We had anchored the Bathtub in close enough to reach without having to try to row out to it in this weather. We were close to the running line so we decided to push it (against the tide and wind) to the running line (one end is anchored on the shore and the other 600' out) so we could pull ourselves out to a good depth before lowering the outboard. One-armed Josh used every part of his body (except the injured hand, I hope) to pull the skiff along while the rest of the crew pushed it from behind and I stood in the bow like that decorative piece in the old ships, but I was reaching out as far as I could to grab the running line - the tide was running so hard it was holding it up conveniently. My job, as soon as I could grab it was to start hauling the skiff into deeper water while the crew scrambled in. And whatever I did, I could not let go. Normally Chris or Erik (or Josh in the old days when he had two functioning hands) pushes us to deeper water and then jumps in (it seems that they can jump in even when the boat is over their heads). But when it's so windy and the surf is so wild we have to go out very deep because when a wave hits, the boat pretty much stands up on its stern, driving the outboard way down into the water (and sometimes knocking over or landing on a person standing in the wrong place - I once got knocked over in shallow water in a wind like this and had to roll out of the way to avoid the skiff landing on me. Josh avoided being knocked over this tide by hanging on to the gunwale of boat with his good hand and lifting his feet to take the ride when a big wave hit). The way to save the outboard is to go deeper, both to get out of the surf break and so that if we do get a wave like that, the outboard will have to plunge even farther down to hit the bottom. The running line strategy worked; we got out without incident.
By high water, we had about 3000 lbs on board our 21' skiff and needed to deliver it. The processor usually sends a seiner down to serve as a tender for our fish at about high tide, but today, when we really needed them, they were nowhere to be seen. So I called and was told that they weren't going to come down but we could come to them because in the rough weather, it was too risky for them (in their 57' seiner that packs 50,000 lbs, compared with our little skiffs, loaded??) so delivering to the beach was the only option. We couldn't keep the fish on board till the tide went out like we did this morning because we had too much fish and we still had to address the ebb fish - when we've been getting the lion's share of our catch each tide - we could easily swamp, especially in this weather. And we couldn't just call it a day; we had nets in the water catching fish. Nope, we had to deliver. Ulp.
I called Brad, the Gehl driver (and school teacher by winter) to let him know that we were going to try to deliver on the running line, asking him to meet us there. The idea is that we would back ourselves down the running line, keeping the bow out, going near shore - not quite letting the stern go dry but making sure it is within reach of the Gehl and hold there for all we were worth as the wind and the waves try to make us let go while Brad picks up the brailers. As long as we don't let go, we may take a lot of water (and we certainly did - there was some frantic bailing with a five gallon bucket), but we wouldn't be out of control in that wild surf and smash our outboard - or ourselves - on rocks or swamp the skiff during the delivery process, and we could pull ourselves out to deeper water after delivering. It was harrowing, but it worked. The crew did their part exactly right.
Then we decided to roundhaul the inside site (it made a big pile of fish-in-the-net in the middle of the boat) and the first outside site - almost as big a pile.
This photo is of a drawing of how the inside site fishes. You can see the two buoys at the outside end of the net (one red and one white with a black stripe). Then the running line comes from the buoy and runs 600' to the shore. We tie the net to the running line about 30 feet from the buoy. Most people tie just the cork line and that's what I did until about 15 years ago when I learned the benefits of tying down the leads as well. The main benefit is that it keeps the leads down - they are not able to flag in the current so more of the net fishes; the second benefit is that it creates a bag of mesh, billowing in the direction of the current. Both of these are mixed benefits - tying down the leadline makes it much harder to pick up and work with, and the bag catches everything that comes by - fish that have fallen out of our net or out of others' nets and rolled into ours, and flounders, floaters, garbage... everything. But we think the benefits outweigh the disadvantages. We call the line that holds the leads down the v-line (because it makes a V). It's best to tie them to the anchor, but it's not feasible when the net starts so far from the anchor. So we go about 30' back on the running line and tie it there. When the tide swings, the corks go first and they try to go over the running line. If the corks get far enough ahead of the running line, they'll pull the leads over too. Do a thought experiment to see what happens to the V-line if the leadline crosses the running line. Yep, the running line holds the V-line up. Sort of opposite the effect we were hoping for. To prevent that, we've started tying the corkline to the running line about every 30 feet or so. This way, the corkline and running line have to swing together. It makes it a little more of a hassle to set the nets and to take it up. In particular, we have to cut the ties. In a situation like this rough tide with all these fish, this is more than a small inconvenience. We carry a knife on the boat. Chris and Bob were pulling in the net, Jake was managing the running line and I was running the hydraulics, scouting for floaters, and cutting ties. I kept the knife under my boot except when I needed it. On about the third tie, the blade broke off. What!!?? Now, the reason I told this whole story is to say the surprising part. As I was preparing for the tide in that short time we had after coming in from the previous one, I scrounged around my cabin for a replacement knife. That was the first time I'd done that all season. Just in case. I think that qualifies as making one's own mercy, but I had no idea that I'd actually need it and it felt more like inspiration than planning. We'd have been in trouble without that replacement.
With the ebbing tide, the wind calmed down a little bit, so we could beach the Ambi where Brad could come get the fish after we finished clearing the roundhauls. The other crew used the New Boat and the Bathtub at different times in the tide.
After we delivered our roundhauled fish, I headed up to get the Friendly Ranger. But I guess I was tired and my legs weren't working properly. I lifted my foot but didn't quite clear the rock and down I went. Luckily it was mostly sand so no harm was done, except to any pride I may have had in my sense of grace. Brad saw me and said that that about summed up the tide - nothing left. I used the ranger to go out and pick up the other crew's fish ("pick up" means drag in the Bathtub and then drag it back out to the New boat and help pitch the salmon from the New Boat into brailer bags held in the Bathtub and drag it back in for Brad it pick out of the boat). Long, long exhausting day(s).
We started this tide at midnight with the new anchor method for deep water set. The weather was windy and rough. The Jill Anne I crew knocked themselves out in the night to come get our flood fish. Here are some photos that may show how dark and rough it was.
This is the new boat receiving the scale and hook for delivery to the Jill Anne I. The orange blurs are the crew, moving around, getting the brailer prepared to receive the hook. The wind was tossing us around so much and it was so dark I couldn't get a clear shot. The next one they are in the delivery process. The camera's flash went off on this one, though of course, the subject was too far away to receive that light. So I lightened it up in Picasa and it shows the Jill Anne I crew sending over the pelican that the New Boat crew will use to attach to the brailer and then to the crane with the scale on it.
This final one shows the Jill Anne I going on its rough way, down to collect the fish of any other insane fishermen who were out on this night. A long exposure gave enough light to have a photo, but it was hard to hold the camera still.
We came in a few times through the night as we were tending the net. We finally finished at about 9:30 am. The crew was dismayed to learn that we needed to be out for the next one at about noon. We fished that one straight through, and finished at about 8 PM. We were all cold, wet, and tired. So I decided that we wouldn't fish the night tide. I don't know if it will be stormy again, but I do know that everyone is on their frayed edges. I have to say that even frayed, I think I have the best crew on the beach. They pretty much haven't slept since the end of June and they remain cheerful, eager to help, and ready for the next tide. What more could I want?
Today brought us to 197,999. I'm at the part of the season where I need to wrap electrical tape around my fingers to protect them from (more) abrasion from the mesh - fish picking injuries. About a day too late.
Now, to sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment