Fish runs throughout Uganik Bay turned so strong that the single cannery began to choke with more pinks than it could process. First, it put all boats on a quota, then stopped buying from boats like the Adele H that had not contracted in advance. Floating cash buyers took up the slack. Usually they paid higher than the cannery to lure contracted boats, but now in a buyer’s market they offered less. Meanwhile, in Kodiak several canneries were paying a nickel a pound more than Uganik for fish brought dockside, while one of them in code offered Hank two cents further under the table. When Fish and Game declared the opening would end the next day, Hank decided. Rather than moor at the cannery and fly home, they’d fill the hold to a safe level—take less chance than he might without Jody to watch and learn—and steam to Kodiak. Keep training her on the way.
On the final morning they pulled aboard such a load that they plugged the hold and needed to pile the extra fish on deck. It was too tempting not to continue, but it opened a tricky choice. Deliver to the cash buyer, selling low, then fish like hell for the rest of the day and hope they’d have a catch to deliver in Kodiak, or leave for town at once? If they sold here they might need to line up for a couple of hours, a delay that might force them to compete through the narrow Whale Passage with other boats of the fleet returning to Kodiak. During the course of the action Hank had missed the morning’s weather forecast, but the sky was clear. Carrying the deckload would probably pose no problem. Hank included Jody and the others in the decision, although he considered himself still in authority.
“Shag ass, I say,” observed Seth, “or all kinds of fuckers’ll beat us to town and we’ll wait in line there, then watch, or they’ll likely cut the price while we wait.”
Hank turned to Jody. “Go?”
“Go!”
“Amen,” cried Terry.
Soon everyone was on the run. They boarded off a bin amidships for the fish on deck and covered them with tarps. The seine lay aft of this in a hill of web flanked by orderly snakes of cork line. Under Seth’s bark they winched aboard the skiff on top of the web.
Jody joined Hank in the wheelhouse to study charts. “We’ll go around outside by Shelikof,” he stated.
“You’re kidding! We’re so deep into the bay we’d lose at least an hour.” Jody tapped her pencil on a narrow strip of waterway. “East Passage on a calm day? I’ve been through this shortcut before.”
“Not for years and not as a skipper. I don’t want you taking chances.”
“You don’t want? Well, it’s the difference between making Whale Passage on high slack or hitting the flood.” She paused to enjoy his surprise. “I just did the homework.”
Hank was impressed but shook his head. “Rocks. Tricky bars and shoals. No. We’ll steam the long way and still make it.”
Shouts from below and Seth’s head appeared from the ladder. “You see what the Hinda Bees doing over there?” Hank grabbed binoculars. The men on the Hinda’s deck were also building a pen around fish on deck while preparing to haul aboard their skiff. “We go now or old Gus and all our bucks—or old Gus beats us to Kodiak.”
Jody’s wide mouth twitched at the sides in her old way, close to a grin. Before Hank could speak she declared, “Not likely!” and became animated. “Our anchor’s up and skiff’s aboard, right? Then here we go. Yes. Let’s go!” Within moments Seth’s voice barked orders below. Jody turned to Hank and said firmly, “I’m ready to be in charge, and I’m taking the shortcut.”
Hank acquiesced, impressed again. Better she did it with him, since if she returned alone he’d have no way to stop her. “Rocks on that eastern bank, some hidden,” he pointed. “Always give it a wide berth even at high tide. Submerged spit there, then shoal, shoal, shoal.” He found a red pen and circled the symbols.
“Don’t you think I can read danger marks on a chart?”
“Just the same. Now, here . . .” She had already gone to the controls. Other boats around us have nets in the water, Jody. Go easy.”
“Yes, yes.” She frowned at the water, then eased the engine into forward gear. From deck came Yofs of approval. Ahead to port the Lady West had begun a set and its skiff was pulling the seine into a semicircle. Farther off to starboard the Hinda Bee was still getting ready.
