fools anchorage

Fools Anchorage

        Fools anchorage in Santa Barbara is unique in California . It is the only place left where you can actually anchor your boat, overnight for as long as you want, close to a harbor for free. During the summer months they allow you to anchor fairly close to Stearns wharf, but in the winter months the boats are required to anchor down by the cemetery a mile or so south of the pier They're are a number of absentee owners of various sailboats of all sizes, that end up finding there sailboats up on the beach when the South Easterly storms blow through in the winter and spring. It is common to see 3 or 4 sometimes 5 and 6 sailboats up on the beach after such storms and it is fairly routine for the Harbor Patrol to dispose of them when the owners cant afford, or don't wish to afford salvaging their sailboats. Usually the anchor gear was old or inadequate, and thus the name Fools anchorage. Another feature of Fools anchorage is it is populated by the seedy homeless people that find ways of surviving out on the anchorage though they have to row in, or if they are lucky have a little outboard. I was unaware of this fact, as there were some fairly expensive sailing yachts out there as well. That slice of ignorance, would comeback to haunt me sooner rather than later.

            Jeff Cochran was an urchin diver that I was acquainted with over the years we had our ups and downs, but the little escapade that he pulled was a little over the top even for him. I was anchored in Fools anchorage one day. It was a beautiful winter day and I was just relaxing on the boat when I hear someone yell “Hey Mike what are you doing” I popped out of the cabin and it is Jeff Cochran with a big old smile on his face. What the.....? He said he “borrowed” someones dinghy when he saw my boat and rowed out to say hi. I was a bit surprised he would go thru all that trouble, just to say hi. Anyway we were bullshitting about the urchin business when another dinghy approached us, and inside rowing was a giant of a sun browned, tattooed (The prison kind) man, gesturing and waving and pointing and when he got close enough yelling that the dinghy that Jeff acquired was his. Jeff a little embarrassed, explained that he had written a note in the sand and he would return the dinghy in a little bit. So I was a little miffed that Jeff would bring this kind of attention down on me. I certainly did not need any help in that department. So there was some banter back and forth. At one point the man in the dinghy who I learned was called Pirate. That should have been a red flag right there, I lamented later. So after Pirate and Jeff concluded there negotiations, as to what kind of compensation Pirate should receive in lieu of use of the dinghy, I relaxed a little because at one point someone mentioned calling the Harbor Patrol. That is something I did not need. Jeff never did compensate Pirate for use of his dinghy, but if he knew then, what I know now he would have taken care of that agreement.

             That was my introduction to Pirate. He had come up from San Diego with a crew of scallywags.....about 5 of them I believe. There appearance I would describe homeless hippie chic. So this colorful cast of characters, Pirate being their leader, hatched a scheme  to place bids at he lien sale auctions, the small boat harbors that dotted Southern California coast north of San Diego. held every so often. It is common for owners of the sailboats to fall behind on there slip fees. Although they may have acquired the sailboat at a very reduced price.....the biggest cost over time is the slip fees, and many owners fall into that trap and end up having there boats seized and sold at auction, where the cycle begins again, or a perfectly seaworthy sailboat is cut up and hauled away as trash.
         Pirate and his motley crew set out from San Diego, and by the time the little flotilla reached Santa Barbara, all five had a sailing vessel to anchor in Fools anchorage.  They could anchor them for nothing,and could live on them, or try and sell them with the added sales pitch of no slip fees. It was a reasonable plan, and they did get some pretty decent boats for next to nothing. It was more the quality of character of those scallywags that left the plan a little wanting. I believe the San Diego Harbor  Patrol sent word to their counterparts that "the fleet" was headed their direction.

        I began making urchin trips on my boat the Longfin. The 33 ft, 8 ton vessel, with no anchor winch was a giant pain in arms and legs, literally. It was also hard to keep a diver when pulling that hook by hand, 2 ,3, 4 or more times was exhausting, and when I was by myself, forget it. If I had to pull that hook 2 or 3 times, I just wanted to quit. Especially in the kelp, which was most of the time. I had been bugging Kieth Whitney( my main mechanic/all around go to guy for boat and urchin gear) to complete the job. He said he had to fabricate a piece that would serve as a mount,for the hydraulic motor. It would have to be positioned so it would line up with the engine fan belt. I could do most of the rest of the work myself. He finally ended up taking the winch off his boat, that he just lived on. Having given up on fishing. The anchor winch made all the difference and Kieth mounted a switch on the dash so I could activate the winch from there, which was a godsend when I was by myself which was more than anticipated.

         So Finally the Longfin was an official Sea Urchin Dive Boat . It took almost two years by the time I was through Unfortunately my timing was wrong, because right about the same time the price of fuel went up and the economy took a dive. I was struggling to break even, and to save on slip fees I would anchor in Fools anchorage.

           After going in and out in my boat and dinghy, over time I got to know Pirate and he had a very soft spoken demeanor for such a big man, but the content of his observations was clearly non-conformist, which slightly appealed to me. He had spent most of the part of 20 years in prison, but had been smart enough to stay out for the last 10. He was very resourceful and had his way with people in general.

