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.

 

heads i win

Heads I Win

         Upon arrival in Long Beach, the USCGC Glacier was in need of an overhaul. All summer long keeping McMurdo Sound free of ice, took its toll on the aging vessel. This was after taking over the main break-in from the Polar Star. The Polar Star, Flag ship of the polar class Icebreakers, and pride of the fleet. Brand spanking new, Icebreaker. The trouble seemed to be located in the engine room spaces, or more specifically the reversible pitch screws that allowed less strain on the transmission than going in and out of gear, as the Glacier had to do.

      The Glacier now relieved of scientific ops, could now get back to the main work of Ice breaking old school style...that is Back and Ram....Back and Ram 24/7...Intense vibration throughout the ship during Ice Breaking Ops was nerve racking at its best. If you were not already stressed from the 24 hours of daylight. Freezing ass cold temperatures, The ongoing vibration, especially during chow would certainly challenge your reservoir of patience, trying to get those peas from your fork to your mouth, then imagine the frustration with, only a few female scientists aboard to fantasize sexual relations with. When they came aboard in Long Beach they appeared plain, overweight and not too excited about dressing that up with some make-up and a little cleavage. After all 19 years old.. I think I had a consistent hard -on all day. Now they were looking like the Kardasians. Having to navigate around 300 shipmates, some of whom you would rather not see out on deck at night around the equator, had an irritating quality, since you were positive it only took about 50 sailors to operate the vessel.

Even so we were happy and proud to be able to come to the rescue and engage in the operations that the Glacier was designed at built for. State of the art at her christening, in 1957 she was a Glacier class Icebreaker of one. Admiral Richard Byrd ..famous polar explorer and aviator was aboard her maiden voyage and this is the 21^st trip to Antarctica the Glacier has completed.

       As we approached the, dead in the water, in this case fast ice Polar Star, someone authorized the deck force to construct a sign 10x20 feet. When we approached close enough for there deck force to be able to read our sign we raised it on the flight deck and the message was clear. FOLLOW US......IF YOU CAN...........We could see the crew scrambling around on the flight deck like there was a mutiny.

     

As we were passing them, there deck-force managed a sign of there own “ONE MORE BEFORE THE GRAVEYARD”

The overhaul the Glacier would undergo would take place at Todd Shipyard. San Pedro. Since been shut down. Living on the ship as I was, we were required to stand fire watches on board . That consists of 4 boring hours watching a union welder in a tiny little claustrophobic space. It sucked. Life aboard ship in the yard is miserable. Hot, noisy, filthy. Union shipyard workers taking a siesta in our rec room. It was a relief when Master Chief Petty Officer Biel announced they needed a seaman to send up to the Small Boat Station Channel Island Harbor 50 miles north. Only 2 of us stepped forward . So the chief decided the decision will be made, with a coin flip.

I called Heads I win, and I sure did. Looking back sometimes I think of how different my life would have been if I had of lost that coin toss.

       During my tour of duty at Channel Islands Harbor. I was a deckhand on the 41ft Search and Rescue boats. We had towed in a couple of urchin boats, so I was familiar with some of the divers.

Back in those days, it was not too difficult to get the Coast Guard to give you a tow in. As far as me and the other guys were concerned, we did not mind at all. I t was the fun part , doing the rescues. Anything to get off the base for a couple hours. It was not uncommon for an amateur boater to run out of fuel, then call the Coast Guard.

      It was kind of a joke really.....Mick McHenry Fuji 3 denied he ever said this, but considering that his boat was towed in by the Coast Guard more times than any other vessel, in that period. ( Before the conversion to diesel v drive and the 3 ft length added on, he had a crysllar gas) I was on the 41 footer motoring in the harbor...I noticed there was an urchin boat slightly ahead of us...one of the passengers yelled something about meeting him at San Miguel Island, for a tow. I wont get into the details, but it was obviously a joke, but it did reflect the attitudes of the time. Last I heard Mick is a 2^nd mate now,     Sailors Union of the Pacific/US Merchant Marines

       President Ronald Reagan put a stop to the practice of Coast Guard vessels engaging in “rescue” operations that were less than an emergency. No way was he going to let the government compete with private enterprise. So he instituted policy that prohibited the Coast Guard from providing services to boaters unless property or lives were in immediate danger. This new policy allowed for private tow companies like Vessel Assist and Sea Tow room to operate.

