The Gig the Warlord and the Bottom Bandit

The Gig the Warlord and the Bottom Bandit

        When I first started in the urchin business, I was not aware of this at the time, but the divers I was taught by, and worked for, were the pioneers of the fishery.

      They were the ones that took the risks, and went thru the early chaos and confusion, that the not yet established and unstable markets, that existed in the early days of the fishery. The processors wanted a quality product, but the only way they were going to get that, was by buying up the “old Growth” that the original urchin divers were bringing in. (The “old Growth” being the big old urchins that survived, due to the sea otter harvesting of the last century. The sea otters would eat the sea urchins which limited the destruction of the kelp the urchins would cause by eating it. The kelp of course being a very important part of the food chain, without it many species suffer.) Some of it would be of some quality, but the regrowth that followed would be of the kind of quality the Japanese consumer expected. So there was a lot of turmoil as the divers and processors were jockeying around for the best position in that early mess that existed in the fishery at that time.

        So when I came on the scene, that situation had mostly settled down. Processors checks were not bouncing as much and the boats and divers, that could not sustain a viable operation were falling by the wayside, for the most part. I was lucky, I started out with a steady professional with a brand new boat and a lot of patience and tolerance for me, 40 years later he is still going. I found out he was an exception, as I made way thru the fleet.

        At that time there was no special permit to harvest sea urchins. All you needed was a 45 dollar commercial fishing license. Fish and Game were happy to get rid of the pests, as they were considered at the time. So anybody with the wherewithal, could slap an air compressor on the boat, some hoses, net bags and a davit or boom to lift the bags, some dive gear and they were good to go. Only when they found out that to make any money at 6 cent or even 16 cents a pound which was the price when I started. You had to pick a whole hell of a lot of sea urchins, and that was a lot of work. Just staying in the water all day by itself was physically draining, let alone the effort to fill the net bags required a dedicated or hard headed diver with the fortitude, stamina, and work ethic to maintain a consistent pace, to be profitable. Oh but they tried, they were enticed by the “get rich quick” schemes that were prevalent, at the time. By word of mouth and even some published ads from processors needing urchins, boat owners needing divers etc. caused a lot of fly by night operations on some converted yachts, sport fishing, and all kinds of different barely sea worthy boats with divers barley worthy of the title, trying their luck harvesting the urchins.

      Interestingly enough there happen to be  a commercial diving school at one of the prisons in Chino California. They were mostly geared for the hardhat offshore oil rig diver. Some urchin divers came from that field, but once they realized that though it was good money, the oil companies had little regard for human life when they needed a job done. The full saturation mixed gas diving was a lot more dangerous than urchin diving, which mostly stayed out of decompression diving. I guess someone thought prison inmates might be brave enough for that kind of diving and there was a diver pool the oil companies could go to when they needed divers.

        That scenario existed in the world I was about to enter, as I was to find out the hard way. One day, when the last boat I was on The Vanilla, a 24 foot Wilson, had her 454 marine mercruiser  torn apart at the unloading dock.  I walked away and I needed a job. There was a boat named the Gig. The Gig was a big ugly wooden sometime fishing boat that was at the end of its life. I was desperate and figured I would make a trip and see if I could make enough money to get me through until I found some thing else. Well the owner was a hardcore biker with the Warlords patch tattooed on his back. He was short but thick as a fire hydrant. I think someone just gave him the boat. He was one of those who attended the prison diving school. Walt McHale was a con man, but I was young and he convinced me we would do well. He had all this gear on the boat, but I soon discovered it was a fiasco. He passed as a mechanic but every other aspect of the operation was a complete joke. He did not even get into the water. He did not know what he was doing, which I would not of held against him if he would be open to input, but he wouldn't listen to anyone either. I got the hell out of there as soon as I could. Of , course I did not dare let him know of my displeasure and I soon found something else. He kept on bothering me about a Hansen fitting I needed to hook up to the end of the hose he had. He tracked me down and I returned it, but he still wanted me to work on the boat, and he wouldn't take no for an answer. I did my best to avoid him and pretty much forgot about him.

          Fast forward a few years later. It was October 1985 at night I was alone in the water about 2 or 3 miles out of Santa Barbara Harbor. I had on a pair of Levis and nothing else. . ( if you haven't already see Sinking of the Fat City ) I was eventually rescued, when a spotlight hit me and I saw a Harbor Patrol Boston Whaler on top of me. I reached up and who should yank me out of the water? No one other than Walt Mchale. I started shivering violently as the cold fall air hit me. Walt matter of factly said, ' looks like your going to need a job or , do you need a job?' Something like that. I had not thought that far ahead,I was mostly concerned if Bill was still alive. Mchale made some crude remark how he was not sorry Bill might be gone, because he supposedly jumped on one of McHale spots. I did not believe it.

         McHale had a newer urchin boat that was built for sea urchin diving. A 26 foot Wilson the Bottom Bandit. It was not really his, he had conned a well off lady into buying it for him. She soon regretted that decision because he really did not have it in him to make it work. I was fooled (again) into making a trip with him. I should have learned my lesson, but he had a legitimate sea urchin vessel this time He had little Billy Williams on the boat. Billy was Bill seniors son and he made up his mind to continue his fathers legacy and succeed in the urchin business , except he wanted to learn how to dive. I had to admire him, because he was not a natural water-man.  But, he was determined and he had the mechanic in him like his father.  Bill senior, I know could tear a diesel motor down and put it back together. and little Billy was not far behind.
          I was reluctant to jump on the boat immediately, but after a while I relented and we made a trip. I found a good spot, and was loading up the boat when McHale, who again never even suited up started to rant and rave about the quality  I couldn't believe it, the quality was fine he had just never experienced a real diver picking urchins at a pace that could have loaded the boat in one day. In the anchorage that night McHale went on and on about prison stories and in the morning, he seemed reluctant to get going. My impression was he would rather stay in the anchorage, drink beer and tell prison stories than work.

       We finally arrived at Santa |Barbara Harbor, unloaded and rented a guest slip for the night.  The weather was fine , so I suggested we do a  turn around, I was shocked when Mchale actually wanted to make another trip. I had not been paid and was broke so I was waiting for him in the slip at Santa Barbara Harbor. He was to cash the check from the processor so we could fuel and he could pay me. He showed up way late I decided to cook some breakfast with what food he had on the boat while I was waiting . When he finally did return he flew of the handle , that I had made breakfast. I said if he would pay me I could get my own breakfast he then he threw the money in the water, while little Billy tried to retrieve it. All of a sudden  WHAM!!  CRACK!! I felt the blow to my face, it took me a second for my vision to focus, and then I realized McHale sucker punched  me, which was later described by little Billy as a haymaker.  I think that was the hardest I had ever been hit. It rattled and chipped my teeth and I was in a daze. I managed to jump in the water as he proceeded  throwing oil cans at me. I managed to swim far enough away so I could climb out of the water. I called the police, and told them the story. I don't know what he told them, but the officer ended up taking me to the station and checking me out for drug use. I could not believe it. Apparently he intimidated little Billy into backing up his story.  It must of been a good one, as he conned that rookie cop into not arresting him for assault.  The following day I attempted to get my dive gear but he would not let me. I ended up getting some help from Kevin Sears of all people. He went straight up to McHale and demanded he let me have my gear. I got my gear, but I can tell you I was going to shoot McHale with a spear gun if he tried to stop me from getting my gear, the night before, but I thought better of it and I always have gratitude that Keven helped me out. I got a chance to pay him back, but that's another story.