Integrity

 

The Integrity

      Right around the time the sea urchin business really started to take off,  
 I get a phone call from Glen Huebner.  I worked for Glen on the Double Eagle (now the Trilogy) and he was  a very motivated and gifted, diver, skipper and whatever else he decided he wanted to do.  Glen had partnered up with 3 other very successful, leading, high liners, and purchased a 45 ft landing craft.  Thats right the kind they ran up on the beach at Normandy.  The plan was to use the Integrity as a pick-up boat for the small fleet that Glen and his partners Joe Burke, Quiten Quider and Mike Lucas owned or controlled. Glen needed me to take helm watches for the voyage up to northern California.
      He went on to say this would be ideal for Shelter Cove, as getting a truck up there was a daunting task, putting it mildly. They converted the Integrity while they all had new boats on order as well.  That left little time for the partnership to focus there attention on the Integrity, and guess who was the latest candidate to make that operation happen?  They did not come right out and say that, but it became evident, even if by default I had a big landing craft on my hands. At first we made a few trips, out to the Channel Islands to kind of break her in, because everything was brand new, almost antiseptic. The engine room was impressive two shoulder high diesel motors and a huge generator.  I was familiar with the twin screw handling, as the 41 ft Coast Guard rescue boats were twin screw as well, and I operated them while stationed there.  Basically Glen had said on the phone that they were "killing it" out at the Farallon Islands, outside San Francisco, and that I should go with the Integrity so I could take advantage of the Bonanza, once I arrived.  Which was his way of getting me to crew the Integrity, up to Bodega Bay for free.

      So off we went,  The skipper was the electrician who was hired to rewire the Integrity.  He was a sailboat owner, and he had some knowledge of Navigation, but he knew absolutely nothing about the urchin business, or power boats and many other things I discovered later on. He came with his deck hand. He did not seem like a bad person, he just carried out the "skippers" instructions and did not say a whole lot.
     The Integrity was made out of steel, with a square bow and flat bottom with no keel. Part of the plan was to have the capability to run the Integrity loaded with sea urchins on the beach, and then use the crane on the Integrity to off load to a 4 wheel drive truck, since off loading facilities were far and few between in that neck of the woods.  Came to find out later that the Skipper thought it would be fun to test the Integrity's, landing capabilities.  I guess it did not dawn on him that to do that, it should not be on the concrete that boat ramps are made out of, but it did not and that is exactly what he did, with disastrous results, as one could imagine. I also speculate that he was too embarrassed to admit and report his mistake, as the bilge pumps were keeping up with the seawater that was leaking thru the cracked seams that were caused by his folly. These facts were slowly, one by one revealed to me, as I was getting the shit beat out of me, by the crashing and rolling of the Integrity as we approached Pt Conception.  That flat bottom and square bow, heading into the prevailing winds was murder.. That was my initiation, as I took my first wheel watch.  If that was not miserable enough, the sound was thunderous, as the Integrity crashed over those waves.  No insulation allow
ed for the Integrity's hull to act as a drum, with me the BB  inside it.
      If I had been any more miserable before that experience, I could not remember, but I was soon to find out that our little break from the torture, as we motored into Half Moon Bay, would not be long enough for me to recover.  I woke to the sound of the "Skipper" and his helper off loading their gear.  They were jumping ship, because they were not getting paid, they said.  I think all the red flags were in place, and I was stuck anyway, with a sinking Landing craft in an unfamiliar harbor.  After the skipper bailed I went down to the engine room to familiarize myself with the systems, so I could have a fighting chance if something else happen.  I got on the phone and was able to speak to Joe Burke, one of the owners I never met.  He instructed me that it would be necessarily for me to gear up and inspect underneath of the hull, and report on the seriousness of the damage.  I thought about it, and I replied I would do it for $500. When he refused, I hit the docks, searching for an urchin boat, that could use a diver as Half Moon bay, was only 22 miles from the Farallons and the chosen harbor for a significant fleet of urchin boats, in the midst of a feeding frenzy.  I approached the Homeboy, which I was familiar with from Santa Barbara.  The owner Tyrone, the only African American diver I knew, was very congenial and maybe he would put me on.  I found Glen Brisadene who reported he had recently purchased the Homeboy from Tyrone, and that he had  arrived and was waiting for his regular diver to show up.  I told him my story, and I can tell you that he and several other divers were not happy to see that big old landing craft showing up and being responsible for cleaning the sea urchins out of the spots they had there eyes on. At least that was their-- fear. Glen went on to say I could make a trip, while he was awaiting his divers arrival.
      Next morning we were underway, and when I jumped in I can tell you that the Farallons were like another planet compared to the Channel Islands and the urchins were everywhere. The long waist to shoulder high reefs were ideal for knocking the urchins off and straight into the net bag. I had to learn to sneak up on those urchins, because they would clamp down like an Abalone if they sensed a swell or a northern California rookie diver. We had a good day and headed in.  As we entered the harbor at Half Moon Bay The Integrity was missing from her mooring.  "Oh no" I thought I forgot to flip the switch on the bilge pump and the Integrity was on the bottom with Davy Jones locker.
    I was relieved to discover that the Integrity was still intact, but I was mortified to find out that Joe Burke had driven down  and boarded the Integrity and was currently underway for Bodega Bay! This presented a problem for me, since I was staying on the boat and all my other personal property was on the boat, except for my dive gear and the clothes on my back.  No wheels no money and stranded!
      I frantically paced and swore up and down the harbor parking lot. Pre- cell phone era prompted attempted collect calls from one of those foul weather shelters, we used to call phone booths.  More pacing and swearing, then miraculously, a powerful looking short gentleman approached  took pity on me and inquired why I was so distressed.  I relayed the tale to him and by the look of that shit eaten grin that arrived and remained thru most of my story, I think he enjoyed the story so much he volunteered to drive me and my dive gear up to Bodega Bay, as it was basically on his way anyway.  I don't really think it was, but don't look a gift horse in the mouth right?  He turned out to be former logger who now was a sea urchin diver, as the logging industry was in decline.  So was the fishing industry, for that matter, except for the sea urchin fishery, since for one reason these northern California waters had never been fished for urchins.  He was very nice and I was extremely grateful.  The Integrity was not hard to find in Bodega Bay, it was tied to Lucas Wharf where many boats of the fleet would unload their catch, and the high end steak and seafood restaurant located within a short walk, was a nice touch.  I boarded the boat, thanked my ride and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
      The next morning I was sitting up in the pilot house when 3 faces I did not recognize were giving me a curious look, when one of them said "are you Mike Thomas?"  I answered that I was, when the one who I now know was Joe, wanted an explanation of why I refused to inspect the bottom of the Integrity, after all I was staying on the boat and it would seem reasonable to him that I should want to know the status of the vessel I was attached to. By the tone of his voice, there also was an implication that I was obligated to perform the duty as the boat was in danger of sinking'  Trying as hard as I could not to show how indignant I felt, I explained that, the only reason I was staying on the boat, is because Glen needed another body to take a helm watch, for the long voyage, and it did not hurt that once I arrived I would be an asset as an experienced diver, that had proven his value as he worked for Glen a number of years.  I did not actually say that last part, but I could tell how the conversation went between the owners as the decision to transport the Integrity north by sea was made.  Glen must have made me sound even better than I really was to convince his partners, I was worthy.  I went on to add that I was not getting paid to deliver a boat, and that the Captain and first mate jumped ship, supposedly because of payment of wages was not forthcoming, and I became suspicious enough that a demand for payment of my services, was not unreasonable under the circumstances. I also thought that even if I did feel obligated to do the inspection, I was NOT obligated to do it for free. They seemed to accept this explanation and their attitude and body language relaxed.  It became apparent to me that these partners knew absolutely nothing about the Integrity.  They both were operating much smaller vessels, simultaneously while they were awaiting delivery of a newer bigger faster vessel as well. This was confirmed a couple weeks later, after we got underway for the appointment to the boat lift.  Dry dock was mandatory for the necessary repairs, so as we were approaching the narrow slot that would position us over the slings that would support the hull as the boat was lifted out of the water. Joe who was at the helm said "Mike I think you better take it from here, I am not used to these twin screws" So I was the hero as I easily used the throttles to steer the Integrity directly into the slot.  It was apparent that repairs could take sometime, so my services were available to the partners vessels.  The Hot Pursuit,  The Avril Q, and others.
      As it turned out the Integrity never did become the pick-up boat, it was sold to an outfit that used it for the clean-up in Alaska for a little oil spill that occurred that year courtesy of the Exxon  Valdez.