      As I got acclimated to the local culture, I soon found out about a weekly softball game between Drifters Reef, which was a local dive/biker bar a couple of blocks down from the base, and the Rudder Room another dive bar located on the other side of the Harbor entrance. Turns out there was a scattering of urchin divers that participated in those softball games.

       I was due to be discharged in a few months, and I would rather remain in Southern California after my discharge. So I needed some employment"ASAP”
      The softball game is played at the elementary school and I overhear a conversation that interested me because it was about quitting a sea urchin boat.  I asked about the boat because I assumed they would be needing another diver so I actually got the phone number and called. Wallah  I am in !!!

    

Gary Wolloman pulled up at the fuel dock in the Sundown, a beautiful 27ft Farrallon The first one built for commercial I was told. She was brand new shiny white hull and gleaming chrome fittings and railings. We agreed to meet there that Saturday and I was excited. Gary was a very soft spoken gentlemen. He was also a professional. He was actually an officer in the Army. He was so mellow he never yelled and I rarely seen him very angry. A good guy to learn from. So off we went down the coast to Leo Carillo . .

I must of lost my wetsuit hood, but I did not think I would need it. These waters seemed almost tropical to me, since I broke in under the chilly waters of Puget Sound. Gary just laughed and said I could use his. I fumbled around down there with the gaff hook Gary used with the handle cut short and the sharp end filed down I filled the inner tube to float the net bag and then I grabbed the line hanging underneath for an assist up. Well I pulled too hard and the barrel knot was loose so all the urchins I just picked came falling down on top of me on there way back to the bottom.

        I was AWOL from the base that day because I was on restriction for some minor infraction. I returned that evening, just in time to hear over the PA "Seaman Thomas Please report to the OOD's office immediately!" The C0 ordered me to explain my whereabouts the last hour they had been looking for me. 'I was in my bunk and I could not hear the PA that well from there. I was taking a chance they had not actually checked my bunk, and I was right they had not. So I got away with it....YES I made 86 bucks that first day and I was happy with that.

  Everything just lined up, and I was in the right place at the right time and took advantage of the opportunity that presented itself, along with a little luck, and I was off and running Commercial sea Urchin Diver Southern California.  Eat your hearts out all you doubters.  Ha Ha

Decompression Diving

Decompression Diving

      Commercial sea urchin diving in California, in the early years was risky, competitive, and one hell of a good time when it was not miserable The urchins were plentiful at the shallower depths, so mostly divers stayed within the dive time limits, that would keep them from having to decompress at a slower rate than 60 feet a minute, which was considered the universal standard for a safe ascent, and no decompression required, while ascending to the surface.

       Rule of thumb for bottom time limits to stay in a “no decompression profile. 60 ft for 60 minutes, 70 feet for 50 minutes, 80 ft for 40 minutes, and so on. These times were valid On the first dive of the day, after that each successive dive would allow less and less bottom time. The formula to compute those times was taught in just about every basic scuba class. There were fancy slide rule like contraptions, that aided the diver to compute those times.

       It is interesting to note that decompression sickness first became a problem during the time of the construction of the Brooklyn bridge. Workers began coming down with paralysis pain and much of the symptoms associated with Decompression sickness. Workers were located under the riverbed, after the construction allowed air to be trapped for there use. However it was compressed air at depth. The partial pressure of nitrogen in the air was increased at depth and thus if the body was not allowed to dispose of the increased nitrogen , bubbles of the nitrogen would form in the body with devastating consequences as with deep sea divers.

       By this time the urchin business was maturing to a point where a decompression meter was available, for those who would rather not have to do all that math. The model available for most all divers was basically a gauge with a dial face and a needle that rotated threw a graph measuring the bottom times and decompression “hang off “ times required, if the no decompression times were exceeded. Inside the gauge was a bag that filled up as nitrogen levels were increased,as the needle reflected that.

       This equipment was really targeting sport divers. It was not meant for repetitive dives and said so right on the gauge It did , however make commercial sea urchin divers a little more comfortable .

       As far as I utilized the added assurance of the decompression meter, which by the way had to be re calibrated from time to time, at almost half the cost of the meter new, it was just an added safety feature that I would use in situations where I ran into a hot spot at near the end of my bottom time limits. I would go ahead and finish off filling my net bag and then slowly surface being careful to remain underneath my bag as I swam back to the boat and then maybe go hang off on the anchor line at ten feet as required for a few minutes, or until I was out of the red , as the meter indicated.

