unusual sense about which direction the fish were moving. He knew how to read the weather. The currents were no mystery to him.
Another trait the men admired about him was that he told them what he thought, right now. He would never talk about anyone behind their back. He talked about people straight up. If he liked you, he stared you in the eye and said so. And he was fun to be around, always laughing, even when the fish were going to other boats. Losing disappointed him but did not bring him down. He often told the younger men in camp, “Do you know what it means when guys like us get off to a bad start fishing? Not a damn thing.”
Russell always said, “He’d give you the shirt off his back if he liked you. Hell, he’d give you everything except his cowboy boots, and I’m not sure I’d want to put them on.”
Russell did not share Johnathan’s propensity to fight. “He absolutely goes to it. I’ve seen him. He tries to avoid a fight. And when he can’t, he turns into something that is very ugly. You stay the hell out of his way.” Russell said.
But he trusted Johnathan with his life.
It was seven o’clock in the morning on the Bering Sea two years ago. Johnathan, serving as the captain of the Debra D, was in the wheelhouse figuring out where he wanted to look for crabs, while the crew, including Russell, were resting below in the knowledge that in another few hours they were going to be up working for three or four days straight. Russell was in his bunk. The boat rolled to starboard 30 degrees, back and forth, with the heavy seas. At one extreme, he would be nearly standing up in his bunk, then back down so that he was nearly standing on his head. Russell felt safe with Johnathan in the wheelhouse. Even when he was off duty and asleep in his stateroom, Johnathan would wake up every couple of hours to smoke a few cigarettes and would check the boat. He could feel the boat; he sensed small changes in his subconscious mind, like a slight change in the engine’s rpms. He would smoke only three cigarettes and go back to bed.
Suddenly the boat rolled and did not come back. Russell jumped out of bed and ran up the stairs to the wheelhouse. He had one foot on the stairs and one on the bulkhead at the top of the stairs. He stuck his head up and looked across at Johnathan in the wheelhouse chair.
“Wow,” Johnathan said. “I’ve never seen the boat do this before.”
Russell thought, That’s not what you want to hear the skipper say.
He ran below for his survival suit. The boat was laid over on its side and was not recovering. In a calm voice Johnathan ordered Russell and the crew to take their survival suits with them down to the deck and find out what was causing this catastrophic list. The minute they reached the deck, they saw that a rogue wave had slammed the boat and unshackled 10,000 pounds of frozen cod hanging bait, shoving it from the starboard side, where it was counterweighted by fuel oil tanks, to the port side.
“John told us what to do,” said Russell.
They swung two crab pots over port side with the crane. The starboard rail was under water and the pots acted as outriggers, shifting enough weight to bring the boat back to only a 20-degree list, which enabled the crew to sort the bait and move the pots around to bring the boat back to an even keel.
But they were not out of trouble. They were in twenty-foot waves. The crane was sticking over port side, and another rogue wave could have wrapped the crane boom around the wheelhouse. The crew moved the bait—the hardest and fastest work they had done in their lives. Russell believed that Johnathan had saved their lives. “He was cool as a cucumber. He cracked jokes and kept up our morale as this was going on. He was constantly telling us that we were going to be all right. He did not panic once. On the other hand, I was a bucket of shit. I thought this was the end and wanted to get the life raft out right now.”
Back at fishing camp an
Another trait the men admired about him was that he told them what he thought, right now. He would never talk about anyone behind their back. He talked about people straight up. If he liked you, he stared you in the eye and said so. And he was fun to be around, always laughing, even when the fish were going to other boats. Losing disappointed him but did not bring him down. He often told the younger men in camp, “Do you know what it means when guys like us get off to a bad start fishing? Not a damn thing.”
Russell always said, “He’d give you the shirt off his back if he liked you. Hell, he’d give you everything except his cowboy boots, and I’m not sure I’d want to put them on.”
Russell did not share Johnathan’s propensity to fight. “He absolutely goes to it. I’ve seen him. He tries to avoid a fight. And when he can’t, he turns into something that is very ugly. You stay the hell out of his way.” Russell said.
But he trusted Johnathan with his life.
It was seven o’clock in the morning on the Bering Sea two years ago. Johnathan, serving as the captain of the Debra D, was in the wheelhouse figuring out where he wanted to look for crabs, while the crew, including Russell, were resting below in the knowledge that in another few hours they were going to be up working for three or four days straight. Russell was in his bunk. The boat rolled to starboard 30 degrees, back and forth, with the heavy seas. At one extreme, he would be nearly standing up in his bunk, then back down so that he was nearly standing on his head. Russell felt safe with Johnathan in the wheelhouse. Even when he was off duty and asleep in his stateroom, Johnathan would wake up every couple of hours to smoke a few cigarettes and would check the boat. He could feel the boat; he sensed small changes in his subconscious mind, like a slight change in the engine’s rpms. He would smoke only three cigarettes and go back to bed.
Suddenly the boat rolled and did not come back. Russell jumped out of bed and ran up the stairs to the wheelhouse. He had one foot on the stairs and one on the bulkhead at the top of the stairs. He stuck his head up and looked across at Johnathan in the wheelhouse chair.
“Wow,” Johnathan said. “I’ve never seen the boat do this before.”
Russell thought, That’s not what you want to hear the skipper say.
He ran below for his survival suit. The boat was laid over on its side and was not recovering. In a calm voice Johnathan ordered Russell and the crew to take their survival suits with them down to the deck and find out what was causing this catastrophic list. The minute they reached the deck, they saw that a rogue wave had slammed the boat and unshackled 10,000 pounds of frozen cod hanging bait, shoving it from the starboard side, where it was counterweighted by fuel oil tanks, to the port side.
“John told us what to do,” said Russell.
They swung two crab pots over port side with the crane. The starboard rail was under water and the pots acted as outriggers, shifting enough weight to bring the boat back to only a 20-degree list, which enabled the crew to sort the bait and move the pots around to bring the boat back to an even keel.
But they were not out of trouble. They were in twenty-foot waves. The crane was sticking over port side, and another rogue wave could have wrapped the crane boom around the wheelhouse. The crew moved the bait—the hardest and fastest work they had done in their lives. Russell believed that Johnathan had saved their lives. “He was cool as a cucumber. He cracked jokes and kept up our morale as this was going on. He was constantly telling us that we were going to be all right. He did not panic once. On the other hand, I was a bucket of shit. I thought this was the end and wanted to get the life raft out right now.”
Back at fishing camp an
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