Battle Ops

Battle ops.


 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.

      

Abandon Ship

Abandon ship!!

         There was a time when an opportunity arose for me shower in a waterfall. It was a pleasant passing daydream that became overwhelming when I spotted the idyllic scene at the end of a beach in a little town just south of Pt Arena , Cooks beach in Gualala provided  a picture postcard scene, about a ten foot drop the water was running just fast enough and the surrounding rocks left just enough space where I could stand comfortably under the fresh water.
           Kieth Whitney was a tough, mid-western farm boy, who was built like one of those tractors he used to drive who was also a heavy equipment operator and a fabricator and mechanic. Not very articulate, but with a soft heart, and not a little gullible.  He also could be very stubborn in his aw schucks kinda way.  He also was a hoarder and collector.  Where the collector ended and the hoarder began  is any one's guess, but if you need something for you boat or truck, he was my go to guy. I  would not go so far to say we were partners, but he did work for me years later when I was converting my boat the Longfin into a sea urchin dive boat. He migrated into the Sea Urchin business when John Gill recruited him to help him restore the Kimmie Sue named after Johns girl friend at the time.  He basically was the Tender/ Mechanic/ operator for John. Anyone else Tender and fix it man..It just so happen one day Luke Brost asked Kieth to operate his boat while he was on vacation. The "Office" was  a 24 ft Radon well seasoned and I had worked on her before.  We set out of Pt Arena , Me Kieth and Lukes regular dive Bruno.  Bruno was a character,he was the antithesis of your typical urchin diver.  Where most divers had fairly sufficient egos to make competition interesting Bruno was non-chalant and admitted he was not that great of a diver and he really could not stand the daily grind, and the hard work it entailed. He said it was the best way he knew how to make some decent money.  Truth be told he was a fairly decent diver. In fact once you get to a certain point, it is mostly psychology that separates divers. His low key nature was a relief from all the machismo, present among the fleet.
               It was blowing about 25-30 knots as we rounded the point headed south, but you could hide from the weather in the numerous little bays and coves, that were typical along that part of the coast.  Only trouble with that is, that's what everyone else did  so the urchins were becoming scarce in those areas. Kieth was gloating as the skipper, but I still had control of our destination because I was the diver, and of course Bruno was just along for the ride .  At least that's how I saw it.  Well the compressor would not start, so we decided it would be best to tuck into  Gualala  bay and it was idyllic, out of the wind and the rugged cliff shore peppered with redwood trees, made way for the white sand sloping beach.  Picture postcard perfect.  Cant say much for the crews camaraderie though. although Bruno and I got along ok. I had the wheel as we made for the anchorage to work on the compressor.  There were 2 fairly large wash rocks guarding the bay.  The near shore rock was navigable on the shore side, as I seen many boats take that route tide permitting, and that was the shortest route so I headed that direction when Kieth's ego, got the better of him , or me or both and he insisted that we avoid the shore and go around the Outer wash-rock. The bottom meter was not reading anything that might show a sudden rise in the bottom, but Kieth pulled rank as he was technically the operator, and the Bruno remained diplomatically neutral, as it seemed he was enjoying the show. Kieth and I were performing with our overblown egos and stubbornness.  I took one look at that waterfall, then another, and decided that I would never get this opportunity again.  So I stuffed all my clothes in a plastic bag, tied it to a floater and abandon ship.  I made a b-line for the beach, and when I looked back Kieth was in a state of shock, Bruno, could barely hide the grin that was forming on his face.  Kieth's share of my potential catch was forfeit, to the waterfall gods, as I made it to shore and 15 minutes, stripped my wetsuit off.  Buck naked with not a sole around to protest, though I doubt it would of done any good.  I relished the crystal clean cool waterfall.  I allowed the freshwater into all of my orifices with delight, and as my epiphany, subsided I got dressed and hiked up to the general store for a 6 pack.  After I polished off the 6 pack  I packed up my gear as only an urchin diver could and parked on highway 1, hitched out my thumb and hoped a car would stop. Well lo and behold who should come chugging around the bend grinding his gears as he negotiated the sharp curves and inclines highway 1 provided, but our very own truck driver on his way to pick up our urchins.  He recognized me immediately, pulled off and as I threw my gear in the back, I could hardly wait to tell the tale of the waterfall and the wayward diver.  The convenient ride home by the truck driver made a perfect ending to the story.  I did not make any money that day, but I experience something no money could buy.  Utter satisfaction that I turned the tables on Keith and the best shower I have ever had.