 

Battle Stations


 When I finally was relieved of my mess cook duty aboard the Glacier, I started standing Helm and lookout as well as messenger watches.  I also had to turn to, on the deck force during the day.  This was mostly grinding and sanding rust, painting, swabbing the deck and any other exposed surface as well as keeping all the brass polished on the bridge and anywhere else.  I was finally invited over to the crew that was being kind off secretive about what they were doing.  Turns out they were doing all the fancy work for the railings on the gangway and about the ship.  This work took a little skill and it was preferable to the other arduous tasks a seaman apprentice on the deck force was required to do.  It was wrapping this sticky hemp line around the railings in a series of half hitches that created a spiral pattern around the railings which provided a sure grip.  Then there were other more complicated knots at the various locations where the railing came to a 45 degree angle with the railing that proceeded in another direction, or at the end of the railing. These were called turks heads and they were a little more difficult to master.  When it was finished it was painted over and looked good  as well as being functional.  The BM2 let me get a little taste of that before I was back to the same old grind.  

Turks Head

         I finally was able to maneuver a project that kept me busy for several weeks though I could have done it in a few days.  I convinced the the Chief BM that the wooden supports that cradled the crane when it was not in use were rotten and that I could replace them.  So I had a project all to myself that during morning muster when the jobs were handed out I was able to oky doke Cheif Biel and I milked that project for all that it was worth.  It also gave me the opportunity to explore the different departments of the ship in my search for tools and material.  I took the initiative because I had worked on boats previously with Northern Marine Industries.  A friend of my fathers owed him a favor and employing me was the payback.  My father was a group supervisor at the Drug Enforcement Administration in Seattle.  Well apparently this 19 year old, Larry Latin would occasionally provide my dad with information that he could use to make the drug cases he was investigating.  Larry was a real entrepreneur.  He would buy these old wooden pleasure yachts and refurbish them to pristine condition and then sell them. Well Larry got himself into some trouble when he was offered $40,000 to launder $100,000 worth  of drug money.  Well Larry got in over his head, and my dad bailed him out in some way, and Larry was indebted to my dad.

