browns. Rounding the corner and entering the galley, I was hardly surprised to see that I had been the last man to wake.

  “Good morning, sunshine!” Loni said. “You get your beauty sleep in, eh?” Everyone sat around the room drinking and eating, except for the captain, who I assumed was up in the wheelhouse.

  “You bet I did,” I replied, pouring myself a cup of coffee. “I had the craziest dream, though. I dreamt about a terrible storm, with waves crashing over the rail.” I turned and smiled. “A crazy pot swung across the deck.”

  “We dodged a bullet last night, that’s for sure,” replied Salazar.

  The coffee tasted good, and it was the perfect appetizer for the breakfast I piled onto a plate. While scooping up hash browns, I stole a brief peek at Dave, who had been sitting on a barstool, facing the hall. Naturally, I was curious about his current demeanor, and wondered if I should say something regarding the night before. After all, sometimes a crisis will bring men together. Like two sworn enemies who become the best of friends after they duke it out. There was hope, I reasoned.

  “Hey, Dave, thanks for everything last night.” I said this with as much sincerity as I could muster.

  Dave’s look verged on total astonishment, as if thanks was the last thing he expected. “Just doing my job, that’s all,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I replied, “but with Danny, also.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever. The last thing we need is another dead man swallowed by this bitch of a sea.”

  The crew spent a good hour talking about the night before, processing the event. It was our therapy session, I supposed, despite the general awkwardness caused by Dave’s lukewarm attitude. Even though he added his own comments and opinions regarding the night, he still managed to convey his contempt at having Danny aboard—this time, without saying a word about it. His expressions were subtle now, an occasional roll of the eyes and ambiguous headshake to punctuate the long stretches of silence. I wondered again what the captain had meant about Dave letting his past go.

  Halfway through my breakfast, Fred came down to tell us we would be on the gear soon—nine pots now, excluding the one we had to cut loose, which we conveniently dubbed “Danny’s pot.”

  “And get ready to dump half our gear in about six hours,” he added. “Let’s just hope the crab hasn’t moved by then.”

  Tanner crab lived in huge populations called biomasses, at the bottom of the ocean, and these masses wandered the sea floor for food. As scavengers, they sometimes stayed in one area, particularly if it was ideal for collecting dead matter, such as a valley, or canyon. But oftentimes the crab moved around. Fishing for them was a gamble that always kept a good captain guessing.

  “But what about the hydraulic leak?” I asked.

  “Dave patched it while you were getting your beauty sleep,” replied Fred. “Now,” he continued, “I think I need to remind you guys about general safety on deck.” The captain paused, scratched his chin, and then looked at the ceiling. “You boys need to watch your fucking backs!” he suddenly blurted out. “I know that last night was rough, and certain things can’t be helped, but dammit—don’t go looking for trouble!”

  It was obvious to everyone that the last statement was a clear reference to Danny’s attempt at manhandling the errant pot.

  “Look, boys, this is a deadly job,” Fred continued. “It is real dangerous out here, and every year we lose a few fishermen, no matter what. Sometimes they die from happenstance, like accidents, and things that just can’t be helped.” Fred turned toward Dave. “You remember that blond kid from Detroit, the one who picked a fight with you in town a few years ago?”

  Dave nodded.

  “Well, that kid got his neck broke falling from a stack of pots—while they were sitting in port. He was killed instantly, from a single slip. But other times,” Fred continued, as he paced the galley now, staring holes into downward-turned faces, “men die doing stupid things. They die making bad decisions. For example,” and now, the captain stopped and stared directly at Danny, “it is never a good idea to try and handle a swinging pot.”

  Danny dropped his head, like the rest of us, and looked at the ground, silent as a dead man’s whisper.

  “And it is never a good idea to lose track of your deck mates!” Fred shouted. “I’ve never lost a man doing this job. And, as God is my witness, I don’t intend to. So from here on out, I want every one of you to keep your fucking eyes glued on each other like you’re brothers!” Fred’s eyes landed back on Dave. “Is this understood?”

  After a moment of deathly silence, Loni squeaked out, “Aye aye, captain.”

  “Dave and Ed,” continued Fred, “as soon as you two are done eating, I want you out on deck testing the hydros. Run a few pots around, make sure that patch holds.” With that, the captain left the galley, and us, in a rush that was both a relief and distressing. No one said a word in the vacuum that followed.

  As much as I dreaded that next hour working alongside Dave, it wasn’t bad. Dave’s demeanor was quiet and concentrated as we tested the hydraulic controls, running a few pots across the deck. We also made some general inspections of the boat, considering any damage that might have occurred from the previous storm. And like a wise man, I just listened to Dave’s instructions. He was quick to tell me what to do.

  I admit it was tolerable, even mildly pleasant, working alone with him for that stretch of time on deck. In fact, the mood was such that I decided to take a stab at having a conversation with the man. Or at the very least, at trying to get to the bottom of why he was so ill-disposed toward Danny.

