PUGET SOUND SEA CUCUMBERS

            I had heard about the sea cucumber harvest, up in the Puget Sound, and since I was original from the area, and took my basic scuba class there (which cost all of $50 bucks and I had to haul my gear on the bus, from the U district in Seattle to Edmonds twice a week....i think.) it seemed a good place to start.  I had not really had any other income, for almost 20 years, when my permit to dive sea urchins in California was suspended for 3 years.  At the time it seemed like a death sentence.  I felt I was unemployable in any other occupation, but I was in need of a job.  The shot gun quota system, they used in Washington allowed the season about 6 weeks.  The Fish and Game, mapped out sections of ocean bottom. Then they would designate which section that was to be harvested, and came up with a number, allowable catch.  This number was based on the observational scientific studies of the marine ecosystem and its sustainable yield.  The "shotgun" was a representation of the starting signal, as with a track race. In actuality it was just a date, and time to start the season.  Then the following year, they would designate another section and so on. Sort of like crop rotation as in farming, or leaving a field to go fallow for a season, to regenerate. A different way to manage the fishery, but prohibitive for the kind of specialized career I enjoyed in California.
     
          In between vehicles at this point,  my plan was to stay in the campground closest to Anacortas. unloading dock,plant my gear in the most conspicuously visible spot and stick out my thumb, metaphorically speaking.
       Anacortas was known as the gateway to the San Juan Islands  I had been there once or twice, and had some fond memories of my early sport diving trips in my 1959 Volkswagon van camper. The first vehicle I owned, it was equipped with a closet with a mirror on the door , bunk water tank and hand pump.  A nifty hatch on the roof that opened like a door,with enough room to set my Coleman stove on top, allowing the roof of my Van to double as a galley.  Did not come equipped with a gas guage however.  I was obliged to "do the math" after my 10 gallon tank was filled, I knew I could go about 220 miles before I ran out. My 1400cc 40 horsepower motor completed the package, top speed about 65 miles an hour down hill. The dealership salesman at Bjorkland Volkswagon that sold it to me, neglected however to understand that knob with the twist handle on it, underneath the drivers seat, was in fact an emergency reserve, for those who were not great at math. He told me it was the way to channel the heat to the back of the van.  I found all this out the hard way, when being the sympathetic soul that I am, I picked up some hitchhikers, and I wanted them to be comfortable so I twisted that handle, only to shut off the supply of gas to the motor,  Shortly coming to a complete stop, and being towed to the gas station when they actually had mechanics that worked there.  I was notified of my ignorance, and off I went.  Did I mention that the Van was painted yellow with a couple trees painted on the side.? My friends used to call it my hippie van or just "Tree House" Eventually the motor did fail. I had a friend at my place of employment (Domani, Italian cuisine downtown Bellevue), volunteer to help me out.  I was number 1 and only dishwasher, and he was a prep cook.  Bob owned a Karmen Ghia and told me that replacing the motor was not that difficult and we could do it in an afternoon. We found a used rebuilt motor for $250. I was able to use the money I was awarded in the small claims case I brought against Bjorkland Volkswagon for selling me the vehicle with a burnt out motor.  Much to my surprise and delight the judge read the affidavit  from the mechanic,  who broke down the motor  and agreed with his assessment. The amount of STP in the the crankcase and motor, indicated that was a typical trick to keep the smoke and noise down long enough to sell it, and in his opinion that is what happen here. Bod basically did everything else in a couple hours and I was On the Road Again.
      Now without a vehicle my plan was to greyhound bus, transfer to a city bus to the campground closest to the docks, which there happen to be one available, though it was going to be tight to make the last one.
         I will never greyhound bus from L.A. to Seattle again, rest assured, unless I am heavily medicated.  Trying to sleep in the first class back, 3 person seat, was a miserable experience. My fellow passenger and I worked out a system, 2 hours on the floor, 2 hours on the seat,  I don't recommend it.  When I finally arrived in Seattle that medication I was talking about, found me in the form of a couple 16 oz cans of Steel Reserve. 8.1% booze, with a little barley malt and hops.  I had a layover of a couple hours before the bus heading north departed.  I was being fairly discreet about drinking in public, I thought, until some security guard spotted me and the refused to let me board my bus.  I was apoplectic. On the train you can drink all you want, as long as your willing to get gouged at he cash register.  I could barely contain my anger as I waited for the next one and prayed I was going to make my connection in Anacortas.  I missed the last city bus going to the campground, so I had to stash most of my dive gear in the bushes, then hike the mile and a half, set up my tent and with a sigh of relief, was asleep before my head hit the pillow, if I had one.
       The next morning, I collected my gear and went grocery shopping.  When I returned to my campsite, I laid the groceries on the picnic bench and headed to the showers.  When I returned, a flock of crows had raided my groceries.  There is not a word to describe the emotional hurricane I was suffering, as I chased the crows off, and salvaged what I could, hoping my limited budget would hold out.
        The following day, I managed to get my gear down to the unloading dock.  The locals were giving me the stink eye, but I expected that, and was prepared with my claim, that I was not a newcomer to these waters.  Most of the boats were large converted fishing boats. They used Dry suits and many of them were rigged for communications. I was building up my courage to approach this unfriendly grizzly lot.  When down the channel comes a 26 ft Radon with wet suits on the deck. I greeted the skipper and when he said he was from Santa Barbara, I unashamedly named dropped