The Office With the owner Luke Brost

Murdoch Fortuna and the navy whaler

         There was a time when an investor bought up 3 wooden old navy boats at auction and rounded up some divers he knew, threw together lots of urchin gear Cargo nets,floaters clips and lots of it, and his mission was to provide the processors with sufficient tonnage so he could make some money.
       Jim Stewart was a shrewd business man.  When he recognized an opportunity to make some money, he would act, especially if it involved an aspect that was near and dear to his heart. For instance, Southern California, the ocean , Channel Islands, and fishing.  The Murdoch was a 40 foot plus beast of an old wooden boat.  Another bow-loader and a steering station that had a hatch in the overhead, that the helmsman could poke his head out for better visibility. Now Jim was well into middle-age when he devised this scheme, but he thought it would be a good revenue source for his son, who was having a little trouble finding direction in life. So Jim Jr would skipper the Murdoch which acted as a pick-up boat for the Fortuna and the Navy Whaler. We never really named her, and we really could not put any urchins onboard.  She was only about 26 ft and about 4 ft across but we did rig a compressor with hoses and cargo nets with float balls and a couple anchors.  She had a little three cylinder diesel that ran, we could do about 7 or 8 knots.  Me and little Billy Williams (son of the late Bill Williams that we lost in an earlier story) would fill the cargo nets and then float them on an anchor and the Murdoch would come and pick them up.  In theory...within a day or 2....Sometimes it worked out
      .This is a what the boat looked like before the compressor, hoses, net bags and floaters. Several anchors were necessary for the bags. We did not want to risk tipping it over, so we actually did not load urchins  on her, and she was tippy. Could make about 7 knots
     

       Pat McCallion is a family man, an Irishman and a beast of an urchin diver. He was among the1^st generation pioneers that created the fishery, in California and I learned the two handed picking technique from him that increased my productivity, in a significant way. In his youth he told me a story of how he barely missed making the 1972 Olympic track team as a 880 runner. By the way he picked urchins, one could tell there was a real athlete at his core. He is a generous soul who would always be ready to share a meal and or his home. He was also a skilled poker player, as I found out the hard way while anchored in Pyramid cove San Clemente Island. We were working the pick-up boat, and Pat more times than not cleaned me and the other divers out.

       Pat was an easy going skipper, when he was operating the Fortuna for Jim. Pat led by example, which was refreshing, since I had experienced many up-tight, ego driven skippers, that tended to demotivate me.

      I remember losing a string of net bags, while anchored on the Fortuna. I dont remember how long he was on the wheel searching for them the next day, but it was way longer than I would have lasted. He finally found them and he was my hero from then on. I only was able to pick more weight than Pat one time, when I kicked it into high gear, after snapping out of a love sick depression that kept me on deck of the Fortuna for a week.

