40 Days In The Neon Haze, Festering Dreams Are Dressed In Vagaries.

Day 1 - this ship rocks hard.  Literally and figuratively.  I can't believe I didn't hurl, and was bold enough to eat halfway through the run out past the pribs. (pribilof islands)

Day 2 - nothing compensates for a cool captain on a boat.  They switched me to a bigger bunk.  Only problem is, that's just more room for my body to roll around in, but I'll take it.

Day 3 - started sampling.  The second haul was in the middle of the night, and it was quite a sight to see miles of black 5-footish waves lit under a clear sky and a full moon.  The kind of beauty few will ever experience, and I certainly relished the moment.

View from my sample station at the roller pit.  Note the cod about to have the hook forcibly removed by the crucifier.

Day 4 - already so busy, the days have lost all meaning.  I almost didn't even realize it was Sunday.

Certain songs just seem so out of place in the dirty bowels of a fish processor, to the point I will smile and laugh out loud when they come on the speaker. "Time After Time" is one of those.

Day 5 - Sampling in 20 foot swells.  I'm exposed more than anyone else on the boat, up on the weather deck.  The crew lashed a makeshift seat to the railing in the form of a giant bouncy-ball bouy, and some lashing between the rails to make myself feel protected, but it's little comfort in bad weather.  I confess, I secretly love being out in the billowing surge though.  I feel like lieutenant Dan in that hurricane, asking the man upstairs if that's all he's got.  I'm dressed well, and of course wearing a life vest with a strobe light just in case (and very glad that the crew performed well in a mock-up man overboard drill), but it's still quite a feeling to get hit in the back unawares by wave spray that cleared the other side of the boat (I'm 15 feet above the waterline to give you sense of scale).  I can't help but smile a little when an explosive collision knocks the boat around while I'm holding on to the railing and trying to see the fish being hauled in.  It's supposed to blow fifty by the end of today.  Bring it on.

Wow, my noise canceling headphones continue to be a very worthwhile investment.  Now when in the loud factory area, I can dull the roar and enjoy some tunes.  Great for on deck too.  The Flaming Lips and Pinback are my two favorites while outside.  (and shout out to mike for sending me the new Of Montreal.  I really needed to hear that album.


Killer Whale  bull checking out the boat.

Day 6 - What a nice surprise to walk out and spot a killer whale bull a hundred feet from the roller pit to start the morning.  I guess no halibut will make it to the surface for me to fret over today, and it's no sweat for the fisherman who don't have to worry about carefully releasing any halibut, since the orcas are great at picking the tastiest morsels off the line, leaving the codfish for the boat.  It was awesome watching one of the Orcas apparently surfing storm swells for fun.


Killer Whale fluke, spotted before it got stormy.

You know in star trek type movies how they always show everyone stumbling about the ship after taking enemy fire?  I think I know what that feels like now after the last massive wave bombardment.  And I'm insane enough to go out and sample in a few minutes.  Update, I had to cut my sample short cause it was just getting too hairy out there.  Sat in the wheelhouse getting to know the mate while watching the impressive waves instead.  No data is worth going overboard for.  Supposedly, this storm created 45-foot waves out by the aleutians.

Day 7- finally getting better sleep.  It's all about wedging yourself in a corner, and hopefully having the rocking translate into some kind of pleasant activity in a dream.

Day 8 - heading northwest looking for better fish.  If we keep working this way, we'll get to the Russian border.  We're at 178 degrees west or so, and a degree isn't all that much distance at these northerly latitudes.

Day 9 - first reminder of winter, got snow flurries today.  Not too surprising, as we are well into the range where there will be sea ice in a few months.  Short-tailed albatrosses following us, making the captain nervous.  They are endangered and very rare, and could potentially shut down the season or worse if we snag one.


Short-tailed Albatross in flight.

Day 10 - still haven't gone to bed yet, the random sample table tells me to sample 4 hauls in a row.  Luckily I will utilize the random break table at 5am so I only have to do 3.  It's a weird world using all these random tables to tell you when to do everything.

Day 11- Saw more short-tailed albatross than I had in my life up to today.  Possibly 2 dozen.  They weren't very boat shy, and the skipper decided to move east and hopefully lose them rather than risk catching one.  I had a rare haul off in good weather and got pictures, though I'm annoyed I had a beautiful Jaeger right in front of me and couldn't get the shot.  I miss my old pro camera.  Also had a gull land on my head briefly, mistaking me for an inanimate pole while I was shooting.


Short-tailed Albatross sub-adult charging into a group of feeding Fulmars.