ed my heart out, made the connection I was looking for, and after about 15 minutes I had a boat for the season.
      The diving conditions were cold deep rip currents.  3 man crew. 1 diver in the water at a time, 1 man steering the boat, 1 man cutting the cucumbers.  The driver had to pay attention as to not get too much of a a loop in the hose, as the affect on the diver, in that current is drastic. On the bottom is was like a river,, and the body position adjustments one had to make to slow down once some cucumbers were identified were comical. I was learning to squint my eyes, to help see the cucumbers through that murky green water. Just dark spots in the bottom clay like muck bottom that seemed to be our best chance of finding them. I figured out how to squeeze 2 fingers around the end of one, that left 2 more for the next before they went in the bag. We took turns in the water, the tender traded off driving and cutting.
       When we unloaded the catch at the end of the day, we were paid in cash which was sweet. Off to the campsite, and as a bonus the boat would pick me up at the boat launch ramp, in the morning so I did not have to go into town.  We must of circumnavigated every San Juan Island in the search for these cucumbers. We worked 3 days a week for about 6 weeks.  I did not get rich, but I had a little cushion till i figured out what in the hell was I going to do next.

“At least I make an honest living”

“At least I make an honest living”

        Understand now, when I first started diving for sea urchins the spiny shellfish were considered pests, which they were, since the sea otters were hunted out of these waters in the last century. That left the sea urchins, with no other natural predator to keep them from over running the reefs and eating the precious kelp. The kelp, of course being valuable for maintaining the marine ecosystem in the Southern California waters. The different “experiments the Fish and Games scientists came up with to eradicate the sea urchins were in a word ridiculous. Everything from poisoning, to a bounty for sport divers to get there jollies smashing them with hammers.

        So enter the sea urchin fishery. All anyone needed was a 45 dollar commercial fishing license, and you could pick all the sea urchins you wanted. Well that changed when the fishery stabilized.   The sea urchin fishery represented the number 1 seafood export from California for many years. So of course it was decided that the fishery needed to be “managed” Without boring myself with all the details, they created regulations size limits and so on. I can tell you that was the last thing a Fish and Game Warden wanted to do was measure a 5000 pound load of Sea Urchins trying to find enough short size urchins to ruin the day week and maybe even month and career of the diver. At first they did not enforce the size limit much, until some divers shot ourselves in the foot by calling the fish cops on each other. .........' Hey such and such was over at the spot I worked for a week and he came out of there with a full load, and I know I picked every legal size urchin there' that kinda thing. Well you can kinda say the Fish and Game “put the hammer down” I can tell you though, when they were through, nobody wanted to call the cops on anyone again. They were on a mission to find 30 shorts on any boat they checked, one way or another. I would watch them with there measuring device, chip off shell just to make the measuring device fit over an urchin, if they thought they were not going to get their 30. That was 30 shorts allowed per load. No matter if you had 3000 pounds or 500 pounds. It seems a percentage of your load could be short would be more fair, but not to them because that would mean they would have to measure every urchin on loads that were close. Hell they could find 30 of the top of any load the way they measured them.

