From the Inner Edge of Nowhere

This has been a tough season so far.  The first two months of mechanical gyrations were well worthwhile; the improvements have made a world of difference in our confidence in our equipment.  Even though I still spend a lot of effort worrying about things, it is not with the same intensity of apprehension I felt with the older, worn out motor, rigging, and other gear of last year.  Things happen; seawater, wild, assaulting motion, and a host of other factors all eventually lead to failure, that’s just the way it works.  At least when you rebuild and replace things, you have a better understanding of weak spots and potential show-stoppers, and that helps one to deal with the whole experience.

The tough part right now is made up of two factors; weather and fish migration patterns.  This year, we have been hammered over and over by major weather systems that are spawned somewhere in Asia, travel the Russian coast, then head our way.  We have had 1 sunshiny day since August 1; the words “Rain likely” seem to be the mandatory wording for our weather report.  Rain isn’t a problem, it’s just a reality here.  The large ocean swells that these big storms generate, along with the winds they bring are another story.  The fish numbers have dropped off to dismal amounts; it is not unusual for boats to work all day in the Sound for 20 fish.  That’s not enough to make this worthwhile.  Last week, some of the boats discovered that fish have moved thru Inian Pass to the Icy Straits area, and they are doing very well.  The number of boats fishing the outside coast has dwindled to a handful, and we hear numbers of 60-80 boats working the Straits.  New plan: Monday or Tuesday, depending on weather, we will try to make the Pass and move inside.  If fishing doesn’t pick up in there, at least we are one step closer to getting the boat back to park at Sitka for the winter.  Bank accounts are imploding, so hope there is work somewhere for the winter.  Give us this day our daily bread…

Enough gloom and woe – we still can laugh!  The 35 knot “breeze” blowing through the Cove makes being tied up this Sunday not feel too bad.  One of the guys was telling us about an old fellow who fished till the was 90 years old out of the Cove.  Things get slightly warped after so many years here on the inner edge of nowhere, and reality blurs more than a little bit.   This lonely old fellow spent a bit of time increasingly worrying about what he heard floating thru the ether on his radio, and became convinced that the Government was interested in monitoring his life.  The obsession got so great that he appeared back in town one day with a new hat, which he wore till the end of his days.  It was fashioned out of aluminum foil, specially shaped with ridges to deter the brain-monitoring satellites the government was using to spy on him…  I don’t know, maybe he had something there.  He was a tough old guy; his boat hit a rock at Point Lucan late one winter evening and went down.  He got off a radio call, but no one was near, so he (without survival suit) was forced to go for a swim.  The tide was coming in, and Dave the Boatwright took his large vessel out to search.  Finding a floating person in the dark who has no reflective gear, EPIRB, or strobe light is next to impossible, so the fellow floated right on past Elfin Cove to South Inian Pass.  Finally, hours later, fortune washed him up on one of the rocks there.  Most men would have been dead; not this one.  Dave, calculating tidal flow, kept searching, and finally came across his rock.  Rescued, he took a bowl of hot soup, dry clothes, and asked to be returned to home at Elfin.  No hospital, hypothermia ward, or other assistance, just get him home; after all, he was over 70 at the time!  I have no doubt that the story has improved over time, but if even half of it is true, I’m impressed!

Kirk has had to replace his head gasket during this storm.  On the way up from Sitka, he noticed his oil pressure was abnormally high; when we got here, he found that his oil was more like gelatin than oil.  He kept some samples for analysis, and cleaned out all the goo he could get.  Unfortunately, the only cause for such jelling of the oil seems to be if someone added something to it, and the only source of that would be sabotage.  Some investigation, dependent on oil analysis findings, is probably in order.  If it was malicious, it isn’t a far stretch to think an attempted murder charge would be in order; one’s life is very much in jeopardy if an engine failure occurs.  I hope it is just a case of product impurity, sort of unsettling to think anyone would stoop to such an act.   Of course, on re-assembly yesterday, a critical weld on an exhaust flange broke, so he is repairing that today; hope he’s ready by tomorrow so we can go catch fish.

Steve’s deckhand had to return home to her winter job.  She is from some small village on the Bering Sea, north of Bethel.  He promptly hired two more of his friends from Sitka to come out for the rest of the season.  The girls are high-school buddies of his from Mt. Edgecumbe – sounds like they are spoiling him already – boat is getting cleaned, goodies cooked,  Steve’s just smiling!  He said he needs 2 deckhands because the next 3 weeks are going to be phenomenal fishing.  Hope he’s right!

Stay tuned.

Have You Ever Seen The Rain…

That wonderful CCR song seems stuck in my mind the last few days – no small wonder, as it has been raining hard since Todd and Em left on Thursday, with no respite.  Most of the fleet migrated to Elfin Cove for a day or two, due to the gale force winds and 8-12 seas forecasted. 

We have had the luxury of staying in the small cabin we rented for a week from the Cross Sound Marketing Association while the kids were here – 4 people on our boat for a week would not have been too comfortable! 

I already miss the kids – Todd caught on real quickly to the rhythm of setting gear, so he and I worked the pit to set and pull.  Wow, was it ever nice to  unsnap a leader, put it on the fighting line, land a fish, and let him take care of coiling and stowing the hook while I brought the next one in!  We swapped off, and he got really good at doing the magic WHACK! that we use to stun and pacify the exuberant cohoes!  We only landed one king salmon during the 3-day opener, but coho fishing was great.

 

  

Em and Lovie would take over once we finished a pull, and guts would fly.  Two people cleaning make short work of the 20+ fish that came in each pull, and the hold became fuller and fuller.  By the time we unloaded Wednesday night, the boat was squatting down further in the water than I’ve seen in a long time – once we unloaded, it felt really frisky!

We did eat well – sea bass, sockeye, and the kids brought fresh garden vegetables from Montana!  Those are pretty sparse up here, and we get really hungry for good vegetables!

We went down the outside coast of Chichigof Island on Tuesday – still a little lump in the swell from last week’s storm, but generally nice.  Fishing was not so hot, but we had a couple of pods of Orcas go right by the boat, which was pretty cool. I heard on the radio that Steve had an Orca grab his gear and break one pole, so he was heading in to fix that.   On one pull, Todd brought up 3 sharks, between 4 and 6 feet long, something we rarely see, and which doesn’t bode well for salmon fishing.  We moved on to better places, and whacked and stacked for the rest of the day.