Adult (Or almost adult) Short-tailed albatross.  Note how the feathers are mostly white, with some gold on the head, but the same bubble-gum pink bill.

Day 12 - best day for gull-watching, id'd all possible in-range gulls, including herring, slaty-backed, glaucous, glaucous-winged and both kittiwake species.  Used this information to deduce that we were closer to land, and sure enough, we worked close to the island of St Matthew, though it's still just out of view.  Stupid arctic storm is moving in, I was getting blasted with snow at times.  Luckily I have this haul off, cause the last thing I saw outside was raging pee-sized hail pounding the deck.


Black-legged Kittiwake, a samall, cute gull species.

Day 13 - the most common word uttered amongst the crew is a colloquialism involving bovine excrement.  The second most common word is the F bomb.  So if you randomly pick anything (let's say, the weather for an example) and apply the adverb form of the latter in front of the former, adding a dreadful inflection for humor, you too can talk like a hardcore fisherman.

Day 14 - slept for two hours after an all-day sample fest, and felt like a zombie when 2amhad me on the weather deck again.  But I smiled for awhile after I got to watch a Least Auklet foraging for scraps near the discard chute, then flying back several times with these cute fluttering wing-beats, then swimming around right under me like a miniature penguin..  Imagine a bird that swims and looks like a penguin, flies and floats like a duck, and is the size of a sparrow.  I think they must be nocturnal.  BTW, our cook is awesome, and breakfast pizza is the best culinary discovery that has not caught on (yet).  Back to sleep for a 50 mile run.  The fish just aren't easy to find, or else they are down there but the crabs eat the bait first.  I guess crabs are really thick up this far north.  BTW, getting a king crab in your sample is an adventure, those things are lively, and will climb out of your baskets and move faster than you'd think.

Day 14 - I would kill for a masseuse (sp) right now.  Boats and sleep deprivation do bad things to your back, as well as your mind.

Day 15 - Bruce (Captain) finally found some good fish, so everyone is happier and busier.  I slept on and off after sampling 8 of the last 9 hauls.

Day 16 - there are some moments you'll always remember at this job, no matter how brain-dead zombified you get.  This morning was one of those.  I climbed out of the din of the factory just before a cold, clear sunrise, and everything was quiet.  Jet black snow squalls were visible in patches around the horizon as we floated on a lazy sea of glass.  White seabirds were everywhere, illuminated by our own lights as they bobbed all around the suddenly lifeless, silent boat.  Even my soundtrack cooperated as "Wish You Were Here" came on, followed by Neil Young and "Ambulance Blues".  While standing there on a large, deserted boat deck, I suddenly imagined myself with a dance partner, swaying together, adrift on a barren sea.  And that's when I knew I needed more sleep, because reality was becoming indistinguishable from my dreams. Slept for 10 hours, got up for dinner, then slept almost 8 hours.  Love it when the random sample table gives me two hauls off.

Day 17 -   Got pictures of a killer whale today.  Beautiful and calm.  Saw St. Matthew Island for the first time as well, a barren, pretty rock with only seabirds as residents.


St. Matthew Island on the right, with a large rock on the left (Can't remember the name).  The only land I saw for forty days.

Day 18 - doing my part to help free-up space in the freezer by eating a bowl of ice cream for breakfast after a 24 hour sample fest.

The boat began looking like a gull colony that neither I nor the skipper had seen the likes of previously.  Teams working in shifts still couldn't clean all the droppings off on the way back to town.

Day 19 - f'ng bullcrap!  Had to do my last sample with stinging sleet hitting me in the face.  Still in love with the experience though...  Except for ripping cod ovaries out for maturity scans.  Not in love with that so much, though I'm getting way more comfortable with cod internal anatomy than I ever thought I would.

Day 20 - Holy weird boat dreams.  Made peace with a bitter ex, had an enlightening conversation with an old crush under the stars, and singlehandedly made myself famous by artfully destroying a stupid awards show on live TV.  Only thing missing was a current love interest.  Maybe that's why I'm writing a short-film script in my spare time.  The characters are all fictional, I swear.

Day 21 - 3 weeks, really?  Hopefully 2 more to go.  Some days I want to do this job forever, others I'm wondering why I came back here.  This morning was one of the latter.

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot is going to be the name of my new band if I ever make music in a band again.