      So my first day on the job I was caulking the decks of the Grotte Beir" This Gaudy River Yacht was almost as wide as long and was equipped with 2 massive flopper stoppers, and included a fireplace.  Herman Goering The famed leader of the Luftwaffe in Hitlers Nazi Germany, apparently had the yacht built. It was owned by Stuart Anderson the founder of the Black Angus Restaurant chain.  I did know it at the time but during discussions between my dad and Larry over my employment , we were invited to Larrys Yacht  The Viking for a lunch party out in Port Townsend.  I was introduced to Stuart Anderson who I had not a clue of who he was, until years later.  After lunch he even invited me to go canoeing with him which I did and was pleased with myself that he would invite me.  The Groote Beir  was not very practical  but looked magnificent all teak and Mahogany shiny with multiple layers of varnish.  That varnishing was a pain in the ass and a lot of work.  Sanding then applying the varnish in such a way it would not run, yet still cover the area.  These guys were so picky, I never did get very good at it. Caulking the decks was basically stuffing lines of cotton into the spaces between the deck boards with a chisel like tool and a mallet then running a bead of sealant on top of that.  After it dried, we had to trim it flush to the deck and make it look pretty. Then on from there, so I had some experience that gave me the confidence to proceed  Mr Anderson ended up donating the Vessel to the boy scouts, as maintaining the beast was costly
     My attitude rubbed some of the clan of Texas boys the wrong way. There was a gaggle of Texas boys that had there own little clique on the deck force and they were the favorites of the chief. However I was about gravitate toward this new BM2 that just transferred to the Glacier just before we got underway.  He just came off a buoy tender from Alaska.  Those crews earned there pay as that was quite a job lifting up those buoys, scraping all the barnacles and crustaceans off the bottom painting and repair any issues. Jim Clews knew he shit.  He was a no nonsense wiry lean sailor.  He used to jump in the ocean every day, rain or shine when ashore, watched his diet and he was an avid sport diver.  Well we bonded right away over that.  I had sent my gear down via greyhound, because the cost of taking it on the airplane was prohibitive. I had all brand knew gear, that my dad finally provided when he relented and handed me the credit card when he realized I was determined to pursue diving as a career, one way or the other, and said go get what you need.
      Well Jim saw that I would take our jobs seriously and I was used to working on pleasure yachts, where everything was meticulous and had to be just right for the rich boat owner to show off to his friends, that conflicted with shipboard routine where alot of the work was just invented to keep us busy, and the standards of workmanship were less than ideal.  I was adjusting and he helped me by explaining how things went.  He also could not stand the Texas boys.  They were mostly seaman and a few BM 3rd class. There was only one other BM2 on the deck force, then the chief and the first lieutenant. So even though Jim outranked them they were reluctant to carry out his orders, because they had seniority on the ship and Chief Biel generally backed them up.  Well this situation continued for a while until Jim finally had enough.  During morning muster after the Chief handed out the work assignments and was getting ready to dismiss the crew Jim piped up and informed the crew that he had something to say.  He proceeded to reading the riot act to those subordinates that undermined his authority and gave an accounting of how and why he had those stripes.  I could barely contain myself I was so tickled that he gave them a thorough tongue thrashing.  When he was done I looked at the Chief and he grudgingly backed up Jim but it was killing him.  He had no choice Jim was right and from then on he was my hero, and best friend on that voyage. 
       So the Deck force was divided in two or 3 factions. The Texas boys and there followers.  Jim and me and we recruited a couple of sailors that felt were ok.  Then the rest, that did not really stir up to much, regarding deck force politics.  I was trying to go to dive school, and by the looks of it, my opposition to the Texas boys was going to make that impossible. The Seaman that got to go was the Chiefs protege and he was being groomed to lead the deck force.  Sheritz was a big boy with a booming voice, but he did not appear to me to be much other than the Chiefs pet. He proved that to me when we were unloading the ammo over to a small boat on the side so they could take it ashore before we arrived in port for safety reasons.
      So one morning the deck force was ordered to the hanger on the flight deck.  Everyone was standing around not sure of what to do.  I had no clue, when someone said that he thinks we were suppose to us the pallet jacks to move the ammo out of the hanger, and on tho the flight deck where the crane could lower it over the side onto a small boat.  I finally got tired of standing around and grabbed a pallet jack and started stacking the pallets close to the edge of the flight deck.  The rest of the crew were unsure of my boldness, but when the brass started showing up they fell in line. So The BM2 was on-site to supervise the crane ops, as the operator lower a cargo net down and expected someone to commence with cargo off loading.
       By this time most of the deck force was present on the flight deck, as well as some other interested personnel.  The BM2 took charge of the tying the lifting knot  and then the load was hoisted off the deck and over the side to the LST standing by tied off to the ship.   Well as this load of ammo was lowering down, Seaman Sheritz the future deck force commandant, bumbled and fumbled the load and the ammo went crashing down on the deck of the LST, to Chief Biels embarrassment, as I am sure the first lieutenant and the Captain were watching the operation. Sheritz eventually recovered his manhood sufficiently to guide the remaining pallets to the deck and unhook the load for the crane to continue on to the remaining pallets.  Most of the deck force was just standing around watching, which was not unusual, after all this was a military operation.  I saw an opening to step up to the plate and  assist the BM2 who was distracted by something, so I got in there and tied off the ammo to the cargo net and hooked to the crane.  The BM2 looked relieved for the help, and so we just kinda took turns, until the ammo was safely loaded on to the LST.  I did'nt think too much of it at the time, I just cant stand standing around doing nothing during an operation.  It is kind of the nature of the beast.  The military assigns 30 people to do a 2 man job.  It was only later, after I passed the seaman's test and had enough time in, and all I needed was the required recommendation from my supervisor to confirm the promotion, which was not forthcoming.  So I submitted a chit, requesting that recommendation.  Then one morning Chief Biel summoned me and let me know in no uncertain terms that protocol for promotions does not allow a seaman apprentice to request the required recommendation. The recommendation if deserved, is initiated by the supervisor if all other requirements are met. After making it perfectly clear that my actions were improper, he informed me that he would go ahead and approve the promotion to seaman, due to my performance on the flight deck that day.
      Which brings me to the 50 caliber machine gun, that I and only 2 others out off 300 something ships company had the privilege to operate, during some practice battle ops.  We were close to the equator and the captain decided to drill us at battle stations, for fun really.  We were mostly scientific ops, and originally back-up to the Polar Star for the main break-in, although we did have to take that over when the reversible pitch screws the Polar class ships came equipped with, had some bugs to iron out before they became fully operational. Any way when the alarm sounded for battle stations, most of the deck crew had no idea where they were suppose to report. There was a chart located somewhere on the ship that designated battle station assignments.  It took sometime for me to locate that, and I thought if we were genuinely under attack, we probably would be on the bottom with Davy Jones locker right now.  Well eventually I found my assignment was Gunner and that I was to report to the bridge.  I thought how in the hell would they make me a gunner?  I was practically blind in my right eye, though I did manage to qualify as marksman on the 45 caliber pistol, in boot camp.  I was surprised that a majority of my company did not qualify.  I had the disadvantage of having to aim with my good left eye, and I was right handed. So I would have to place my whole face on the opposing side of the weapon, so my left eye would be looking down the sight, so my right hand would pull the trigger.  None of this occurred to me at the time.  None of my instructors ever noticed how the mechanics of my shooting, was ass backwards, and it was a miracle that I could shoot accurate at all. It especially was painful and frustrating when I would shoot a bow and arrow. When I would release the bow string/ my face received a string burn as it traveled across my face.  This stuff only donned on me many years later.  So i came to the conclusion that my marksman status was good enough to make me a gunner on USCGC Glacier.  I reported to the bridge, and the XO had the throttle controls, repeating back the order "all ahead full aye aye sir, as he clanged the helm messenger.  The Glacier was doing donuts around a 50 gallon drum, and the gunner was about 1000 yards away which I found out, was the size of a pea on the ocean.  The swell challenged the gunner to time his bursts accordingly, but the splashes of those 50 cal rounds just skipped over the drum.  The Brass was having a lot of fun putting that old ice breaker thru its paces.  All the sudden the XO, commander Taylor ordered me to replace the helmsman.  I got the impression he was not performing up to the standards expected and I was more than happy to make donuts with that massive 300 ft ice breaker around the drum, as I repeated the orders "Right full rudder Aye Aye sir"  then immediately followed by "left full rudder"  "left full rudder aye aye sir" rudder is left full sir"..and on it went.  Then it was my turn to take a crack at it.  I was ordered to man the guns, while are lone gunners mate, instructed me how to operate that, what seemed like a cannon.  I was taken by the power of that gun.  I just touched the trigger and FOOOT ..FOOOT  FOOOT FOOOT  about 8 rounds splashed the water somewhere in the same time zone at that tiny drum bobbing up and down in the south pacific ocean,  They circled around and I tried again, but that speck if I would have hit it would cut it in half.  Finally the senior Gunner took my place and they motored up to that drum, until it was right next to the Glacier and he finally nailed it just before the gun jammed.  That was the end of the  Battle drill, and probably the most fun I had on that voyage.

      

adventure in Pt Arena

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.

 

PAGO PAGO (American Somoa)

PAGO PAGO

        Pago Pago was the last Port -o Call for the Glacier on the return trip from Operation Deep Freeze. I was determined to go diving in the tropical paradise and I was flush with cash having just won big playing blackjack. $400 was a lot of money to me at the time, in fact adjusting for inflation about $1500 in today's money.  (see Glacier Casino https://urchinstyle.blogspot.com/2017/08/glacier-casino-i-must-admit-i-had.html)    I booked a room in the nicest hotel on the island, after the big welcoming party the islanders staged for us. Complete with a band and dancing hula girls.

I proceeded to the small boat marina and asked some locals, loitering around some small boats if they could take me out to reef I spotted on the way in. I Showed them some money, they just laughed at me. Frustrated I decided to check out the shallow reef behind the Hotel. It was only 2 or 3 feet deep, but amazing visibility. I snorkeled out about 50 yards ant then all the sudden the reef just dropped off down to 100 plus feet, replete with the tropical fish aquarium scene I had envisioned. The Glacier was not far away so I swam and got my air tank and regulator.. I dropped down to 80 ft very quickly without realizing it was so deep till I looked at my gage. I was not disappointed with the diving experience.

           That evening I was walking towards one of the 2 bars I was aware of and I chased a huge bull frog I stumbled upon, soon realizing there were dozens of them everywhere. I came upon some tennis courts and smelled the distinct smell of marijuana. I heard some low muffled voices. Being 19 and not unfamiliar with the then illegal weed with a pocket full of money, I approached the group of local natives and offered them $10, if they could share. They laughed and reluctantly agreed. I noticed that one of the natives was a member of the welcoming band that performed for us, as the Glacier pulled in the docking facilities. I was trying to make conversation and asked if they had heard of Mau Tuiasosopho or Manu Tatupu, a couple of Samoan NFL football players I was aware. They said they had and knew the whole family. They then went on about some of history of the island and how it was once a german protectorate and the role it played in WW11. They also mentioned that they had found left over ordinance in some caves up in the hills.