After I survived the sinking of the Fat City, I was able to land a spot on the Dusky. Now the owner Tom Craiger was a no nonsense very successful fisherman. He generally switched to the fishery that was the most profitable at any given time...some of those were also seasonal. In the summertime he would gear up for Albacore, and the divers had to find a boat since urchins were a year round fishery. He ran a tight ship, midnight to midnight to San Nicolas Island about 60 miles due south of Channel Island harbor. Only a 12 knot boat, she was 40 something ft well maintained. He was in direct competition with Mike Milman on the Triggerfish. A Highline Fisherman in his own right. Mike had invited Tom up from LA and allowed him to duplicate his operation. Depart at midnight, arrive at sunup

after coffee and breakfast was served to 3 divers. This was so the surveyor could be suited up and ready to splash in the water as soon as the boat settled in the kelp beds. It was a crap shoot when to head home, because if we arrived behind more than a couple boats, by the time we got unloaded, we would not arrive at the island until almost noon. That would screw up the schedule for the rest of the week and cut into Toms precious bottom line.

        Along with this operation was the culture and the attitude, cultivated by none other than Ron Rector, at the encouragement of none other than Tom Craiger. Somehow they got it into there greedy little heads that it would be perfectly profitable...I mean safe to push those decompression meters beyond any reasonable limits that they were not designed for.

       First jump 90 minutes at 60 ft. Hang off 10 ft 20 minutes. Deck time barely over an hour. Second jump another 10 ft hang off 25 minutes. An hour and a half deck time. Third jump 30 minute hang off at 10 ft. Hanging off the anchor line was miserable. If you were not cold enough from the dive, hanging off and not active would remind you of where you were. Cold Ass San Nicolas Island in the middle of the winter.

I was not too keen on maintaining this routine, even though I was making some real money. I went along to get along, not yet experienced enough to object to Toms antics on deck, as he was so impatient for us to get back in the water, it reminded me of a kid about to erupt in a temper tantrum.

      I had met Ron Rector once before about 5 years previous. I was interested in the Sorcerer, that was for sale and I maintained I was interested. The 30 ft Radon had a cabin that was a pilot house for one. Interesting design. Lief the owner suggested we make a trip and I could see for myself how the boat operated. The morning of our voyage, a long haired kid,only a few years younger than me showed up and I was introduced as the half owner of the Sorcerer. OK no problem, Ron would not shut up the whole way out. He was trying to impress me how good of a diver he was and that he was also a cocaine dealer with customers that included some of the Hollywood elite. I could care less, even if he was telling the truth, which I had my doubts.

        We got in really shallow to some wash rocks that were just plugged with big heavy urchins. the swell was throwing me around pretty good, but I did not care. I ended up with about a ton. After all that bluster Ron did not even get in the water.

So as you might expect I was not really anticipating having to witness Ron having his nose buried so far up Tom Craigers ass

it made me sick. There combined knowledge and experience insisted that , “fudging the meter would do no harm since a safety factor error of 5% was built into those meters...blah blah blah blah blah.

        I mostly accepted my situation since I was making some healthy bank, until one day on the way in, I started having some pain in my knee. Oh I must have bumped it on a reef or against the boat..I thought. Not to be, the pain would not go away and it was getting worse. I knew I was bent. I was surprised because our last jump was only in about 40 ft of water. I had so much nitrogen built up in me, even a 40 ft dive put me over the edge I must of got a little careless on my final ascent, anxious to get home.

I tried to sleep when I got home...No freakin way. The throbbing deep down pain, would not stop. Finally I called my brother who had made his way down here from Washington for a short visit. He stayed a year, but he had a car. I knew the CB base in Port Hueneme had a recompression chamber, because I did my discharge physical there and I took note of it. The stories I had heard..the next closest one was in Northridge, more than an hour away. My brother drove me to the guard shack on the base entrance. At first they were not going to let me in, since I was no longer active duty. But Matt started screaming 'HES DYEING” That did the trick, I was in.

