Highiliners

by William B. McCloskey Jr.

  CHAPTER 26

  International Fish

  FOR several centuries, nations have felt entitled to control the waters three miles around their coasts, that area considered practical to defend with shore-based cannon and gunboats. The sea beyond was any-man’s land. However, this was a military prerogative. Fish were considered the property of the fisherman able to take them, even within three miles. Thus the concept of legislating the fishing waters around a national coast is new to the world, an expedient precipitated by the protein needs of overpopulated peoples and by the resultant overharvesting of seafood to feed them that has been made possible by new technologies.

  Sea creatures lack national loyalty. As one fisherman put it: “A fish has a head and a tail and he goes where he damn well pleases.” In practical terms, goes where the feed is. The U.S. is blessed with enormous feed-generating continental shelves. As a result, it possesses within 200 miles of its coasts a full 20 percent of the world’s seafood.

  With the technological advances spawned on both sides by World War II, it was inevitable that nations that fished seriously as a national effort (to date the U.S. does not) should apply their technologies to fishing, and then should send their ships to rich grounds like those off the United States. The Japanese came in force first, to Alaskan waters in 1952. Within a few years they had massive factory-ship operations that processed on the spot the catch of hundreds of fishing ships. Trawlers from the Soviet Union began arriving in 1959, off both Alaska and the Atlantic coast. Fishing ships of other nations followed. In many instances they simply edged aside U.S. fishermen and ran over their gear if it got in the way. During a typical year, 1973, Japanese and Soviet ships averaged annual seafood hauls from waters within 200 miles of U.S. coasts of 4.6 and 2.2 billion pounds respectively, while U.S. fishermen landed only 1.4 billion pounds from the same fishing areas.

  Much of the seafood was not being harvested by anyone and hence was legitimately available to any taker. However, there was also heavy and careless exploitation. For example, the Japanese effort included a large portion of the U.S. Bristol Bay sockeye salmon and as incidental catch the closely regulated U.S.-Canadian halibut, seriously depleting both these domestic fisheries. The Soviet fleets proved particularly voracious with single stocks. By 1970 they had overfished U.S. Pacific Ocean perch and hake into commercial extinction, and were fast doing the same to Atlantic haddock.

  The tenuous control, which the U.S. was able to exercise over any sea creatures in its waters came belatedly with three laws: Public Law 88-308, the “Bartlett Act” of 1964, which closed the U.S. three-mile territorial sea to foreign fishing; PL 89-658 of 1966, establishing U.S. fishery control over a twelve-mile Contiguous Fishery Zone; and PL 93-242 of 1974, which declared crabs and lobsters to be “creatures of the continental shelf” and therefore under U.S. control on U.S. continental shelves. Backed by these laws and little else besides diplomatic persuasion, the U.S. through the State Department negotiated fishing quotas with individual flag nations. Some quotas reflected more political tradeoff than biological soundness. The only way of enforcing the U.S. laws and checking on the U.S. agreements was through the tireless air and sea patrols conducted by the Coast Guard in company with agents of the National Marine Fisheries Service. When some of the operations were closely monitored, it was proved that both the Japanese and Soviet fleets often harvested far more seafood (sometimes two and three times more) than they reported.

  For years U.S. fishermen—a disorganized lot of intense individuals who were slow to form coalitions as did other types of workmen— had dunned their congressmen for legislation that would give them a better chance against the foreign fleets at catching the seafood stocks in their own national waters. Three congressmen especially began to carry the ball: Democratic Senator Warren Magnuson of Washington, Republican Senator Ted Stevens of Alaska, and Democratic Representative Gerry Studds of Massachusetts. Through the Senate Commerce Committee and the House Merchant Marine Committee they and other members organized hearings and drafted bills. The bill that was finally passed in 1976 had evolved from a simple quick-action measure introduced by Stevens in 1972 to legislation that regulated both foreign and domestic fishermen.