             Pirate of course would ask me where Jeff was and why he did not pay him, which I played dumb, not mad enough at Jeff to send this guy after him. I inevitably asked Pirate to tend for me since, I was having trouble finding and keeping a crew together. He was good on the water but not much practical knowledge of a commercial operation to make my life easier, and the trip was less than successful. For him it was very successful in that he got a good look at all my gear and what is was used for and how much it might be worth.

       On the occasions where I did get a slip, I was often put into the end at Marina 4 right next to this beautiful old sailing yacht 40 something feet and the occupant was Westerly. Westerly was a beautiful blond with blue eyes. Classic California girl look, she still looked great into her 40's though she did have flaws. She was in a bad traffic accident about 10 years before and she had a glass eye, but no other physical effects one would notice. The first time I met her she came over to my slip and said the radio was too loud. Had I known that she was there I would not have had it that loud, but she was nice about it and eventually we became friendly. She would ask me to look at something on her boat that was not working properly and I fixed a couple little small things. The inside of the her sailing yacht was custom made by her father. Just beautiful workmanship, teak and mahogany cabinets and drawers. He was in his 90's and lived in a Multi-million dollar home overlooking Leadbetter beach in Santa Barbara. She grew up sailing as her name implies. She was teaching at the high school part time, as she said she still had some lingering effects from the accident that prevented her from taking on a full workload.

        I had not seen Westerly for a few months,when one day I was sitting in my truck and she walked by and asked me to drive her vehicle to her fathers and I could follow her there in another vehicle, that she needed to use. I agreed and when it task was completed she invited me to go for a sail to Smugglers Cove in her new sailboat. Her fathers being of museum quality was sold to a restorer who would bring it back to her former glory. I said that would be fun and I thought maybe she would be romantically inclined as well.

She was a little surprised when I showed up at the agreed time with a tri- tip and a bottle of special edition Myers rum.

I had a good trip on the Longfin I was able to get a really good diver Pat McCallion who along with Johnny Goomer, we put 3000 lbs on the boat. When she saw that I was serious she fired up the motor and we backed out of the slip and headed out towards the breakwater. There was not much wind so we just motored out. She had a GPS but no radar and of course it fogged in just as we were getting to Santa Cruz Island. I kind of guessed about anchoring , but there was no wind so I figured we would be safe a mile or so out. I even deployed a second anchor just to be safe. There was no wind and the fog was thick....I was only worried that if another boat came thru... but they probably had radar and they would not hit us. The only problem was her anchor gear consisted of 300 foot of chain I found out the hard way as it was paying out. To top it off she had an an electric anchor winch that I could not get to work, and I am sure nobody else had either. Oh we were safe alright, but she was freaking out in the fog and she stayed up all night fearful. I told her to wake me up to take an anchor watch but she never did.

The following morning the fog was letting up and we could see the island. We were a mile from shore. Westerly and I were able to pull the second anchor. There was a hand winch on the bow with the main anchor. I took a several dozen cranks on it and it would eventually of pulled up all that chain by the middle of next week, That is if I did not have a stroke first.

        The NOAA research boat, Shearwater was on the radio, so we requested assistance, Westerly had introduced me to Paul who was the skipper, so he was more than happy to help us. Trouble was even his anchor winch was straining to get all that chain up. Then the line snapped before he ever got to the chain. So we headed in. Westerly was not happy. I explained to her that much chain was overkill, and without a working winch to bring it aboard, forget it.

We had a brief respite from our uncomfortable voyage in, when a whales tail popped up right next to the boat. The rest was her blaming me for everything and the loss of her expensive anchor was my responsibility.

         So I rowed out to my boat in Fools anchorage. The next morning I woke to the sound of my boat on the beach. I rushed out on deck and opened the engine room...flooded....I called the Harbor Patrol and they were in there truck on the beach..I gathered all my important papers, and all the tools and jumped over the side my anchor light was still lit . After I ferried the most valuable items to the beach in my underwear no less. I must have been quite a spectacle. Then I grabbed the anchor line and found the end. The pin was missing from the shackle. I had just checked the anchor gear and wired it, so it would not come loose. I knew this was no accident.

         I took one last look at my boat the anchor light still on with an engine room full of salt water, the small but consistent surf slowly breaking her apart and I walked away, I knew the Longfin was a total loss. I was out of money and out of energy, I jumped in the Harbor Patrol 4x4 and I tried not to cry.

         I wish I could say, it was one hell of a storm that caused the my boat to be grounded ashore, but it was as flat as a mirror that night, that pin could have been out of that shackle for hours. What are the odds that Pirate “came to my rescue" and took as much dive gear and electronics etc etc.. that he could.” He reported that one of the crew members off the dredge salvaged my air compressor. I tracked him down and got 50 bucks from him. He said he had it pickled in his garage...I dejectedly took the 50 bucks. Pirate used the oldest trick in the book, scuttle the vessel and rob the valuables. There is no doubt in my mind he rowed his dinghy up to my anchor line pulled it up to the chain and removed the shackle. Everyone in the anchorage knew I was going to the Islands overnight, because before we left I had Westerly motor over to Jerrys boat. I handed him a 100 dollar bill, payment for tending for me one trip. I said to myself “why do you think they call him Pirate." Armed with that useless knowledge ...It still could not get my boat back. What a fool I was in Fools anchorage.     I retired from the urchin business that day. 25 years was enough.