         The front entrance of the bar was visible from our vantage point and all of a sudden some of my shipmates came flying out of the front, and Islanders started apearring out of the hills with clubs and I realized it was a bar room brawl between the locals and my shipmates. I was not inclined to get involved in the action, as I was at a disadvantage, as I had not that much liquid courage in me, and my former smoking companions giving me the stink eye. I nervously thanked my companions and made my way back to the hotel. I ordered a expensive meal and was looking forward to the luxurious queen size bed in the room I had booked. A strangle but not unattractive female sat down at my table and in a low voice propositioned me. I realized that the girl in front of me was really a guy and declined the offer.

         At that momenta BM2 with a Shore Patrol insignia on his arm entered the Hotel and said “Thomas we have been looking all over for you. Liberty is canceled, the locals attacked some crew members at the bar and some of them are hurt, get in the truck now!”

         That was the end of my Pago Pago experience. I heard later the fight was over a girl (of course) there were cuts and bruises, but nothing too serious. I was just fuming at the thought of paying all that money for the hotel room and I never got to stay.

Diving Sydney

       Sydney, Australia    

     The Glacier was due to arrive at Sydney harbor and I was so excited.  We sailed right passed the opera house, and I was anxious to go on liberty.
        I knew I would have only 5 days, in Sydney and I wanted to travel to The Great Barrier Reef.  From what I had read and seen on TV, diving on that famous reef would be spectacular and since I had the opportunity I just had to try.  I looked on a map and tried to make the logistics work so I could have at least 1 day of diving. 800 miles was a long way to travel with only 5 days and I just could nor swing it.  So I wandered around Sydney looking for a dive shop.  In those days we had to    use those cumbersome telephone books, and fold 
up street maps.
     I found one and I walked in and announced to the staff that I had just sailed in on that big red Icebreaker in the harbor and I was determined to go diving somewhere in Australia, if I could not fufill my dream dive on the Great Barrier Reef.  Much to my surprise one of the staff replied that they were headed out right at that moment to Thompsons bay, just up the coast from Bondi Beach. I asked if they could wait for me to take a cab back to the ship to retrieve my gear.  They insisted I did not have time and instructed me to just go ahead and pick my wet-suit and gear from there rental stock and so I did and off we went. I was very pleased with myself that my timing had been right on and I was not disappointed with the dive spot they chose that actually was adjacent to a clothing optional beach.  I was happy to finish my dive with a great view of that heavenly scene as the Aussie girls just seemed so attractive and had little inhibition, unlike American girls, and were very comfortable fully naked basking in the sun, on the flat rocks of Thompsons Bay.  It was not the Great Barrier Reef but the experience was well worth my efforts. As I came out of the water a group of my companions was gathered, having a great laugh and I wondered what was so funny.  They just pointed at me so I looked down and I had inadvertently, in my haste to pick out a suit grabbed a female top, complete with breasts.  The Aussies found that quite amusing.  I did not care they just took me on the dive of my life and the scenery after was well worth the embarrassment and ridicule I received.  They sent me on my way and did not even charge me for the rental on the gear

Escape from Santa Barbara Island

                 Rescued from Santa Barbara Island


      Santa Barbara Island is a tiny speck about halfway between Channel Islands and Santa Catalina Is.  It is generally warmer water and divers can enjoy better visibility, than the northern Channel Islands.  Those conditions however also require diving deeper as the shallower urchins tend to have less quality.  One of the main features on the lee side of the island is a sea lion population that resides in an area known as the seal slide.  The rocks have been worn smooth over time as the sea lions enter the water on the incline.  When they are absent the slide is a dominant feature, in the anchorage.  The noise is deafening when they are present, there incessant barking sounds like Old Blue, the bloodhound that ran himself to death, chasing the scent of Paul Newman after one of his escapes.Some of you older folks might remember the motion picture Cool Hand Luke who was locked up on  the chain gang in the deep south.Well magnify that sound times a hundred and thats what the sea lions sound like times a thousand. If that was not enough when the wind is right the smell is nauseating,

      When diving in the area the sea lions are curious, playful, mischievous and annoying. They are unavoidable.  I have had them pull on my hose, charge me at full speed, just to pull up at the last moment, and I could of swore I heard laughter, when I reacted.  They bite on my fins, and one stole a fish I had on the end of my spear.  At night they are all under and around the boat and there antics create trails of phosphorus illumination. The patterns of the trails are beautiful and awe inspiring. I finally quit giving them any eye contact at all, they would eventually tire of harassing me, if I did not look at them, but every once in a while it was difficult not to play with the pups who were the most excited by our presence, and just adorable. I even quit that after a mother cow charged me baring her teeth. Maybe twice my size, that event shook me up like no other, during my 25 year commercial diving career. Giant Black Sea Bass, moray eels and Garibaldi seem to be more prevalent than in the northern Channel Islands as well.
     The National Park Service has a presence there.  One year that single Park Ranger came out and boarded us for a License and compliance check.  My impression was that he was just lonely and wanted someone to talk to.  He half hardheartedly checked us for regulations compliance and I noticed he was not wearing any socks, which endeared him to me immediately.  He said he stays in an old Quonset hut for an extended period of time, and he was not trying to make it look glamorous or romantic.  I think it was the highlight of his week to come out and check us out.
      There is more bottom around the 1 mile square Island than dry land, on  the island itself.  It is also a little of a gamble diving there, because if your not finding urchins, no where else to go unless you hauled enough fuel to get to St. Nicolas Is.  Another drawback is the ride home is generally into the prevailing weather, which can make for a long miserable voyage if it picks up too much
      So I decided to make a voyage out to SB Island on my vessel Longfin. I knew of an area I could pick some good quality sea urchins and they should be ripe about that time. Johnny Goomer  RIP the diver, that I had on the boat agreed, and we had heard that one of the boats we communicated with regularly was heading out there as well. Now Johnny was a good natured soul, built very slight but his forearms had the hardened appearance that turning wrenches on seized up bolts over the years would create. He had spent 10 years in Federal Prison for agreeing to crew a vessel that was engaged in ferrying out to a cargo vessel and returning to shore with contraband.  Then the worst sin of all ...getting caught.  Johnny had started out working in the processing plant, cracking urchins at first, then moving around to other duties at the plant.  He seized on an opportunity to try diving on the Hey Jude with John Gilsinger, and he was in.