      The Fortuna was the main work boat and most of the time she was towing the Navy whaler around untill we anchored up, and then me and little Billy would take off and find our own little spot.  More times than not we would end up just towing our net bags back to the Fortuna so they could load them.  I was ok with that until we started losing nets. The Fortuna was another old Navy, double planked wooden beast of a boat and Jim had the idea to make about 6 diving stations.  There was a nearly rusted out hand railing around the 40ft + vessel, and no anchor winch.  It was a nightmare pulling that hook, we had to have 3 of us up there, and still it was no joke but pull it we did. So 6 divers at times would crowd each other with elbows and assholes jockeying for position to get on the best picking spot. As time went on 5 4 even 3 divers would be left after the rust settled, but Jim always had a spot for any wayward diver that might drift by and he kept the boat full of cheap canned food and beer.  Pat insisted on that. So the operation kept afloat as long as there was supplies and fuel.
      So one day we were exploring the coast in and around Dana pt, and we found a few decent spots but mostly we surveyed for miles before we found any thing and it could get frustrating, but the weather was not always cooperative for the outer islands so we had to do some thing, anyway Billy and I ventured with the Whaler up toward San Clemente Pier and we found a really decent spot we had about 12 net bags and floaters and we filled them up pretty quickly.  It was a classic summer day and the surf was pretty good, threw us around a little on the bottom but at least the visibility stayed ok in the heavy sand and rock bottom.  Well we anchored the whaler with a couple of anchors to be safe, and tied our string of net bag s behind that and decided to swim in for a six pack.  The beach was packed with bikini girls surfers frisbees and dogs, sun burned kids, you name it.  So when 2 divers come swimming in the Lifeguards completely freaked out. They had no idea what we were doing or why.  They cried and said we were too close to the pier and they were worried we might drag anchor, or something. I told them we had two anchors out and I had $1000 dollars worth of sea urchins that I had to call the processor to send the pick up boat because our radio was out. Which was only half true, but sounded good.  I said we would not be long and we were not after I stripped off my top and walked to the liquor store for that 6 pack.  We swam back out. and anchored the nets and headed back toward where we had last seen the Fortuna..  I think the Murdoch finally showed up about 2 days later after the urchins, were almost spoiled in that warm surface water with nothing to eat.
      The climax of the Fortuna saga began outside Pyramid anchorage on the southern and furthest side of San Clemente Island.  The water being so clear it was fairly easy to drop down to 100 + feet, without really realizing it.  The old decompression meters we used back then, were not the best instrument to rely on, to keep track of how saturated with nitrogen a diver would get on deep repetitive dives, but it was all we had back then, and we made the best of it. Generally most divers tried to stay out of decompression diving but inevitably when the money was good, the risks became more "acceptable" There was an older diver aboard the Fortuna, Scott Siebert.  He was a former boat owner and a nice enough fellow, but he pushed the limits, chasing after an old anchor he spotted down in a hole about 125 ft, he said later.  He floated up his prize and climbed aboard,  Well no sooner had he stood up when "WHAM" down he went to the deck.  We assisted him and when we realized he was probably suffering from a cns gas bubble that rendered him numb for a moment.  We told him to go back down immediately and hang off for at least 30 minutes.  He would have none of it.  He ripped off his suit as fast as he could and started drinking, and taking asprin, as he must have had some pain as well.  We all shook are heads, but you cant force someone to accept treatment. We finished up the day unloaded on the pick -up boat and just before we headed to our night anchorage Pat asked Scott if he wanted to go in on the pick-up boat or have us call the Coast Guard.  We could not raise them on the radio way down in that anchorage.  Scott said no he was fine and we anchored up ate dinner, and just before we all started heading for the sack Scott blurts out"I cant pee!!" Well most divers know that that is a classic symptom of decompression sickness.  We were all a bit perturbed at Scott for being so stupid, in the face of permanent injury or worse, and now we had to pull that hook and head out to the point where we could raise the Coast Guard on the radio.

      We finally reached the Coast Guard, and they sent a helicopter out and dropped a rescue swimmer on the Fortuna and the Scot was med-evaced off into the night. but not before he gave me a Billy something that would of been a little embarrassing to explain to the rescue and medical personell, since it was not exactly legal to posses. We made short work of that.
    Fast forward about 1 year.  I was in Pt. Arena at Rollerville campground.  One of only 2 public campgrounds close by.  When Pat  and Jim rolled up on me, while I was cooking at my site with my 65 International  Pick-up ..Stepside.  Equipped with my first Alaskan Camper.  Pat exited Jims Vehicle and he did not appear too happy, as he said I have been looking all over for you.  Then he drove almost 400 miles to hand me a subpoena , compelling me to appear as a witness at a deposition  Scott had sued Jim for negligence  for not making the necessary  repairs and maintenance.
      I felt so sorry for Jim, though his operation did have some substandard equipment, it was totally Scotts fault, what happen to him.  Anyway Jim flew me from San Fransico Airport to LAX and paid for my Hotel and a couple hundred bucks I negotiated, to say just that.  It did no good however Scotts lawyer, twisted the scenario and there was a settlement in Scotts Favor.  Needless to say that was the end of that operation.