The Adele H glided smoothly under Jody’s hand. She’s in control—not bad, thought Hank, and dismissed the thought that she might have consulted him further. Suddenly Jody gave a whoop like Mo or Ham and throttled full ahead toward open water. The boat shuddered. Objects clattered and the chart slipped from the table. Startled, she jerked the rudder switch in the wrong direction and they surged directly toward the Lady West’s skiff. With a full hold they moved like a battering ram. Hank pushed Jody aside and grabbed the controls in time to veer. The skiff disappeared under their bow to cries everywhere. When Hank circled back, the skiff was rocking from their waves while the two men aboard struggled to hold down gear, but they had not been swamped. Both shouted angrily.
Jody hurried to the wing, and called: “Sorry—I’m so sorry!”
One of the skiff men, Nick, calmed at the sight of her. “That was you, Jody?” He grinned. “I thought it was your old man should know better. Hey. You owe me a new cap like I just lost overboard.”
“Easy man, easy,” called Mo from the Adele’s stern. He leaned over the rail with a pole while Ham held his legs. The pole end dipped from sight and emerged with a soggy red cloth. Hank maneuvered in reverse until the pole reached the skiff.
Nick picked off the dripping cap and slapped it on his head. “Baptized by Jody!” Everybody shouted and laughed.
When Jody returned to the wheelhouse, Hank kept his voice low even though he wanted to shout. “You’re part of a community. Don’t ever cowboy like that again.”
He expected her to blaze and he prepared to blaze back. Instead, voice small, she said, “You’re right. Stupid. Never again. I don’t know what came over me.”
“And incidentally, skippers don’t usually apologize. You wait until you can stand them drinks or something.”
“Well, I don’t think that makes sense. But it won’t happen again.” Her hand trembled when she took back the controls. She now moved cautiously around other boats and nets. “I mean it. Not again.”
He kept his voice grim for emphasis. “Be sure of that.”
Terry’s head appeared from the ladder. “Whew. Before you gun her like that, give me time to stand back. I figured we was still on a mosey kind of speed and I’m just checkin’ the batteries when voom!”
“I’m really sorry.”
Hank had been watching the Hinda Bee, now distant, through binoculars. Her skiff was still in the water although it nosed against the stern. Maybe they weren’t racing to town after all. At least their Adele H had a good head start. He relaxed as did the others when they saw. His mood lightened. “Hey, Jody. Want to try it from the flying bridge?” She nodded, switched to neutral for the change of controls—did all the steps correctly, he noted—and tucked back a strand of hair in passing.
It was a good afternoon to cruise: mirror water that left a wake like pencil lines, hazy sun that rested the eyes. After frantic hose-downs and tie-downs, with all gear secured, Ham and Mo jumped and boxed like puppies on the crowded deck while Seth and Terry converged topside as they usually did under way.
“My men make you nervous?” Hank whispered to Jody. “While you’re learning?”
“Make yourselves comfortable, guys,” was her reply.
Relax with it, Hank told himself. He could see how much she liked her new role. Tucked back her hair, did she? A woman after all when she’s on display at the open wheel.
They glided past the Sleepthief Two. Its crew had just emptied their seine and were preparing for another set. “Hey, man,” called Mo’s bearlike voice to a friend aboard the Thief. “Five cents a pound, maybe more in Kodiak—you think we’re stayin’ here?”
Hank sent Terry to bring up Mo and Ham. “He ought to know by now that we tell nobody our plans. Se
t him straight, Seth.”
“Thought I had. Mo needs telling only once for anything to do with gear, but for ideas, ten times won’t do it. Jody, you’d better know that Ham’s the same.”
“I’ll keep Ham straight,” said Terry calmly. “Don’t worry.”
They next passed a setnet site where half a dozen plyboard shacks blended with the scrub. In addition, two tents were staked precariously into the sand. Smoke lazed up from chimneys—no wind at all—but everyone was down at the water. Men and women waded waist-deep around a net that enclosed a frenzy of fish.
“There’s Madge Farley!” Jody declared. She called, and a woman muddy in waders with hair in a knot looked up without loosening her grip on the communal net.
“Jody! Look at you. We’ve heard. Way to go!”
Jody held herself straight. “Nice haul there, I see.”
“How’re you doing?”
“Deckload and riding low in the water. Guess that says it.”