        For many years standard practice would allow a choice for divers during the off loading process. Divers could go home immediately while the tender off loaded. Some boats would rotate that privilege, and some divers never did, preferring to witness the weight of their individual catch. Maybe they had trust issues, maybe even justified, but that practice ran afoul of the Fish And Game, because if they came on scene after the owners of the catch had already departed, and there was a violation, the diver in question would be absent from the scene to accept the citation. It took them sometime before they actually required by law for the diver to maintain proximity to his catch for the day until such time as the Fish and Game was absent, or they excused him after the catch was accounted for.

         Well the occasion where I went home early, shortly after I arrived to the Manchester KOA, just about 5 miles north of Pt, Arena. The tender off the Fuji 3 the vessel I was currently working, arrived with a message that I have to return and claim my catch. I was reluctant at first because I was sure I was OK, as I was not one of those, so determined to make weight, I would start picking small urchins, in fact I hated picking small urchins. So I finally returned to find a box of urchins that was supposedly mine next to a truck with forklifts and tractor trailers full of urchins going back and forth with nobody watching them at all. If this was evidence, it was highly suspect, That box of urchins could have been tampered with as sat there for hours. Since my father was a special agent with the DEA for 29 years, I had a little experience about how evidence is suppose to be handled in a criminal investigation. The evidence in my case was not handled in any where close to standard, in fact the warden was derelict in his duty to leave evidence so conspicuously out in the open to where anybody could have tampered with it.

     I was cited despite my objections, I had 38 shorts in a 2000 pound day, I had a great day and it would be for nothing since they seized the load and sold it so they could add to there coffers. Meanwhile Mr 500 pounds had 23 shorts, a much higher percentage of shorts, but I was the bad guy.

        So fast forward to my court date, which took place in the Pt Arena high school gym I believe, with just a couple tables and chairs. I sat right across from the judge. When it was my turn to speak I told him that the evidence had been sitting out in the public for hours with no security, and there is no way could they attach those urchins to me under those conditions legally or otherwise. He was a little frustrated with me, I assume because he wanted the calendar to move a long, so he could get the hell out of there. He then gave me the biggest bullshit lie, and it would come back to haunt me that I bought it, he was a judge after all. He said if I plead guilty, my load would stay forfeit, but he would not impose the fine of $400, which was normally imposed in these cases, most important of all he promised there would be no further action taken on this case. He was wrong about that.

        So off I went. The summer was over, so it was about time to head back down south. The winters in Northern Ca did not allow for much work, so I ended up working the Amy Lynn, for that winter. Deep 100 ft diving at San Nicolas for giant size urchins, they filled the bag so fast. I loved it. The Amy Lynn was a 38 ft Radon equipped with twin hydraulic booms, that were nice for pulling a diver in and loading the urchins, but the way they were situated if the boat took a list it was natural to grab for the spool on the boom, and one day I watched a tender cut off his finger doing that. Steve Noah found the finger and he Jerry and I, crowded into his Dodge Ram dually, and raced up to Santa Rosa in the hope they could do something with it.  Alas it was not to be. The poor tender would always have a reminder of that trip.
    At any rate,  It was rolling around to that time a year and I was not about wait around and hope the boat I was on was going to migrate north where the money was, in the summer anyway. So I planned to head north in my truck as soon as we got in from San Nicolas, make a pit stop in Buelton and head up that night, and that's what I did. A week or so later, I called up Jerry asking about the check, he told me that the Fish and Game had seized my load. I was apoplectic, the urchins were giant so they were not short. I called the Fish and Game as Jerry directed , and when I called them after a nightmare, trying to get to the right warden they said since I was not on scene to claim my load, my load was seized. Then they said they needed to see my permit, physically see it. No fax or copy. Now this was before there was a law requiring  the diver to stay with his load during the unloading process. I also explained to them why I was in a hurry, because I had a long drive ahead of me. After several attempts to collect my compensation for my lawful urchins they came up with a accusation that sources indicate that I was diving with someones elses permit. I was aghast at the ignorance and stupidity. I retorted “Why would I be diving on someone else s permit when I have a perfectly good one? They should know that because the Fish and Game data base would confirm that I had a permit.