Spirit 1

                                Spirit 1 

                    I cannot begin a story about the Spirit 1 without including John Gill.  Not that John was the only owner of the Spirit1, its just that he resurrected the Spirit 1 from what for all intents and purposes was the boat graveyard after an illustrious career as one of the first Radons built. The hull was wood and they fiber-glassed around that, before there was a mold for those now famous Radon Hulls. The Radon family were divers and boat builders and shrewd business men that began the Radon boat building dynasty in Santa Barbara. Originally intended as an abalone dive boat designed to surf back to Santa Barbara from the Channel Islands, using the prevailing seas.  Not great for going into a sea, but if you left early enough before the winds picked up and kept inside the lee of Point Conception before you crossed the channel you would not have to go into a sea.....hopefully.

      The Spirit 1 was unique in other ways as Radons go. It was about 29 feet not 26 or 32 ft as the standard lengths of the later molds dictated.  She also had a kind of camels hump of a keel, that gave her a little more stability.  Well Duane Brown owned the Spirit 1 for many years, first as an abalone then later a sea urchin boat, as the abalone fishery diminished and eventually shut down all together.
          Duane about to retire was not about to do another overhaul, he seemed content to let the Spirit 1 die a natural death after serving him for all those years.  Enter John Gill.  Now John Gill was a tall, handsome,  Vietnam combat veteran. From a fairly well off clan from Texas, Oklahoma oil. He made the Army Rangers and led a team that specialized in extractions behind enemy lines. Rumor has it that he was responsible for flooding the black market with those thai sticks, that flooded the west coast in the late 70's. Apparently with his connections and background in that part of the world, he was able to get a freighter thru as kind of a rebellious send off to his military career, as at one point during a mission, he said famously that he realized he was shooting at the wrong people, and that his government had this thing all screwed up.  Which many conclude that was the case, only in the aftermath.
       His no-nonsense approach to commercial diving Abalone, then sea urchins fit  his, independent spirit, He treated every dive trip as a mission, and few in the business would tolerate his eccentric style, basically stripped down to the bare essentials, or bare bones. Consequently he ended up diving by himself more often than not.  Of course he would always insist he preferred it that way. Now John and Duane were contemporaries, and John just could not bare to see the Spirit 1 die in such a unceremonious fashion, and purchased the Spirit 1 for $5000...or was it $2000 either way it was a pittance for a commercial dive boat.  His first action was to tow her to the desert, Palmdale I think to a property he owned or had access to. Not many knew exactly what went on in Johns world, he was always so secretive, he kept everybody guessing, and I suppose that served him well when he conducted operations among  the enemy.  He let it sit in the desert heat for 6 months before he started restoration of the Spirit 1.  He claims that by drying out the wood in that fashion the hull rose out of the water 6 inches.  At that point he stripped her down, so basically he started with just a hull, and re glassed her, or had someone do his bidding.  I personally knew all about that as I was one of those who ended doing his bidding during a haul out a few years into the resurrection.
        The finished product was a plain, minimalist dive platform, with an open steering station and a windshield, with no glass, that barely was high enough to keep the wind off you.  There were no fancy extras, and a huge heavy duty davit. She was clean though, and somehow one could barely notice her until you were right up on her, which was by design, with that battleship grey paint job, hard to see against the islands.  John never wanted anyone to know where he was.  most divers were that way to an extent, as they protected the fishing grounds they were currently working, but of course like everything else John took that to the extreme.
       He also did something that no other dive boat would do he mounted the air compressor inside the cabin. Now at first I was aghast that the smell of the gasoline on overnight trips, sleeping in the cabin would be prohibitive.  After a while he convinced me, as long as you keep the compressor well maintained, which was easier to do out of the weather, the smell of gasoline was insignificant.  He liked it because it kept the cabin nice and warm during those freezing winter months, and he could warm up between dives.  
      

      Another unorthodox method John used to employ was sinking the first days catch on the bottom in the anchorage overnight. He stressed the importance of finding a sandy bottom, preferably 35 to 40 ft deep. He also instructed that the net bags should be tied off to each other in case the swell picked up. This was an optional consideration. Nobody wanted to be the one to make that dive at dusk, and tie off those bags, but when failure to do so resulted in the net bags turning upside down and the urchins spilled out all over the bottom when the swell came up, as I learned the hard way in Johnson Lee one trip. There is nothing more embarrassing and frustrating than having to pick the urchins twice.

