Then, out of nowhere, she just showed up a few nights ago she stood outside our bedroom window, seemingly unbothered by the sheets of rain. But, as time passed, I had a harder time continuing to hold on to the hope of finding her alive. We became best friends first, but I knew within months of meeting her that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.Ībout a year ago, she went for a jog one morning before dawn and never came home. Lacey and I met back in college, in Amateur Radio Club, of all places. I graciously hugged her goodbye, leaving some money on the counter for late-night snacks. Grandma dropped everything and was over in less than 20 minutes. Under her breath, she whispered, “I guess she really did forget…”Īfter a quick phone call to grandma, the kids were sent upstairs to change into their pajamas and unpack their things. There was a temporary glimmer in their bored, glazed-over eyes. I sighed heavily, my mind jumping to the most terrifying, but logical conclusion. Six phone calls went straight to voicemail. “She’s just running a bit late.” With their bedtime quickly approaching, we putzed around the lobby while I pondered what to do. Josie and Ally were getting antsy, their stuffed teddys in hand and backpacks stuffed to the brim. Mallory was late It was nearly two hours past their court-ordered pickup time. I needed to lay down and let myself adjust. The combination of the dime turn and the ship’s tilt were terrible for my equilibrium. I felt the Seaward Sarah turn as I headed back to the crew quarters, and used the wall for support. This place I found freeing suddenly felt like a cage, and I wanted out. I became keenly aware just how far away I was from dry land – from safety. The vast ocean I’d been yearning for for months had become progressively more unsettling as the ship tilted. Me? I was one of the ones who was relieved by the news. No one knew what this meant for our wages, or whether the repairs could be done in time to get back at sea before the end of crab season. Our reactions were mixed, with some experiencing relief, and others disappointment. One evening, when most of us were gathered in the dining hall, holding our plates and glasses to keep them from sliding down the table, the captain burst in and announced we were turning around. I was told he was cursing everyone from the ship manufacturer, to the inspectors, to the contractors who’d last done repair work on her hull. I couldn’t hear what was going on, but I could see him shouting into the receiver, his face getting redder and angrier as the days wore on. That’s when the captain started making a lot of calls. It went from a barely-noticeable incline, to my calves burning from straining against the pull of gravity towards Starboard. The list worsened over the course of the next week.
I grew more concerned as the voyage went on. The captain could piss in my mouth, tell me it was wine, and I’d smile and agree. It seemed reasonable, and besides, I was just a deck hand. We’re overfill the port cargo and under-fill the starboard.
He planned on balancing her out once we started loading crabs into the cargo decks. It wasn’t at a dangerous angle, and after consulting the ship’s engineer, the captain determined it was safe to proceed farther into the North Pacific Ocean. The Seaward Sarah was listing on her starboard side. We noticed the first sign of trouble two days into the journey. Even the captain would join in and dance and sing and drink. We always hold a party on the first and last nights. Spirits were high and the excitement of starting off on a new journey was electric. It was exhilarating to be on the sea again, with the fresh salty breeze and waters so vast, you couldn’t see anything but blue for miles around. Since she’d passed her safety inspection earlier that year, I had no concerns as we left port for the cold waters of the North Pacific Ocean. I was sailing on the Seaward Sarah, a vessel that was getting a little long in the tooth, but was known for her reliability. That number would be halved by the time we returned to shore, and I would be left incapable of setting foot anywhere near the ocean ever again. We were a crew of 15, myself included, when the season began. By then, I knew the ropes, I was familiar with the waters, and I’d witnessed a few deaths first hand. This story takes place during my fifth crabbing season. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else, and planned on working my way up to captain one day. Alaskan fishing added ‘high risk’ to the equation, and in turn, the rewards were even sweeter. They always said hard work leads to greater returns, so I naturally gravitated towards a career that shared that philosophy. From a young age, my parents instilled in me a strong work ethic. A few years ago, I was working as a deck hand on an Alaskan fishing boat.
0 kommentar(er)
