3. Nick #2
“Not because you’re not smart. You’re a fast study. You know these waters as well as I do. And the guys love you. You know people, and that’s just as important as all the technical details.”
“It’s starting to sound like you’re trying to get rid of me.” He says it like a joke, but the slight crinkle between his brows makes me feel more guilty than I already do for pushing him away because I want too much.
“Never,” I say, firm and clear. “I just wanna make sure you know… I believe in you. You’re capable, you know your shit. You don’t have to settle.”
“Well. Don’t worry about me. Being your mate’s never felt like settling.”
He comes over to me, propping a hip against the edge of the helm station.
We’re face to face. So close.
That’s when I really catch that salt and pine soap fragrance. That’s when I really want to taste the sea on his skin. Lick the prominent tendons of his neck. Feel his stubble grate against mine. Follow the path of hair from his navel downward.
I could reach out and run my hand down the corded length of his arm. I could breathe in the air that leaves his lips and roll it around on my tongue.
Instead, I turn to the GPS.
“Heading three-four-oh.” I point at the screen.
“Follow these waypoints. Autopilot’s on, but swells have been hitting port forward, so keep an eye on it.
These two other AIS points are running southwest, no factor.
Next weather update should be on at oh-three-hundred.
Temps have been dropping, so watch out for ice.
Might need to put one of the guys on it. ”
“Yes, sir,” Seth copies.
My gut twists. “We’re making good time. Don’t wait on me if I’m out, alright? Wake me up when we’re ready to drop.”
“Go get some sleep, then.” He waves me off. “I’ve got it.”
And because he always does have everything under control, I believe him. I head down to my cabin, shed some layers, and crawl beneath the covers.
But I still can’t sleep. It has nothing to do with not trusting my first mate, and it has nothing to do with not being tired.
Seth is twenty feet away, and I’m still thinking about his smile. His words.
“You know I’d keep coming back anyway, Nicky.”
Nicky, Nicky, Nicky.
I replay my name on his lips. The twinkle of his eyes. The movements his body makes when he stretches and the way it felt stretched over mine.
My hand finds its way beneath my long johns, not quite as cool or rough as his. It wraps around my cock. It squeezes at the base.
Does that feel good, sir? a voice that sounds like his but doesn’t belong to him says. I’ve got you, Nicky.
I pray he can’t hear me through the door as I stroke myself. Slow, then fast. Holding my breath, then panting. Frozen still, then twisting in the sheets.
Wracked with guilt for imagining him coming down here and stripping off the rest of his clothes. Laying his naked body over mine and grinding his hips with the motion of the waves. Crawling down and replacing my hand with the warm, wet embrace of his mouth.
Come for me, Nicky, says the voice that only lives in my fantasies. Smiling, taunting, and a little raspy.
So I do.
F/V Suoja
October 21, 0615 hours
57°40’N, 159°08’W
W winds 10-15 knots, seas 6-8 feet, moderate snow, air temp 29°F, water temp 40°F, pressure 29.85 inHg
Finished hauling our second rotation of pots. Decided to scatter strings at a few different locations and adjust grounds based on catch patterns. One string came up with nothing but shorts, but numbers improved toward the northeast, averaging 13 legal males per pot. Bottom looks promising on sonar.
Hopefully lower water temperatures will mean more crab, but air temp is dropping as well. Routine ice removal put in place for ship’s superstructure.
Crew has adapted well to shorter daylight hours. Reminder to check with Rittenburg about the block. Noticed a potential judder. Hydraulic issue?
Three weeks remain before scheduled return to Dutch Harbor.
Total catch to date: 17,710 lbs
Nicolas Lundvall, Master
October 21
This is when cabin fever starts playing tricks on me.
About a week in, life at sea becomes ordinary. The long days and sleep deprivation have everyone in a state of perma-fog, and solid naps and hot meals are the glue holding our entire operation together.
“Hungry, Cap’?”
Seth walks into the bridge with two steaming bowls of the pot roast I’d tossed together in the pressure cooker earlier.
I take one, thanking him. The hearty aroma of beef and potatoes reminds me it’s been a while since my last meal. A different sort of hunger has consumed me lately.
I dig in, slurping ungraciously at the broth and pointing my spoon out the window. “There’s an orca pod, starboard side. Don’t know if you saw them.”
Seth immediately leans in, his breath fogging up the glass as he watches the distinctive black dorsal fins arc over the surface of the swells. Twenty of them, by my count. The water reflects the setting sun, golden amber beaming into the wheelhouse.
“God,” he says, voice laced with an almost childlike wonder. “You really do have the best view up here.”
It’s not like we rarely see killer whales. Their hunting grounds overlap with ours, same as the seals that dance through the whitecaps and the eagles that swoop down to fish from the skies.
But no matter how many times we encounter any and all varieties of marine life, the awe never wears off. Just like a deep, peaceful sleep or a fatty, salted broth, seeing all these animals in their natural habitat is one of the simple pleasures that makes being out here worth it.
I’ve never fished for the glory of breaking records or the goal of getting rich. This is always what it’s been about for me. Being in nature. Not passing through it, but embedded in it.
Seth sits on the bench after the pod branches away from our path, growing distant in the fading light. He pops a chunk of potato into his mouth and chews, a lopsided grin rising on his cheeks.
“If you could be any sea creature,” he asks, “what would you be?”
“What kind of question is that?”