Like a braggy kid, thought Hank, and wanted to sweep her up and dance. Instead, he stepped back to make it clear that Jody held the wheel. Terry grinned, and kept his position behind her with legs apart. Seth eased to the opposite rail out of sight, followed slowly by Mo, then even more slowly by Ham.
When they had passed beyond earshot, Jody said carelessly, “That was Madge’s husband beside her. They’re both at the high school. Madge and I sat across from each other for two years on city council. Don’t ask how seldom we agreed. But together we blocked that proposal to set aside half the seiner slips for party boats. Even an English teacher understood that one.”
“They say you raised some hell to council and back,” said Terry appreciatively. “Even guys in the bars talked about it.”
Hank smiled to himself. A banker in town had actually offered him special credit if he’d curb his wife. He watched her with a surge of love and pride. Let her come to no harm in this new business.
They entered alone into the waterway around the back of Uganik Island toward Viekoda Bay. If sour old Gus Rosvic chose to follow, at least they had a head start. The land closed in with odors of evergreen and mud. Glistening humps of rock rose out of the water like half-submerged hippos. The trees that hemmed the banks were too close for sight of the Kodiak mountains. No breeze twitched even the top branches, and the air hung damp and warm.
“Spooky,” murmured Terry. He left the edge of the rail and settled on a storage chest near Hank and Jody. Seth yawned and went below, declaring that people had better sleep when they could. Mo and Ham followed.
Hank felt absorbed by the land, but watched it, detached. Tree shadows so blackened the smooth water that the shoreline appeared to extend to their keel. When they passed bluffs the thrum of the engine reverberated, a sound he heard so automatically that it seemed they cruised in silence. They’d make good way even riding loaded, and would be home not too long after midnight. Leave the guys aboard to deliver. The kids were safe with Adele. Grab private time with Jody before the hassles began.
“Easy cruisin’,” declared Jody. She stood at the wheel with legs apart, clearly enjoying herself. When Terry offered to steer, her answer was a toss of the head.
“Shoal over there,” said Hank. “And watch for logs, always watch for logs around all this timber.”
“I’m watching, Hank.”
When next, he wondered, will I ever seine salmon again in friendly bays? His shoulder still ached, but the pain decreased each day, and he even felt less fatigued. He was healing. This episode had helped. The disaster and Jones Henry’s death would always be part of memory and nightmare, but the heartache had already begun to dull. Pressures waited. The Japanese would demand. Life would become a push. Soon, he’d be ready. If only it could be both ways.
On deck Mo and Ham grabbed chunks of bologna from the galley, cracked down their boot tops, and lay back like pashas on the hill of web under the skiff, their feet propped on the boards of the fish bin.
Seth, with work done, went to his bunk. Hanging around a wheelhouse where Hank’s woman took the helm didn’t feel right. It’s what came from letting marriage run your life. He covered his eyes with a T-shirt and the musty old-sweat smell became part of the comfortable dark. Just as well little what’s-her-name, Mary—no, Marion—married a damn storekeeper named John instead of Mr. Seth, although she’d never have run his life like Jody. He and Hank were supposed to be the team at sea. At least Jody was going to run her own separate boat and he didn’t wish her harm. Nice girl when she wasn’t bossing. With luck she’d not screw up, so long as she stuck to fishing inside water. Let the real team get back to normal. He rolled a blanket around his legs and chest to enclose himself further. Sure, he was a skipper too, a good one when Hank gave him the Jody Dawn offseason. Don’t ever admit the personal cost. Sour stomach and sleepless, day and night, until Hank came back and took over. The Japan business would be new stuff but interesting—so long as Hank kept control. Why couldn’t it always stay like that? Hank was Boss. He adjusted the blanket further until it covered him feet to head. With his fisherman’s clock set to sleep when he could, he soon fell asleep.
Terry stayed topside with Hank and Jody. He enjoyed them. They didn’t rub in the lovey-doo in front of a guy divorced and wishing for a lady of his own. The three of them chatted in good cheer, pointing to wildlife ashore when they saw it.
Suddenly Terry exclaimed, “Lookit!” Behind an outcrop of rocks astern glided the top of a mast. At a bend the bow of a boat emerged. Terry grabbed binoculars. “I’ll bet, I’ll bet. . . I’m right, Hinda Bee, grumpy Gus!”
