Adventure in Pt Arena

Pt Arena.

        When I pulled into Pt. Arena an 8 ft set of nearly perfect waves were just rolling in one right after the other. A surfer who I found out later was none other than Michael Fair once close friend of mine, caught a nice one on the south side of the pier and rode it all the way in, classic, there were 25 or 30 boats on moorings outside the pier and a crowd of people on the shore . Surfers and divers. The divers not working because of the huge swell. Some people think underwater would not be affected, but trust me it is. Though if you can find the right kind of bottom, and the urchins in the right place you could work it, but you will be thrown around some, hopefully in the right places.

       I was in my 65 International pick-up with my Alaskan camper in the bed, stocked with food, propane, gasoline and all my dive gear. I got word that it was going off here, so I needed to find a boat.

       Now Pt Arena was a one horse town along the north coast of California, Nothing much going on except logging and fishing, long since past the heyday of those industries. Marijuana growing was big, but not legal. The local young people wanted to get out of town as soon as possible, except now the place was inundated with young southern California divers with lots of money to spend, and they did. The urchin fishery gave that town a big shot in the arm economically.  That little town sure needed it.

       In a day or two the swell came down and the fleet was underway. That night there were 5 tractor trailer refrigerated lined up on the pier, awaiting to load the urchins. As many as 5 to 10 boats waiting, impatient divers and tempers, bags swinging boats clanging ,divers jumping to the ladders and spectators. There were even groupies ...well sort of that's what some of us called them. The local girls hanging out giddy with excitement at all the activity suddenly going on in there boring little town

       I was trying to hustle a boat, I found one right away. The vessel looked OK from a distance out on the mooring, but as I realized this old wooden sinker was not what I had in mind. I picked 1 bag and I was not about to contribute any more weight to this operation. I ended up on the Reefer Star a boat I was familiar with from Channel Islands, and I knew the skipper well, Mike Moore was a good skipper and I made a few trips..but I guess he overbooked and I was kinda bumped off. Well Mike apologized to me, and that was kool.

So I targeted Vince Pulio on the Sea Breeze. Vince said sure, he had Franco but he could work all of us. Well the following day Vince reluctantly told me that Franco was so upset about me joining the crew, that he threatened to quit. He explained that Franco had been with him a long time, blah blah blah. I was livid with anger at Franco and when I saw him, I confronted him..calling every name I could think of and I flicked my cigarette at him. He did not like me anyway, and being on the boat was threatening his position. He did not take the bait and walked away, but I insulted, and disrespected him in front of everybody. I know he was embarrassed.

       Vince Pulio was a short tempered Sicilian, who had a reputation of treating his crew like Capt. Bligh. However he was very successful and a hard worker. He also had a nice east coast style boat, and Franco was messing with my livelihood and I was not going to take that lightly. I guess there was a meeting of the minds, because the next day Mike Moore approaches me and suggested that Franco and I trade boats. Even though I was bumped 1 day off the Reefer Star I was still in the rotation, so to speak. So Franco went to the Reefer Star and I was on the Sea Breeze. Vince said he was so embarrassed and upset he had to tell me no after he already said yes. He made Francos life a living hell for giving him the ultimatum. He also said he was so relieved to get rid of Franco, putting up with his tardiness and other things.

I did well with Vince, he was not too bad to work for, the temper was there but not too bad and I made a lot of money. He also proved he could defend his boat. The tender on the Reefer Star was Jimmy Grant. I knew Jimmy had some dealings with him, but I was not his favorite person after he tended me. He was a good tender, but a little pushy and a aggressive and I was not in the mood for that. Any way the bad blood between me and Franco metastasized when those two started talking and it came to a head one day. I was driving my Truck threw town and Jimmy was behind me tailgating in his 1950 something jalopy. I braked suddenly to get him off my ass and he rear ended me. His radiator was gone , but my truck was fine he hit my huge beefy bumper..he was so mad he took a swing at me and I just got in my truck and bailed.

