SHE

The day was beautiful, the day we met…the sky clear, the temperature just the right cool, with not a hint of wind.
I looked to my left and there she was, watching me. Our eyes met and locked.  Neither of us moved, she like a statue and I rooted like a tree.
Her eyes gave away nothing, no fear, no surprise, no assessment.  My eyes were the same as we watched each other, unblinking, waiting.  Two beings in an ageless relationship,  the most intimate of all relationships, life or death.
Neither of us would move until a decision was made. She was hunting, as I was. She for her family and me for mine.  We have been enemies, she and I, since our beginnings. The fleeting thought passed through my mind that it was to nice a day to die.  She caught my indecision and blinked in agreement.
As the light in my eyes softened she turned and started away in that stiff-legged trot wolves have.  After a few steps, she stopped, looked back at me with her yellow eyes and expressionless face, just long enough to tell me, “Enjoy the day, human.”

Marshall Warren         

Coast Guard station Juneau calling the F/V Infinity, over…..

I was hauling our shrimp pots, with my wife and a deckhand, on our fishing boat Infinity at the head of Tenakee inlet when; “Coast Guard station Juneau calling the Fishing Vessel Infinity, over” blared out of the deck speaker.  We had arrived from Sitka three days earlier, after a frustrating trip and late start for the shrimp opener.
On the run up, in the middle of Chatham Strait, my engine started vibrating badly.  I shut it down, leaving Carolyn on radar watch as we drifted, and went down into the engine room to check out the problem.  I had spent most of my working life flying jets. Jet engines just suck, squeeze and blow.  I knew how they worked, but these old 671 Detroit jimmies were something else.  I hollered up for Carolyn to start it up again.  Immediately I saw the problem.  A flywheel looking thing on the drive shaft at the front of the engine was wobbling badly.  Quickly I grabbed the manual shutoff and stopped the engine.  This was not good.
I went back up to the wheelhouse and started calling on channel 16 for anyone in our vicinity.  One of my sons answered.  We switched channels and he asked what was up?  I told him the problem and he said he was two hours behind me and would give me a tow into Tenakee Springs, which was both our destination.
The weather was fair and the tow was uneventful.  After tying up I went to a telephone that was on the dock and called the diesel mechanic in Sitka.  I explained the problem.  He called it a vibration isolator and said he would send me a new one by float plane asap.  As the shrimping season opened the next morning and only lasted fifteen days time was big money for me and he knew it.
The part arrived the next morning and it took me all day to repair the Jimmie, so we missed the opening day.  That night I ran up to the head of Tenakee inlet and anchored.  The other boats had a days start to stake out their areas, so I knew it would be hard to find a good bottom.  As it turned out we found a stretch of water just the right size for us and in a good area.  God is good.
On the afternoon of the third day the call came.  We finished hauling the string of pots and I stripped off my gloves and headed for the wheelhouse.  “Coast Guard station Juneau this is the F/V Infinity, over,”  I repeated the call.  “Roger Infinity, request you proceed to the nearest landline and call the Juneau Coast Guard station, over.”  “Roger Coast Guard Juneau, what’s up?”  “Infinity Juneau Coast Guard.  You have an urgent message.  That’s all I know, over.”  “Okay Juneau, we’re on our way.  ETA in an hour and a half.  Thank you, out.”
I looked around, Carolyn and our deckhand were standing behind me.  They had the same look on their faces that I had on mine.  Something was bad wrong.  We all three knew something was bad wrong.  There was no other explanation for this most unusual call.
We made the run back to Tenakee Springs in silence.  I suspect we were all praying.  I know I was.  It was a terrible situation.  Both our sons were fishing and our daughter lived in L.A.  I couldn’t bring myself to think it, but there it was.  If it isn’t my family then it has to be my deckhands.  How do you hope your family is okay and it is your deckhands family that is in trouble.  We looked at each other knowing what we were all thinking.
When we arrived at the dock one of my son’s and another young man that is as a son were waiting.  They had heard the call and had beaten us back to the dock and called the Coast Guard. Both had tears running down their faces.  We tied up in silence, with our emotions ragged, we all started to cry.  Finally, the boys said to my deckhand, “Your son has been lost at sea.  He was washed overboard in heavy weather out west last night and they couldn’t find him.  They’ve been searching for over twelve hours now.”
I wanted to yell, “Thank God it’s your family and not mine, but my heart was breaking as I looked at my deckhand.”  He said, “Somehow I knew it was my son.”  We all blubbered how sorry we were, but he knew that we were glad it wasn’t our family and understood. He went into the wheelhouse and came out with his sleeping bag and simply said, “Don’t wait for me.  I don’t know when I’ll be back.”  Then walked off into the rain forest.
Sorry, but relieved, we untied the boat in silence and headed back out to sea.  We had shrimp pots to run, a season to make…..A life to live.   

Marshall Warren