Dutch Clarke - The Early Years

Bang! The green, foamy water thundered across the wheelhouse with such a force that I thought the windows would explode. Two gray-painted iron pipes ran across the ceiling of the little compartment and both my hands were wrapped around them, hanging on for dear life. All I could see through the smeared glass were mountains of white/green water, all rushing towards me. The boat was rolling in every direction, first up, then to the right, then down. Other than the dim light coming from outside, a single bare lamp burned above Captain Skip, who stood calmly at the helm. Next to him, on the other side, Jack was holding onto the pipe with one hand and drinking coffee with the other. Jack’s casual posture reminded me of someone chatting at a church social. Both men were wearing yellow raincoats and hats. Outside, on the rear of the boat, Tony was checking to make sure the gear was lashed down securely. I’d met all three of these guys just a few hours before, when we’d pulled out of the Ketchikan boat basin. It had been a wet, miserable day when we’d departed, and it had only gotten worse. The boat rose in the air, twisted to the right, and crashed headlong back into the raging sea. Water again covered the wheelhouse with such a force that the door next to me flew open, spraying all of us with cold, salty seawater. Reaching over with one hand and using the weight of my body, I got the door closed again. My heart was in my mouth, and I was scared. Captain Skip looked over at me. "Well, boy, how do you like fishin’ so far?" Both he and Jack laughed out loud. Then Skip turned to Jack and asked, "How’s that barometer doin’?" "Still fallin’, Skipper," Jack replied. Another big wave broke across our bow, and this time the boat twisted almost 45 degrees. Turning to Captain Skip, I shouted, "Do you think we should get life jackets on?" Both men laughed out loud again. "Look, son, you can put one on if it makes you feel better, but the facts are that you wouldn't last two minutes, floating in the cold waters up here. Only way to stay alive in weather like this is not to fall in. Right, Jack?" "You got that right, Skipper. Hell, there's more danger in having a little fun in the sporting houses of Ketchikan than in these waters." Captain Skip spun the wheel to turn the boat into a large wave coming from the right side. Its green foam spread again across the wheelhouse. The sound of its crash was almost deafening, its force shook the whole boat. The little windshield wiper in front of the skipper’s window stopped with the weight of the water and then began again. Skip replied, "Come on, Jack, the boy just came aboard and you’re already talking badly about our little fishing village. Why don't you go astern and see if Tony needs help?" "Sure. Why not? There’ll be plenty of time to show the boy how we live up here." Jack slugged the last of his coffee, put the mug in a holder, and looked out the window for a few seconds, to time his exit with the waves. Skip turned his head toward me for just a moment and said, "Look, Dutch, there's nothing to be afraid of. I’ve been in weather like this a hundred times, and the Pacific Lady is made of some of the finest timber man has found. She wouldn’t let us down. You go below and get some rest. I put your gear in the forward cabin. Your bunk is the port side." At first, I didn't know what to say. I wasn't sure I could let go of the pipes above me, and I certainty didn't know what “port” meant. Skip looked over again. "You can make it. Just go slowly and hang on, you'll have your sea legs in no time. By the way, port is left, starboard is right. With this weather, it’ll be hours before we start fishing. I'll call ya if and when we start fishing, or sinking." A broad smile crossed his weather-beaten face. Forcing a smile back, I nodded my approval. Then, slowly, I turned and climbed down the rolling gangway ladder at the rear of the wheelhouse and lurched up a dimly lit passageway to the forward cabin. There I found my suitcase sliding back and forth on the floor next to a V berth. Closing the cabin door, I looked around the small compartment. The only illumination inside the cramped quarters came from four small portholes above me. I was sure I wouldn't sleep, but I crawled into the left bunk anyway. Here, I could feel the front of the boat lift itself out of the water and then crash down again. Each time, I’d hang on to the sides of the bunk. Sometimes my whole body would become weightless as I was bounced into the air. Then I’d fall back into my bunk with a thud. Damn! This was not how I’d envisioned fishing when Uncle Roy had told me about Captain Skip and working up here in Ketchikan, Alaska. Maybe, as much as I would have hated it, I should have stayed with Grandfather in Fairview for my sixteenth summer. There was another wave, another loud crash. Then, for some unknown reason, I was asleep in a few minutes. The next thing I heard was the muffled sounds of the boat’s diesel engine as it pushed the Pacific Lady through calm waters. My eyes flew open and I saw sunlight coming from the small portholes above the cabin. Hopping out of my bunk, I stood on my toes to look out through one of the small, round windows. The ocean was flat, the sun low in the sky, seagulls were flying around the boat as it cut cleanly through the water.