       Most all the other boats just hang the nets on a floater either tied to the boat or on a string. The advantage of Johns method is there is a clear deck for the second day, which is nice, and the urchins stay fresher not having to sit on deck all day. Quitting a little early, to go retrieve the urchins is part of that routine, but then again nobody wants to be the guy that has to dive down and float the urchins. There was an added perk, Cuyler anchorage , San Miguel Island. The urchins attracted the black tip crabs. There were so many in the net bags and underneath half buried in the sand, that we did not even collect them all. I resorted to ripping a claw off and then the crab could live and grow a new one.

        I reluctantly became what John referred to as a "boat operator".  I had been diving for about 7 years, and John seemed to accept that as qualified enough for me to be trained as a boat operator for the Spirit 1.  John made it clear that if I wanted to work more steadily, that it was necessary because he would take weeks off at a time to go snow skiing or on a bicycle trip or he would just make up something ,just to see how many people would believe it.  He had a strange sense of humor about that. He said that the boat "was meant to be worked" and that it was ok by him whether he was on the boat or not.
      My potential position or should I say the opportunity for me to achieve that position began in an ironic fashion.  Fresh off our week long adventure in Johnson's Lee, Kevin Sears informed me that John Gill may need a diver because he had had enough of John.  He also recommended me to John,which helped.  Kevin was one of the few divers that could tolerate Johns military ways on the boat. Reversely Kevin was one of the few he would allow on his boat.  Mostly he would identify a new diver or even a non-diver he would train to be his tender. After they got a taste of Johns style and the alternative operations that existed in the fleet, those individuals would wander off. 
      