        Well the next day he was insisting I pay for the damage and I just laughed. “You rear ended me, so its your fault for being to close.” I avoided him because he was a hot head and he was telling everyone that would listen he was going to collect one way or the other. Then out in the moorings one day he sees me on the Seabreeze and jumps on the dinghy and motors up to the boat, yelling like he is going to attack me. He puts one foot one the boat and lets go of the line to the dinghy, sets it adrift. All of a sudden, over my shoulder Vince flies and chest tackles Jimmy who was much larger. Jimmy falls back SLAM on the deck both feet in the air. He was done, he had to wait for someone off the Reefer Star to retrieve the Dinghy, as he sheepishly withdrew. Mike Moore apologized to me again for letting that happen.

       So began the Saga of point Arena. I camped out by the pier for awhile until the cops started hassling us so I found the Rollerville campground, where a bunch of divers had settled in. Known for its night raccoons and grouchy owner. It was a hook-up and a shower so it sufficed while I continued my musical boat escapade. Turns out Vince was getting ready to sell the SeaBreeze so he had made plans to accommodate the prospective buyer with a spot on the boat. It was true I had heard second hand but I will have to give Vince credit , he found me a boat before he let me go.

       The Fuji III was owned by Mick McHenry. I was well acquainted with Mick and the Fuji III, although not this version. The boat was solid aluminum and Mick had inherited it from his father who was an early pioneer. I had worked on the boat when it was 3 feet shorter and had a mid-engine Chrysler marine gas engine that was constantly breaking down.

       There was a huge fish hold and a pipe frame sat on top to accommodate the cargo net. The pilot house was open, except for the canvas cover that kept out the worst of the weather. Tough and sea worthy, the boat sat on blocks for years after Mick quit the business for a few years to pursue more steady consistent employment.

When the urchin business started to become more lucrative, Mick had to resort to hardball tactics to retake ownership of the Fuji III. Jumping a fence and some harsh language were involved, but he retained ownership, then lengthened the boat 3 feet and installed a V-drive, with a Cummins diesel package that Toni Athens installed. Much improved the boat and when I headed up to Fort Bragg where the Fuji III was docked, I felt satisfied that I was taken care of with continued employment.

        Mick was a curly blond headed, blue eyed southern Californian, with enough tough Irishman to complete the package. He could charm the pants off many girls as his daughters grew up to have movie star good looks, to prove that. He married a local fort Bragg girl who came from one of the logging clans in the area and she used to tend for us once in a while, which was in keeping with his family oriented operation. I worked on his boat longer than most, but he was a sporadic worker. I wasn't getting rich but I had a steady boat.

       Mick kept his boat on the mooring in Pt. Arena for a while that summer, but he was nervous about it and we ended up working out of Ft. Bragg at the end of the season. That fall he planned to take the boat back down south, so off we went. He said I could park my truck in his back yard but when I flew back to retrieve it he had locked the gate so I was trapped in. So I just locked up the hubs and 4 X4 right over the top of his old fence and out the bushes till I hit the road. He was not too happy about that , but I was not too happy about getting locked in either. I helped him build a new one the next summer, so his feelings were not too hurt. 
      I went back to Pt Arena towing a 35 ft house trailer and a wife, and a pure bred Golden Retriever. Shadow was able to climb those bull pine trees, when I placed the Frisbee strategically up in the branches, sometimes getting down was a problem.  We ended up at the Manchester KOA, which was a beautiful place about 5 miles north of Pt Arena.  There was an idyllic trail through the wetlands, down to the black sand beach.  Shadow would just barrel through the tall grass and then charge into those 4 ft waves after the Frisbee.  He showed absolutely no fear of those waves and sometimes I would worry about him until I saw his head bob up with his teeth clenched around that Frisbee.
      When winter came that year, my wife Linda did not want to leave.  She had been working at the fish market and was meeting new friends.  I told her the weather would turn and the tourists would leave and the off season would be rainy boring and nothing to do.  I left the big trailer there , since we had a smaller one stored in the trailer park in Buelton.  I did not relish the thought of towing that beast of a heavy trailer back down to Southern California, and this set up was more convenient. Never did make it back to dive after that, just was not in the cards and that new July closure, rendered the northerly migration less desirable.  I think that was by design. Turn the Page.