        When I was active duty Small Boat Station Channel Islands Harbor, I did a lot of sea rescues, but none like the one that occurred on the Longfin that trip.  I knew the sea urchins were in tight, up against the cliffs, on the weather side, but it was nice enough to go in tight, that day and since  it was late in the day, I was excited about getting anchored quickly so we could take advantage of the rare conditions. Now Johnny was a good enough diver when he was sober,which was not often, but a great wrench turner. He could remove and replace with the best of em, and small enough so he could climb all around my engine room. Leaving late was a mistake. Upon arrival, I urged him to throw the hook and fast, as I was trying to negotiate the Longfin in between  the wash rocks and  anchor right on top of the urchins. Instead he wanted to argue with me 'well Mike were kinda close.......and uh....."' and all that second guessing me at the wrong time. Furious, I left the wheel and threw the anchor over myself. Johnny almost fell overboard, cig in one hand and beer in the other. Me and Johnny were friends, I knew him 30 years, but I was apoplectic. I told him he was cut off from the beer and he was going to have to sleep on deck, then I kicked a bucket that barely missed him. I am screaming at him, as I jumped in and picked a couple quick bags, i wanted to get to the anchorage with some light left, because I was not very familiar with the  anchorage, at that end of the island. As we were motoring toward the anchorage a Coast Guard helicopter flew overhead. I said to Johnny "here's your chance call them up and get a ride home" I did not think he would actually Do it!!! But he did ..he got on the radio.. "hes gonna kill me" and  any other lie he could think of" Well when we anchored up, I noticed the PEACE was in the anchorage.  The Peace was an old commercial sport dive boat, that had been around a long time.  I was familiar with her as one of my first sea rescues was when the PEACE had capsized down the coast around Deer Creek, some 25 years ago. I was in a supporting role as the 41 footer crews plucked the survivors out of the water and ferried them to the station, I would assist those that needed it, getting them to a warm dry spot and providing hot coffee. So it was a little more than ironic that the roles were reversed, when the Coast Guard had the  skipper of the Peace send a dinghy over and retrieve Johnny. I was happy he was gone but, they told me to stand by while they sent out the 87 foot CG patrol Boat  Halibut. They left Marina del Ray.and they boarded me a couple hours later suited and booted...about 6 of them. They searched my boat looking for something I did not have, for 3 hours asked me a bunch of questions. I told him he disobeyed a direct order in a dangerous situation and was drunk on duty, and I never touched him, although the bucket may have grazed his leg. They finally let me go. Next morning 2 of my diver buddies on the Resurgance Pat Macallion and Dave Garland came motoring around the point. They were laughing there asses off as they heard the play by play on the marine radio, live as it happen. I mentioned I was happy they were entertained.  I  learned from that experience that I should think twice before hiring any of my friends. They took Johnny in on Marina del Ray on the Halibut, and he had to hitch a ride home.  From what I heard the Coast Guardsman were not to helpful or friendly.   I had a very peaceful day diving the next day.   Did not make a lot of money, but I was free of the insubordination, and that was well worth it.

Wellington stowaway and big bugs

During Operation Deep Freeze, The USCGC Glacier landed for fuel and supplies at one of our ports-o- call, Wellington, New Zealand. I was, at that time a sport diver, and I brought my gear aboard. It was imperative for me to seek diving opportunities at the ports I visited and Wellington was no exception. I scoured the town looking for dive shops to no avail. I finally spotted a scuba tank in a sporting goods store and questioned the employee behind the cash register about possible dive shops where I might find a dive charter. I explained who I was, but it was fairly obvious with the Glacier pulling up in the harbor and a bunch of young men with American accents swarming the downtown area. He said there just were not any, but he gave me the phone number of the President of a local dive club. I contacted Ron and he was very friendly and curious about America and Americans. He arranged a dive, and I recruited another diver from the ship to go along, and Ron came and picked us up. We arrived at a boat ramp where a fleet of 10-12 16 ft ski-boats I would call them, was preparing to launch. The Armada made way several miles off shore, when the lead boat began throwing an anchor overboard, after they had lined up some landmarks, near and far in two directions. The old school way of finding a reef that was a desirable lobster spot. That was the mission we found out bagging spiny lobster, similar to the California species, no claws. After several attempts to find the reef, (the anchor line was marked at the depth of the known reef and if the anchor failed to catch at that depth, they would try again.) There was about a 3 knot current, so once the anchor caught, the remaining boats in the fleet just tied off to each other. The reef started at about 90 feet, so this was no joke, I got the feeling the Kiwis were trying to impress us with their macho dive, but after I finally pulled myself down to the bottom with the anchor line, I barely had enough air to look under a couple rocks, so I really was not very happy. Ron could see my displeasure and took us to a shallower easy spot which was cool. I will say one of the club members caught the biggest lobster I had ever seen before or since. Standing holding the tail, the antennae touched the ground, a dinosaur. After the day Ron invited us to his home where his wife and kids were getting ready for dinner, and we had lamb stew (of course) After Dinner he asked a lot of questions about the States and was proud of his record collection where the Rock-n-Roll he played was The New Christy Minstrels, I didn't have the heart to protest. Ron was very gracious and drove us back to the ship, without even charging us for the outing. My diving experience notwithstanding, I was preoccupied with the girls of Wellington. They seemed very attractive and very attracted to us. Being the conservative cultured girls they were, they resisted being blatantly obvious regarding the former. At least for the most part. Denise Sheehan more or less picked me. She would just sit with me at the various bars, clubs and restaurants we frequented, not saying too much, but always seemed quite content to be in my presence. She followed me everywhere, not that I objected, she was 17, of Lebanese decent and very attractive. She came from a traditional Catholic family, and had done some modeling and was pursuing a career as an airline stewardess. She still lived at home with her parents, so finding a private spot was a little challenging, but she managed to persuade her friend to allow us to use their bedroom. My experience in this area was limited, so when my attempts resulted in cries of pain, I withdrew, as I did not want to hurt her. When I relayed that experience to some of my shipmates, they laughed and ordered me to "close the deal" insisting that "size" could not possibly impede me from the task at hand. They threatened to leave me in Wellington unless I was successful. Not that that would be a bad thing, but I would have some "splaynin to do", when I was caught. Meanwhile when I was not spending my time with Denise, some of my buddies met these " less than savory" girls that were convinced that we were going to stow them away, in the ship for our 5 day voyage to Sydney Australia. I found it hard to believe these very attractive girls were going to sell us their bodies for passage to Sydney. However during the tour of the ship we were giving them, they made it clear that they were only going to "pay" just me and my two shipmates. I felt a little troubled that they got the impression that many more than us would be involved. We showed them after cargo which was about 5 levels down in the bowels of the ship, where they would be kept, hidden from the officers as they rarely ventured down there. We explained they would have to wear appropriate attire, as they were really, dressed up during the tour. Mainly jeans and some foul weather clothing. It was not my intention to actual carry out this ruse, at least not the part where we would actually have to follow thru with "our " end of the bargain. I cant really say if my shipmates were on the same page, regarding that serious violation of the Universal Code of Military Justice. I was only half halfheartedly part of the conspiracy, since Denise was "waiting in the wings " I suppose the girls had good reason to expect a successful voyage as, the previous year a girl actually made it all the way to Seattle aboard the Polar Star, before they were found out, and she was quiclkly deported. Scuttlebut never did reveal what the consequences were for the perpetrators. It just so happen this particular individual was identified, and her picture was posted aboard ship, with strict orders to avoid. Apparently she was not deterred in her efforts as she was seen (by me and others) strolling the dock. Ironically some 30+ years later I ran into a Coast Guard Veteran who happen to serve duty on the Polar Star.. When I relayed the story to him about the stowaway, he informed me that there is a plaque displayed aboard the Polar Star commemorating the event.. He also said that apparently this girl ended up being a very successful physician, after sowing her wild oats, that will forever be part of the Icebreaker lore. * As for our potential stowaways we conveniently gave the girls a later departure time that left them in Wellington. I felt a little guilt about the whole thing, but that went away when I was successful with Denise and I did not have to return to the ship a failure. She was very keen on marriage, but I was so young I was not sure, but I did tell her one day, that on my return trip the following year ( tour of duty was normally 2 trips south) if she still felt the same way, I would marry her. Oh my God! she started telling her parents all her friend, they were celebrating popping champagne bottles, congratulations, the works. I said to myself uh oh, what did I do? As it turned out, directly after our voyage completed the Glacier was due for Todd Shipyards in San Pedro for overhaul, dry dock....misery, if you happened to live on the ship which I did. If it was not for the fire watches, which consisted of crawling into a small hot space with little ventilation with a union welder, while he went about his welding task , I might have resigned myself to suffer the violation and indignity of having union welders and workers sleeping in the enlisted mans day room. Not to mention the noise smoke dust and overall torturous living conditions. But all those put together, I was looking for a way out. Divine intervention saved me, at least that was my go-to explanation for the events that were about to transpire. One day I was informed by the senior chief petty officer that Small Boat Station Channel Islands Harbor had an opening for a full Seaman. He announced the opportunity to the deck force and I thought to myself 'this is my way out' Looking back, in more ways than one, as that my "engagement" would be in jeopardy as well. One other seaman was interested as he was from the area, about 50 miles north of San Pedro, in Oxnard. The Chief decided the choice would be made with a coin flip. My destiny was sealed when I saw the head of George Washington on the quarter in his hand. *After submitting this story and posting it to my blog, I received an anonymous comment, revealing to me the name of the stowaway I mentioned above. Dr. Lauren Roche. Before I continue about the good Dr. I want to add that have no idea why the anonymous person that revealed the doctors identity to the comment section of this blog entry, would wish to remain anonymous. I replied with several theories, not to the identity of the individual, but where this person would come upon the information that only a small group of people could have known about (That turned out to be an erroneous assumption, as will become clear in a moment) I received no response and the person is still a mystery. I did a Google search and found the whereabouts of Dr Roche. I emailed her with my story and inquired if she indeed was the stowaway I wrote about. Her e mails follows www.laurenkimroche.com www.laurenkimroche.com Hello, Mike Yes. It’s me. I wrote my story in the book ‘Bent Not Broken’ and am just beginning to write the screenplay for a proposed movie of the same name. I always wore clothes under my coat J I’m an author now, have a novel with an agent and another with a mentor. Life is good. Lovely to hear from you. I’m happy for you to use my name. Bent Not Broken is out o0f print, though can be bought second hand on many Kiwi sites – Trademe is a good one. I’ll reprint if the movie goes ahead, Best wishes, Lauren PS There is a plaque on the Polar Star, will hunt out a pic of it when I’m home, am at work in my General Practice at the moment. Lauren RocheJune 17, 2019 at 2:39 PM Hello. I am Dr Lauren Roche and can confirm I am the woman you write about. I didn't go aboard any ship naked under a coat though :-) I can think of one or two of my acquaintances that might have done so. My story is told in my autobiographical book Bent Not Broken. If you can track down a copy you might enjoy the read, Laurem www.laurenkimroche.com :-) ReplyDelete Lauren RocheJune 17, 2019 at 2:41 PM also, I managed to hitchhike around the USA for 3 months before being caught, spending two nights sleeping on the Glacier as I passed through Long Beach. All those years ago. :-) I don't know how close Bushroad Co NZ is to the resort, but I'll recommend it to the Dr, and perhaps she will meet a fellow urchin diver for an appropriate ending to this bizarre tale. at June 15, 2017 Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest 5 comments: UnknownJune 13, 2019 at 3:56 AM Dr Lauren Roche is her name !!! ReplyDelete Replies Michael ThomasJune 13, 2019 at 5:44 AM Now how in hell could you know that??? If you dont want to reveal your identity, you could at least give me some kind of generic scenario that would explain how you would have that information. I suppose I could make a guess. You were probably stationed aboard the Polar Star, during that time, or were the spouse of a crew member. I am thinking you were an Officer,and fraternizing with enlisted personnel, is verboten, or were among the guilty crew members who pulled it off.Either way I am a little disappointed that we could not connect and compare notes Delete Reply Michael ThomasJune 13, 2019 at 5:40 PM I shared the story with a friend and she said only 1 person could have sent that comment......Thank You Doctor ReplyDelete Lauren RocheJune 17, 2019 at 2:39 PM Hello. I am Dr Lauren Roche and can confirm I am the woman you write about. I didn't go aboard any ship naked under a coat though :-) I can think of one or two of my acquaintances that might have done so. My story is told in my autobiographical book Bent Not Broken. If you can track down a copy you might enjoy the read, Laurem www.laurenkimroche.com :-) ReplyDelete Lauren RocheJune 17, 2019 at 2:41 PM also, I managed to hitchhike around the USA for 3 months before being caught, spending two nights sleeping on the Glacier as I passed through Long Beach. All those years ago. :-) ReplyDelete

