Going Down

11/27/10

We left the dock at 11:00 AM, with a strong southwest wind agitating the Great Salt Pond and straining the many flags around Point Judith. The wind was so strong, in fact, that the wavelets being created lapped up and over the bulkhead at Rhode Island Engine and sprayed deep into the parking lot. A quick perusal of the nearby Gulls failed to turn up the first year Glaucous Gull that had been hanging around for the past ten days or so, but it might still be there.

We threw the lines, and made our way into the harbor, and as I stood on deck the wind went right through me. Since I hadn't expected to be in Rhode Island this winter I have none of my winter clothing and am ill equipped to say the least for a four day trip deep into the north Atlantic Ocean. I had woken with the beginnings of a cough, but had been in such a hurry to get ready for the trip and say goodbye to family visiting for Thanksgiving I had not time to address this burgeoning potential health issue, yet there I stood in the frigid wind, now surrounded by water, quite noticeably coughing. Little did I know at the time, that in my rush, I had also forgotten a good deal of the warm clothing that I do have.

When looking out at the North Atlantic from shore in the winter, it is a rare thing to see a placid ocean, rarer indeed would be to see the phenomenon last for three days, which is how many days we need to work out at sea. The time of a boat captain in New England in the winter revolves around the four o'clock updates on NOAA's marine forecast which constantly changes. We have seen that we can't rely on NOAA to accurately and competently report on the level of oil in and around the Gulf of Mexico, or in seafood for that matter, but they remain the only source for a decent marine forecast, and our very lives depend on their daily prognoses. It is very common for us to steam out in a gail, and return in a gail with the hopes that we might cram 50 or more hours of work into a less tumultuous window of agreeable weather.

Last Saturday we left at 1100 AM with the calculation that the wind should drop out just in time for us to reach our fishing grounds at midnight, one hundred miles to the south and get some work done in a nicer environment.

We exited the Harbor of Refuge and made our way into the open ocean in a wet and wild ride. Everything on deck had been tied down in preparations, and as we made our turn through the opening in the breakwater we braced ourselves for the inevitable crash and boom as the first waves hit us, and blew up and over the boat. A large group of Common Eiders was up against the wall, right in the maelstrom of the crashing waves on the west side of the rock formation, but they seemed to be unconcerned with their situation, and bobbed and dove with an ease that spoke of a great comfortability being out in the cold Atlantic, even against the wall. The males are really starting to look handsome again as the soft seafoam green takes over the dappled brown basic plumage on their roman heads. Content with one last view of these ducks and a flyby Long-tailed Duck, I retired to the bunk, where the other two deck hands were already sound asleep. Although it was mid-day, sleep came easy, as it usually does on the boat, even when it's rocking and rolling! You've got to get it when you can, and the body quickly becomes accustomed to taking advantage of any time in the bunk.

Within 20 minutes on deck, I had been soaked by an errant wave. All barrels on the port rail were instantly filled, and random gear was thrust toward the center of the boat with the thousands of gallons of seawater that exploded passed us, and filled my boots. I was able to change two and half hours later. At 0200 the next morning I awoke after 2 hours of sleep with the second scariest fever I have ever had, and was unable to work for the first three hours of Monday. When I finally made it out on deck, it was gorgeous. The sea had calmed down and was completely glassy. The other deckhands were working in T-shirts in the end of November! I felt horrible, but my spirits were uplifted by the occasional small groups of Dovekies that the boat happened upon. Dovekies are a really neat bird, and are one of my favorite little guys. So small, yet so hardy, these tiny little "penguins of the north" ply their livings in the harshest of environments, and I'm always amazed by their seeming nonchalant demeanor.

The next couple of days were spent in a fever induced haze, and by the time we had unloaded our catch on Wednesday morning, I would spend 65 of the next 72 hours of my life in bed thinking about the Northern Fulmars and Great Shearwaters that glide so effortlessly passed our boat as we work, and hoping that I'll be ready to go next week, when it's time to go back out on the cold Atlantic.