  The U.S. State Department had been especially apprehensive about the international precedent that would be set by extending U.S. fishery jurisdiction, and their reasoning carried both Presidents Nixon and Ford as well as many congressmen. (Incidentally, State resisted a twelve-mile fisheries zone in 1966, when two hundred miles was so unthinkable that nobody even voiced it.) Diplomats warned that if the U.S. claimed its biological resources out to two hundred miles, other nations would justify restrictions on all shipping—research, merchant, military—through their coastal waters; that in fact the entire concept of freedom on the high seas would be jeopardized to the detriment of other U.S. interests.

  The bill, aptly numbered HR 200 during its stormy passage through Congress, was signed reluctantly by President Ford on April 13, 1976, into Public Law 94-265, The Fishery Conservation and Management Act of 1976. It established, within the year, U.S. jurisdiction over the fishery resources within two hundred miles of the U.S. coasts and set up a management structure for controlling them.

  The cornerstone of the management section is a group of eight regional councils. The main product of each council is a Fishery Management Plan “with respect to each fishery within its geographical area.” Included is a determination of “optimum yield” of each species that can be harvested for the year, and after subtracting that portion that U.S. vessels are able to harvest, assignment of the remaining “total allowable level of foreign fishing” within the council’s jurisdiction. The management plans are forwarded by the councils via the National Marine Fisheries Service to its parent the Commerce Department, which is the final authority. Commerce checks the plans with the State Department for diplomatic implications and with the Coast Guard (Transportation Department) for enforceability. Ideally, according to its congressional authors, the law provides an innovative form of government guided by a regional concept of lawmaking, with a healthy interaction between central and regional authorities. Inherent in it all is the potential clash between politics and the varying loyalties of experts. Indeed, opponents feared that regional fishing interests would subvert any mandate in the rest of the bill that the U.S. manage its seafood resources for the overall benefit of mankind. However, since such clashes are a basic strength and pitfall of a democracy, the regional council concept should be an appropriate format for the fishery maneuvers of the United States.

  As for the foreign fleets, the bill does not provide a sweepout, contrary to popular belief. It controls the size of catches to a much greater degree than before and, in direct proportion to the growing capability of the U.S. fishing fleets, may gradually ease them from most fisheries. The bill provides that within each annual quota of fish biologists determine can be safely harvested without harming the stocks, U.S. fishermen are entitled to all they can prove able to catch, with the foreign fleets eligible for the “surplus” if they abide by the rules. The eligibility requirements for a foreign vessel are: a Governing International Fisheries Agreement between the ship’s flag country and the United States; a specific allocation to the ship’s flag country; a permit aboard the vessel which is issued upon payment of fees; and reciprocal fishery privileges in the flag country for U.S. fishermen. The size of the allocation within the surplus available is based in large part on the fishing “tradition” a nation has established in the waters. The latter provision makes Russia the clear winner off the East Coast and Japan the winner off Alaska.

  True to warnings from opponents of the Fishery Act, other nations quickly declared two-hundred-mile jurisdiction of their fisheries—Canada rapidly enough to take effect before the U.S. law, Russia soon after, and then the deluge. However, the predicted confusion of fishery rights with other traditional rights of sea passage has not taken place. Not that all is sweetness. The councils, while still finding t
heir way, are accused of being too dependent on the Commerce Department for the information on which they must base their recommendations back to the Commerce Department. The internationalists accuse the councils of adjusting optimum yield figures to suit the needs of regional fishermen in ways that leave fewer fish than necessary for the foreign fleets. As for U.S. fishermen, many are regulated by their regional councils more than they expected (or as much as they feared). For example, during the first year after PL 94-265 became effective, New England fishermen found to their outrage that the very stocks the foreign ships had taken from them were determined to be so depleted that several grounds were closed to them also. In Washington, Oregon, and southeastern Alaska, the small salmon trollers were suddenly regulated with a heavy hand. But, conversely, the North Pacific Council began at once to transfer most of the tanner crab and some of the pollock quotas in western Alaska from Japanese to U.S. fishermen, in the process stimulating two new big-money fisheries in the Kodiak-Dutch Harbor area.

  What of the foreign fleets? They now fish less each year in U.S. waters, and they behave more carefully than ever before since their quotas are set annually. Foreign capital has begun to float through U.S. fishing circles like characters in search of authors, as it seeks to buy what it can no longer take. For example, foreign companies are proposing joint ventures that would enable their processing ships to buy U.S. quotas caught by U.S. fishermen.

  For good or bad—probably both—the 200-mile Fishery Conservation and Management Act has stimulated many U.S. fishermen to take the investment trail that leads to incorporation. It may even have launched an American fishing industry. What it does to the individual who has no greater aspiration than to go out in his boat to fish for a living remains to be seen.

  CHAPTER 27

  Hot Pursuit

  HANK might have faced a crisis when Joe Eberhardt returned to claim the pilothouse of the Nestor, forced after seven months of command to go back on deck and take orders with the crew he had bossed. It was a routine adjustment for young fishing skippers without their own boats, but with it he would have relinquished the blood-taste for the chase he had acquired. However, he had indeed proved to be one of the spring highliners, and his performance bailed him out.

  “Ja, Hank, you ain’t much Squarehead,” said Arnie Larson, who needed a skipper for a second boat he had bought to finish the season. “But when I look you over out by that damn Russian trawler, I see a hard-driving bastard and a pretty good liar. Har har har.” They passed a bottle of Scotch to seal the agreement. But, as for Jody aboard: “Shit, no voman belongs on de fishing boats, even a good one like your old lady. Bad luck, bound to catch up.” He slapped Hank’s shoulder. “You got to knock her up, then she’ll leave you alone.” Jody stayed ashore and worked again in one of the canneries.

  The crew Hank inherited consisted of two Norwegians and two Americans. The young Norwegian was a relaxed and singing type. The older one chafed at having an American skipper, and insisted on observing the old superstitions. Hank adapted, and they all worked together to make a good account of the season. However, he dreamed more and more of possessing his own boat.

  By summer, the Bering Sea crab were running in abundance, as were apparently the bottomfish for the foreign fleets. The hundred-odd boats from Seattle and Kodiak were matched by approximately three hundred Japanese fishing ships of all sizes, plus a lesser number from the Soviet Union and—newcomers—South Korea. Coast Guard cutters from Kodiak and all the West Coast took turns cruising the waters, and Coast Guard planes from Kodiak flew regular foreign fishery patrols, often accompanied by agents of the National Marine Fisheries Service. Not that they ever caught any foreigner in a violation, the fishermen observed wryly while remaining glad to have the Coast Guard nearby for rescue and medical emergencies. American crews would sight foreign ships fishing within the twelve-mile zone and radio the Coast Guard, but by the time a plane or cutter arrived the foreigner would be long gone.

  “Them Japs are sly, don’t kid yourself,” said Jones Henry. “They monitor our radios, and they talk better English than I do.”

  Dutch Harbor-Unalaska had become a noisy and vital place. With heavier catches, the American boats delivered more frequently. The number of canneries had increased as other companies sent in floating processors. With every plant working full capacity, some in double shifts, hundreds of new workers spilled in—both the professionals, including the Filipinos and the drifters, and the hippies and straight college kids seeking adventure. Dense fogs continued to roll, but the bitterness of winter had abated. Above the cannery enclaves the treeless mountains turned green, while thousands of delicate wildflowers bloomed among the rocks and scrub. In Unalaska Village, the Elbow Room stayed open around the clock, and the assortment of skiffs crossing to it from Dutch Harbor made the narrows as busy as a canal in Venice. All day the single muddy road by the bar and post office was crowded with people, motor scooters, and pickups. At night in most weather, couples grappled on the debris-strewn strip of beach in front of the Russian church and the first line of native houses. It was a place in use, and being used.

  “You can ram it, this dump,” declared one of the Kodiak highline skippers to Hank. He had been among the first to build a large boat especially designed for Bering Sea crabbing and to set the driving pace that now characterized the fishery. “Out here I’ve learned to hate boats and water. I treat king crabbing like a business. Where else can you make this kind of money by pure gut work? It ain’t skill beyond simple seamanship, it’s how hard you hit with the hammer, how far you’re willing to push yourself and your crew. When I’ve made my pile I’ll move south and never look back.”