Thursday, they caught the float plane to Juneau – lucky they got out when they did, as there has not been another plane in or out since they left, and they don’t expect any for another day at least!

We haven’t seen her yet, but there is a lady working at one of the lodges here that we knew from the bank back in Montana!  Small world – curious to hear her story about how she came to be in this little corner of Alaska.  

There are a lot of extremely interesting tales of people who wind up here.  Perhaps in a future post I will tell a few tales that would be similar to what I’ve heard…  guess there are people who get a little sensitive if they think they are written about, so I’ll be careful not to get too detailed! 

The saga of the squirrel in the last post – we talked to the guy on DeathTrap, the boat where the squirrel was – he said that after 2 days up the pole, the little critter was so tired, he finally came down to the deck and collapsed.  Tom went out and put a big, clear peanut jar over him, slid cardboard underneath, and captured him.  The squirrel settled down and slept; he put water in, and the thirsty guy licked it all up. It slept till that evening when they anchored – he rowed it  ashore and let it go – the last he saw it was running full tilt for the nearest tree!  Success.

Well, we are going to try to fish this afternoon; it is quieting down, and we need the money.  Hard to believe there is only a month left to make our fortune…!  Somehow, I don’t think we will be vacationing much this fall…..

Drip, Drip, Drip… have YOU ever seen the rain?

Fish on.

Same Old Song

Somewhere down the dock, Neil Young’s harmonica is crying, and the faint words drift down to me -- “that keeps me searchin' for a heart of gold; and I’m getting old….”  I hum along to the classic tune, and it really seems to fit – still searching, but getting old.  Today, we are tired.  After a good run of fishing, with a few adventures thrown in, here we are again, with another setback.  Back at Elfin Cove after 5 days out, we are missing the last 2 days before the closure due to a steering system failure.  It’s getting old.

The days since last post seem all a blur.  We went back out on Friday, and travelled South as far as lower Surge Bay.  The storm that put us in port had left a big swell from the west, which worked with the 20 knot wind and tide to make the face a bone-crunching, mind-numbing non-stop roller coaster for 12 hours.  We left the Cove at 4:30 am, and by the time we rounded Cape Bingham, I knew the day would be long.  Locking my legs under the side of the pit, I was able to keep enough balance to set gear.  The action of a double-ended boat (pointy on both ends) like True North can get a bit tricky at times, and I often had to pull the line back up, untangle the gear, and re-attach it. 

It was Carmyn Gamma’s wedding day, and we sorely missed being with our friends to celebrate the occasion.  I just thought of Orin and Sarai in Korea, and Lovie and I had a little pity party thinking about scattered family.  Carmyn has been like one of our own kids for most of her life, and it just didn’t seem right to be missing the event.  Best of life to you, Carmyn and Dustin.  The fishing stunk.  Should have done the wedding instead.

After spending the night at Soapstone Cove, we poked our bow around the corner again.  Weather was a little better, but fishing was still slow.  The humpy count is way up, and they are hard to keep off the hooks.  The price is a bit better than last year, so they do add up, but the stinky things are just irritating.  We plied boringly up and down the coast, cleaning gear routinely, slowly and steadily getting a few fish.  Someone came on the radio and told us that Andy had a whale surface under his stern, and his prop cut several chunks out – the tail was wider than his boat beam, about 13 feet wide.  I hear his hair has turned a bit white in places!

That evening, we went into Hoktaheen about 7:30.   There is a northern entrance, thru a scattering of rocks and islands, that they call the “Back Door”.  We’ve never been in that way, but it looks pretty obvious on the charts.  We were right near the mouth, so we told Connley we were going to try.  We headed in, carefully watching our little blip on the chart plotter.  Looking ahead, I began to see massive amounts of kelp all around.  The agitation and surge of the waves tossed the boat around in unpredictable motion, as I tried to focus on the chart and make sense of what I was seeing.  I chose a path to evade kelp – the huge, bulbous stringers hang up on our stabilizers and cause immense amounts of drag, inhibiting maneuverability.   I became increasingly nervous, as the rocks on both sides became only feet away – something just wasn’t right.  I made an immediate decision to evacuate the area, and put the boat into reverse.  Tide, waves, and kelp all attempted to push us onto the rocks, but the prop finally overcame and we slowly moved backwards.  When I had enough clearance, I pivoted the boat around and dragged about 5000 pounds of kelp back out the way we had come in.  I got clear of the area, pulled the stabies in, and cut the kelp away.  We then went back out to sea, down the coast, and entered the cove on the path we had marked as safe.  Looking at the plot of where we had gone was scary – I was heading down a dead-end channel, which only had rocks just below the surface.  I still shake thinking about it.  Next morning, Kirk led me out of the harbor in the way I should have gone, and we plotted it so we can find it if we come in that way again.

Troy on the Bonnie Jean had set his massive anchor, put out lots of scope, and invited several of us to raft up with him.  One by one we came, until we had 4 boats; ours the shortest at 34 feet, his the largest at 48 feet, all tied up hanging on one anchor.  The Jager had the barbecue grill on, and the hot dogs were cooking.  Connley had fresh bread, ice cream; Lovie made a 7-bean salad, Troy had drinks and all the goodies for the dogs, and we had a fishing boat picnic.  The sunset was awesome, the camaraderie was great – sitting in the 50 degree evening, gently lifting and falling on anchor, motor noise ceased, we had a good time before going to bed.  Miles from nowhere, edge of the world;  makes it all seem ok for a bit.

Sunday, we usually like to spend the mornings quiet; this one didn’t get a chance.  Connley started out at 4:30, so we followed in an hour.  Once again, up, down, over and over, for a few fish.  Long days, tiring work.  We went back to Hoktaheen, and anchored again with Troy and Kirk.  Poor Kirk – Jason, his son, was pulling gear for the first time alone, and got the wire from one set of gurdies looped over the other gurdy without realizing it.  He wound things up so tight that it ruined several parts, and took Kirk about 3 hours to get the wire all removed from the shaft and spliced back together again.  Not a good day for the Jager.  

There are the unexpected happenings though – radio chatter can be quite interesting.   “Scotty, you got a camera on board?”  “Yeah, why?”  “Slide up close to the DeathTrap(a boat – whole story in itself…) and look at his trolling pole.  There’s a squirrel on the end of it!”  Guess the poor thing climbed aboard trying to evade a cat back at Elfin Cove, and rode out to sea.  The boat just came back in today – don’t know the fate of the stowaway.

