A Life Wasted

Rogue Wave

Two weeks at home revived me. I didn't get much rest as Mary worked me hard and the kids filled my day, yet it relaxed me. My body was worn down, but my spirit recharged. Fishing in the Gulf of Alaska was a world of its own, one that overpowered everything and became the only reality. Back home my family centered me. Home renews me. It has always kept me sane and whole.

I should have been thinking about the sea when I returned to Homer. I collected Billy who had rounded up two crew members. We had ample fuel for Kodiak and I brought boxes of food, so we loaded the food and set out. Without checking the weather. We would need to add bait and ice to our holds before we could fish, but as we were going to fish Kodiak we would pickup those provisions there. Ice and bait were provided by the canneries, the bait at a price and the ice for free as long as you delivered your catch back to that cannery. For this reason we would go to Kodiak Village before we set gear and get our ice and bait there.

The seas between Homer to Kodiak were generally rough, but manageable for any boat expected to work the Gulf of Alaska. Manageable meant fifteen to twenty foot seas. When we cleared the protected waters of Kachemak Bay and entered the relatively protected English Bay it began to get nasty. When we turned east to take the Kennedy Entrance for the passage north of the Barren Islands we encountered thirty-five foot seas. I'd taken the North Wind through thirty-five foot seas numerous times, so wasn't worried about handling those seas. However, I would not have chosen to go through them. Had I known it was this bad we'd have stayed in Homer, which would have meant paying Billy's tab at the Salty Dog so he could continue drinking. Still, I'd rather pay Billy's bar bill than sail through these seas. It's one thing to be at sea and encounter thirty-five foot seas in a thirty-eight foot boat, then you have no choice, but no sane skipper would begin a trip knowing he'd immediately encounter such violent seas.

I should have checked the sea conditions before leaving Homer. Being on a personal high from contact with my family I had over looked the most basic tenet of piloting either a boat or airplane: check the weather. I really should have known better.

I polled my crew and we agreed to push on to Kodiak. The seas made the trip uncomfortable, but not overly dangerous as the North Wind had proven itself worthy to the challenge, as had her skipper. On a flat sea the 170 mile trip from Homer to Kodiak Village would have taken the North Wind twenty-four hours at its slow seven mph cruise speed. However, there was no such thing as a flat sea in this part of the world. Just like driving a mountain road, sailing heavy seas are mostly up and down. There's also the added delay of being blown off course by the heavy seas, current, and wind. Not only was the route made longer by going up and down the mountainous waves, but also by the curves thrown by the ever shifting elements.

It was a long and brutal trip across the straight. Forty hours after leaving the harbor on Homer Spit I sighted the lights of Kodiak Village. At that point we were still beaten by the steady drum of thirty-five foot waves and heavy cross winds, but I knew at any moment we would come into the lea of Kodiak's land mass and at that point most of the heavy southern seas would be blocked. At that point the big thirty-five footer's would change to a manageable ten foot sea. It was a pitch black night, so I could not see the land mass to judge when I would be protected from the southern seas. And I could only see the lights of Kodiak Village while at the very top of one of those thirty-five foot waves, but I could tell from the position of the lights that we would reach the protected lea point in an hour or so.

I had spent the last thirty-five hours standing the helm of my boat. Billy brought me coffee, food, and even emptied the Gatorade jar I urinated in. Other than that, even Billy stayed below deck in the nasty storm. After thirty-five hours of the same brutal beating sea I was running the boat in my sleep, or very close to it. The sea has a rhythm that every skipper learns to read. I've found that it is often the most dangerous seas that have the most consistent rhythm and this was one such sea. The waves were about sixty feet apart and thirty-five high and consistently both. This is a well placed sea condition for a thirty-eight foot boat, meaning not too tight together. Had my boat been seventy foot, the sixty foot separation would have been brutal as my stern would be high on the last wave, pushing my bow low into the next one. As it was I had room to clear one wave before climbing the next.