Columban

Jeff Luboff and the Columban

Jeff Luboff was the Jewish skipper of the f/v Columban. I only mention he is Jewish because in my experience it was rare, and it also helps explain some of the traits of his personality, positive and negative that somewhat fit the stereo typical tendencies one hears about. He made sure everyone knew he was also a distant relative of Larry of 3 Stooges fame. There was a resemblance, as I had ample opportunity to compare as Jeff would have the 3 stooges playing on his little 8 inch black and white TV between dives Moe, Larry and Curly would carry out there antics, and provide us with an amusing diversion. I never thought they were that funny, to tell tell the truth. More amusing, than anything. Jeff was a hard charger, and slightly temperamental, but he calmed down fairly quickly and he did have quite a sense of humor and did not take himself too seriously.

        The Columban was 40 something fishing boat that did not have divers in mind when it was built. It was used for trolling for salmon in northern waters of Washington and Oregon, It was equipped with flopper stoppers, which were deployed during rough weather, as it seemed the boat wanted to capsize every roll it would take. Full galley and full size bunks allowed were a plus, and a head was included which was a step up from a 5 gallon bucket or over the side, which most urchin boats provided. I liked working with Jeff because he did not mess around scratching local, he went right to the good picking and he knew where to find it.

         Jeff also swordfished during the summer months, so he installed a tower, to spot the swordfish from and a bow plank to harpoon them from. I had the privilege of making a swordfish trip when the tower was incomplete and there was just a metal bar to sit on while scouring the ocean with binoculars in search of a fin. I would yell out every sunfish shark, or any thing with a fin besides a swordfish, much to Jeffs derision. I was happy to climb down from that tower it was fairly miserable in the hot sun especially since nobody spotted a swordfish. 

      There were multiple different divers on the boat but Devin was the most consistent. Devin was a good natured sort, and took things in stride so I did not get too upset at him when he accidentally nearly drowned me.

Jeff had spotted a huge old anchor that looked like it was from the 15^th century. Even tally all 3 of us were filling float balls we had hooked on it in an attempt to float it. Somehow my hose got tangled up in the hoist line and Devin yanked so hard on my hose that it pulled the regulator out of my mouth. That was the last time I went without a clip off on my regulator. We failed to salvage the anchor but I did find the anchor from the Columban when I was working on the Dusky though I did not know it at the time, when I retrieved it from the bottom at San Nicolas Island, though it did look slightly familiar. I was off Dusky not too long after and Jeff let me aboard and asked me if I found an anchor since he lost his the day the Dusky was working nearby. I was happy to say I had and he gave me $50 bucks for it.

       Jeff and I went back and forth he fired me then hired me back a couple times. The polypro line that had to be pulled to set the flopper stoppers back in place was like needles into hands, and with no gloves handy and Jeff impatient, I recall I was looking for another boat the next day.

         Jeff went on to buy a bigger newer Boat the Nikki J and I did my tour on that boat as well. Jeff then purchased a plane to be used to spot the swordfish with and at first hired pilots, then eventually received his pilots license and hired himself out to other sword fishermen. He has been very successful although he did have a little hiccup when he crashed in the ocean. I spoke with him shortly after and he probably was overloaded with fuel. Pushing the envelope again.