     So  I made a couple trips with Kevin and John, and we did pretty good. Then a little weather came up and had some time off, but as the weather cleared, I went looking for John. He never owned a phone. In the days before cell phones, if he had to make a call he would go to the office at the Radon yard where he kept his boat when it wasn't in the water.  He was friends with George Radon who was now mostly running the boatyard, which could explain how he got away with staying in the large Van he parked where the trailer was.  .
      So I found him kicking it in his van and asked him if we were going to go back to work soon.  Thats when he let me know that he was semi-retired from diving, but that he had restored his friends old boat and that it was meant to be worked. In fact, I found out later that one of the reasons he kept the boat basic and simple , was so he could train just about anyone, fairly quickly and if they had half a brain they could not fail.
      I was reluctant to take the boat operator position, as he referred to it. Not only because of the added responsibility, and the extra work. I did not really relish the idea of being under John's supervision.  John was an intimidating presence at 6 foot 4 and symptoms of PTSD from his days as an Army Ranger combat Viet Nam veteran. I did not outright turn the job  down, but we agreed to meet on the boat the following morning.
      John shows up to the boat, with one of the San Diego divers that had recently showed up in Santa Barbara. There was about a half dozen or so of them and one bow loader that most of them had dove on at one time or another.  There were some great guys and I was empathetic to there situation, since I was not exactly welcome with open arms in Santa Barbara, coming up from Channel Islands.      This particular diver, none other than Kurt Ward, turns out coincidentally was also a former Army Ranger.  It was clear that he and John hit it off immediately, mostly because of that fact. Since I was not that committed to take the Boat Operator position, John had offered the job to Kurt, who was more than gung ho and willing, not to mention excited to take the job.   If there was any motivation for me to commit to being John's Boat Operator. more effective than the situation I was now faced with, I don't know what that would be.  Of course I was very diplomatic about the whole thing.  I was honest with Kurt, and explained how I felt, but inside I was thinking,  "there is no way  I was going to be under the authority of this transplant San Diego diver.  I knew the boat and I knew the hot urchin picking in the local waters.  He had no idea, he was new to the area.  We agreed however that we would share the responsibility.
       Kurt and I motored out the following morning, Kurt was full of optimism and I hoped this would work out. We arrived on the back side of Santa Rosa headed for the deep current spot, outside Johnson's Lee that I mentioned previously.  It was a spot you could work when the rest of the area was blown out, you just had to deal with the strong current and the depth, which went from about 60 ft out to 90 plus.
I had some line ups that I used before the days of GPS.  I identified a landmark on the peaks of the island and lined it up with a tree or other landmark on the beach to find this reef, I knew was loaded.  We threw the hook and anchored I turned off the motor, but when we settled in, we were off the line ups a little so I wanted to pull the hook and reset it on the right spot.  Well the motor would not start.  Apparently there were a few teeth missing off the fly wheel, and when that spot was where the starter had to grab to start the engine, it would just freewheeled the gear on the starter.  If you just kept turning it it would eventually get off that spot and start,  But this time no matter what we did. it was no use it was dead.
      Well I tried to get the Coast Guard on the radio for a tow in, but I was unable to raise them.  In the meantime, I told Kurt if he wanted to go ahead a pick a bag of urchins while we were waiting that would help to cover the cost of the fuel.  He came back with a stuffed 400 lb. bag of urchins and a look on his face, as if he just struck the mother load. I'm sure he saw more urchins in that dive than multiple dives in San Diego where I was told was a pretty scratchy affair.  Kurt was going on and on about how he would help fix the boat so we could get back out here, as quickly as possible.  He even went ahead and pulled the starter.  Well a crab boat motored by us and I recognized the old timer from Channel Islands, and he agreed to tow us toward the potato patch where we could reach the Coast Guard.  I thought that little crab boat was going to blow up his motor towing us. We finally got far enough out to reach the Coast Guard and we were towed into Santa Barbara.
     Well John was none too happy but he knew that the missing teeth off the fly wheel would eventually have to be dealt with so he did not get too worked up, but he was not one to waist an opportunity like this, to go ahead and overhaul the motor while it was being pulled to replace the flywheel.  Now this point in my career I did not claim to be any type of mechanic.  In fact I hated working on mechanical equipment though I did some up to that point, but I avoided it as much as possible. So John pulled the motor with the hoist on the pier , not normally used for that purpose, but John took full advantage of what he could get away with, which was substantial.  He was very charming and persuasive so most of the time he got his way, with the ladies as well I might add.  So he set the motor on a stand on the pier and instructed me to remove the risers from the cooling system and replace them with some taller risers, that would better protect the motor from the backwash of the ocean in case a heavy load and a following sea could put the motor at risk.  Then he left. I was confused how he would let my mechanical fumbling even touch his motor.  He was gone for hours.  I was getting a little worried.  I had no idea what to do next or even if I properly installed the risers.  Of course Mr Kurt Ward was nowhere to be found. According to him he was a master mechanic and should have no trouble with pulling the motor and replacing the fly wheel ect.
       I found out later that John used a technique in training to get the most out of a trainee.  He knowingly gave a little more responsibility to the under qualified.  In that way he was able to get the most out of someone, rather than the other way around which tended to discourage those with potential,  Well it made sense to me as I gained some confidence around the motor of the Spirit 1 and that is exactly what John wanted, Since I became boat operator trainee number 1 by default, and by my decision to not let some San Diego diver give me orders, when I knew these waters and the prime for picking urchin beds and I already knew the boat. John knew what he was doing when he recruited Kurt to take my job.  I was in 100%. which is basically what I told John.  He looked right at me and said good, be on the boat in the morning 7 AM.
       When I showed up the next morning, John instructed me to remove all of the loose gear in the cabin and other spaces and place it on the dock.  Then he went on ' get some hot soapy water and scrub out all the spaces and the cabin inside and out' and when I was finished to return all the gear back to where I got it. Then he left.  I was aghast.  Here I was my first day of boat operator training and he has me out here doing tenders work. I was not too happy, as I half halfheartedly went about my task.  John returned a couple hours later and asked if I had completed the job.  I mumbled something about some heavier gear that I just cleaned around.  He said 'no everything" then he left again,  So I dragged out the spare hand winch and some other spare parts.  When John returned he asked the same question. When I affirmed that I had he began asking me where the spare winch was, the flashlight, first aid kit, etc,  Well I was able to identify the location of all the gear and he simply said 'good you know where everything is, now we can get started.  I t dawned on me that there was a purpose in doing this tenders work.
            Well I was off and runnin, I wasn't even sure, if I got the green light.  It had been 3 weeks getting the boat fixed, so I really needed to make a trip.  This boat operator gig didn't pay while we were sitting on the beach and only an extra 5 % when we were working. Well the weather was nice and I couldnt find John anywhere.  I ran into Kevin and he said that John had been bugging him to make a trip with me, so he could keep an eye on me. Nobody said that but I am sure that was the case.  Kevin was fed up with John, he used to call him a Viet Nam crazo. I guess they got into last trip over something stupid that John considered very important. Well Kevins attitude was lets get out of here before John shows up.
    Kevin was not into working that hard.  He was a natural in the water, but working like a dog was not on his agenda.  He put very little effort, with the same results as a diver without his natural talent, using twice as much energy.  I did not care that much though it was kind of annoying when I needed someone to do back to back trips, which is the only way I had made money in the business. Back to back trips.
   John had a policy of putting people on the boat that he trained and approved.  He had this thing about women on the boat.  He like to have women divers on the boat, though the only 2 in the harbor both did trips with me.  I did not mind,  but I did end up putting a tender that I knew on the boat. I met Donnie thru a mutual friend  and then he invited me to help him harvest  his Marijuana grow up in the hills above Ventura.  That is whole other chapter.  He seemed not afraid to work hard so I took him out on a few trips.  He worked out alright except for the fact he was a heroin addict.  So unless he had enough for our 2 day trips, might as well leave him on the beach.
