9. Henrik
NINE
HENRIK
As we make our way to Dutch Harbor to dock up with our processor, my crew takes a well-deserved rest. Hours later, we still have so far to go.
“Ahh.” I groan as I stretch my arms above my head.
Sitting for hours on end makes my body stiff.
Needing to move, I put the boat in neutral and head down to the galley to put a fresh pot of coffee on.
While it brews, and since the seas are much calmer, I make a couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
Five minutes later, I’m back in the wheelhouse.
After my sandwiches are gone, I yawn and mumble, “I need to wake up.” Dropping to the floor, I force my body through push-ups until my muscles ache, sweat clinging to my body, my arms are shaky with exertion, and it feels damn good.
When at sea, workouts are non-traditional.
In the wheelhouse, I’ve done pushups, sit-ups, planks, shadow boxing, and stretch cord workouts to keep myself in shape.
Today calls for something simpler since I’m tight and achy.
Once I’m done with my mini-exercise session, I climb back into my chair to enjoy the apple I’d grabbed with my PB&Js.
Crunching loudly, it’s gone in no time. I wipe my mouth and wash it down with my still-warm coffee.
Needing to stay focused, I decide to see what the Dutch Harbor weather is like. Just as I’m opening the page, my phone rings. At the name, a smile spread across my face. “Eirik, my man. How’s crabbing?” I swear the man hates the radio.
“Uhh,” he answers in a scratchy, defeated voice. Strange. I’m about to ask what’s wrong when he continues in a strained tone. “It’s not been great. That’s why I’m calling.”
He’s usually so confident, but right now he has me worried. I sit back and ask, “What’s going on?”
Worry makes his voice tight. “When we went to haul our first hundred pots, the first strings looked decent, promising even, and then there was nothing. I moved us farther east, unknowingly putting us in the path of that last motherfucking storm, and set our other hundred pots.”
“That storm was wicked. We were on the outskirts of it and we still saw twelve-foot waves and twenty-knot winds. How bad was it in the eye?”
“It was spooky. In the middle of the day, the sky turned pitch black and the temperature instantly dropped fifteen degrees. The winds howled, and the twenty-five-foot waves tossed us around like a rag doll. The boat creaked and groaned, making me question her durability for the first time. As soon as we got all our gear dropped, we distanced ourselves as quickly as we could.”
Scratching my beard, I ask, “How’d those pots do?”
“They’re still soaking. It’s been thirty-six hours since we launched them. Because of the poor numbers on the other pots, I need these to blow me out of the water. Giving them more time will increase the odds of that, plus I’m watching this next storm system to see where it heads.”
“That’s smart. You have plenty of time left in the season. You don’t need to be stressed yet. But I have to ask, what is your plan if these pots don’t yield the numbers you need?”
He pauses. “That’s why I’m calling. I saw you’re heading toward Dutch. Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s correct. We’re full and we need to offload.”
“Congratulations, man.”
Uncomfortable, because I know he’s struggling, I force a reply. “Thanks.”
Eirik makes a noise in the back of his throat. It’s like he’s trying to keep himself from saying what he’s thinking. Knowing him since we were kids, I suspect what’s coming. “Eirik, what do you need?” I grumble.
He groans like asking is painful. I get it. Ego and all. “D-do you think you could share the coordinates of your best pots?” A noisy exhalation follows his question. He’s beyond stressed.
Crab fishermen aren’t known for sharing information about where they find success, but this is my best friend and my tank is full. Would I do it for anyone else? Probably not. Before his stress climbs another notch, I answer, “Yeah, man. No problem.”
“Thank you, Henrik. I’ve been so worried about catching our quota.” The instant relief in his voice makes me smile.
Taking a sip of my cold coffee, I say, “Hey, man, no sweat. I worry about quotas every time I’m on the boat. Where are you now?”
“In Dutch. We just offloaded the crabs we’ve already caught. I didn’t want to risk them if we got stuck out longer because of another storm.”
“Smart. We just turned toward Dutch and should be there tomorrow. I’ll text you those coordinates. Good luck. I hope it’s as successful for you as it was for us. Be safe, brother.”
“You too. Travel home safely. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back, and we can brainstorm how to get Amelia to make me some cookies.”
“Sure. But first, I need to have her introduce me to that woman who worked on the Emilie this summer for the survey. I need to ask about the opie research and why it was a no-go this season.” Plus, I have to find out if she’s my siren. I doubt it, but Eirik laughs hard and teases.
“Sure, it’s about the crab.”
With my mind focused on her again, it’s easy to ignore him.
She’s been a constant visitor to my thoughts and dreams the entire time we’ve been at sea.
My heart speeds up and my pulse rockets through my body.
Sucking in a breath, my throat is dry, causing me to cough.
Once I’ve regained my composure, I imagine what she smells like.
Is she sweet like vanilla, delicate like flowers, or crisp like the ocean?
Closing my eyes, I picture the first and only time I’ve seen her.
What a gorgeous woman she is. Not only am I desperate to meet her face-to-face, but I’m dying to pick her brain about what she experienced when she was on my buddy’s boat this summer researching opilio crab with NOAA.
Over the twenty-four-hour trip to Dutch, my crew takes shifts relieving me so I can rest too.
When we finally dock at the processor, Jake, an employee, meets us. “Captain Henrik,” he says as he shakes my hand. “Ready to offload?”
I nod. “Kai is draining the tanks now.”
When the tank water has emptied, ten processor employees file past me onto the Brina. They climb into the hold while another employee lowers the broiler bag, which is a massive cylindrical bag on a hydraulic lift, down to them. One by one, each living crab is transferred into the bag.
“It’s full,” one processor shouts up to another employee on the deck. The on-shore crane lifts the bag from the hold to be weighed.
Once the hold is emptied, I move the Brina over for refueling and to dock.
Stepping out onto the deck, I say to my crew, “We’re here for the rest of the day. We’ll leave for Kodiak tomorrow morning. I’m heading into town to grab a celebratory meal if anyone wants to join me.”
Half an hour later, over a burger, I raise my water to the crew. “To the season,” I say. Relaxed for the first time in weeks, we laugh.