Avalon

Avalon      

      Now I always felt from time to time, that it was necessary to expand my horizons, especially when it came to diving for sea urchins.  Now I admit there were several schools of thought on the most efficient, profitable way to go about harvesting sea urchins. Now it seems that individual personal situation, influenced which school you belonged to. For me it was always more exciting to explore new territory. It was also more risky, the further you go the more fuel costs. Fortunately for me I was able to branch out, sometimes not by choice, but of circumstance. Which leads me to the summer I spent in Avalon. Catalina Island.
      The closest port to San Clemente Island, was Dana point. There was not much infrastructure there for off loading and commercial fishing in general.  It was more of a pleasure yacht harbor.  So San Pedro, or more specifically Fish Harbor, Terminal Island. The arm pit of harbors, with its abandon tuna canneries, dilapidated docking facilities, rotton old fishing boats of every description, not to mention all the drug addicts and thieves that wandered the area. This was only surpassed by the Federal Prison and the pet food cannery that gave the place an awful stench, was the next closest harbor to the southern Islands of the Channel Islands.  This was not what I had in mind when I wanted to expand my horizons.
      The Pick-up boat Tommi Si and later The Boss was working San Clemente Island, and that gave me the opportunity for adventure, and make some money.  San Clemente Island was a beautiful place to dive.  Up to 100 ft visibility, warm water and large sea urchins, which filled the cargo nets fast.  It was fun seeing your whole day in front of you when you first put your face mask in the water.  Mostly deeper diving from 50 to 90 ft and deeper if you dared, it gave us extra deck time to breath off the nitrogen.  Off loading to the pick- up boat and then anchoring up for the beer and barbecue, was better than taking a helm watch for the 50 mile voyage back to fish harbor. Then back out the next day, so we took advantage of this, though it did not do much for the health of the urchin beds, we justified it by rationalizing we would just have to leave it alone a little longer.
     Now Avalon, in dramatic  contrast to Fish harbor was, a destination for the cruise ship lines wayward sailors and tourists of all kinds. Movie stars and potentates would vacation at the quaint little playground of the rich and famous.  It had high end shops for fashion, jewelry...you name it. Restaurants, and night clubs, horseback riding and 4 wheeling in the hills, and a herd of Buffalo that supplied the buffalo burger stand on the pier. The Wrigley chewing gum clan built up the place in the middle of the last century, mostly for big game sport fishing swordfish..and sometimes Marlin if the conditions were right. The commercial fisherman were a little out of place in that crowd, but we managed to gain a little niche for ourselves, on the island, as we rubbed elbows with the upper class.
    We would normally stop for fuel or food, or just a pit stop before heading out to San Clemente which was an austere military base, that would send security vessels out to keep us at a safe distance when there was operations going on. In fact, one night on the Fortuna, voices woke us up and when we came out on deck, we could barely see the outline of some figures in black face and black uniforms, as they sternly but kindly ordered us out of the harbor.We assumed our night visitors were the seal team in training and we were either part of the training or in the way of it, so we pulled the anchor and headed out to, we did not know, because there was no proper anchorage in the immediate area,  Eventually ended up in Seal cove which could pass for an anchorage some days.  The following day back to Northwest we went, because we actually found a hot spot right in the anchorage.  When all the other boats left the anchorage in the morning we waited for everyone to leave then we would suit up and go to work.  At the end of the day the boats would all return and when the pick up boat was loading in Northwest, they would unload.  They had no idea that we had been there all day and that's the way we liked it. Well that next morning, it looked clear as no security vessels or radio announcements bared our entrance, we anchored up on our spot and after I was on the bottom for 15 minutes or so  KER-BLAM . it was more a feeling than a sound because i was in a state of shock and my stomach was churned and my butt hole puckered up.  The Seal team or some other military personell were setting off charges that caused me to surface immediately and get on deck before they set another one off.  I was done for the day, some of the other divers, trying to be macho kept diving, and that was fine with me.