       So with no citation and no due process, I was the victim of theft of my load of Sea Urchins, amounting to about $600. Right around this time I became aware of a Fish and Game warden Officer , he was running around Pt Arena like a chicken with her head cut off. He was measuring urchins like a mad man, he was searching as if his life depended on it. He was even running divers background checks, looking for unpaid traffic tickets. That was unprecedented .So he started in on ours and after a minute I said something like what is wrong with you? Why are treating us like criminals. He even called his wife and told her he would be late for dinner. He said to me “at least I make an honest living” I was stunned. I said something to the effect that Jesus was a fisherman. Well true to form, he ran my background check and he discovered a citation that I did not show up in court. He was so happy, because it was his intention to drive me all the way to Fort Bragg and turn me in to the Jail for a warrant for driving without a license. Fort Bragg is 50 miles on a windy, steep skinny road. I was not very cordial to him, on the ride up and I was yelling in his ear at one point' Then to top it off he could not even find the jail. I was laughing at him with all the Gusto I possessed. When he checked me in, the jailers were snickering at him for going thru all that effort for a minor traffic violation. In fact, they only kept me for an hour then let me out and I was back in Pt. Arena before him. When I presented my permit to him, I asked if now could I get the money for the load they illegally seized in Oxnard, after his negative response I called Oxnard to no avail. It was at that point I realized that some of these Fish and Game officers really dislike us, and they will go thru hell and high water to make our lives miserable. 
      So off I go on my merry way, incidentally when I did show up for court this time, I was sentenced to a weekend in the Mendocino county Jail in Ukiah.  A windy mountain 25 mile road away. When I showed up the jail turned me away said they had no record of my sentence.  Meanwhile stranded in Ukiah all night till the buses start running. so off I go renewed my permit that year, bounced around a few boats, until a year or so later. A Fish and Game warden shows up on my door and hands me paperwork indicating that I was in violation for harvesting sea urchins without a permit.  I was stunned until I dug a little deeper and lo and behold it was revealed that after my sketchy conviction for undersized urchins my case was referred to the State fish and Game Commission which was a new entity I had never heard of. They had sent me a certified letter indicating their intention to suspend my permit for 6 months, in the light of the previous conviction, which I only plead guilty to because the judge promised me, there would be no further action, if I did so.  I never received the letter, and the Fish and Game had no receipt signed or otherwise that I had received such a letter. The Fish and Game Commission decided to proceed anyway regardless, and did indeed suspend my permit for 6 months. Of course they did not even bother with a notification letter this time, because that would show I was not notified, when they did not get a signed receipt. Therefore all the urchins I landed during that period were in violation.  I may ask why even bother with the first certified letter, if a response was not necessary for the Commission to proceed.  So I have these violations hanging over my head that were not adjudicated..no citations or convictions.
         Now I admit this last episode, was a stupid thing to do, not so much because of the morality or the irresponsibility for not foreseeing this problem, but because I should have known Fish and Game wardens with urchin divers in their sights would do exactly what it would take to catch a few scofflaws, during the permit renewal window. That year it stormed for weeks before the renewal date, and I just could not come up with the $420 for the permit.  So I did what any resourceful broke diver would have done.  As soon as the weather cleared and much of the fleet was creeping out,  I thought I could sneak a trip in pay for my permit and none would be the wiser.  Not to be, the F and G vessel Marlin was way out at San Miguel, just drooling, in the hope that some dumb ass like me would be doing, what I was doing.  Sure enough, they even terminated our voyage and escorted the Office to SB, much to Lukes consternation. So goodbye 2 days of work. I managed to come up with the permit money  and just hoped for the best when.  I got a call from my father in Washington State, somehow my mail was diverted there, when I spent the previous summer in Seattle.  The F and G commission informed me that my permit was at risk of a 5 year suspension...unless I attended there meeting at Pt Reyes Station.
       I was in complete panic mode.  I had not been employed , other than sea urchin diving for 20 years. The thought of working a 9 to 5 terrified me. My whole identity was based on diving. I would be fascinated with Jacque Cousteau and 20,000 leagues under the sea as a child and dreamt of being a professional diver, and I realized that dream, after ridicule and obstacle after obstacle presented itself, I exercised, fortitude, determination stubbornness, until my perseverance paid off. Well it was clear that I would have to reach back and use all of those qualities to get me through this one.