We tied up again late Sunday evening to the Bonnie Jean in Hoktaheen, along with the Jager.  It was 10:30 before we got done with supper (freshest fish around!), so the bunk felt pretty welcome.  Up again at 5:30, ready to go.  It was a beautiful morning – scattered clouds, no wind, low tide movement, waves almost flat calm, just a little 2 foot swell.  We were the first to cast off, but Troy and Kirk were getting ready to follow.  Poles down, stabies in, we worked our way thru the rocky entrance and past the surf line.  About a quarter of a mile past the entrance, I noticed that the boat had developed a significant list to starboard.  My first thought was that our fuel tanks hadn’t equalized, and that there was too much load on the one side.  Looking back, I saw the port stabilizer had snagged a huge kelp monster, and was dragging right up against the boat.  I slowed, put the boat out of gear, and hauled the stabie up to the side to slash the mass away.  Back in the water it went, and we moved forward again.  I turned the wheel to correct the course, and got no response.  I tried the other way, same story.  I used the autopilot to see if it was the wheel malfunctioning; no response.   I went back to the stern steering station, and it became obvious that something was haywire.  I leaned over and could see the rudder – changes in the wheel made no difference.  Pulling up the plate that covers the steering ram in the pit, it was clear that there was a hydraulic leak of some sort.  Further investigation revealed a hose completely worn in two where it passed thru the deck of the pit, tucked away in an obscure corner that eluded detection.  After having replaced so many things on the boat this year, we had to stop somewhere.  Near the top on next year’s to-do list – you guessed it!  Replace all steering lines!  Well, guess that one got escalated.

We were so fortunate.  We had cleared the rocks at Hoktaheen, and were still able to head offshore.  The calm conditions made working upside down in the rudder area a bit more tolerable, and the boat was drifting slowly parallel to the shore near the drag about 20 other fishermen were working.  A call on the radio brought numerous responses with offers of a tow, parts, advice, instructions about how to steer using stabilizers, etc.  Last year, I foresaw the possibility of steering system failure and made an emergency tiller that would allow me to hand steer the boat under such circumstances.  We dug it out, put it on, and tried it out.  A bit different than usual, and not one I’d like to use for heavy tide or weather, but it worked.  We moved a bit more offshore to give plenty of drifting leeway, and I tried to repair the break.  Hose clamps and a double-ended hose barb did the job, and the unit was re-assembled.  The fittings all reside under the floor of the pit, which gets a regular dousing when the boat is being worked.  Though wrapped in protective PetroTape, water and time take their toll, and I had long been suspicious of the condition of the hose fittings.  When I got the repair back in place, I tried the rear wheel.  It was spongy as expected from air infiltration, but worse yet, I heard the distinct sound of splurping hydraulic fluid from a different, more inaccessible location.  The movement of working with the hoses had caused another fitting to fail completely, breaking off clean with no effort at all.  I got the message -- “Go back to the Cove and fix this!”   We didn’t tempt fate, but had a nice, hand-tillered 3 hour cruise back up around Cape Bingham and in to Elfin Cove.  I’ve pulled the whole apparatus out, and will order parts today if I can find a credit card with anything left on it!  

Guess our closure started early.  Kirk came in, loaded to the waterline with his best day in a long, long time.  He had 3 sperm whales feeding around his boat, a bit nerve-wracking given their size, and the size of their teeth!  Em and Todd come on Saturday – we hope to be ready for the 3-day king opener that starts on Monday – luckily we get 2 extra deckhands for all the work! 

Like they warn me – don’t ask what more could go wrong because you’ll probably find out!  We’re just going with the flow here, take each test as it comes.  Can’t think too far ahead, or I could get a bit overwhelmed.  Sometimes I look forward to sitting by the fire with a good book, patting old Willie the pup while a snowstorm howls outside, sipping on my tea and snuggling up to my wife.  Guess that’s not for now, though, so we persevere. 

Life’s good.  Stay tuned – we’re “Searching for that Heart of Gold..!”

The Cove, Revisited

 

At long last – a change in scenery!  From the bowels of the engine room, to the open spaces off Surge Bay!  The cuticles of my nails are slowly turning from a grimy black that even Goop! handcleaner will not remedy, to a lighter shade of salt-cured, hardened,  shininess that only constant immersion in sea water brings.   We are fishing!  And catching! 

After what seemed to be a string of endless setbacks, we finally reached bottom.  With the bottom of the bank account only visible from below, the credit cards maxed, and a list of things to do that seemed to be self-perpetuating, we came to that “one last” point – I told Lovie that we would give things one last shot – if we had anything go wrong that cost more money or time, we were done.  I wasn’t sure how we would even get back to Montana, but we would have to hang up the raingear, chalk the experience up to bad judgment,  and go home to try to eke out a living while we licked our wounds.

After the last post, the parts for the engine arrived, thanks to the efforts of Larry and Kathy at Stewart’s Marine in Seattle.  Kirk and I flushed every visible inch of the crankcase, pulled and replaced the main bearings, installed the new balancer unit and oil pump, put the oil pan back on, lowered the engine back into place, re-assembled all the peripheral equipment, realigned the engine/shaft unit, and filled everything up with fresh oil and antifreeze.  Careful bleeding of the fuel lines and priming of oil pump and filter enabled us to start the engine easily, with no incidents. 

To break in the new bearings and seat the rings, we spent 8 hours in gear, pushing against the dock(tough docks here!), running the engine at different rpms to vary the load.  We began to get some temperature buildup after 6 hours, and paranoia set in.  We decided to go back on the grid (3rd time this year!) and pull the prop, have it re-worked if needed to meet the exact specs for best performance, and try again.  I pulled it at low tide at 5 in the morning, and had it at the prop shop by 7:30; his measurements showed that the prop was actually a little less aggressive than the optimal spec, so we made no change.  I went back to the boat for low tide to put it back on – unfortunately, the evening low was 4 feet higher than the morning low, so I had to wade in to chest height, carrying an 80 pound, 24 inch diameter bronze prop, prop nut, pipe wrench, and a couple of small wrenches, all without dropping any of them into the 51 degree seawater!  I carefully put the pieces together, and began to tighten the prop nut.  Oops – had to undo, get the prop puller ( a whole different apparatus), re-position it, and re-tighten things.  The tide began to turn about the time I needed to use the puller, and I kept a nervous eye on the water level as it inched slowly higher.  By the time I got finished, it had risen to mid-chest, and I was beginning to chill down nicely!  I crawled back aboard, got out of the wet clothes, and toweled off by the  hot stove.  Lovie got me a cup of hot tea, and I still shook for about an hour as we awaited the rising tide to float the boat. 