    So we were cruising right along, and I managed to pull off some epic trips, coming in  with 5 or 6 thousand pounds.  I would go out the first day and work the deep current outside Johnsons Lee.  By the way guess who was sitting right on my line-ups with the whole San Diego fleet, within a few hose lengths.  Thats right gung ho loyal Kurt Ward. He gave up my spot to his buddies so fast, it would make your head swim.  I was a little irritated, but later when I realized how many sea urchins were there, I was over it.  Much of the fleet worked that general area for month's.  Any way when the current came up.  I pulled anchor went around the point to clusters.  John showed me a  shallow spot that was just loaded, but you could only get in there when the swell was down. The conditions were right and I managed to pull off a few like that.  John was happier than a pig in shit, when I came in with those loads. One trip. it was blowing pretty good, and I had another San Diego Diver Jay Bloomquist, who was hot to make a trip.  I guess he had a relative coming for a visit and he was broke. Jay was a really friendly guy and we hung out together for a time when we were onshore. We set out on a trip when none of the other boats did.  I knew a spot at Yellow Banks, on the back side of Santa Cruz Island that mostly was worked by the Channel Island fleet.  We had to buck up in the teeth of the wind to get there, but I knew once we were anchored we could work the deep current. When we were done for the day, just a few miles to get around the east end of the island and it was all down hill from there, surfing all the way in. My line-ups were etched in my mind, and it was blowing 30 knots, but we pulled it off.  Jay was ecstatic.  When we pulled in the harbor John came down the pier, with some people, with a big old grin on his face and handed me a $100.  Then he introduced me as his boat operator to his friends.  He had been in the bar at the end of the pier Brophy Brothers nervously waiting for me to arrive, since no one else was out and conditions were questionable, I sensed that grin was masking his relief.  He also mentioned that was the kind of shit he did as well.
    Fast forward John showed up back in town and decided to make a trip, so I suggested we do the same routine, he agreed since we were doing so well.  So we were just pulling anchor at the end of the trip, it started blowing pretty good and the whitecaps were getting blown over themselves by the the wind that was just a hootin about 25 knots.  We were good though we were going with the wind and once we got thru the potato patch, which was a little harry, and we knew we were going to slammed, pretty good, but then it was downhill the rest of the way home. John has the first watch and I am heading down to the cabin after I suited out.  All of a sudden I hear this faint cry, more of a yell cry, but very faint.  At first I thought it was my imagination, then I heard it again and looked toward the sound, but couldn't see anything between the swells.  Then on the back side of the swell I spotted a figure frantically waving his arms and yelling.  Then gone again as he descended into the trough of the swell. Then up he came to the peak, and I started yelling at John that there was someone in the water a few hose lengths toward shore.  John took a port turn and motored up to the figure who was wearing a wet suit and then we realized it was Mr Kurt Ward.  Kurt was yelling that he was bent, as he climbed up on the out drive, but there was a mound of sea urchins between him and the cabin, so he scrambled over the urchins as he explained that he had been hanging off beneath the Blue Angel.  He had tied his 3 300 lb bags off with his hose and enough slack so he could hang off at 10 feet since he was way over the no decompression limit.  He was going to have to hang off for something like 20 minutes. Well the current was so strong that his hose was kinking against the weight of the sea urchins and the force of the current. So no air he had to bail out.
         Well the crew of the Blue Angel were busy arguing with each other as we passed them.  I did not think too much about it just chuckled a little.  It was not uncommon to have yelling matches on the urchin boats, the pressure to succeed and perform, only exacerbated itself when the weather came up.
Kenny Hauser was one of the crew.  Now Kennys father was a very successful tuna fisherman.  He was well respected, and Kenny was also a master fiberglass er, a skill he learned from his father. Kennys boat the Easy Rider was a behemoth of a bow loader, but had a shady reputation as a party boat , as did Kenny himself. At any rate neither Kenny or the other crew had any idea Kurt was gone. They assumed he was still hanging off.
        Well when Kurt started to rip his wet suit off , John told him that he better not do that as it was important that Kurt should get back down to depth to properly decompress.  John suited up, I took the wheel and over the side they went.  We decided to throw the anchor, thinking that would allow them to hang off holding the anchor.  Well all it did was once the anchor grabbed that forced them to the surface and that was the end of that.  We eventually medi-vaced  him to the Coast Guard helicopter.  John took the wheel as we were instructed by the helicopter crew to go straight into the wind. Then the stokes liter  and a jumper were lowered down on a cable while the chopper hovered over the Spirit 1.  Kurt was laying down next to the bulkhead of the cabin not looking too cheerful. John all of a sudden turned to me with that movie star smile and exclaimed "Fuck this reminds me of Nam"
      The chopper was not going to be able to get the stokes litter any closer to Kurt, once Kurt realized that he made a miraculous recovery and scrambled over the urchins and jumped in that litter, and off they went. Now what happen next has been a matter of contention, between victims of decompression sickness and Coast Guard and other emergency chopper pilots.  Most divers understand that the atmospheric pressure at sea level is  what most dive computers (before that math was involved in computing no decompression dives, but the general rule of thumb was 60ft for 60 minutes, 70 ft for 50 minutes, and so on) use to calculate hang off times, when going into decompression diving.  Something urchin divers try to avoid, but when the money is there the general practice became more common to decompression dive when the conditions dictated that the diver could safely hang of at 10 ft for X amount of minutes. Well many helicopter pilots don't realize that if they climb to high altitude with a victim of decompression sickness, that is going exacerbate their condition dramatically due to the lower atmospheric pressure at altitude. John and the rest of us were trying to communicate that to the air crew, and I think they got the message as they kept low to the water as they flew off.
        Now some might say that Kurt took too great a risk staying at depth that long in the conditions, that were evident, and that was irresponsible of him as no other diver I was aware of took that kind of risk. Some might also say that greed, ego, machismo,  courage bravery,  or stupidity may have got the better of him and he paid the consequences.  I was more aware of the irony, or karma that was present.  It just seemed fitting because I was having a slight resentment, due to Kurts jumping ship in the time of need, making sure all his San Diego buddies reaped the benefits of my experience, as competition for prime urchin territory was fierce at times. I did not wish anything bad to happen to Kurt, just because my ego, and to some extent my pocketbook was damaged.  In fact later on I used the incident as a badge of honor the San Diego fleet invaded my spot.  Now all of us divers were guilty of trespassing on another territory at one time or another.  It is just that Kurt was so Gung Ho of how he was going to to this and that make sure the Spirit 1 was back in the water, and that he would protect the knowledge of prime urchin picking by following thru with that.
      Now 30 years later Kurt ends up writing a book  Harvester of the Sea (available on Amazon)  I had not seen him in 20 something years, when all of a sudden he pops up on my Facebook page. A friend of a friend, another diver who I had not seen for a while either.  He is making a comment about his age, and I just could not resist as a posted a comment about how he may not have made it, if I had not heard then spotted him that day.  I was being sarcastic and and any resentment I had had long passed, as I realized I may have been a little presumptuous thinking I could protect that spot for very long, as 10 to 15 boats worked that spot for months, and even I did not realize how many urchins were actually there.  Well he said Hi and told me that story was in his book, and it was all good.  Well I was curious as to how well our memories hold up after 30 years, so I ran down to him my take on the story, and I was a little sarcastic, and I was ribbing him a little, but all in good fun, and I really never meant any harm.  Well he just reacted in such a way, that he felt I was denigrating him, and he blocked me from his page and called me asshole.  I felt bad because that was not my intention.  I had to find his alternative email to tell him that.  I dont know if he got it, I have not heard anything.  Then I thought about it for a while and the old Shakespeare quote came to mind "thou protesteth too much" Maybe there is a tinge of self doubt evident in that reaction. Any way buy his book I hope he makes millions.
        So I did my little episode on the Spirit 1. Years later I saw the boat up in Pt Arena, and I ran into John, he was gracious and acted genuinely glad to see me.  He said I could work on the  boat with Kieth his new operator /tender. which I did and that has its own story behind it, stay tuned.

