A Fish Story

By Teri Harris

Cupping a hot mug of coffee eases the cramping in my hands as I gaze at the sky gathering light to the east. Drifting in the big seas, the boat is low in the water and heaves sluggishly in the trough due to the thirteen tons of frozen albacore tuna in her belly. The wind is gusty, blowing twenty-five knots from the northwest and portends a wet day on the deck of our fifty-foot boat. Day ten of a commercial fishing trip off the coast of Oregon promises to be the normal interminable mix of emotions ranging from extreme boredom to total exhilaration.

After warming up the main engine, the twelve plastic and chrome tuna jigs are fed out behind the boat as we start bucking up swell to try to get back to the spot where we caught 300 fish yesterday. A meter mark on the fathometer shows a school of tuna twenty-five feet below the surface, and shortly after the first line tightens with a fighting fish.

"Fish on" is called and suddenly there is a fish on every line. We pull as fast as we can, throw each fish over the stern of the boat, cut its throat, and toss the jig back in the water, which gets hit again immediately. Even though water is splashing over the top of the boat, soaking us, we are laughing and swearing because this is what fishermen love, pulling money out of the ocean. The fury lasts 45 minutes and stops as suddenly as it started; a typical morning bite and 75 fish lay flopping and dying on the deck. We turn around and go down swell hoping for a repeat bite but in sloppy weather it rarely happens.

We turn around again and continue bouncing up swell, having drifted nine miles the night before. About fifty boats are in the area but the swells are too big to see most of them. The weather forecast calls for moderating winds, which will make everything about life at sea easier. The morning passes slowly with only an occasional fish strike and we bicker over who has to go to the stern, getting soaked, to pull it. Breakfast is prepared and we eat it holding onto our plates and glasses so they won’t go flying across the table.  I read a book and watch the lines as time drags by.  Moods improve as the weather calms which makes it possible to search for fish.

By afternoon, jumping schools of tuna begin to show and we chase them down, speeding along at six knots.  Sometimes we get lucky and catch a few before the school goes down and the search continues.  By 5:00, 145 new fish (about two thirds of a ton) are freezing in the fish hold.  A ton a day is considered decent fishing and hopes are high for an evening bite.  Fisher-people are a very optimistic group but it is called fishing and not catching and our hopes do not come to fruition.  I prepare dinner in the small galley but most of the fresh produce is gone and all the best food in the freezer has already been consumed.  Spirits are low when a call from a partner boat informs us about a big area of fish fifty miles to the west.  We need only a ton and half of fish to fill the boat and hoped to catch them where we are but the lack of an evening bite is not a good sign.  The decision to go is made reluctantly and we prepare for the all night run, wishing that the fish were to the east and towards port.

After four hours of sleep, I’m awakened for the 1:00 to 5:00 watch.  Coffee helps to alleviate the grogginess as I settle in to watch the ocean roll by, keep an eye on the radar and watch the gauges that are linked to everything in the engine room.  The constant worry about something breaking is intensified as the fish hold fills up.  The moon is full and its reflection on the water follows us as we make our way east.  Phosphorescent bacteria create sparkles in the water and leave a trail of green diamonds in our wake.  Porpoises playing in the bow wake are green bullets as they speed by, amusing my dog and I for over a half hour.  The trip is almost over and I look forward to returning to port to sell our load, fix all the little problems that plague mechanical things, re-provision with fuel and food, shower, eat at restaurants and probably get drunk with the other fishermen in port.  But right now the sky is beginning to get light to the east and it is time to start fishing again.