“Make bets against me!” Jody declared. “I’ll show ’em!”
Terry turned, surprised. “Who told you?”
“Think I’m deaf? Stop protecting me.” To Hank: “You do know this water best. Can we gun her?”
Hank had also caught the spirit. “Stick to that east bank and gun her.”
Terry continued looking through the binoculars. “He’s riding low like us. Even match, but we’re ahead. Boss! See he don’t beat us. I mean, Jody, don’t let him.”
“Beat us?” exclaimed Jody. “Like hell!”
They entered Viekoda Bay and wide water while the Hinda still picked through the last of the narrows. Jody throttled full ahead. After the shelter of trees and banks, a breeze hit them. It rattled the chart she had spread on a box and swept ripples across water previously glassy.
“She’ll never catch us,” said Terry. “We’re too good for that, right?” The breeze had cleared the general haze. Snowy mountains showed on the mainland across Shelikof Strait thirty miles away, whitecapped even in August, glowing against sudden gray sky. “You sure don’t forget winter for long up here. Whew—is it me, or has it gotten colder?”
Blowing easterly, Hank judged. Hard to tell the force since they’d travel in the same direction until Kupreanof Strait. Should have caught the morning weather report. By the time Hinda Bee had cleared the last of the rocks, the breeze had strengthened to build chops in the water. Both boats churned steadily. Only two miles separated them. Sometimes one seemed to gain, then the other. Hank checked to make sure Jody held full throttle. We might take water on deck after all, he noted. A chance to judge Jody’s reactions while he could still advise, whether she accepted or not. In an emergency, she’d better.
The chart began to flap. Jody gathered it. “Let’s go below,” she said to Hank. “Terry, take the wheel until I click in.” Down in the wheelhouse she turned to Hank seriously. “When we round the point into Kupreanof Strait, won’t we be heading right into this?” He nodded. “Terry,” she called. “You and the guys strap the tarps tighter on those deck fish, anything else you see that needs—”
“Gotcha,” Terry shouted down. “We have already, but I’ll look at everything again. Now we’re spinnin’!” He bounced down the outside ladder with a Yah-hoo!
Seth appeared. Bushes of hair beaded with water popped like wires from the sides of the wool cap slapped hastily on his head. “Do
n’t worry. I’ve checked.”
“I knew you would,” said Jody calmly. “But since my guys are Terry and Ham after you leave, let’s make them do it again.”
Seth’s voice remained gruff, but he said, “Good idea.”
He’s with her, thought Hank gladly.
They rounded the rocks and steep slope of Outlet Cape. Whitecaps surged across the water they faced, bearing straight from the direction in which they needed to head. They turned. The Adele //shuddered and her bow veered as they hit wind and sea. Instantly their motion changed from easy roll to pitch and thud. The weighted boat slowly rose on swells. Then its bow plunged heavily to slice the water into fans of spray.
Whoops from below, and Terry stomped up exuberant and dripping, followed by Mo and Ham. “All’s on deck tight as a witch’s ass,” Terry announced, then caught himself. “Sorry, things just all tight, Jody.”
“Witch’s ass it is,” said Jody.
“Wow, that spray and all caught me and Ham asleep under the skiff,” crowed Mo. “Good thing Terry woke us. Won’t need another bath for a month.”
A spit of land hid the Hinda Bee for a while. Then Terry announced, “She’s cornin’ round.” The Hinda hit the waves head-on just as they had, moving at full throttle to judge by the sudden buck of her bow.
The wind continued to increase. An hour later, spray from the Adele H’s bow arched higher than before, over the wheelhouse, while seas slapped across the afterdeck. The seas laced harmlessly into the mound of web held secure under the skiff, but gushes of water tugged at the edges of the tarp covering the fish. By now Hank had roused Kodiak by radio to learn that a sudden storm was moving in from the southeast across the Gulf of Alaska.
“I might need to decide something you won’t like,” he said quietly to Jody.
“We’ll beat the storm.” She said it without altering her concentration ahead or relinquishing the controls. “I’m not letting Ham and Terry lose their bets.”
“If it’s not safe you will.”
Raiders Page 6