That night we drove out to Halibut Point to see the 375 foot Russian sailing square-rigger that had just sailed in on a goodwill tour to the US.  The Pallaida is a very impressive, very seaworthy, very beautiful ship.  I took lots of pictures; unfortunately, I accidentally erased the whole bunch.  Google it.

At last, on Friday the 30th of July, we embarked on our voyage north to Cross Sound.  Nervous as could be, we were ever so grateful to be traveling with Kirk and Jason on the Jager.  We chose to go the long way around, just in case we had more trouble.  Inside, the waters are calmer for towing, and there are a few more places to get help if needed.  With an anxious eye on the temperature and oil pressure gauges, a paranoid ear for odd sounds, and elevated blood pressure from worrying about all the things that could go wrong, we traveled.  By the second day into the trip, we began to relax a tad – things were running very smoothly.  When we docked in Hoonah for the night, we were feeling a lot more comfortable with the way things were working.  I did discover that we were losing about a cup of diesel from leaks on the injector pump, so tried to tighten them up.  Finally got the last of them today, a week later. 

We were traveling in one of the biggest tide change phases in a couple of months – 21 feet of water moving through Icy Strait out into Cross Sound via the notorious Inian Passes.  We carefully timed our departure to try to reach South Inian at that magic moment when tidal flow is minimal, and the cauldron that occurs at the junction is at its lowest.  Kirk so helpfully pointed out that they only have documented 58 fatal sinkings on the South Pass in the last years….. 

Something worked out – after some squirrely passages due to the enormous tidal flow, calm water and no wind worked together to give the smoothes possible passage through the dreaded point.  We marked it down in our books as quite possibly the calmest passage of that place that we will ever have!  The last 20 minutes into Elfin Cove, we began to breathe easier – it was sweet to motor up the Gut to the picturesque little village.  Now – to fish.

Sunday night, the gang all assembled to welcome us back.  Connley, bless his heart, plied us with fishing gear of all sorts, groceries, and lots of good advice on where to fish.  Scotty gave us a good book to read; Troy gave us some gear, and we all shared tales of the latest adventures.  Do you still wonder why we love these guys?  I can’t say enough about what friendship we have enjoyed, undeservedly.  What an awesome bunch.

Monday morning early, out to the Sound to fish.  And fish we did, all the way down to Surge Bay, back to Soapstone for the night.  Again the next day, overnight at Hocktaheen.  Wednesday, back to the Cove for a blustery night; laundry, mail, and odd and end repairs that surfaced in the break-in period – out again in the morning.  We hope to stay out until the 10th, when there will be a general closure for 3 or 4 days. 

200 cohos and 100 pinks in 2 and a half days; not bad for a start.  The upgrades to rigging and gurdies, as well as the engine, are proving well worthwhile.   The little boat is awesome. Got lots to do yet, but we’re getting there! 

Fish on!  and stay tuned….

Livin’ the Dream

With the True North tied to the work dock at Eliason Harbor in Sitka last week – still not out fishing – I looked up to the sound of  my wife’s laughter as she came back aboard the boat.  “I met this scraggledy guy coming down the ramp, with a smile on his face, coffee in hand, and a big bag of  parts in the other hand.  I asked how he was doing, and he said, ‘Just livin’ the Dream!’ “   Broke, always repairing something, but here we are, doing just that.  If you feel some dark irony in the statement, you probably are not far off.  What a week.

With all our friends except Kirk up north fishing, we have been feverishly working to get things ready.  I promised not to tell, but Kirk is an awesomely thoughtful person, above and beyond the call of typical friendship.  An enormously capable welder, rigger, mechanic, just to mention a few skills, he has delayed his fishing season 3 weeks now just to help us get finished and safely to the Cove.  I’m humbled by such undeserved attention and assistance. 

(Why replace old rigging plates…?)

 

It finally all began to come together about a week ago.  The hayrack roof was completed, the a-frame on, the seat mounted, gurdies turning and tuned, pit cover fitted, and the fish hold spotless, ready for ice.  Lovie had the inside all cozy and nice, and we were all set to go.   The awesome bell that Orin and Sarai sent from Korea, fully engraved with the business name was hung on the new mount on the mast, ready for the first fog.  We moved on the boat, and spent our first two nights sleeping the lovely, peaceful sleep that comes from the motion of the ocean.  

 

Tuesday morning we stocked up with the last minute provisions, and while Lovie made a last laundry run, I fired the boat up and followed Kirk north for the 7 mile run to Halibut Point fuel dock to top off the tanks and give the boat the first test run before the long trip to Cross Sound.  We plan to go up the outside coast, a new experience for us –  it’s about a 16 hour run at 7 knots, and not a speck of civilization along the way.  The chart looks like someone peppered it with dots that represent rocks, probably the most I’ve seen on any chart anywhere.  With only the wide Pacific on the port side, and rocks on the starboard, you really have no room for error.  All this in a new boat with unproven changes.  Again, thank you, Kirk for sticking with us. 

So, off I went, intently listening, watching, checking every system, every possible area of failure – what a dream the little boat is!  The new engine is so quiet, I can hardly tell it’s running, just a gentle purr on deck.  The shortened poles and stiffer rigging reduced the roll, even without the stabilizers in the water.  I ran it progressively faster and faster, varying the speed as instructed to help seat the rings.  About 30 minutes out, I heard a strange, high-pitched “Pzwiiing” noise, that went away and never came again.  I noted it, then dismissed it as just an anomaly.  About 2 minutes later, total panic.  My oil pressure dropped to zero, usually a sure sign of major meltdown about to occur.  I immediately killed the engine, radioed Kirk, and opened the hatch.  No fluids in the bilge;  oil on the dipstick; no overheating…  After some conferring, we decided that we would just try to start it again and see if the pressure came up.  I did, but it didn’t.  Nothing seemed different, so we idled slowly without incident for the next 30 minutes to the fuel dock.  180 gallons (cough, cough) later, we headed back to Sitka. 