La Donna

La Donna 

      The La Donna was a 50+ foot fishing yacht.  Built for the well off sport fisherman, it was luxurious compared to the fleet of commercial vessels harvesting  sea urchins during that period. Jim owner  operator had suffered a bad traffic accident and as a result really did have much use of his legs.  He had to be carried on and off the boat, but got around fairly good once he was on board.  Jim did not feel sorry for himself he was a hard charger and assembled a 4 5 or even six and 7 man crews. He was a serious mechanic and between him and his brother the La Donna was a vessel many divers spent a  tour of duty aboard, and I was no exception. 
       Jim and his brother converted the La Donna to a commercial sea urchin boat and besides appearance held a unique position among the fleet.  The La Donna was also comfortable...nice bunks and plenty of room.  He also fabricated a makeshift structure on top of the cabin to house another diver.  It was like a tent, fabricated with blue tarps and wire ties. The advantage was lots of room to  spread out and furnish it to the personality of the present occupant. It was nice in port, but underway it was a rolly polly affair that was not conducive to a good night restful sleep 
      I got a call that there was a spot available and I made my way to Redondo Beach Harbor from Thousand Oaks.  Since the facilities on the boat were good enough to not have to commute, I was aboard for the duration.  Trouble was, it took 3 weeks before La Donna was ready to  disembark, and I had no choice but to wait it out. Since Jim was providing all the food and beer and Redondo Harbor was the place to be for a young diver on the prowl, especially at night, with all the live music at the clubs.  It was like night and day compared to Fish Harbor.
      We finally got underway and of course out to the outer islands, and when I received a check for my first few trips, I understood why Jim was so generous with the beer and food.  It was because he took it out of our checks.  I thought the bill was astronomical. 
      Jim kept that operation running..not always smoothly, but he was the driving force that made such a big high maintenance vessel work.  I did fairly well, but personality issues arose and politics.  There was always some diver waiting in the wings, in case someone didnt show or got bumped or fired.  If there was one too many bodies aboard,  Jim would simply look at the weight of the divers catch to see who would be packing there bags.  Those numbers mattered and Jim used them like that.
    One of the more colorful personalities that was a regular on the La Donna, was Bernie.  Bernie could not, would not leave the dock unless he had at least 4 or 5 cases of beer.  He was eccentric, but nice enough and he and Jim went way back.  Bernie was actually operating the Little Jack for that trip, a smaller, but more traditional, urchin boat owned by Jim.  The boat worked occasionally, when it wasn't under repair.
      When the Fish and Game began implementing regulations designed to manage the fishery, one of the first was limiting the number of days that fishing is allowed.  This with many others hindered our efforts, at least in the short term but as time went on we learned to adapt and be flexible. So during the summer months the work week starts at 4 days a week. As the months progress the work week decreases by 1 day.  3 days a week and so on.
       As it turned out the La Donna was anchored in Pyramid Anchorage San Clemente Island, we had the advantage of refrigerated fish holds so we could stay out for 3  or four days without the worry the urchins will go bad. The following day would be a Thursday, the last day of the week eligible for unloading our catch
      Of course we ended up dead in the water.  I did not get too involved with the mechanics of the boat, all I know is we were screwed. Jim explained that he could send Bernie in on the Little Jack which was anchored not too far from us Bernie could then retrieve the part, but that would take time which we did not have. Jim tried to raise the Little Jack on the radio, but was unsuccessful.  Jim decided it would be a good idea to take one of the surfboards and paddle out to the Little Jack, relay the message, so we could get this show on the road.  It was about less than a half mile paddle to the Captain Jack,  so I grabbed a board and off I went. When I got about half way  it seemed like I had been paddling for hours.  It was less than an hour, I found out later.  I gave Bernie all the information, but he should call Jim anyway, if he wanted to. 