Opening day

OPENING DAY LOBSTER SEASON

Lost in the Fog 

         Dale Ball was one of the 3 coxswains that acted as skipper aboard the 41 ft search and rescue US Coast Guard vessels that I served as deck hand. Along with an Machinists mate, the 3 man crews operated search and rescue missions in and around the Channel Islands. Dale was also a sport diver, and when I showed up with all my dive gear asking questions, Dale was happy to inform me that the Channel Islands had some of the best diving in the world. He also had a little Avon inflatable raft and he was glad to have a dive buddy. He had also just purchased a 19 ft radon type boat that George Hawkins a local urchin diver had built. It had a little 4 cylinder volvo gas engine, that could get up on a plane.

       Well I had made several sport dive trips in the inflatable with Dale . One to Rincon oil Island and one to county line in front of Neptunes Net. One day Dale said he wanted to take his little boat to Anacapa Island on opening day for lobster season. I was eager to join him and we set off on sun-up on opening day. Conditions were favorable and Frenchys cove was only 12 miles from the harbor and were anchored up in Frenchys, a little over an hour later. Dale said just go in tight, and look in the little caves that were formed up against the rocky shore. I swam in and dove down about 20 ft and the lobsters were everywhere. Once I started grabbing for them, the little buggers were shooting across my face mask and every where. I had 7, which was the sport limit in no time and so did Dale.

        We were happy on the way back until the fog set in. We had no radar so when we got close we shut down the motor and listened for the fog horn....back and forth we went searching for a glimpse of the breakwater. We heard the fog horn but by the time I spotted a surfer in the line-up our fuel ran out. It was more than a little embarrassing to have to call the Coast Guard on the radio to come rescue us lost in the fog and out of fuel. Nobody really noticed as 2/3 rds of one of the Coast Guard rescue crews was towed in by the same 41 footer we both stood duty on performing rescues...but we had a lobster feast that night and laughed about it.

Horseshoe and the Sea Hag

Horseshoe and the Sea Hag

This is a partial view of the area while entering the harbor

      One day I got word from Dan Brainard that it was going off in San Pedro. It seemed unlikely that Dan would want to do me any favors. A few years before I was involved with a little scrape with him in Ft Bragg. His “girlfriend' Nora, an attractive local with 4 children, but still young and adventurous I recruited her to drive one of my trucks from Pt. Arena to Ft Bragg. It was my 65 step side International pick-up. I was headquartered in Ft Bragg, so I drove her down and then followed her in my 1960 dually International pick-up. She asked Dan to babysit and we took just a little longer than he expected. Well Dan was fairly angry because he suspected that Nora and I had more of a relationship than just employer- employee, anyway when we returned he confronted me in the bar and I slipped out to my truck avoiding his uncomfortable questions and as I began to take off in my truck he appeared with Nora's brother., they did not appear to be just wanting to exchange pleasantries so I revved the motor and headed in there direction and I swerved away from at the last moment. He was jealous and I figured he would get over it. It was not like I was going to try and take Nora away from him.