        When I approached the chamber there were 3 or 4 Navy personal standing around getting coffeecup finger. I explained to them, about the fourth day on the profile I was maintaining. They did not hesitate. they pressurized the chamber to 120 ft and began slowly to bring me up. I was kept company and fed oxygen every 20 minutes or so. They gave me all the water I could stand. Then encouraged me to urinate as much as possible. Something about a good indicator, After about 8 hours in that tiny chamber I was more than ready to escape. They kept asking about my pain level. I finally had to lie just to get the hell out of there.

       I reported for duty aboard the Dusky the following day. I ruefully continued the same routine, and even agreed with Tom that it is probably the best thing for my injury, to carry on diving. I believe a week or 2 went by. Tom decided to give one of his pep talks. Like a football coach he would attempt to motivate us to do well and have a “Bonanza season” This time though he encouraged all of us to give input. He said he felt that it was important for his crew to feel part of a team and having a say in the operation would support that, and go a long way in creating the success he expected to have. So each diver said a few words, Nothing earth shattering, really just to humor Tom. I declined to give any input. Inside I knew if I got started he may not like what I would say, so I just kept silent. After he would not quit with the input thing, I explained to him that , it could get ugly if I said anything. Finally I relented....I dont think anyone has ever talked to him like that before. ON his face was utter shock and surprise. He kept on me so I finally agreed. I dressed him down and tore him up as only I can do. I shamed him for his juvenile behavior, I was merciless in my verbal attack. He finally asked me if I was finished. When I said I was he immediately ordered me to remove all my gear off the boat when we got in. I said I did not have my car and I could pick up my gear later. He would have none of that....He would drive me home, and he did in complete silence.

        I probably should not have blamed him for, me getting bent. I should have stood my ground when I was taking extra deck time, so I would have more bottom time. He would just stomp around the deck, and suggest he take a nap while waiting for me to get in the water. As if that wait would be so long to justify a nap.

       I survived the experience a little wiser and more determined to not allow outside influence to determine the safety protocols I practiced. The boat owner sure as hell would not pay for my medical treatment. 
      A few years later I was having a few too many at the Beachcomber.  A tiny little dive bar at the far end of Silver Strand Beach.  I suddenly found myself being approached by hillbilly looking guy with long hair and a straggly beard.  He asked me if I remembered him.  I did not and then he informed me that spending 8 hours together in a tiny little re compression chamber should leave an indelible memory, as it did with him.  I apologized and referred to his appearance being slightly different than when we first met.  He then told me he had worked there for about 3 years and of all the divers they treated, I was the only one they KNEW beyond any doubt that I was bent.  Most all the others was a precautionary treatment...just in case.  I was rather pleased with myself, hearing that and I said my farewell as I headed out to the beach to check out the surf

       As it was they came out with a state of the art dive computer that left little doubt of its accuracy and reliability.  It ended the controversy surrounding decompression diving with the old Bendo matic.  Funny thing is, the fleet did not adopt that decompression hang off routine, even with the new dive computers. I noted that a diver breaths more nitrogen off on deck than he does at 10 feet,  So as far as I was concerned, it made no real sense to push the limits and endanger your life and health for not even that much more bottom time.

      Later some boats went with Nitrox gas mixes...but thats another story 

Bodega Bay

                                Bodega Bay

          Bodega Bay was a beautiful place,surrounded by green rolling hills and the smell of cow manure. Farmers would say that was the smell of money. However the roads around the bay were not meant for pedestrians, at least not the young, carefree urchin diver types from southern California, living on a Landing Craft that may be responsible for taking quite of bit of wealth off the bottom. There was some not so subtle resentments held by some locals , notably the fisherman I purchased my truck from.  To him, one of the little bays that were numerous in the area, represented a sea urchin population that may last him a month or so, working by himself.  He would watch as one of these hot shot urchin boats would show up  from Southern California with 2 or 3 divers, and take the same population out in less than half that time.  Then they would go out and blow the money they made in the bars and chasing the local girls. I could confirm that walking on the roads around Bodega Bay, I felt that resentment 1st hand as I nearly was run over several times. It is a good thing I had a little Zodiac inflatable with a 25 horse Evinrude outboard to get around in, courtesy of the Integrity, which was now in Dry dock awaiting repairs