      I asked Bernie if he had any beer left..he said no but there was an emergency 12 pack stashed in a cave onshore and he gave me directions.  He mentioned there was a Television there too, but I thought he was jerking my chain.  So I paddled in, half thinking I was sent on a wild goose chase,  but sure enough inside the cave on a rocky shelf a 12 pack of Budweiser,  right next to it a tv with a smashed screen,  classic Bernie.
      2 days later the Little Jack rounded Pyramid point and I thought, now were in business, except now we were officially poachers. If we attempted to bring the sea urchins to market, the Fish and Game would surely swoop down on us, since  a confiscated catch is sold with the proceeds going directly to the Fish and Game.  Jim attempted to do the right thing and contact Fish and Game with our dilemma.  The initial contact sounded hopeful, though we did not get a definitive solution immediately.  The next contact was from a very official much more serious and formal.  We were immediately instructed to provide landing information, as well as estimated time of arrival.  Upon hearing that we all looked at each other and without saying a word we all knew what decision was made by the Fish and Game Brass. It was not until years later, did I catch an article in the L.A. times that the Fish And Game was under investigation for failing to properly notify the public when the auction would be.  That is the auction they have from time to time to dispose of confiscated fishing gear that is acquired during cases of illegal fishing.  Lets just say some of the officers friends and family had knowledge of the auction and to the tune of several thousands of dollars worth of gear was auctioned off to them for a pittance. It is my view that this conflict of interest was well ingrained in the Fish and Game culture, and could have led to the sudden change of attitude we were now faced with.
    Jim decided the plan would be to find a spot way back in the L.A. harbor.  He said he knew a spot way back where nobody would ask any questions. We would stay there there for weekend, then on Monday morning off to Redondo and unload.  Everyone seemed to agree and hopefully the refrigeration would keep the urchins fresh enough so we would actually get paid for them.
     I have never seen a crew disapear so fast, once we hit the harbor.  I was the only one who stayed with the boat while Jim wound his way back into the bowels of LA harbor found a spot he was looking for and off he went.  So I would be responsible for this
contraband it seemed, but I could not see an alternative.
      I was not relishing the thought of being the grunt during off loading operations.  This job was as difficult and laborious and quite a contrast to the roomy bunks and brilliant deck space.  the problem was the fish hole extended beyond the boundaries of the hatch. The grunt had to walk over the urchins and once he was hooked up to the next bag he had to guide it sideways, then negotiate the bag until it was directly under the hatch, and then it could be offloaded without obstacles. Then barter with  the  crane operator, which bag to take next.  The job was time consuming hot and thankless with no extra pay.  The bottom of my boots were ok but the sides were thin and when I was walking on those urchins I suffered puncture wounds on my feet that almost caused me to quit, until one of the other divers showed up and helped me.  That was the one and only time I suffered that duty.  Jim always had some hangers on that liked to help with the boat when possible.
     Well it went off without a hitch, although we did not get too much for the 5 day old urchins.
    I eventually moved on from the La Donna and I think the statue of limitations has expired so we are all safe from prosecution.

Battle Ops

Battle ops.


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

Turks Head

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

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