Halfway home, I got brave and increased the speed slightly, then more yet.  The temperature began to rise some, so I backed off, then killed it.  Again, examining the engine as it cooled down, there was no noise, no sign of problem.  When the temp cooled down, I started it again, and idled the rest of the way in.  Suspecting a defective pressure sensing unit, I headed for the parts house.  Finally finding a replacement, I made the change and optimistically started the engine.  Still zero.  More concerned, I pulled the sensor out of the block and turned the motor over with the starter.  No oil.  Really bad sign… I pulled the hose to the filter off and rolled the engine again… you guessed, no oil. 

I got on the phone to the dealer / mechanic who sold the engine and described the symptoms.  To make a long story short without all the excruciatingly painful details, Kirk and I, in two hours, ripped the floor out, removed the rear wall into the hold, moved the battery, the exhaust, the hydraulic pump, all the hoses, belts, lines, and wires attached to the motor; removed the transmission, undid the motor mounts, hooked a come-along to the ceiling and stood the engine up on the bell housing.  There were babbit and bronze shavings in the bottom of the oil pan, not a very good sign.  We pulled the oil pump off, and there it  was.  A split gear caused the oil pump shaft to break, starving my engine of oil to the main bearings.  This usually ruins an engine in a few minutes of operation.  How did mine survive with almost no damage whatsoever??  Providence, and the Teflon additive, similar to Slick 50, that Larry Stewart, the mechanic, had put in for the break in period.  Wowser.  No overheated crank, no seized bearings, nothing.  Only a little, minor galling on one thrust bearing.  Wow.

So, tonight, we sleep back in the safe haven of Doland’s with the motor upended, gutted like an October deer in Montana.  Parts will be on the plane tomorrow;  we will replace the main and rod bearings, oil pump, lift pump, freeze plugs (one had failed on me earlier, causing an antifreeze leak), and who knows what else. 

Looks like we may get to fish before the end of July, if all goes well.  We can’t spend any more money, there simply is none.  Hope we get a fish check before the August bills start hitting the bank! 

Livin the Dream, right here in Alaska.

Stay tuned.

Almost Ready

For those unfortunate few who occasionally read my ramblings, I apologize for the month-long lapse.  Nothing of exciting or general interest has really happened – it’s basically been work, work, work, from 7 to 7 or whenever for days on end.  My own estimation of my abilities to get things done was off by about 50%, as was an estimate of the dollars it would take.  Unfortunately, both were in the wrong direction, so we still are not fishing, and the first king opener is well under way.  If all goes well, we should be heading north in about 5 days. 

I started by cutting a 3 foot square hole in my bulkhead between engine room and fish hold.  That freed me up to access the shaft coupling ( which connects the propeller shaft to the gearbox on the engine) so that I could disconnect it.  I then slid the shaft back about 6  inches, watching carefully to be sure I didn’t make the cutlass bearing seal leak, which would fill the boat with water and sink it.  It took several days to disconnect all the pumps, batteries, and peripheral hoses, tubing, wires, and so forth.  

Once the engine was totally disconnected, I found a stout 4x4 post that spanned the roof of the wheelhouse, and removed the big bolt that was directly in the center of the roof, evidently put there by some past owner who had pulled the engine before.  I ran a long eyebolt up thru the roof and the 4x4, and to that I was able to connect a chain hoist which would raise the engine.  It was with some trepidation that I began to put pressure on the setup – not sure about how stout the fiberglass of the cabin was to hoist a 1000 pound engine,  I only incrementally pulled on the lift.  Some creaking and popping occurred, but no signs of collapse, so I continued until the front of the engine had lifted a couple of inches.  I began blocking it up using wood blocks, then moved pressure to the rear of the engine and lifted it.  Slowly, it began to rise.  I had to lift it 16 inches above its normal resting spot to get the 4x4 posts under it so I could slide it back into the fish hold.  Finally, it was in place, and I used the chain hoist to pull it to the rear of the boat.  Dawn soap on the wood made it slide pretty easily, and it was finally in position. 

I measured the engine/transmission length carefully, and determined that if we brought it up at an angle, we could just barely get it out thru the big hatch of the fish hold without further disassembly.  Kirk, Connley, and Steve were all available to help, so we tied the True North to Steve’s Ebb Tide and towed it over to the City dock where a crane is available for use to the public for a fee.  Kirk ran the crane, Connley coordinated between Kirk ( who couldn’t see what was happening down below) and me, and Steve and I hooked up the crane hook to the engine and guided it out of the hatch.  There were some real butterflies in my stomach as 1000 pounds of iron was slowly raised higher and higher above my boat – one slip or miscalculation and it would plunge thru the boat hull, sinking it at a rapid rate!   A collective sigh of relief was audible once it was over dry land, and placed on the truck! 

The new, beautiful blue Perkins was carefully lowered into the hold, and the process began in reverse.  Winch it forward, then slowly lower it into position.  Once I had it blocked in exactly the right spot – transmission and shaft have to be within two thousandths of an inch or your shaft eventually breaks and beats a hole in your boat – I had to fabricate 4 motor mounts to tie it in position. 

These are massive items, each one a little different due to the angle the motor sits at – half inch steel plate, about 9 inches high, with strengthening gussets, all drilled in precisely the right spot.  That took me several days at Kirk’s shop, but finally they were right.  Once I bolted them in, I removed the big wood blocks that I had used to support the engine, then fine tuned the mounting with brass shims until I got the shaft and engine perfectly aligned.  All this monkeying around took well over 2 and half weeks.  Then, I began re-wiring, re-plumbing, re-mounting all the peripheral stuff.  New mounting brackets for the washdown pump and hydraulic pump; new throttle cables from fore and aft; new transmission cable; filter mounting, etc.   I made a new battery box to fit an 8D battery, a behemoth with 1650 cold cranking amps so I don’t have to worry about running out of juice when at anchor.   We installed a new high-tech regulator to manage charging the two independent battery banks – one for starting, one for running all the electronics, lights, and other items.  I removed all the old, rotten hydraulic lines, and am running new ones.  The list just goes on and on.   There is a magic word that doubles the price on anything you buy here  -- “Marine” !  All our bolts, washers, screws, nuts are stainless steel; any plumbing fittings are either bronze($$) or stainless($$).  It hurts to go to Murray Pacific every day, buy 8 or ten small bolts, and walk out $50 –100 poorer.  Wish I could figure out how to SELL them!