      So one day on the way back from about a week of diving at San Clemente we stopped in Avalon and purchased a mooring as there were no docking facilities.  I had a $900 dollar check I was itching to cash, so when the shore boat pulled up to the Fortuna I climbed aboard and and while on the way to the pier I asked the captain if he knew where I could cash it.  The shore boat captain was very cooperative and suggested that I meet him when his shift was over and he would see what he could do.  His name was Ron Curry and he not only had a captains license he owned a beautiful old ketch, the Tradewinds.  This was a museum piece of a sailboat with an old fashioned crows nest, Teak and mahogany everywhere and kerosene lanterns.  Built in the 30s this vessel was a throwback and Ron was very particular and proud of it. Turns out Ron had formerly been the captain of the yacht owned by Bob Voit, of sporting goods fame. The story went, Ron was fired after a altercation with a native in South America, where Mr Voit was vacationing, at the time. This was a touchy subject, because Ron had a real good thing going, and he was trying to repair that relationship, as Mr Voit was present in Avalon at that time and was invited over for dinner, so it was Ron's hope they could patch things up and he could resume his former position. At ant rate Ron overheard us divers talking and since the Tradewinds was in dire need of a bottom cleaning, he invited me to his boat for a barbecue while we negotiated for my services cleaning his bottom.   Ron turned out to be very friendly and real popular with the locals and several of them showed up for the barbecue as well.  I must say it was a pretty epic barbecue, with Avalon surrounding us and the vacation attitude most seem to have here.  Someone had a guitar and knew a lot of popular songs, but not all the lyrics, and as he made his way down his song list one or more of us would pick it up with the lyrics they knew and it was quite fun.
     Well Ron confided in me that he had several offers to share his sailboat and living space with one of his fellow "locals" Apparently living space was a premium and in short supply for those who maintained a residence on the island. He went on to explain most of those who lived there maintained two jobs to be able to afford a rental. He said he would never allow anyone to stay on his boat, because he was very particular how it was maintained and most did not appreciate the classical nature of his beloved Tradewinds, but he knew I did.  I agreed to do his bottom and then he offered me a spot on his boat when I was not out at San Clemente working.  It was am ideal set up for me that lasted most of the summer that year.  The Fortuna would stop by the Tradewinds on the way out to San Clemente, I would jump aboard and work the pick up boat for a week or so then on the way in they would drop me off in Avalon. It was a classic set up and I never had more fun than that summer.
   The Tradewinds was moored close enough to the breakwater it was only like a 20 ft swim if I didn't want to hassle with the shoreboat, or it stopped running for the night. One day I was walking out the breakwater to do just that and then I heard the screams  "HELP!!"  HELP!!!"   "Im drowning" A gaggle of sport divers were doing there thing, on the other side of the breakwater when one of the females surfaced and got caught up in the kelp.  Her head and shoulders were above the water and she had a buoyancy compensator inflated,I could she she was fine she just needed to untangle herself from the kelp,, so I tried to talk he through it.  I instructed her to calm down she had plenty of air to breath, I said" just push the kelp in front of you out of the way" she would have none of my suggestion to go underneath the kelp which is what I would have done.  Finally frustrated I jumped in and towed her through the kelp towards shore, just so she would stop screaming.  I was received with way more gratitude and thank yous than my little effort deserved, but I was satisfied I did my good deed for the day.
     The rest was the standard hardworking and hard partying and the realization that Avalon was sucking my money up as fast as I could make it. Exit stage left