              The Integrity was a 40+something ft landing craft was the brain child of 3 high line Urchin Boat Owners Glen Huebner, Quinten Quider ,Joe Burke and the son of a local restaurant owner Mike Lucas. They formed a partnership and purchased the Integrity. They thought they could use it to offload urchins from the shore in Shelter Cove since there was no pier or off loading facilities, locally.
       Quiten Quider was an understated unassuming, mild mannered sort of guy.  I made a few trips on his boat the Avril Q.  He was a highly motivated ambitious diver and could and would stay in the water past dusk and way after many other divers had enough, including me.  He even gave me a back handed compliment suggesting that I would be a good diver if I stayed in the water.
       Joe Burke was gregarious, outspoken, and had an easy way about him, as well as a joke and a Big smile that could make girls melt.  He worked his boat the Hot Pursuit by himself with a tender. and filled his boat with about 5000 pounds, nearly  every  trip.  One morning while his boat was in the shop, he jumped on the Avril Q with me and another diver. We planned on heading out to the Farallon Islands. Conditions were favorable and I was able to pick about 3000 pounds in about 5 hours I froze  my ass off, and my hand retained the shape of my picker for several hours later.  I suited out, then Joe swam to the boat with his full net bag and then yelled at the tender   "1 MORE!"   I lost track of how many times he said that, but I do know he weighed in at 11,000  pounds!!!   What a beast.  Conversely the  next trip, Joe jumped in the water for a survey.  He immediately jumped back out, and explained  "LETS GO HOME   WATERS TOO WARM"  We all knew what that meant.  These waters surrounding the Farrallons are notorious for the number of Great White shark sightings.  Apparently it is a breeding ground for the Great Whites.  I only vaguely heard these stories, and I said to Joe that we came a long way just to turn around and go home. I also needed the money.  Joe was way kool with it if I wanted to survey. You see that's when they get you , when your unattached to the boat and on the surface.  When the boat has anchored , not a good idea to spend to much time on the surface or descending and ascending.  When your on the bottom you can use the reefs for protection and hide. Now I am not saying I am Mr Machismo or brave, but I wanted to at least make an effort, otherwise I would not feel good about myself.  So I jumped in and scootered around for a few minutes then decided I should be smart and listen to Joes advice, homeward bound we went. 
       Now the driving force behind this venture was Glen Huebner. Quinten and Joe both were waiting on delivery of 36 ft Wilson/Heubners and this project was not getting there full attention. Additionally once the Integrity was in Northern Ca . Glens attention was focused on completing the finishing touches on the boats he was building. All 3 of the partners had been waiting way too long for their Wilson hulls to be delivered and finally they decided to investigate the progress. They soon discovered that Wilson boats was about to go into chapter 11 bankruptcy proceedings. They acted quickly and seized the 36 ft Wilson mold used for manufacturing a fiberglass from the Wilson yard.  So Glen having outfitted several boats by then decided to get into boat building, and became very successful at it.   That was my impression of Glen. He came from the LA County Lifeguard culture that sprang up in the urchin business, mostly out of Channel Islands Harbor , at first.   These guys were all quality people,good watermen. Clean -cut well-mannered and educated, most had college degrees. This was a breath of fresh air for me, having, up to that point been dealing with some very difficult people.  Glen was an innovator and a motivator, and a competitor.  He had the movie star good looks and majored in Business Administration at Cal State Northridge.  It had always been my impression that Glen would have been successful at whatever he chose to do.  He was one of the first to use float balls to lift the bags of urchins, 600 ft hose was standard per diver, when before Huebner, the fleet was using  old inner tubes 300 ft hoses.  those are just a few.  Glen also instituted rotating crews. He groomed maybe 10 or 15 lifeguards to be divers.  He rotated them on and off the boats he owned.  This would ensure fresh crews, and keep the boat working as the weather dictated. Ultimately being the first and so far only Channel Islands diver to work for the lifeguards, I maintained a schedule that kept me from rotating off the boat.  I did not have  lifeguard duty.  I was ridiculed by the old timers,  because of territorial jealousy mostly, but that did not last too long.  They were a different breed.  Craig Maddox used to swim to the beach when we worked down the beach and go do laps at the pool at Pepperdine  U.
        Now Mike Lucas was the odd man out.  He was the overweight son of a successful restaurateur. Lucas Wharf restaurant also provided unloading facilities for those boats that sold there urchins to the processor they did business.  He would act as our tender when we were working the Integrity in the Channel Island before we left.
              Glen talked me into help take the Integrity up to Bodega Bay I  from Ventura, only to be abandoned by the skipper and his mate in Half moon bay. Which would not have been so bad had not the hull been leaking from some ill advised attempts to run the vessel up on shore at the concrete boat launch. I needed to make some money, since I was not getting paid for delivering the Integrity, even though it was the most miserable voyage, I ever imagined. The square flat bow and flat bottom with no keel, along with the steel construction, created a bone crushing result when passing thru Pt Conception and Pt Arguello .The seas were churning with marine fury, witch was there usual intensity. The sound was like being on the inside of a drum.  Anchored in Halfmoon bay and satisfied that the bilge pumps were keeping up with the leak, I decided I had to make some money, because Glen certainly was not paying me for boat delivery. I started trolling the docks for a boat.I managed to discover the Homeboy. I was familiar with the boat from Santa Barbara, as well as the owner who was one of the only African American urchin divers in the fleet. Tyrone was real cool. He had dreadlocks and always had a ready smile. I found out Tyrone had sold the Homeboy to the gentlemen I approached standing on the deck. Glen Brisendien had a regular diver he was to meet, but he was tardy so he said  I could work until he showed up.  So off we went, to the Farallones. Upon my return, the Integrity was on the way to Bodega bay, as Joe Burke came down, while I was diving and I ended up hitching a ride to catch up with the leaky Landing Craft. I was staying on the boat, until I was able to make enough money to buy my International Pick-up and Alaskan camper, which became my new residence. Until then it was me and the Zodiac, as it happen it was a great way to get around the bay.
      Ironically the Integrity never did see another sea urchin.  After she was repaired she was sold to an outfit that contracted out to assist in the clean up in Alaska from the Exxon Valdez.

