8. Henrik
EIGHT
HENRIK
“Shit.” I grind my teeth while I write another abysmal number. It’s another day, and the number of crabs in each pot is laughable. This sucks. Each time we’ve raised one from the ocean bottom, we’re hopeful our luck would improve. But every eight minutes, we’re disappointed. Things need to change.
Moving to the second string, things again start slowly. With almost thirty pots in, we’re only looking at a few hundred crabs caught. My shoulders tighten and my stomach twists. Something needs to happen.
Picking up the radio, I say, “Kai. Edgar. A word, please.”
A few minutes later, they both appear. “Cap. What’s up?” Kai says.
Pulling off my beanie, I scratch my head and grimace. “The numbers we’re pulling are awful. If things keep going this way, we’ll need to drop more pots in order to meet our quota.”
Edgar rubs his beard. “I was thinking the same.”
Kai’s ever-present smile falters and he tilts his head. “But where?”
I point to my computer screen. “I’m thinking we return to our honey pot and see if we can’t get a few more crabs from it.”
Kai nods and then forces a smile. “Sounds good, Cap. But I’m still hoping these last seventy pots are gold.” Sticking out my hand, I give him a fist bump. I’m so glad he’s always got my back. His optimism is appreciated more than I can say.
“Me too.” I laugh before they head back to the deck.
Shortly after they leave, I see my silent pleas to the heavens must have been heard.
Things begin to look up. After the third full pot is brought up, the deck is filled with cheers and shouts of excitement.
After our impromptu meeting, the number of crabs in each pot increases substantially.
“Fuck yeah,” I say as I pump my fist in the air.
Pulling open my window, I holler out, “That’s what we want!” A quick look back at my crew show their wide smiles, much like mine. I roll my tight shoulders several times to loosen them up. I’m grateful things are looking up.
Relieved, I sit back in my chair. As a newer captain, I’m still honing my skills.
My confidence waivers just like anyone learning a new job.
Having spent most of my life on this boat, on the ocean, I feel confident about crabbing.
But now that I’m the captain, it’s different, and that assurance has been battered a few times.
Not only am I tasked with having a successful season, but I’m now in charge of the safety and well-being of five others in one of the deadliest jobs in the world.
There’s a lot of stress on my shoulders that I didn’t fully understand until I called the captain’s chair mine.
Being captain is a learning process, and although I’m still growing and changing, I have to acknowledge I had the best teacher in the world—my dad. With every decision I make regarding the Brina and her crew, I consider what he would have done if he were in the captain’s chair again.
Operating in low gear, we easily move through our line.
We’d set our gear shallow to deep, right in a ditch, hopeful it’s right where the crabs are congregating.
As another cage is pulled from the depths, it looks like it paid off.
Each pot gets us closer to a full tank and us heading home. Pride for my crew fills my chest.
Night falls, and the sky grows threateningly black.
The moon reflects off the ocean water as another storm charges in.
All afternoon, the ominous-looking clouds did nothing but taunt us by heavily hanging overhead, whispering of the danger to come.
Until now, that is. It comes out of nowhere, surprising us even though we were expecting it.
No matter what we do, we can’t get a break.
Fighting twelve-foot waves and twenty-knot winds, the Brina is hammered, making the job of bringing up pots incredibly dangerous.
“Heads-up, guys. I’m going to move so I can better see the waves coming.
I hope you’ll be more protected as you pull in our final thirty pots.
” But as I soon learn, regardless of where I position us, we can’t escape the constant abuse inflicted by the weather.
Fuck. The crashing waves are tossing us around like leaves caught in the wind.
Finally, when I position her perpendicular to the current, I’m better able to control her and assess the near-constant hammering of massive waves.
Grumbling under my breath, my shoulders tighten as I glance at the deck. My crew—my friends—look battered. Am I making the right call? I don’t know. I think I am, but only time will tell. I’m following my intuition, which my dad always said was my best guide.
“Rogue,” I groan loudly into the intercom and then watch my crew brace themselves.
Unfortunately, by positioning the Brina like this, I’m intentionally exposing my starboard rail and crew to the elements, but it can’t be helped.
Concern curdles in my gut as I weigh the risks of my decisions.
Will it pay off? Will I keep my crew safe?
“Rogue!” I shout. The pot they’d been bringing up makes a resounding clanging sound every time it hits the side of the boat.
A chill runs down my spine. I look out into the dark, stormy sea, and all I can think is that it’s eerie as fuck.
As the waves crash into the bow of the ship, a frigid spray of water covers every surface.
With the temperature in the teens, it doesn’t take long for ice to build up, and that’s another thing I’m ever mindful of.
The storm continues to rage. Over five agonizing hours later, our last pot is lowered to the deck.
It took longer than usual, but under the conditions, I’m grateful my crew was smart about it.
From my count, our tank is stuffed with Bering Sea king crab.
My heart squeezes. “Thank you,” I whisper.
The next stop after escaping this storm is to our processor in Dutch Harbor, an island in the Aleutian Chain.
“Seventy-four,” Kai says into the radio. I hear the smile in his voice. We aren’t out of danger yet, but hearing that allows me to take my first full breath in hours. My body is wound tight and will remain that way until we’re safely out of the storm’s path.
Swallowing the excitement coursing through my body, I answer back, “Outstanding. If my math is right, our tank should be full, correct?”
“Yes. It’s full. We’re heading to Dutch now?” he asks.
“First, I’m going to get us away from the storm. Then we’ll head to Dutch for unloading. Is everyone good down there? Can I borrow you for a moment?”
Turning around, I see Kai say something to Edgar as he controls the hydraulic crane to finish stacking the last pot.
“Cap,” Kai says a few minutes later as he slowly climbs the stairs into the wheelhouse. Shit. I grimace. They’re all going to hate me for what I’m asking next.
“I know everyone is exhausted, but I need you all to clean house before you head in. We accumulated a lot of ice in the last few hours.” Glancing at him, I see his smile fade and his eyes darken.
He understands the danger of ice build-up on a ship.
It’s something you have to stay on top of so you don’t find yourself in trouble.
The need to keep my crew safe weighs heavily on me. I don’t want to be negligent.
“On it,” he replies with a quick nod before he leaves.
I open my window to eavesdrop. When he returns to the deck, I lean forward.
Let this go well. Even through the wind, I can hear what’s happening.
Clearing his throat, he knows what he’s going to say will make the crew grumpy.
“Before you head in, Cap said it’s time to clean house.
” Groans and curses from around the deck.
“I know it’s back-breaking work, but it’s a necessity.
With all our pots on board, a full tank of crab, and all the additional weight of the ice, the risk of capsizing is nothing to take lightly. ”
They continue to grumble, but they get to work.
To keep their spirits up, I blare Nickelback’s All the Right Reasons album over the boat’s sound system while I navigate out of the storm.
It does the trick to energize the guys, because I see smiles and hear joking as they use sledgehammers to remove large chunks of ice from the Brina.
An hour later, they’re dragging their exhausted bodies inside as we move farther away from the storm.
They may be dead on their feet, but they’re all safe, and our haul was a success.