  Hank found such talk depressing, sobering. Yet, while still retaining his freshman satisfaction at being a skipper and delivering the crab, he understood the attitude more and more. Could he push them harder? Your share was what you could bring aboard.

  A Coast Guard cutter came in from patrol. For a while after docking, sailors roamed the village looking for something to do. Except for the serious drinkers, they soon gave up and returned to the ship. Hank saw a man he recognized, a chief. He had a bushy handlebar mustache and a shock of sandy hair, face turning heavy, and the swagger of a boatswain.

  “Yeah, I recognize you too. I served a tour out of Kodiak back in the early sixties, and since then I’ve been to Oregon, ‘Nam, and California. Back here on patrol to keep an eye on the foreigners.”

  It turned out he was Mack—Joe McNeil—the boatswain’s mate aboard the Coast Guard cutter Hank had ridden during the search for pieces of the Billy II. The reunion called for several drinks.

  Hank gave him a proud tour of the fishing boat he commanded, but Mack’s comment as he chewed a cigar: “They make ’em a little bigger now. I see you got a head, and don’t have to stick your ass over the rail no more. We still get calls in the middle of the night to tow you guys when you don’t change the oil and your engine breaks down. Come on over and I’ll show you a ship “

  “If the Coast Guard’s such hot shit,” said Hank, “why don’t you nab some foreigners instead of just running around?”

  They kept it on a bantering level, but Mack growled, “Without us, I’d like to hear you birds scream. Think those Japs and Russians wouldn’t fish clean into shore if we wasn’t around like cops?” He pointed a finger, and his sleeve drew back to show the snout of a tattooed dragon. “Like to take you out with us, knock through the ice water with us in an open surfboat, then hope you didn’t cream your leg jumping to a Jacob’s ladder. Want your fill of fish? You need to smell some of the holes we stick our heads to inspect a Jap or Korean been fishing six months.

  Hank grinned. “Then you go back to your ship, take a hot shower, eat a steak, and see a movie.”

  “Steak?” Mack chewed his cigar. “Blue Jesus, you ungrateful fishermen get rich, and we do your dirty work.”

  “Want to trade? Give up twenty-year retirement for boom or scratch?”

  Mack’s turn for
a beefy grin. “I’d sooner grow corn in Kansas. Come on, I’ll show you what a high-endurance cutter looks like.”

  It was a white and handsome ship, with a bow as graceful as a clipper, double the size of the stub-ended buoy tenders Hank had learned to respect as the Coast Guard workhorses. On board, Mack strode through the fresh-painted passageways as if he owned them. The ship had an air of orderliness that no fishing boat could duplicate, but every sight that was remotely military made Hank glad to have left behind the world of uniforms. Mack toured him grandly around the deck equipment and small boats. He described every detail and sophistication with loving care, although when Hank asked to see the bridge and engine areas he shrugged them off as not his territory.

  A civilian passed, and Mack introduced him as Ed Langhorn, the National Fisheries agent who helped inspect the foreigners. He was a cool-eyed, vigorous man of middle age.

  Hank told of his experiences with the trawler and the mothership. “I still hope to catch that Russian bastard in here some day.”

  “Be an international incident,” said Langhorn. “Hope I’m there to cheer you on.”

  Mack led him to the smoke-filled chiefs mess and introduced him to other chiefs who were dozing over magazines. They settled into leatherette lounge chairs facing a TV perpetually dead in the Aleutians. Mack brought coffee and cold cuts. “Steak, hah. But you don’t get this kind of comfort on a fish boat, eh?” After a discussion of baseball standings in the Leagues, Mack announced generally, “Crawford here says he wants to see the bridge and the engine room. If you find out why, tell me.” The Quartermaster and then the Engineman chiefs gave him enthusiastic tours of their special areas, reeling off information until he was groggy with it.

  As Mack escorted him to the gangway they encountered Ed Langhorn again. Hank ventured some questions about the foreign fleets and found him as generous with information as the chiefs. When he observed that he had seen few Russian ships compared to Japanese, he learned that major Soviet concentrations came in the winter, between February and April. However, even at this period the Japanese fished more heavily. The patrols had counted 575 different Japanese ships in Alaska during the previous month, July.