       There was a population of Salmon fishermen in Bodega Bay at that time that experienced two consecutive bad years. Some of the fishermen were of family tradition, generations of young fishermen had come up behind there fathers and it was an institution. Many of these fishermen did not really take kindly to the southern California urchin divers migrating into there town and offshore waters making and spending and sometime squandering the increasing profits from the harvesting of sea urchins. The urchin beds were carpeting the bottom since there had not been a commercial urchin fishery in the northern California waters, until recently. Many of the divers were snobs and flaunted there success, without much consideration how the locals felt. I was not one of those. I appreciated the hard working salmon fishermen and sympathized with them for having some down years, although I took advantage of the economic opportunities that presented some real bargains on a couple International pick-up trucks that I purchased. I overheard some envious fishermen who wanted to buy the truck I did, because it was a proven heavy duty commercial work vehicle.

        While I was speeding around the bay in the Zodiac I began to notice another inflatable speeding around as well. A little smaller and a smaller motor as well, we could speed around about the same pace, as I was being challenged to a little racing, by the skippers darting glances as he approached , and opened the throttle. We became acquainted and that was Eric. A big blond haired viking looking fisherman minus the beard, but that came later. He was a few years younger than me, very jovial and most of the information I received about the plight of the locals, and other local lore, was from him. Thru Eric I met a couple other young guys, and when they learned I was friendly and not trying to stick my nose up in the air, they were very hospitable and let me in on some dos and don't s around the harbor. They showed me the old wooden salmon boats they were gearing up for the season, and shared there fishing techniques from trolling with live bait...to mooching or rather floating. I made a couple salmon trips just for fun though we never caught anything. They let me in there circle, and I reciprocated the hospitality, showing them around the Integrity and sharing the urchin fishery with them. Eric actually became an urchin diver, a very good one as it turns out, a path not many of the locals would admit would pay off.

         Other than the fishermen Bodega Bay was mostly a tourist destination, Seafood restaurants , Salt Water taffy signs, sport fishing and of course Bird Watching. I could see why Alfred Hitchcock chose this place for the setting of his motion picture titled The Birds. There was always a gaggle of birdwatchers with there telescopes and cameras camped on the North side of the bay. The town of Bodega proper was about 5 miles down an old country road, and there was the old school house that was featured prominently in the movie,right in the middle of town. Tad lived right across the street. Tad owned a small urchin boat he affectionately called The Blob. Tad was on the other end of the high line operations I experienced, but he was easy going and had that Berkley new age thing going on, and was not as money hungry as the other guys. I made a few trips with him and he let me stay at his place and after I bought my camper, he let me park it in his yard. So I was fortunate enough to drive by the old school house regularly.