Finally, after building a new exhaust system to the tune of about $1200,  the moment came to start the engine – boy was I nervous!  It started without a burp, and seemed to work well.  We decided to replace the prop – the old one was WAY over pitched, putting a lot of stress on the drive train, so we tentatively drove it to the grid, the second time on there this month!  We were a bit optimistic on the amount of water we needed as a minimum, slid it into place at exactly high tide, moved it to align it once, and were promptly stuck as the water receded a half an inch! Boy was that close!  I’ll not cut it that fine again; if we had been a bit crooked, we had no reserve water to get in place, and we could have tipped all 25,000 pounds of boat over on it’s side.  Luck of the fools….    On the way over, it was obvious how bad the prop ratio was – I could barely go slow enough to maneuver in close quarters, so changing to the spare, lower pitched prop was a good move.

Once off the grid, I made the first long (half a mile!) trip down to Eliason harbor to the work dock.  The engine temperature climbed to an unacceptable 230 degrees; I coasted in to the dock, killed the engine before it got any hotter, and began to assess why the temperature extreme.  Turns out that the wrong thermostat was installed; a half a day draining antifreeze, pulling the expansion tank, prying out the old thermostat, and installing a new one finally solved the problem.  Everything’s cool, man.  Yea.

In addition to engine room items, Connley and Kirk were working on my gurdy rebuild – what a beautiful job they did!  The old, failing 2-spoolers now have become rebuilt 3-spoolers, with many more years of life in them than I will ever fish.  Last year they were failing at an alarming rate, suddenly releasing and freewheeling down, losing gear and endangering hands and feet, or risking pulling you over the side.  This should be a LOT better, safer, and more efficient.

About mid June, Steve(Ebb Tide) and Scott(Myrth) headed up to check out the chum (dog) salmon fishery at Homeshore, in Icy Straits.  This has become pretty popular in the last couple of years, and now we found out why.  They have already made as much in 2 weeks as we made last season;  it’s repetitive, boring, but it pays well.  Maybe next year I’ll try it.  Can’t argue with the dollars….

July 1, Connley headed north to Cross Sound for the king opener.  He took his 80+ year old dad and his uncle along, as well as the new deckhand from Jackson Hole.   Sounds like they are doing quite well so far.   Fish are big this year, and the prices, due to world economics, are very good.  If I ever get there….!

Things got better – Lovie arrived!  Sure makes a difference to have her here – the term “helpmate” sure does apply.

This week, we finished up the roof of the hayrack.  It is attached to my old pipe frame, which is on it’s way out.  When we removed it, only 3 of the 8 big mounting bolts were actually holding it down.  The rest were eaten completely in two by electrolysis, a very real problem on these boats.  We built the roof so that we can remove the old pipe one this fall, build some sides, and attach the roof to the walls, to complete the new, open deck hayrack.  That will be really grand.

The poles, several feet too long, and with numerous rigging ailments, have been shortened, new stainless steel pad-eye inserts mounted, and lots of other goodies.  We hope to have them re-attached in a couple of days.  The aluminum for the A-frame is lying next to the boat, and should be installed tomorrow. 

Connley is coming back to Sitka shortly to go on the grid- he has a leak he really needs to find and fix – Kirk and his son Jason in the Yager, and Lovie and me in the True North hope to go back north with him in a few days. 

The engine runs, the prop seems ok, the electrical is all working --- there is hope! 

Stay tuned for fish…!   So tired…

And Here We Go Again

It’s been a few months since the last post, but here we are again.  After a lovely, low-stress winter of programming, shoveling snow, and generally doing what Montanan’s do in winter, I am back in Sitka.  I’ve been called Crazy by several people who are probably right, but guess I’m just crazy enough to  keep on trying.  My project list is – large?  To say the least!   Unfortunately, once I start, I have no way to quit other than admitting total defeat and not even getting to fish this year.  That just can’t happen.  

As you will recall, my 353 Detroit Diesel steadily spit more goo out the exhaust pipe last season, making a real mess and making me worry constantly about its longevity. 

A decision was reached to repower the boat, and I began to search for an engine.  I finally settled on a rebuilt Perkins 4.236 marine diesel that was put together by a shop down in Seattle.  It is currently on the barge headed for Sitka.  In the meantime, I have to remove the old engine, correct any structural issues I find in the bowels of the boat, re-wire, re-plumb, re- everything pretty much.  Then, I have to install the new engine, which doesn’t match the old one for placement—build motor mounts, spend a great deal of time aligning the motor and shaft ( there can be no mis-alignment or things come apart). 

In addition, I was not pleased with the setup of the hayrack, so Kirk agreed to help me out with constructing a new one.  That led to an examination of our poles and cables, and to make a long story short, I am shortening my poles by about 5 feet, removing a bunch of cables and replacing the mast supports with rigid aluminum ones, among other things.  Note the poles (37 feet long!) on the work float.

Oh, did I mention that I am building up a new set of 3-spool gurdies from an old pair I found down in Vancouver last year?  I spent all day today sandblasting the miscellaneous parts of bronze castings – a lot of work, but the guys do a fantastic job on them, and this rebuild should last for a long fishing career.

All this before July 1, the King opener here.  I’m tired already, and  haven’t done anything more than remove my hayrack, gurdies, poles, cables.  The boat’s a mess.  I sure hope this  all works.  There are more fish being caught right now in the hatchery openings than most people caught in the big opener last year, and they are all weighing in several pounds heavier – AND, the best part is that prices are holding up higher than normal for this time of year.  General optimism among the fleet that this could be one of the best years ever for trollers.  That would make it all worthwhile! 

Included are a few “before” pictures, and I hope to be able to post steady improvements from here!

Stay tuned…

The Kid

written in Seoul, South Korea

Tonight I am half a world away from home, in a land I had hardly imagined, with fireworks echoing non-stop through the walls for the past hour. Here to visit our own Army kid, we’ve seen so much that’s strange to us in the last few days that my head spins.  Through it all, though, runs  the commonality of man.

Fireworks and children – that’s what is on my mind in a bizarre connection between Alaska and Korea …

If you recall, I made a post about the fireworks display at Sitka, just after the Coast Guard chopper crashed. Those were beautiful, colored stars and sprays, punctuated by the big salutes that rock you down to your toes. The scene remains strong in my senses – darkness, candles, the flares, the sense of loss and loneliness – more a cathartic process than one of celebration and revelry.