           At any rate, after I saw him again he was not too upset. We talked about the incident and shook hands. I was still a bit surprised he would offer such valuable information. I was more than a little skeptical. When he went on “Just a few miles out of the jaws of the breakwater in San Pedro he said..'just jump on anything that floats' I was incredulous....how could that be? , so close to the harbor. After nearly 20 years of diving, I had never heard of sea urchins out in front of the breakwater. I knew the coast from Palo's Verde was worked some and the coast north. I made it there and witnessed a dozen or so boats working out deep and the urchins were fat with yellow roe. This diving area was dangerous, especially on the weekends. The Catalina Express vessels speeding 20 plus knots over around and through the little fleet, were in danger of running over someones hose. There were more than a few of these “accidents” that occurred. They had no idea what a Bravo signal flag meant, and even the red flag with the white diagonal  bar did not slow them down. It is a wonder more divers did not get killed with all the boat traffic that traveled over the fishing grounds named “horseshoe” after the shape of the combined reefs that made up the area.

        Fish Harbor was not my favorite place,though over the years I had worked out of the harbor when San Clemente Island was ripe for the picking. The drive is about 2 hours from Oxnard ...Hi way 1 south through Malibu then jump on the 10 going east of Santa Monica, then 405 south. Passing the San Pedro exits, and over the Vincent Thomas Bridge and you arrive Terminal Island. Terminal Island is not exactly a vacation destination. From the abandon Tuna canneries and bleak run down office buildings to the Federal prison there is a feeling of foreboding. Not a lot of pedestrian traffic, you pretty much had to have a vehicle, because there were no grocery stores and 1 restaurant that doubled as a meeting place for the fishermen and truck drivers that would line up and load up from the rail cars. There were also the drug dealers and other unsavory souls. Parasites that preyed on those same fishermen and truck drivers. The single Bar now since shut down Joe Biffs was a lively affair with pool tables, that attracted a few sailors as well.They served food, but I heard the story of the fly paper above the grill, so my appetite was not so good when I was there.  To top it off If you were not already attracted to the area the stench of the Pet food cannery, on the days the wind was blowing in the right direction just gave me the inspiration to name TI the toilet seat of the West Coast.

      There also was a Coast Guard Station that was the home port of the buoy tender Walnut. I was familiar with the station, since while aboard the USCGC Glacier the lone Icebreaker home ported at Naval Station Long Beach, now since shut down. We had the privilege of using the massive sand blaster that Terminal Island Station had available. Part of a 4 man crew Ist Class TC convinced us this would be fun duty, hauling these massive lockers off the ship and gearing up to sandblast them to clean metal then painting them for reinstalling them on the Glacier. Not too much fun.

        My dislike of Fish harbor was not going to deter me from making some money. My feast and famine existence had been in the famine stage for a little to long so off I went went trolling for a boat.

          I found an old Korean diver. There were a few of them, no nonsense , broken English speaking middle aged, but willing to let me stay on his boat, Sea Hag. It was an old 30 ft something old wooden fishing boat, but sea worthy enough to go 2 miles out. So off we went, and I was amazed at about 70 ft patches of good size urchins eating the bottom growth. We got paid cash as the Korean was happy to to that for us. I lost my bag one day trying to basket too far away. I had given up on the bag when the old Korean said he was a navy diver for the Korean navy and he could find it, and he sure did after several attempts. I got to hand it to that old Korean diver he was tough and persistent, The fleet had a couple of months of work out there , and even some boats from Channel Islands boats started to show up. I am not sure if that area had ever been worked, and I can see why, while on deck I had to wave of several boats racing thru the area.

        I was reunited with the Fuji 3 the last trips I made out to horseshoe. I was also reunited with an old friend. Mike Fair and I had a history but I had not seen much of him in recent years. He was running the boat for Mick who became a Merchant Marine, as I did later on, partly due to his example. He was happy to put me on , as I was familiar with the boat and a little desperate.  He bumped another diver, to my benefit, which happen to me before, and I was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I had the scare of my life when I was live boating Mike and a sport boat ran over his hose. I was watching and waiting for him to pop up. It seemed like an eternity as I was practicing what I was going to say to the Coast Guard and all our dive comrades about how Mike drown. Then all the sudden he popped up much to my relief when I motored up to him he said “yay I am still alive”. He took it stride which I would not have.  I would have been been madder than hell at the sport boat. We motored over to the boat and told them what they had caused. Of course they were sorry they always are. Mike was so non-nonchalant about it , but this was the second life-and death episode we had been involved, the first being the sinking of the Fat city 15 years before. Horseshoe was a big shot in the arm for me. However I was about to get a 3 year break from diving and not by choice, but that break ended up being good for my state of mind. Stay tuned.