        The diving was quite a contrast from the Channel Islands. The water was colder. The Bull Kelp was prevalent on the surface. Most of the Bull kelp down south was mostly down deep and rarely grew to the surface. It was also tough as rope. A kelp knife was mandatory. The kelp I was used to could be cut with a fingernail or as some divers preferred there teeth. The bottom rarely had a consistent reef pattern, mostly humbly boulders, and cliffs in the bays and there was a myriad of little bays. Abalone were everywhere, sometimes 4 or 5 on top of each other, especially out past 40 ft, where the sport divers could not get them. Abalone had not been harvested commercially in Northern California, and the sport divers had to free dive for them and were allowed only 4 a day. Fish and Game were on a constant vigil enforcing Abalone regulations as poachers were common. Abalone could bring a pretty penny on the commercial market. I think when they closed the commercial abalone harvest in southern California they were getting almost $500 dollars a dozen. It was like going thru a gold mine and picking just the silver out.

         I eventually got acclimated to the conditions, and did OK, though I was not the gung ho type, I was satisfied with what I made at a slightly slower pace than many of the big boys, though I could turn on the afterburners when I felt the need.

       One of the locals who I befriended took me up to Star Mountain above Bodega Bay. There was a commune like community up there and some of the people he knew were quite the characters. Independent self made entrepreneurs. It was a long windy road that led up there, about 10 15 miles or so , no shoulder and barely enough room for 2 vehicles. I made my way up there on my own one evening in my 1965 step-side international pick-up, my Pop-up Alaskan camper, nestled in the bed of the truck was comforting knowing I could stop and sleep or eat, or just kick it if I needed to.

It was getting late, and there were not many lights to find my way around the area, so I decided to abort my trip. The road was too narrow to turn around on so I went off the road on to some grass. When I attempted to get back on the road, my tires would just spin on the moist grass and the moisture in the evening air was making it worse. Attempt after attempt I could not get that truck back on the road. So I got out and walked down the hill a ways to see if there was alternate route, if I cut down into the ravine, that seemed the only way out of my predicament. I was not quite sure but I had to try something. So down the Ravine I went, swerving this way and that trying to avoid the trees that were in my line of sight blocking the direct route to the road as it wound down below. I gained a bit of speed as I did not want to get stuck again. I lost some control, and then WHACK! I plowed into a tree and the truck came to a standstill slightly askew and listing about 30 degrees to one side. It was just about completely dark with no moon. I climbed out, and decide to head on foot up the mountain to find help or a phone or something. It seemed like hours passed, I thought I walked many miles and was exhausted cold, and a bit on edge, not quite fear, but apprehensive. Finally I spotted a dim light up ahead and I headed toward that for what seemed like an eternity. When I reached a spot overlooking the ranch house, I hesitated but then I knocked on the door. A minute passed and a bearded gruff looking man in his 30s I would say asked me what the hell I could possibly want. I explained to him what had happen, and he looked at me and said “I can help you get your truck out, but not till the morning so go back and sleep in your camper and come back in the morning. Not what I had in mind walking all the way back, only to repeat the trip in the morning.

        I climbed in the back of the camper with its starboard list and eventually fell asleep. In the morning back to the ranch. Turns out this guy is a Shepard. He watches after his sheep, and he was about to demonstrate to me how he went about that. I can tell you I received a lesson in how to 4x4 thru the hills and the valleys, the meadows and the ravines. He was very deliberate and did not mince words. He observed that he had been on the ranch 15 years and he had seen plenty of people get stuck on the mountain, but he had never seen anyone as far off the road as me. I was in a deep gully and I was yet to have to climb over steep incline before I would have reached the road. Then he climbed into the drivers seat of an International scout. There was about a dozen vehicles on the ranch some operable, some parts and none of them very new At least I had the manufacturer right. He told me to hop in, and he motored over and thru that mountainous terrain, half sideways, and I always thought we were about to roll over. He was not stingy with the throttle either, and I was scared half out of my wits, which I believe was his intention. He said the Scouts were the best for this terrain, low center of gravity, and the axles were not too far apart, which gave the Scout better maneuverability. After he was satisfied I was appropriately humbled. He explained that he had to switch vehicles because the other one was equipped with a PTO. Power Take Off. A direct adapter from the motor that was more efficient and more powerful than a hydraulic winch, which he would need to get my truck over the hump at 100 feet up. When we arrived he said that I was going to have to hump that chain up the hill and connect it to the axle of my camper. No easy task, but I completed the task. Then as instructed I got behind the wheel and started the motor. He began a slow steady pull that squeaked and stretched the limits of its strength. Over the hump I was and then I was able to put it in low gear and idle slowly down to the road. I was eternally grateful and I asked him how much did I owe? $200 he said. I begged off with a promise to pay. I ended up giving him $100 bucks. I just could not justify anymore because I only paid $400 for the truck.

