The Fisherman

I stood on deck above the wheelhouse, chilled, with the fresh sea air whipping against my face. I watched as the sun shone its last orange glow on the horizon and my view of land faded away in the distance. I was not on duty until the next day, when we would be far out enough to set the net and begin our tow. Tonight I could relax and ready myself for the week to come at sea.

I found the evening departures kindest to my body, a slow descent into the volatile nature of the boat on the water. I enjoyed the last moments near land and I treasured them, drinking in their beauty. Breathing deeply, I began to accustom myself to the, now, endlessly shifting deck beneath my feet.

When the cold began to seep into my bones, I entered the wheelhouse for a cup of hot chocolate. Ian was reading at the table, having already unpacked and settled in for the evening. He was a voracious reader and a philosopher, always talking about chance events that could transform situations and lives. Sometimes he and our captain, John, would get at it. John was practical and a realist; he did not believe in chance and expected nothing from life except hard work and the satisfaction of a job well done.

I had yet to unpack my bag, so I put the kettle on and climbed down into the hull. Here, I would find respite from the daily chores and prepare to sleep.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I ran my hand along my bunk ledge searching for the light switch to illuminate the pit. I unpacked everything, fluffing my sleeping bag and stretching it out on the vinyl bed. After organizing my belongings, I pulled out my little black notebook and placed it beside my pillow, ready for my late-night reflections. Then the kettle started whistling, signaling the hot water was ready.

I stepped back into the kitchen, empty, now that the other crew members had retreated to their bunks. There, they slept before the hectic pace in the morning began. I saw the faint light from the helm and I wandered up to the door quietly so as not to disrupt the calm navigation for the Captain.

“Did you want a coffee? I’ve just boiled some water,” I asked. John turned at the sound of my voice.

“Mmph,” he grunted. “I told Eric to take the first half of the watch, but he made up some excuse to sleep instead. He better be in shape for our tow in the morning. I won’t keep any freeloaders aboard. I’ll take a cup.”

I brought him coffee without a word and went back to the mess. Sitting at the table, I felt the warmth from the stove fill the room. There were three deckhands on this trip. Good, I thought to myself, a little less stress on board. When five tons of fish hit the deck and we must sort, cut, and prep the fish within an hour, every pair of hands was an asset.

Our bib rain pants hung by the door, attached to our boots, ready for the call when we would reach our towing destination. Reflecting upon the tow caused my heartrate to quicken, and I reminded myself to savor the tranquility of the night. Once into the rhythm of the sets, I would hardly notice the passage of time.

It was dark now and the stars were starting to appear, so I stepped outside the door and took one last breath of the fresh sea air before retreating to the belly of the ship, where the echoing hull would rock me to sleep.

I woke from the changing sound in the engine hum, and the stirring of my bunk mates as they hurried themselves to get some coffee and food before the set.

“How’s it looking, do you know?” I asked Ian and Eric, joining them at the table for a quick homemade egg muffin.

“I’m sure it’ll be good, he wants us fast on the drop here,” Eric replied, finishing his sandwich.

“Good, I want to start on a high note,” Ian pitched in, “Can’t have another tow like last trip. Was hardly worth it. Weather’s better though, that’s a good sign. This could be our lucky day.”

“Hurry it up boys, I’m not waiting,” the captain grunted from his seat. He was readying the boat, angling it just so, setting up the tow speed, and plotting out the heading.

Eric and I left Ian to wash up and we jumped into our gear, running out on deck to unlock the net and organize it, ensuring it fed out without problems.

Then, back to our seats to wait. Ian went out for a smoke and I joined him shortly after. Bluebird sky and warm sun, I thought to myself, we would need to work fast to keep the fish from spoiling, today.

“Enjoy the calm, Fred,” Ian murmured, “looks like something’s coming.” I looked up and out to the west. There was a weird haze that loomed over the horizon.

“Maybe we’ll outrun it,” I said with a strained smile. We both knew better. The clouds were moving in fast from the west and we would stay here a while longer. This was the captain's sweet spot - his lucky charm: 50.777, - 127.777.

After about two hours John called us back on deck. Donning our overalls once more, we checked the lines as the winch pulled the net back, rolling it back onto the spool. John brought the ship about keeping the net steady and even. The float lines finally surfaced, we had reached the cod end - full of fish. We prepared the pulleys and began hauling the catch out of the water, suspending it above the deck, where it swayed like a pendulum and rocked the boat side to side. We adjusted our stances to compensate, continuously shifting back and forth on our feet.