  “Man, you sure found that leak quick enough,” I said, easing into it. Presently, we were testing out the dogs against an empty pot. “How’d you do that?”

  Dave shrugged, his stare undecided between the devices of the boat and the open sea. “Gut feeling, I guess,” he said. Then, more to the point, “Some of the lines—they were getting old.”

  “You know, Dave, aside from last night. Well … all in all, Danny’s done pretty good out here.”

  Dave glanced sideways at me, then shook his head.

  “I mean … don’t you think?”

  “No, I don’t think.”

  “I don’t get it,” I replied. “It’s like you’ve got something against the guy.”

  Dave gave me a pointed stare then said, “Can we get done with this, already?”

  So I dropped the subject. I just did the work, which wasn’t that bad. But then Danny came outside to prepare bait, and Dave’s face
screwed up and he turned a mood. Damned if an icy blast of wind didn’t blow at my back just then, sending shivers right down my spine.

  But once more, I was mildly surprised. Despite dreading the next several hours as much as I had dreaded that first hour on deck with Dave, the time that passed proved to be acceptable. In the six hours it took us to get to the fishing grounds, the crew did an excellent job preparing the Angie Piper for the upcoming turn of our gear. In the subsequent hours, we launched almost half of our seven-bys into the water without a hitch. Or complaint, for that matter. After a brief soaking, we turned and picked them up. And we found that the crab had definitely moved on. But not even this seemed to discourage us.

  Many hours later, an evening sky hovered above our world. The Angie Piper was loaded with gear and heading toward another one of Fred’s “hunches,” while the entire crew settled into the galley. It was time for the feast.

  The captain had meticulously prepared us a meal, planned weeks before, after taking culinary advice from his brother, the chef. As our vessel rode steady through a quaint sea, Fred served us pan-seared duck breast with five spice and balsamic jus, hardboiled eggs with sweet dill dressing and frizzled prosciutto over baby greens, and a pasta and lamb casserole topped with sweet cream butter. No joke. For dessert, we ate red velvet cake.

  Collectively, I think we were all amused, and honored—definitely honored. This wasn’t the first time Fred had made us a special meal. But after the events of the last two days, every bite of that banquet tasted better than the previous. On that night, we had us a fine supper on board the Angie Piper. The meal proved to have a certain symbolism none of us appreciated at the time.

  Chapter 19

  The weather was supposed to remain mild and steady ….

  After dinner, the captain announced we could have several hours of sleep, switching out with watch duty in the wheelhouse as necessary. As the weather was mild, we were going to make a slow run north, toward Sitkalidak Island, then start prospecting for crab. I was scheduled to watch the helm during fourth shift. My plan was to get as much sleep as possible, and I had a full belly to help me with that.

  Some hours later, I tossed and turned in my bunk, half-awake and half-aware that things had become rough outside. That the weather had taken a turn for the worse.

  And then ….

  “What the fuck!” someone suddenly screamed from down the hall. I woke completely in midair, falling from my rack into the darkness. Everything spun. The sounds of metal, wood, plastic, heavy objects smashing lighter objects, and breaking glass filled the air.

  “Captain!” someone shouted. “Where’s the captain?” I’d landed hard—split my head on something—and my ears rang. Blood seeped down my face, stinging my eyes, running into my mouth, flooding my taste buds with rusted iron. My breathing quickened. I wiped at my face with one hand and reached into the blackness with the other. I grabbed, pulled, pushed, and struggled with my surroundings in order to find my footing.

  I would soon discover that a massive “rogue” wave had hit the boat. These monsters of the sea, once considered a silly sailor myth, were a real threat to even the largest of maritime vessels. They could peak at over one hundred feet, preceding their knockout punch with a trough so deep, a crew would think they were being swallowed by the abyss. Having never before fallen into anything like this “hole in the sea,” I had no idea at the time what had hit us. And the not knowing added to the panic.

  “Danny!” I screamed. “Where are you? Get up, we’re in trouble!”

  “I’m over here, Ed,” Danny stuttered. “What’s happening? I can’t move. I don’t know what’s wrong. Help me.”

  Tears rushed into my eyes at the sound of Danny’s voice.

  “I don’t know what’s happening, Ed,” he continued. His voice came from a few feet away, but because of the darkness and the list of the boat, I couldn’t tell which part of the stateroom we were in. With no electrical power, another terrifying notion went through my mind: could it be that our rudder was also cut? Were we dead in the water?

  “Help me, Ed!” Danny shouted. Then came more screams from a different part of the ship. Focused on the need to help Danny, I reached out and found the corner of a wooden box. I knew it to be the storage container mounted on the floor opposite our racks.

  I gripped the corner, spun my legs around, then planted my feet onto the inner bulwark of the ship. I’d figured out my surroundings: the Angie Piper was sideways, listing heavily to port.