Day 22 - had a gull land on my head while sampling today.  Managed to fight the initial urge to jerk my head around when I felt the bird unexpectedly, so he sat there for a few minutes.  Bruce noticed after a while while he was driving the boat and managed to grab a picture after giving me an initial "what the hell" over the deck speakers.  The funniest was the other gull that landed 2 feet away, and slowly realized I was a person, and kept looking at my face, then the other bird, then back to me for a few seconds before flying off as if to say "I'm having no part in this"


A most unexpected and magical moment.  Thanks so much to Bruce for getting a picture.

Day 23 - random songbird landed on the boat.  Not able to ID, but am looking at possibilities.  We're far enough north it could well have been one of the interesting varieties that migrate to western Alaska from Siberia.  Hopefully I'll get a better look with light later today.

Day 24 - it's funny what you start daydreaming about after 3 weeks on a floating prison.  I find myself fantasizing about buying a truck with a camper shell and just driving around like a vagabond for a year.  Being homeless and on the road seems very appealing right now.  Could be a fun year.

Day 25 - fishing is still slow, so the mood isn't the best, though I gotta say this is a fun crew for the most part.  Turns out that deadliest catch is coming up to the same area we are fishing, as King Crab season opens today.  I guess the Cornelia Marie and a chase boat are on their way.


My view of a large cod being hauled onto the boat by the rollerman.

Day 26 - 15-foot waves are back, which feel even worse in this  roll-happy converted crab boat.  Thank heaven I won't be out here more than a couple more weeks.  My bunk is perpendicular to the worst roll action, which means I sometimes wake up sliding head or feet first into the ends, rather awkwardly.  Just finished the roughest sample I've ever done.  Gotta say, it may be cold, but it feels so exhilarating to be on deck feeling the raw power of the ocean heaving beneath you, and the spray flying over and into you in a 40 knot wind.  By the end I had figured out how to hold and write on my clipboard without relinquishing my death grip on the railings, which came in very handy.  There's nothing like the moment you hear the captain telling you to prepare yourself for an incoming wave that you can only vaguely sense coming up behind you.  Saw a crab boat out fishing next to us maybe a mile or less away.

Day 27 - we moved 50 miles.  Weather was rough but never underestimate being tired, half a muscle relaxer and an Advil PM to put you to bed for 12 hours.  Still was up for a couple hours to watch "the Life Aquatic" before fading.  I have to admit to getting a little teary-eyed when everyone puts their hand on Steve Zissou in the sub at the end as the mythical jaguar shark swims away.

Day 28 - sampled in brutal cold sleet with big-ish waves at midnight to start the day, then sampled in a brutally cold morning after that.  Watched a 900 hook, half-mile long string come up with only 24 cod, one snail, and a skate (something like a stingray, also related to sharks.  They cut the wings off and use them as a very tasty imitation scallop).  That is the definition of crappy fishing.  It's so bad that most of us just make jokes about it, even though the reality is that we are looking at a really long trip to fill up the boat, possibly over forty days. (the normal trip length is 30 days, even in mediocre fishing).  We may even have to turn back before we are full because we may run out of bait or fuel first.  After that horrid haul, we are relocating even farther NW. 

Day 29 - Crusty Polish guys named Stan are always cool.  I've met them on two boats now, and am sharing a room with one currently.  We talk photography, and he tells me I have to visit Prague.  And he's the man when it comes to using the gaff as the fish are coming in.  I've been working on my gaff skills as well, it really is an art to wield a big metal hook to grab then launch fish, and it's weird to say, but there is something about the sound of a properly gaffed cod that is pleasant. It's a rich percussive sound from the metal striking the fish's head, and then resonating inside the oral cavity and operculum, almost like a tight snare drum.  I bet the massively inflated swim bladder from a fish that was just dragged up from 300 feet or more adds to the resonance.

30 - still crappy, wavy, and cold.  But I'm not sure what else to expect from being at 62 degrees north and 179 degrees west at the tail-end of October.  The days are getting really short now, so I really savor the day hauls.  Stormy clear bright moon hauls are pretty nice too.

Day 31 - another day of rough seas.  Got sprayed enough yesterday, now that the boat is over half full and riding noticeably lower in the water.  With that in mind, I'm just taking a day off from sampling until it gets a little safer out there.  Was thinking maybe I was just being lazy, but the skipper was relieved I wasn't going to be on deck tonight, and was actually about to advise me against going out, so I knew I made the right call.  Apparently the observers on our sister vessels all disappeared for the whole day, so I must be hardcore.

Day 30 - set a new sleep record, remaining unconscious for more than 18 out of 20 hours.  The rest was good, but then rack back starts setting in, and I knew I had to get out.  Did take another haul off for weather, remembering to be safe, but things were calm enough (only blowing 35-40) to jump back out into the melée at night just to get sprayed a bit, and remind myself how good it feels to be alive.  I love my job because I get to leave the bitching of cranky fisherman behind and just experience the ocean itself on the thin film that separates it from the air.