Here in Seoul, the fireworks started about 7:30, a little after dusk. We can see no flares, stars, or sprays from here, just the gut-wrenching booms and crunches of high explosive partying at its best. This unbelievably dense concentration of people, impressive in their ability to live so gracefully together in such numbers, spare no efforts when emulating the sounds of the war that sleeps just below the surface of daily life here. The barrage has echoed from hill to hill, sounding out in furious ripples from just outside our walled compound to the far distance. I am certain that what we hear is only a minute part of a blanket of sound stretching from horizon to horizon – it’s just the way things are here! High rises snuggled together as far as the eye can see in all directions, with traffic to match!

Wowser. And above it all, the thunder, rippling…

While we’ve been here the last few days I have been impressed with the children. Yesterday, we were at an ancient fortress, and the small schoolchildren were touring by the thousands. Each group of 20 or 30 was with a couple of teachers, and all were dressed identically in colorful outfits, effectively identifying them with their group. They were all bubbling and happy, but in a very mannerly and orderly fashion; paired off, they each had a buddy to take care of.

I recalled seeing school groups in the Flathead recently, where individuality and zero sense of discipline prevailed, and I think we’ve missed the boat in America. Not one of our prouder accomplishments, this total “me – my – mine” attitude we foster even in our littlest children.

 

While I marveled at the happy, clean, orderly children here, my heart went back to a boy this summer in Alaska. I’ll not name names, but if the shoe fits when you read this, just wear it.

The boat was small and dirty, and at first I thought it was just a little day-trip hand troller someone had parked in the Cove. The weather had turned nasty, and a lot of different boats than usual had made an appearance to hide out, do laundry, fuel up, get groceries, and generally regroup for a day or two. Our boat was tied alongside the dock close to the ramp, so most of the fishermen had to walk by us on their way to town. It was evening, and I was inside reading a book, when BOOM! Something blew up right next to my open porthole. I leaped up and ran outside, just to see an impish, dirty face wrinkled up in a big, laughing grin. The Kid, as I’ll call him, had dropped a depth charge firecracker of some kind right by us, just for fun, and ran off just out of throwing range to see what sort of reaction he would get. I tried to be gruff and threatening, but he saw through me, gave me the Grin, and promised to do it again as soon as I wasn’t ready. He ran off up the way, little 8-year old Extra-Tuffs pounding.

We saw him regularly around the dock for the next few days – sometimes with a friend or dog, but more often alone, always seeming to appear when food was available. I never saw him take off the little red life jacket that he wore. If something was happening on a boat, he seemed to know, and was among the first to show up ready to watch the excitement. He spent time in the Laundromat, doing laundry for Dad and himself. He and Dad fished on the little green boat together. More than once I heard Dad bragging in his loud, drunken voice that his kid had more sea-time than most grown men, and I really don’t doubt it. I picked up bits and pieces about his family over time – Mom and Dad split up; Dad becoming a serious boozer with a loud mouth and in-your-face temper who got to have the Kid for the summer. They ranged up and down the outside coast – I have to hand it to Dad – he was not afraid in the least to venture far up above Cape Spencer into some tough waters, looking for kings and cohos in a small tub of a boat most of us wouldn’t trust out of sight of the harbor.

One story (verifiable) had Dad on a real bender last year – he came back to the boat and decided it was time to fish. He steamed out of the Cove, still stewed to the gills, and headed for the fishing grounds. When sobriety reared its ugly head the next morning, he realized he was short some crew, namely the Kid. Certain that his son had fallen overboard, Dad searched for hours, finally returning to the Cove, in despair over the missing son. Meanwhile, back at the Cove, the Kid was wandering the docks in the rain, passing time while he waited for Dad’s return. Pity was given by some of the good-hearted folks of the Cove, and the Kid got a hot meal and warm place to sleep overnight. No one bothered to radio the dad, preferring to let him stew in his remorse, hopefully shaming him to a higher plane of concern. Rather than show gratitude to the keepers of his child, he became blusteringly belligerent immediately upon discovering the Kid, and sailed out again, this time with him on board. The incident was only a speedbump – this year Dad still is drunk most of the time he’s in port, and the Kid still roams the dock.

My last picture of the Kid – I’m standing with Steve, Kirk, and Scott on the boardwalk overlooking the Gut.  Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” is playing at annoyingly loud volume from speakers on a little green boat that’s headed out of the Cove, just beneath us. Standing on the starboard side, arms wrapped around a stabilizer pole, is the Kid. He looks up and gives us the Grin, and then looks ahead, out to sea, with Dad. Wonder what his future holds.

Fish on.

Not with a Bang,…

And so, just like that – we are done for the coho season.

Late last week, while mulling over the low fish numbers and weather, it all came together – it’s time for us to go!  A combination of factors, both at home and on the fishing scene, suddenly all added up to tip us over the brink.  With only a week and a half to go till the closure, we forfeited some income, but probably not enough to make us wealthy.  Steve’s boat was terminally broken down at the time, effectively ending his season, so we leased ours to him for the balance of days so he could continue to fish.  The harbor department in Sitka called and told us our temporary slip was now out on the transient dock, which is not the best place to winter a boat.  As of now, the boat may winter in its’ old home, Elfin Cove, unless something more substantial turns up.  Not my favorite choice, but one of the only available.  It will make for difficulties in remodeling and working on the boat this winter should I choose to do so, but perhaps I can get it to better accommodations by spring. 

We made our plans one day, caught our last fish for our winter freezer stock, filleted them till midnight, vacuum packed them at Patti’s early the next morning, and were on the float plane to Juneau by 5pm.  Culture shock awaited with the bustle of Juneau, but we coped with running water, flush toilets, and an anchored-down big bed as best we could.  The ferry to Sitka left Sunday evening, and we spent the night in one of the staterooms, arriving at 4am in Sitka.  After a flurry of last-minute business and fish-box shuffling, we got the plane to Kalispell, and arrived home by midnight.  Now THAT’s culture shock!  Wide open spaces, dry air, lots more people, unfortunately…!  Now, catching up on all the loose ends that a season away brings – with it the depression of needing to find some form of income to carry us through till springtime.  I really don’t want to go sit in an office, dealing with petty problems for people who have no clue about what the real cutting edge of life really is.  Lotto tickets? may be the only answer!  I have few real problems that a half a million dollars wouldn’t make easier!