  Legs shaking from fear, I stood. “I’m coming to get you, Danny. Hang tight! I’ll be right there.”

  “I’m over here,” he repeated. “It’s dark, Ed. I can’t see you.”

  “Just keep talking, buddy.”

  Reaching into the darkness with both hands, I walked toward Danny’s voice, dragging myself against the wall of the ship. Two steps into it and my right hand brushed the edge of our bunk, so I grabbed it, braced my body, and gained some balance. It’s amazing how difficult it is to be steady on your feet when you can’t see anything, and all that you’re familiar with is topsy-turvy.

  “I’m coming, Danny,” I repeated. “Do you know where you are?”

  “I’m on the boat, Ed. I’m on the Angie Piper.”

  “Of course you are, dammit! I mean, where are you?” Quickly, I wiped more blood from my face with a sleeve, then shuffled forward two more steps. The pull of the ocean on the boat had me fighting to stay on my feet. “Never mind, Danny! Just … can you stand up? Are you standing up?”

  Before Danny could reply, the boat began an enormous, terrifying drop, like the fall on a roller coaster. My stomach and feet rose as the Angie Piper dove into an invisible hollow—the hole in the sea.

  I had no illusions on this matter now. We were being taken in by another monstrous wave and had but a few seconds to prepare for it.

  “Hold on, Danny!” I hollered. Then I heard more shouting from down the hall, recognizing the voice as Loni’s. “Brace yourself, Danny!” I said. “We’re going down! We’re going down hard!”

  I squatted and gripped the rail of the bunk as firmly as I could with both hands. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for what seemed like the smash of an ogre’s club on the top of my head. I held my breath and whispered a quick prayer—God, oh God, please!—and then came the roar.

  A great booming sound echoed throughout the cabin, as the Angie Piper flipped back up toward her starboard side. The sounds of crashing objects surrounded me, while my body rolled around the stateroom. My ribs were smashed into the storage container, knocking the wind out of me. I heard Danny shouting, as well as Loni from down the hall. I flailed my hands in the air, trying to control myself, for what seemed like several long minutes, until finally, with a sudden jerk, everything just stopped.

  “Help me, Ed.” This time, Danny was right next to me, shouting into my ear.

  “I’m right here,” I said, gasping to catch my breath. “Here. Take my hand.” We were lying on the floor of the stateroom, our backs against that same wooden trunk that had been next to me seconds before. Although still in total darkness, I understood that the position of our boat was “normal” once again. The wave that had just hit us actually helped to right our vessel. But I wondered how long that would last … and also, what condition the boat was in. Were we taking on water? Too many unanswered questions, and they were scaring the shit out of me.

  “Get up, Danny!” I was still in a state of panic. “We’ve gotta get out of here. We’ve gotta get up on the bridge to check on things.”

  “Hooyah,” Danny cried, lacking his usual enthusiasm. Then he asked that dreadful question no fisherman wants to hear: “Are we sinking, Ed?”

  Hands shaking, I replied, “I don’t know, buddy. But we’ve gotta get out of this room. Let’s get up there to find out what’s going on.”

  “Okay,” Danny said. Then he gripped me around the waist, lifting me straight up and onto my feet. The action reminded me of Danny’s strength, which seemed
an odd thought to pop into my head at that moment. Along with it came a dozen shades of doubt as to our chances of survival. I thought about the many stories I had heard, of boats going down, whole crews being swallowed by the relentless ocean. I thought about men floating in survival rafts, deafened by hundred-knot williwaw winds racing down from the north, these same men dying in the end of hypothermia. I thought about the Polar Betty, and my friends who had perished in these very waters. And I thought about the friend standing next to me, holding me steady.

  “Come on, Danny,” I said, “let’s get the hell out of here!”

  Seconds later, we ran into Loni down the hall. He had a searchlight in his hand, its strong beam cutting a pallid path through the fabric of gloom. “Ed!” he screamed. “Danny! You boys okay?” Then he caught sight of the blood still streaming down my face. “Ooo, boy! Ed-man, you cut badly!”

  “I know, Loni. Where’s the captain?” My hands still shook and my voice came out rattled and creaky. But I was thankful to be in Loni’s company at that moment. “What about the rest of the crew? We gotta find them, Loni.”

  “I think Captain’s upstairs. I heard some noise up there.” Loni pulled me closer, holding me steady, shining his light onto my head. “You’ve got a nasty cut there, Ed. We gotta get that fixed.” He turned and made a gesture with his hands toward the stairs. “There’s a first-aid kit up in the wheelhouse.”

  Still surrounded by a blanket of darkness, the boat tossed and jolted up and down with each passing wave. It seemed like every third wave was a killer, smacking our boat with a deafening roar, sending the three of us into a wall. “What happened to the power, Loni?” I shouted. “What happened to the lights?”