Best moment today was coming in after my first sample of the evening, soaking and cold, sticking my head inside while Bruce (the captain) is eating his steak dinner.  I look him in the eye coldly and say "it must be nice," shaking my head in mock disgust as he sits dry and warm with hot food in the cozy galley.  I'm usually the one that gets that sort of treatment from the crew, so it was fun to give some back in jest.  Bruce is a good sport and a great captain, and had a really good laugh at it.  Actually, as I think about it, Bruce is the only skipper who I've ever been comfortable enough with that kind of joking around.  Great guy, and another member of the cult of Lebowski.  The Dude abides.

Day 31 - we've actually found reasonable fishing, and calm weather.  Two rare things this time of year.  Which is great because I really needed a shower, and the one on this boat is very awkward to downright dangerous in rough seas.  Nothing to hold onto, and heaven help you if you want to get soap on your feet.

Day 32 - Wow!!  Never thought I'd be able to stargaze out here, but this morning before I went to bed it just got perfectly clear above my head, and glassy beneath my feet and the stars went on forever until they were swallowed by a black sea.  No Aurora visible unfortunately, but I swear Venus or whatever bright planet it was twinkled different colors.  Or else 24 hours of sampling was getting to me.

Day 33 - another beautiful day by Bering sea standards.  The boat may actually fill up before we are forced to head back in a few days.  At this point I'm just daydreaming about what I'm going to do with myself this winter.


A skate being landed with a great look from the rollerman.

Day 34 - and just like that it went from beautiful weather to 50 mph winds, nasty waves, and no sampling.  I don't mind taking a weather break, the haul before was just getting ridiculous anyway.  I had to turn around and look over my shoulder the whole time to avoid getting icy spray in the face at 40 mph or more.  It was uncomfortable, but I was sure glad to be turned that direction when I felt the mushy thump of gull droppings hitting me in the back of the head in the slipstream.

Day 35 - the weather has gotten so bad that we aren't even fishing, just gently jogging through 30 foot seas.  Everything becomes absurd in this sort of weather, whether it's getting a bowl of ice cream, trying to sleep, or going to the bathroom.  I must say though, these crab boats (the Prowler is a converted crab boat) are built to handle the weather in safety, though not style.  The tall, aft (rear) bridge is safe from getting washed out by all but the mightiest of waves, something I couldn't say about my last longliner.  Though we still just had a massive wave take out some lights on a mast 15 feet above the deck.

Day 36 - was able to sample one haul today.  Still crappy weather.  I had to brave the snow and 45 mph winds.  Right as I stepped back from the railing  upon completing my third and final sample, a massive wave (chest high from where I stood on the weather deck) swept through where I had just been standing.  Needless to say, that was my hint to take it easy from here on out.  My only goal at this point is to make it back to civilization.  BTW, the Pixies song "wave of mutilation" is a trip to listen to on deck in big swells.

Day 37 - I love sitting in the wheelhouse chatting about fishing, adventures, or science stuff while watching huge waves roll in.

Day 38 - sanity has returned with the announcement that we only have enough fuel for 3 more days of fishing.

Day 39 - somehow got sunburned today during a respite from the bad weather.  Really made me chuckle.

Day 40 - holy crap, how did I end up out at sea this long?  Just found out we are heading back right now.  2 and a half days and I'll be in Dutch.  Happy hallo-freakin'-ween, I'm going to be a crusty fisherman today.

Day 41 - nothing but movies, laziness, bumming out, and laptop time.  I did borrow the pressure washer for an hour to blast all my gear so I won't have to scrub it by hand in anchorage before I turn it in.

Day 42 - this has been my longest voyage ever, in some ways the best, in some ways the worst.  But words can not describe the feelings that go through your head when you know you are about to be free, on land, with money and time to enjoy all the things I really want to for the next couple months.  Twelve more hours to go (thank heaven the weather not only held, but gave us a big push from behind today), my data has been checked repeatedly, my logbook has been beaten to death for any missing details that will slow me down in debriefing.  I guess it's just like being a kid on Christmas eve unable to sleep, except with a sense of accomplishment as well.

Listen to "skyway" by the apples in stereo if you're bored.  I think a lot of those lyrics capture the essence of my current insanity, plus the song rocks.


Entering Dutch Harbor at the crack of dawn, which is about 10am in early November.