The Fisher Queen by Sylvia Taylor

mechanism for most people living dangerous lives.
    We went to bed early, thinking that would give us the good night’s sleep we would need for our first day of fishing. But sleep would elude us as we lay in our separate bunks, mine from excitement, his from worry.

First Day Fishing
    My psychic requisition for our first day of fishing must have gotten mixed up with someone else’s, because instead of a beautiful calm day filled with spring salmon flying over the stern and into the checkers, we got someone’s request for a day in hell. There is an old Yiddish proverb that says: If you want to make God laugh, make a plan. God was having a real knee-slapper.
    We tiptoed out of Bull Harbour at 5:30 a.m. with a few other brave souls who decided to tough out the reports of rising wind and seas coming down from the north. Hitting Goletas Channel after the sheltered calm of the bay was like being grabbed off the sidewalk and thrown onto a roller coaster. Massive rolling waves shoved their way down the narrow channel from the open seas beyond, angered by the sudden shallows of Nahwitti Bar at its mouth.
    â€œJesus, it’s gonna be a rough ride out to the grounds. Hang on. You okay?” Paul quickly glanced over to see me already positioned like a sumo wrestler in the wheelhouse, feet apart and knees flexed, arms spread, hands clutching the dashboard. I knew all about keeping my balance and protecting my joints: stay loose, flexed, stable, and keep breathing, deep and slow. “I’m okay.”
    â€œIt’ll get better once we’re over this fucking bar. We’ll go straight out a couple of miles to where the shelf drops off at 50 fathoms, that’s where feed gathers, and we’ll turn west and start trolling along the edge. It’s called the Yankee Spot and runs all along the top end of the Island. There’s another fishing grounds about 12 miles offshore. Hey, did you take the coffee pot off the stove and put it in the sink? Okay, good. Anyway, that one is called the Steamer Grounds. The weather gets pretty wild out there and it’s a long run in.”
    â€œSo what can I do today?” I was relieved that at least there wasn’t big wind along with the big waves, but the lowering gunmetal sky seemed to be preparing for some kind of assault.
    â€œIf the pilot holds out, you can come out to the stern and help lay out the gear in the cockpit, but I just want you to watch while I set out the gear and pull it in. You’ve got to know what you’re doing back there or you can get into a hell of a mess and the gear is a fortune. One box of a dozen flashers is 57 bucks, and we can use 60 or 70 at a time.”
    â€œI’ve seen the bills. We’ve already spent almost $2,000 on gear. I’ll be careful, I promise.”
    â€œWhen we get near the edge in a few minutes, I’m going to slow down to quarter-speed for trolling, about two or two and a half knots, depending on waves and current. You’re going to keep the bow straight into the waves so we can be as stable as possible while I drop the poles. In heavy seas like this it can be very tricky, so we have to do this quick. When the stabies are in the water it’ll be safe to turn the boat broadside to the waves. I’ll come back in and set the pilot and hope the bloody thing works, and you can come out the stern and help me set gear. Okay . . . here we go. You ready? Get up on the seat here and take the wheel.”
    Heart pounding, I focused on riding straight into the looming swells. I can do this. I can do this. I would do my part to keep us safe while he did his.
    It was very unusual to run with stabilizers unless it was deadly rough, as they slowed the boat down and ate up fuel with their heavy drag through the water. When trolling they were mandatory and settled down the boat considerably, not only with the 40-pound stabilizer boards in the water dragging on chains, but with the two