Vista Clara

Vista Clara

The Vista Clara or Clear View was named by the owner Greg Real in some part because his own eyesight was a little shaky. According to what he said anyway.

       I could understand the irony. Greg was giving me a sales pitch to come work on his brand new 27ft Anderson with twin 350s . It was a fast boat and he would beat the crap out us in choppy seas to drive home that fact. He was in need of a couple good divers, or any divers for that matter, to make the math work out for his bottom line. House payment and boat payment etc. It did not hurt that I had the 1 ton international dually pick-up, because the truck he owned did not have adequate horsepower to pull his boat out of the water.

        Greg was a smart guy, you would think he would have foreseen this problem. I suspect he did, but made a business decision to hold off, anticipating he would not need to pull the boat out of the water for a while. After all , I am thinking he thought, brand new boat, which should be working steadily that summer up in Northern California, and he could rent a guest slip at the marina during downtimes. Fair enough a reasonable forecast. Then when I came into the picture, plan B was hatched. It was a good thing because what Greg did not anticipate was the bugs. Experienced operators, know that a brand new commercial vessel, has to be “broken In so to say. It is refereed to as 'getting the bugs out.' This process is applicable to brand new commercial machine equipment in many fields. It turns out Greg had more bugs than the average. The annoying little things that would go wrong, seemed endless. Several of them were serious enough to haul the boat out of the water. This delayed or postponed diving operations, and frustrated the crew. Greg appeared apoplectic at times. All those lost days and the money he could have earned. Greg had all the numbers in his head. Eventually the bugs got worked out and I did not expect any compensation for providing my trucks services when the need arose as I had a vested interest in keeping the boat working. He eventually purchased one, but in the meantime I was more than happy to perform that service for him, if only to show off what my old truck could do.

      Greg's Dad was a WWII veteran and the Bataan death March. That was reflected in Greg's operation, especially in the food area. Greg was a wizard with money, and was always in the hunt for the next big money making scheme. Raising earth worms in his backyard was one I was talked into helping with. He was going to get rich raising earthworms. Sounded good at the time he had a good sales pitch, that im sure was used on him. Never quite mentioned how that turned out.

       Greg was high energy and he was really excited about his new boat and operation. He had been working on one of the Glen Huebner boats for a while. Rocky was running the Nu Venture for Glen. The NU Venture was a converted tidewater boat, that used to run supplies out to the oil rigs from Carpenteria and other places. Not very fast but sturdy, I worked on her for a trip when Glen was desperate for crew and offered me 70 percent, when I hesitated.

       Anyway I had seen Greg on the NU Venture many times. What he lacked in diving talent he made up for in the other areas I have mentioned. I had issue s with his method of payment. Well not really his method but the delay. When I complained, he offered to buy me a hamburger.

After I blew up he explained that he had to run all the money thru a specific bank in SB. The Bank gave him his loans and that was one of the conditions. Since we were in Bodega Bay, paychecks took way longer than I was comfortable with.

I was more than relieved when the processors began cutting divers checks less the boat owners share. Even though this was an on going trend in the urchin business, some owners would still insist on getting the check and paying the crew through their account. Probably so the longer they took to pay, the more interest earned on money that was not technically theirs.

It happened that I was working on the Vista Clara right around the same time Andreas began buying urchins. Greg was all for it, as his prices were higher. I am sure he was paying more to gain market share,in competition with the established processors.

I was so happy to get 90 cents a pound for traditionally poor quality from San Nicolas Island. Big huge urchins, plenty of roe but dark. One day Greg was arguing with Andreas brother because the price came down from a buck. Greg would not listen to me about business decisions. I just wanted to get the check and get the hell out of there, with our 90 cents. I still felt like we were getting away with something. Greg was not to happy with me, and I ended up moving on shortly thereafter. Greg tried being a light boat for the squid fishery, for awhile. He ended up selling yachts to the rich and not-so-famous. Last time I saw him he wanted me to go down to Mexico and re-po a boat, though nothing ever came of it

Below the Antarctic Circle

Below the Antarctic Circle

Almost there...Mt Erebus                             USCGC Polar Star Dead in ther water awaiting

McMurdo Station USCGC Glacier              The Glaciers Triumphant takeover of the main

                                                                            break in.

Suddenly I felt something hitting the ship. I looked up at the Chiefs and 1^st class sailors I was playing poker with, and they just grinned and said “ we are here” Then they suggested I look out the porthole. I gazed at the chunks of ice called “floes” Not big enough to qualify as a “Berg” but numerous enough that there was no avoiding them completely, and staying on course at the same time. It was about midnight and the sun was still above the horizon.  I could see ahead where the ice became solid.  I assumed it was land and the continent we were heading for, but much to my surprise it was not, it was the “fast ice” we were about to break thru. Initially 26 miles of it, from 6 to 12 feet thick. It took us 3 weeks of backing and ramming, to cover that distance. I know because one of my duties was to climb over the side on a Jacobs ladder every hour during my watch. Equipped with a can of red spray paint and a fishing pole, which had markings every 3 feet or so that enabled us to record the distance we had progressed. One man would hold the fishing pole adjacent the bow of the ship. Paint a red X at his feet, and the other would take the end of the fishing line and run it back to the previously marked X. The distance was recorded in the log and back up the ladder. I was thinking I could cover 26 miles walking backwards in less time that I would take the aging Icebreaker backing and ramming.

That night as I stood watch freezing my ass off in the 1^st lieutenants office I started a poem using the rime of the Ancient Mariner as a template.