Our last day in the Cove was beautiful – warm (68!) and sunny.  We were of mixed emotions as we brought our stuff down to the front dock to await the float plane, but knew we were doing what needed to be done.  I will never forget the little group of folks that took time to come and wish us well as we left.  Two and a half months earlier we knew only one of them; now, a whole group of good friends. 

Quite a group.  Fashion is not an issue in this bunch.  Degrees, family names, cars; all those things that much of the country measures ability, status and success by – not an issue here.  Knowing how to fix just about anything with just about nothing, knowing how to read the weather, tides, currents – real mastery.  You could easily cast a pirate movie from the characters, just based on first impressions.  Dig a little deeper, and you find real gold.

I mean that, folks – thank you for making our first year not be the disaster it could have been! 

What have I learned this year?

• The ocean is big, powerful, scary, beautiful, bountiful, alluring, and I love it.
• I can get really, really scared.  I’m not the only one; most of the guys I met readily admit it.  But it really doesn’t have to paralyze me.
• Life is very very fragile; we have so little real power.  Treat every moment as a great gift.
• I can do this fishing thing – I started with basically no clue about trolling, underestimated my experience level on the sea, and all that – We survived this season at least, and actually didn’t go too far backwards on the income when all was said and done.  Next year!
• There are some really, really fine people around.  
• Dolands, Dennisons, Denherders, and other friends at Sitka; Nelsons at Petersburg – I love you folks.  You helped keep me going when things looked the bleakest.  I am forever indebted to you, and value your friendship.  You showed me what true hospitality, care, and support is all about.  I can only aspire to such a grand level in my dealings with others.
• Steve – Point Amelia,
• Kirk-Yager,
• Scotty-Myrth,
• John-Midnight Sun,
• Don & Patty-Umatilla,
• Todd-Admiral,
• John-Mug-C,
• Troy-Bonnie Jean,
• Connley-J-Jireh,
• Dan and Judy-St. Jude

– you all took me from borderline crazy to being a real fisherman.  Words are inadequate to describe you and what you mean to me.  Thanks for counting me among your ranks – I’m proud to have spent a season with you all.

• My wife – what can I say? Best cook, fish cleaner, boat driver, and and finest lady I’ve ever known.  Love you forever.

 

I can’t wait till next season!  I have so many things to do before it starts – I need desperately to come up with enough money to get things in order for a great next season.  I am so optimistic about how things could be if I only could get the boat to the state of preparedness it needs to be in.  The state where I could completely trust its ability to function all season without leaving us stranded in the middle of some seething, forsaken corner of the sea.  Guess my winter work is cut out for me, finding the source! 

If there’s any interest, I would be glad to show slides, tell stories, sing songs, and so forth – this kind of experience just can’t be shut in the corner of ones mind, but begs the telling.   Thanks for listening to my ramblings this year.

Fish On!

Rub A Dub Dub

Ready for another rousing high-seas adventure?  Everyone knows the story of Rub a Dub Dub, Three Men in a Tub, right?  One fine evening in Elfin Cove, one of the residents came by, recruiting able bodies to assist in lifting a skiff on to a floating work dock for winter storage.  Being a fellow of advanced years, he couldn’t quite manage the task by himself, so he set out to find enough power to do the job.  A couple of 25 year olds would have done nicely, but all he could scrape up was a collection of gents over 30 to do the job.  The Marines and their few good men…  this was a real collection.  Some of us piled into the skiff, which was tied to a large floating pallet he called a barge – a sinking collection of boards, styrofoam, and lines, powered by a small outboard.  Then Harv, the man in charge, and Kurt manned the barge, and off we went across the cove.  Lovie happened to snap this shot of the crew, just before the outboard died. 

As we were in the middle of the cove,  barbs of all sorts being flung at us from interested bystanders on their boats, we began to look (in vain) for oars.  Kurt luckily was able to get the thing going again, but not before we all volubly  wondered how far the onlookers would let us go before assisting, whether we could make it to Japan if the tides were right, how many fish we could catch with the gear at hand, who would get eaten first if we had to resort to desperate measures, and so forth.  A few minutes later, the float was reached, the boat lifted aboard, and all returned happily to their vessels.  Just a little snapshot of life on the fringes…!

We are back in for what seems to be a weekly happening – storms.  Predictions have 14 foot seas on the outside this evening and tomorrow, so much of the fleet is holed up.  We had a really good day last week, over 130 fish, then back to 40-50.  The size is noticeably larger, so overall poundage is staying up, as is the price.  We are going to try to  tough it out as long as fishing holds up, as we can make or break the season’s income in the next stretch of days.  We've decided to reassess things on the 15th, and if weather is going worse and the fish count down, we’ll head for Sitka a little early.  If the fishing is good, we’ll try to last for the final push – season may be extended through the end of the month is the rumor – I sort of hope that it isn’t, as home is starting to sound pretty good right now.  We’ll see. 

Fall is only a few days away technically, but the colors and temperatures are hinting at winter already.  There have been some beautiful days, and the fog has pretty much become a thing of the summer.  Some boats are leaving already, and others are just showing up for the last push,  and the Sound has really been crowded.  Last night was the big annual Christmas party over at the Shoreline Scow – it’s fame preceded the event, so we stayed as far away as possible.  Just heard that 3 guys are in critical condition, one may have died already – returning home to Pelican in the middle of the night in a skiff, they ran into a rock at high speed.  No more details yet, but it’s why I stay away from alcoholic parties involving boats and wild men.

Steve’s dad left on the float plane last week, and Scott from California became his new deckhand. 

The saga continues – he caught 250 fish in his little boat, almost swamped it – they pitched fish into the bunks up forward to keep it level in the building seas, then eased into Mite Cove to sell.  They anchored overnight, and as they left the next morning, the transmission seized up, again, just off Column Point.  Myrth towed them back to Elfin, yet another towing job for the little tub.  The exhaust leak that nearly did them in 2 days before recurred, and they found it in the process of pulling the tranny.  Looks like they almost have the engine pulled out over on their side of the dock, and will throw in the one off the Point Amelia.  Steve is glad for the stormy weather, it makes him feel better about taking time off from catching fish! 

One computer is  on the fritz, so hope I can continue to post things. 

Fish on!