Brownie Points

I racked up some major brownie points with one of the skippers, Lee, in the last few days that I don't think any deckhand could ever beat. It all started with sleeping through the alarm. That is a major no-no for this job, because on-time departures are a must. Because of that rushed morning, the morning coffee took effect while we were under way (another major no-no for using marine heads). But what was I to do? Sometimes you just gotta' go. Lee had just spent three hours the previous night fixing the finicky toilet, so I figured I had a safe shot. Not so, as I held down the flusher, for 5, then 20, then 60 seconds. The sweat started to bead on my brow and my heart race as I imagined whispering to Lee with a boat full of passengers all within earshot, "Uh Lee, if you weren't already going to kill me for being late, you're really gonna' love me now." After a few more minutes of desperate plunging and flushing, I gathered strength to face the storm and clambered up to the wheel. After muttering the dreaded words I watched horror rise then fade in Lee's face. "Alright, go grab a bucket, tape down the seat, and have fun telling all the passengers they'll have to use a honey bucket," he ordered with forced calm. When we finally returned to the slip after a long day on the water, we faced three more hours of toilet slimed fun. Our other crew across the harbor yelled to us, "Hey, how'd your day go?" We both looked at each other and grimaced. Then Lee decided to declare the truth,"Fine, except the head's messed up, AGAIN!" "What happened? Did someone leave a big old turd in the toilet?" asked Katrina. He just smiled pointed to me, as I attempted to strangle him.

The next day both the boss and Lee agreed it wasn't really me that broke the head. It was bound to happen any moment and it was my lucky day. The only reconciliation I have is in knowing that I saved a passenger grave embarrassment. Yeah, I'm a hero, I guess.

But I didn't stop earning brownie points there. The next day I worked with Lee was full of loading and unloading kayakers in rainy, cold weather. The wind picked up like usual coming back to the harbor. The starboard side was loaded with kayaks and I could barely get the lines on. Pulling up to the ramp, I hopped off with the stern line and made a wrap around the cleat like usual, but for some reason (i.e. the wind), the stern wasn't getting any closer like normal. Then the bow drifted further and further out. I couldn't see Lee's hand signals through the glare of the glass, and before I knew it, the line on the boat slipped off the cleat. There I was, standing on the deck alone with line in hand, watching the boat glide away. This scene happened not once, not twice, but THREE times. With each attempt an amused audrience grew, both on the boat and the ramp. Since I've become so good at dealing with embarrassment, it was a pleasure to walk back to the boat, greeting all the passengers as they walked off, while trying to make funny cracks; "Did he say he was going to kill me yet?" "Hey, long time no see." "I missed you guys!" That night, we used our measly $20 in tip money to chug some beer to wash down that bitter aftertaste.

Note: Things are looking up for the future of Laurel as a deckhand. She need not resign quite yet, as today she was trusted to drive fifty miles through five foot swells and over an infamous terminal moraine to the above, Northwestern Fjord for five day kayak drop-off. The previous day, she was also trusted to practice maneuvering the boat in the harbor and docking at the slip. All is not lost.

Amy Tan in Xtra Tuffs

Who else could pull off wearing xtra-tuffs, the Alaskan sneaker, with a silky black, Chinese garb? Amy Tan, and her two little... ca,-er, I mean ... dogs. It was a weekend that seemed to last a week, every minute filled with interaction and reaction. Writing and talking about writing, reading writing, and breathing writing. There were also: walks on the beach, sea anemones huddled in the sand, a cup of cocoa with dogsled friend, Dean, bluegrass tunes to dance to under the twilight of midnight, finding friends two hundred miles from home, the bounce of the saw-whet owl and the haunting whisp of the snipe flight, waking to the first blue sky in weeks, and gobbling down Homer home grown eggs while effortless guitar filled the air. I sat legs bent with arms hugging me, taking in life, taking in color, taking in brevity and change, the pulse of life. Thank you great Earth for allowing me to partake in brief moments of drunken splendor.

Ahoy, a whale off the starboard!

Life has been a rollercoster, literally, as I come home from a long and adrenaline filled day at work, to see the newsprint roll before my eyes. No, this can not be attributed to the influences of the drunken Seward summer-ites. It can only be attributed to a day at sea, a day open to the elements, a day open to the power of the ocean, and a day open to waves bigger than the boat. Yesterday was a typical day "in the office:" With a boat of 12 tourists and kayakers, we were stopped to watch a group of orcas tale slapping, fluking, and breaching, when not 20 yards away a behomoth surfaced and blew off our starboard side. The gray submarine disappeared only to resurface moments later just off the bow, long enough to flash its stout fin and gray smoothness. A fin whale: appearing and disappearing out of the depths of the green waters. Before I could wipe the awe out of my eyes, the group of orcas decided to swim five feet below our boat, all in a line, their white gliding like underwater phantoms below us. Each day is an adventure, open to the whims of the sea.