White white everywhere

Back and Ram with crushing care

Thru the Ice we carve

So McMurdo doesn't starve

12 FEET THICK WE BREAK

WISH IT WAS A PIECE OF CAKE

Ensign Wood has the Con

Challenging this mighty Lawn

splashing red against the white

Glacier groans with all her might

penguins and seals cant out run

the metal beast against the sun

THE OFFICERS LIKE KEEPING SCORE

ADDING TO THIS ICY LORE

20 trips have been made

by this future razor blade

When were done well turn around

then back and ram another round

     As it turns out one of my duties aboard ship as a seaman apprentice, ( soon to be promoted to full Seaman) was to stand lookout watches.  Normally a lookout watch would station himself outside of the bridge, or sometimes during the fog up on the foc'sule ( Forecastle) which is the bow of the ship.  However, special circumstances aboard an icebreaker require the lookout standing watch in the Ross Sea  ascend to the Loft Con which in so many words is a glorified crows nest on steroids. It is enclosed with lights heat radar and a helm  and compass a miniature pilot house about 3/4 the way up the stack.  during actual ice breaking operations the officer of the watch stands duty in the loft con so he has a birds eye view of the ice and the best way to negotiate the solid fast ice that just looks like part of the land except frozen white.  Until that time the lookout watch stands duty in the loft con, which was my privilege to be instructed to climb up the inside of the stack in a near gale, to the aforementioned loft con. The pitch black darkness and the frozen metal inside the stack made this duty a little challenging.  I just kept climbing until I bumped my  head on a hatch with a handle, so I turned it pushed up climbed up on the platform that thankfully had a railing, and held on for dear life. The the wind was blowing about 30 knots in about a 20 foot sea, at night.  Then as the Glacier listed to one side. It seemed like an eternity before she rocked back the other,way. I was having the ride of my life, and I soon realized I was in the wrong place. I skedaddled back down into the stack and eventually located the hatch of the loft con, thankful to find it heated and lit. I suspected that the barely muffled chuckles of mirth I later heard from the bridge watch , probably gave away that they may have had something to do with the fact that the light that was supposed to indicate the loft con hatch, was suddenly not working at that convenient time. At least I did not go searching for the relative bearing grease or the sea chest, or the proverbial brass magnet. I considered the episode another unofficial initiation. 
    Back to the poker game. I must admit I had played a game of poker or two, when I was in high school, but I was about to get schooled in the art/science of gambling.  Made even more relevant, in the scheme of things, as I was sequestered with 300 men underway aboard ship.  Our salaries were payed in cash and we really had no where really to spend money, except in the tiny ships store which they opened up only occasionally. The Filipino cooks were my nemesis and my lesson in gambling was expensive, but I always agreed one has to pay for an education and pay for it I did. One very important lesson I learned, was how and why those Filipinos won so much money and more importantly how they won so much of my money. The answer was they cheated. Now they were good at it, and I did not actually catch them cheating, and I cant say that cheating was the only reason that they won, but it was revealed to me, by my supervisor who happen to be the Captains cook. 1st Class Shit Slinger ( I cant even remember what the S.S. really stands for) Filipino.  I think he decided to take me under his wing as he was counting my pay, along with his other winnings. Maybe because I was so determined and committed to losing. Even though I won some too, I was quite a spectacle as I was as hooked as a gutter heroin addict. Or maybe he was looking for a partner, as I found out, they work in teams sometimes, which makes their cheating even more effective.
        There were 3 separate poker games. 1 for E-5 and under. 1 for chiefs and 1st class, and 1 for the officers and I never saw that game.  The stakes of the games increased in relation to rank, and we played payday stakes which means there was no money on the table.  We played with chips and someone kept the books, who was called the "Banker"  and on payday the losers payed up, or were suppose to.  It could get very uncomfortable to those who avoided responsibility in this area. Now the 1st class sailors were wobblers they could and would play in either game, whether it was with the Chiefs or the e-5 and below. I started out in the lower stakes game, but I realized the Big Money was the Chiefs game usually held in a space that was not in the chiefs mess, so the 1st class sailors could play as chiefs only were allowed in the Chiefs mess.
      Well I eventually summoned up the courage to play in the Chiefs game, and that was not without the glares and the derisive comments that emanated from the players, but quickly subsided after I lost a couple of pay periods worth of cash, to that game, in fact I believe I was made to feel right at home, after a while, and it certainly wasn't because of my looks or magnetic personality.  I had the distinction of being the only E-5 or below crew member to be stupid enough (or as I would say "has the Balls enough") to play with the Chiefs.  That attitude soon backfired on me, when one day I found that the Chiefs had moved the game into the Chiefs mess. This was a problem for me, since I was in debt to that game and without an opportunity to alleviate that situation, by playing in it, I would be stuck with that debt.  I would have none of it, and being the naive rookie, in over his head, I waltzed right in to the Chiefs mess and sat done at the game.  This was like entering the Holy of Holies, where the Ark of the Covenant was on display.  I ignored the glares and stares and mutterings, only to be informed as politely as I could ever hope to expect I was not welcome there.  I expressed my concerns and the game was moved back out to a site where I would be allowed to participate. I guess I raised quite a stir and then a little respect as the Chiefs realized I was no going to be hornswaggled in that way without a fight.
       Now the crap game was new to me.  I quickly learned the rules as I observed my shipmates involved in what looked and sounded like, what Meyer Lansky may have observed while growing up in the lower east side of New York, before he tried to dominate the gambling rackets of that place.  Get paid and find a bulkhead in the same space you got paid.   Just Crazy, lose your whole check in minutes.
      So back and forth it went, until one day, while engaged in ice breaking operations in McMurdo sound I found myself in a head to head blackjack game with none other than Captains cook  1st class.  I was winning and he was pissed,  He would not let me leave with his money, so hand after hand it went, even after they announced liberty at McMurdo station, I felt obligated to at least, allow him to attempt to win his money back. And I wanted off that ship in a bad way.  I walked away with $400 of his money, which represented almost a months pay for me, in 1978. I thought he was going to kill me after searching his face on my way out.
      Well I was feeling pretty cocky as I scrambled up the iced over hill that was supposed to be a road towards McMurdo base proper. The base was not really a pretty sight. It resembled an old mining town only white. The road up was steep and hazardous, as the fatal casualty could attest. A fork lift rolled onto a crewmember who was assisting in loading ops, sad to say.   I learned there was 3 bars, enlisted mans bar, chiefs bar, and officers bar.  The enlisted mans bar was known as The Snake Pit. So into the Snake Pit I went, with a wad of cash in my pocket.  I noticed that one of the cooks had a fairly easy shot at the 8 ball, on one of the pool tables.  I slapped down a 20 and retorted that I bet that 20 that he would miss the shot.  Well some of the sailors told me that he had been running the table all night and that was a pretty stupid bet.  I did,nt care, I was flush with cash and I felt like  superman. So as he lined up his shot, I grabbed the 40 bucks."YES!!!!" Now some might say I was a little quick on the draw and that may have startled that cook and he may have missed because of that, but nobody challenged me so as far as I was concerned I was good to go.  James Bond, The Spy Who Loved Me... playing on the projector, I sallied up to the bar and bought drinks for all my friends.
      After I skidded on my ass all the way down the hill, back to the ship,  (I was trying to take a short cut and fell on my ass, and that's where I stayed all the way down the hill) I made my way to galley, frozen ass and all, because I was Hungry and it was about time for Mid Rats.  Midnight Rations, which was served for the watch standers underway because they may have missed evening chow.  Well I was disappointed to learn that since McMurdo was considered a port-o-call mid rats was cancelled.  Dejected and drunk I stumbled to the berthing area and collapsed on the couch. Well lo and be hold who should be coming down the ladder, none other than the cook who just lost 20 dollars on the pool table to some drunk loudmouth.  ( that would be me)  so I offered him a deal.  I said I would return his 20 dollars if he would make me a sandwich, since he had access to the galley.  I specified what I wanted on it and he agreed.  A few minutes later he came down with what was not even close to what I ordered.Well right behind him I then noticed a couple of my shipmates coming    down with plates of food.  I then asked what was going on?  I thought mid-rats was cancelled?            Apparently some rank higher up countermanded that order.  Well I refused to pay that cook his money back,under the circumstances and I did not get what I ordered anyway.  I went to go open my locker and CRACK I felt and heard on the back of my head.  I reach around with my hand a came away with a handful of blood.  I went completely berserk, as pummeled the cooks face, with my fists. I normally wont kick anybody when they are down, but with this case I made an exception and gave him a couple in the ribs,due to the fact it was such a grievous sneak attack.  We both ended up in sick bay, where the senior corpsman was a warrant officer, drunker than a skunk, began yelling at the cook what a pussy he was, after he found out what happen.  The next morning, I had my eggs served to me, by that cook with a sour look on his face and two shiners on both eyes.
       Somehow I was the bad guy since this cook was considered a weaker opponent, at least to some of deck force that let me know.  I was not feeling too guilty because ; number 1 he had a weapon, a coffee cup and number 2 he attacked me from behind with no warning.  No formal charges were filed, however and I considered the matter closed.