          I had another notable adventure with my ¾ ton dually International pick-up, that solidified my education on how to 4x4 on the sand. After the motor was repaired, I received a request to go rescue someones skiff that had washed up on the beach. They came to me I learned,because the previous owner of the truck regularly was seen assisting others on the beach. I was all in and good thing I brought along one of Erics friends who was also a volunteer fireman when he was not trying to be a salmon fisherman. Of course I got way out on the sand before I got stuck. I was so frustrated. I walked away from the truck, and just gave up and resigned to the fact my truck was to be buried in the sand. Well Greg just laughed and said “calm down, I know how to get that truck out of there.” I was skeptical, but willing to follow his instructions. First he said to let all but 5 pounds of air out of the tires. OK I said doubtfully. Now dig down so the axle is clear and throw some boards under the tires. He told me put it in gear and throttle up slowly, when lo and behold, when I got out of the hole I created the truck just went along on the top of that sand no problemo. I was ecstatic. When we reached the parking lot Greg said I should invest in a 12 volt air compressor I could plug into my cigarette lighter and fill the tires with air so I could drive on the road As it was, we had to take the tires off and he would through them in his pick-up and run the to the gas station pump them up bring em back, and we were back in business. Well I reamed so hard on the lug bolts, I thought I would break my arm, and then my leg. They would no budge. Again I was furious. Righty tighty Lefty Loosy I repeated to myself. Then again I was embarrassed that I did not realize on the end of the stud that the wheel was mounted on, there was a letter L or R, indicating which way too break down the bolt. Some old timer pointed that out to me after he got done laughing his ass off watching me go apoplectic. Apparently it was a safety feature International included in the design, so the lug bolts would not come off, as with that feature the tires would be turning the opposite way the bolts would have to for them to loosen up.

Even with my vehicles, I still loved to run around in the Zodiac especially one epic day when the swell was about 10 ft. I had Joe Burkes tender and his Chesapeake retriever on the zodiac. The dog loved posting up on the bow, snout twitching in the wind. I went out to seal rock and was able to get in the slot on a couple of killer waves, surfing dodging the sea lions who were freaking out I was so close to there colony, with the dog of course.

        Lastly, Dominique Rice was a fairly well known surfer,a while back. He was from Silver Strand. He knew I was an urchin diver and so were some of his surfer buddies, notably Mike Fair and Bob Rhodes. Ya Bob I mentioned you imagine that! He also knew I was a Coast Guard veteran. He came over and asked me about it, and I explained some of the cool things, and I kind of downplayed the military aspect, since I was not really thrilled about the military part of the Coast Guard, but I wanted to encourage him to enlist. So after he enlisted he moved up fairly quickly, made second class petty officer and was up for first class. He served an 8 year stint, as the life suited him. He was stationed at the small Boat Station in Bodega Bay. when the winter storm swell hit and although he was on duty, he just had to go out and surf those swells outside Bodega Bay. Well it just so happen a sport fishing boat heading out that morning, capsized in that swell, leaving the passengers and crew in the water. Well Dominic did his duty and started picking up the survivors on his surf board and ferrying them to shore. He may have rescued 10 or more victims. Hypothermia in that cold water sets in real fast, so it was a good thing he was out there, only problem since he was suppose to be on duty, he thought he would get in big trouble because he was not suppose to be surfing, while on duty. He was suppose to be standing by at the station for any rescue calls coming in, so he would be ready to board the rescue boats at a moments notice. He need not have worried. In there infinite wisdom Coast Guard Brass flew an Admiral in to pin a medal on him, and he was a local hero for his life saving efforts, and I dont believe anyone mentioned the fact he was absent from his duty station that day.