It was a solid catch and a good sign to have such a clean first tow. Ian’s fist pumped the air with satisfaction. The three of us nodded and smiled as I opened the first panel of the net, releasing the fish. We began wading through and sorting the tons of twitching creatures that filled the deck.

Twenty minutes in and the first haul of fish was stored away in the hold and so, we re-rigged the net to release the final fish from the cod end. We opened the net once more and as the fish flooded out, we heard a loud thunk that echoed through the ship. Had we caught a boulder? I ran over to see, worried it had damaged the deck and suddenly flew forward on my face, as my foot caught something hard. I turned around and pushed the fish away with a shovel that Eric passed to me. It was a trunk, an old steamer, covered in barnacles, rusted and solidly heavy. I couldn’t move it despite the slick texture of fish slime underfoot. Eric and Ian ran over, curious and John yelled at us from the helm.

“Deck’s okay - it’s a box,” I shouted back to him.

“Dump it and keep sorting,” he grunted back. The three of us eyed each other but, we all knew better than to anger the captain, so we immediately got back to work. We doubled our speed, rhythmically tossing fish we would keep into the hold and the bycatch over the sides, back into the ocean.

Ian shoveled the remainder of the fish into the hold while Eric began prepping the lingcod to preserve them and I rinsed everything off with the hose. As we finished up, I hosed down the trunk. A fragmented corner of the wooden chest oozed black mud and dirt as the water washed through it. With the tow completed, Ian joined me in front of the chest. He bent down and unclasped the front latch but the lid was seized. It had rusted shut into one sturdy piece. Barnacles, coral, and all sorts of sea life and seaweed covered the chest, unifying into one giant piece of flotsam. I grabbed the shovel and took a hard crack at it. The water-soaked wood splintered but it was solid, and I didn’t do much damage. We all grabbed some tools and began wailing on the rusted hinges, wood flying back as we hacked away at it. We could almost hear John rolling his eyes at us.

He grunted but let us be, seemingly amused at our naïve excitement. John was used to bringing all sorts of garbage on deck and was happy to see it thrown back overboard not adding weight nor wasting space aboard his ship.

Entranced by the discovery and lost in our daydreams of what lay within, we continued to hammer away at the chest. Finally, the hinges shattered, and I wedged the shovel into the newly exposed seam to pry open the lid. Two of us stood on the shovel and the lid cracked loose, exposing a sandy mess. Desperate and disappointed at the muck, I took the shovel and dug out the sand. Eric and Ian walked away believing whatever may have been in there would have long since disintegrated. They gave up on the excitement favoring a cigarette at the bow instead.

The mud was tough but as I dug down, I hit something solid and I started to scrape away the dirt. Rinsing it out again with the hose, I saw a deep gold color appear. To my astonishment, under the dirt at the bottom of the chest, there lay four long, gold bars. They were dark gold and matte from their time at the bottom of the ocean but, there was no mistaking it. Nothing else could have remained so perfectly intact. As the last of the sand washed out from the chest, I reached in and took one of the heavy bars from the box, weighing it and bringing it to my face for closer examination. I removed the remaining bars and carried them over to Ian and Eric, speechless. The three of us stared at the bars, stunned and scared. Would John let us keep them, or as captain, would they belong to him? After all, we had only been a part of his crew for two seasons. We had no idea what he would say.

John joined us on deck and let out a whistling sigh. “Well boys, in all my 27 years at sea, I’ve never caught anything like this: a true pirate treasure. Four gold bars? It seems there’s one for each of us, so we should follow the pirates’ code and divide them evenly. But we still finish the season, okay? Don’t let this go to your heads. A little money won’t keep you forever and we have six more weeks left. Let’s keep this to ourselves until we can check them out on shore.”

Then he shook our hands. I noticed his warm smile for Ian, who began to laugh, justifiably elated. We stored the bars in a cardboard box, inside the wheelhouse. Then we started back on our chores, trying to keep the excitement and musings out of our thoughts. We owed it to John to stay focused.

We still had seven days on the water before we would discover how this treasure would unlock the next chapter in our lives and those next six nights were filled with restless excitement. Without any cell phone reception I relied on my little black book to express my excitement and fantasize about the different ways I could change my life with the treasure.

As we neared the shore, we all stood out along the stern with our luggage in hand, one gold bar in each of our bags. We were all eager to be off the ship and to discover what our good fortune would bring us.