Over the Golden Gate

GOLDEN GATE HERE WE COME

       So after I rescued the International dually pick up, in Bodega Bay, I decided that it would be a good idea to go 4x4 in in the mud,cause I was young and bored and it was my first 4x4. Well I succeeded in blowing the cylinder head. Luckily the harbor master  was a good natured friendly sort of guy,and I heard he had a tractor so I asked him and he did so..  One of the tenders offered to help me, so I pulled the cylinder head off the motor and we ran it out to the junk yard, found one I thought was like it, pulled it off the motor and when I went to bolt it down, the bolt pattern did not match, because I had neglected to notice it had tilt valves. After all that work I just about just gave up I had it towed to the Gas station, and there it sat for 3 weeks or so while I was waiting on a check from the processor. That particular gas station was famous for blowing up in the motion picture The Birds,directed by Alfred Hitchcock. I was

reminded of that,when a couple of guys came up to me when I was hanging around there, and asked me If I remembered that particular scene.  I said that I did, and they asked me to describe the scene while they videotaped me. So I said OK...'Well there was all these birds and a guy started lighting a cigarette......The Ka boom!!!!' They said that was great could I do it one more time....Really? so I did and they said they were students and to check the video stores for my performance. That was my 15 seconds of fame I suppose...I was thinking when I noticed there was a note on my truck. The note said that, the author was an international mechanic and that he had a truck similar to mine , but he had dropped a V8 in his. He went on to say that he could probably help me out to get the thing running. Well ya !!! OK called him up and he came out after work and tinkered around with it and wallah!! He said that the rings were a bit worn and one piston was a little loose but I could probably get some good use out of it till the motor wore out. Then he only charged me like $400 bucks, I was stoked.

       Meanwhile I was eyeballing this 1965 step side International that had a for sale sign on it $400. I talked with the suffering Salmon fisherman who was having a lousy couple of seasons. The motor looked identical to the one in my truck. So I bought the 65 International thinking I would take the Motor out for my dually. Well I did not have to, and now I was the Proud owner of 2 Intentional pick-ups.

       I proudly towed the 65 behind my dually and headed back to Santa Barbara for the winter. I ran into Glen Dexter on the docks, and hit him up for a job,because I heard he bought his own boat, he said grab your gear, and that operation was a money making machine. I was making enough money I decided to paint that rusty bed at the Radon yard, of course Radon blue . I hired a guy to help me a local yard rat Tony. He was good natured and I had seen him doing odd jobs for the fisherman, and he was happy for the work. We unbolted the fenders, which was a nightmare and the I rented a sandblaster and we sandblasted the rust away. Well that left some holes along the top of the fenders so we fiber glassed them and sprayed them blue. It was a rush job. I just wanted the truck covered. I think I got a coat of dirt along with the paint. I did not care the truck was blue.

       Shortly there after, I noticed some smoke coming out of the exhaust, and was getting worse. Oh it still ran..started right up but the rings were toast so I had the motor rebuilt.. for about $5000. It looked beautiful. Fire engine red. and a simple straight 6 long stroke....45 mile and hour with a load or not

       It was decided that I was going to tow this big ass house trailer up to Bodega Bay and eventually Pt Arena and then finally Manchester KOA. I just drilled a hole thru the heavy duty diamond plate bumper with about ¾ of an inch to spare and mounted a trailer ball, and called it good. I was too young and dumb to be scared it might break, but I added a couple of safety chains just in case.

       I looked at the fan belt and it had a little notch that might cause it to fail, so I tried to find a replacement, I never did find one as thick as that original but it seemed to do the trick and it was brand new so I thought I was being cautious. This trailer had an old fashioned flush toilet, inlaid glass doors in the Bar, beautiful hardwood paneling, and a big picture glass window. There were some rough spots around the vent wear there was some leakage but no too bad.

        Off we went, me and my wife and the dog, Shadow was a beautiful Golden Retriever more about him later. It was a mistake having that Alaskan camper on the truck while I was towing the trailer. If I had to make any sharp turns, the corner of the trailer would hit the camper. Fortunately, we did not have too much damage. Then I decided I better give her an oil change. That old truck had the old screw in housing, for the filter which would have been fine, if every time I replaced the gasket, the housing would not seat properly, and consequently there would invariably be a leak. I was determined to not have an oil leak with a rebuilt motor. I was greasy and oily from head to toe. On my back, I was apoplectic. My wife Linda was aghast at my colorful language. I finally gave up and did not install the gasket. No leak, I figured out the old gasket was so set up in the groove, I could barely see it. Once I realized it was there, it stayed that way for the next 6 years I owned the truck..problem solved.
        The journey was slow and steady. I set in behind a big rig when I could, and drafted away. When we arrived in San Francisco and Van Ness, it got to be a little hair raising, as there was not much clearance on either side. Turning those corners got to be an exercise in anxiety if we were going to make it. What seemed like an eternity passed, until we entered the Golden Gate bridge. Some how Frisco did not have the allure that it once did. We were just happy to get thru it. So we are on the Bridge and my temp gauge began climbing, and climbing, I sure as hell was not going to stop on the bridge. If I could just make it across , I thought, then I could pull over and check it out 190 ,192 193, I was in panic mode, my $5000 dollar rebuild burning up. We just barely made it to the Marin county side and I found a little gravel turnout. I skidded nearly jackknifed the rig and finally skidded to a stop. I jumped out of the truck and open the hood,only to find the fan belt I had replaced, to be safe, broke with all that strain on the water pump thru San Francisco. My wife Linda was in a fret, but trying not to get me more worked up than I already was. I kept the old belt and was replacing it when sure as shit a highway patrol car pulls up next to us. The patrolman did not even get out of the car, he was too busy taking a long skeptical look at my rig. I frantically explained to him what happen and he, kind of just smiled and waved, then drove off. His attitude seemed to signal that if I could get that rig here then I should be able to get it out. He did not even ask our names or anything.

       I started wondering where in the hell were we going to get some water to put back in the radiator, starting to freak, when Linda earned her keep that day when she said. ' We have a flush toilet, we can use the toilet water' and that's just what we did. The saga continues, because I still had this old fan belt that had a little cut in it, and I was not sure how long it would last, though I did know that it would probably last longer than the new one I bought. We start winding our way up Highway one, not much of a shoulder, and Linda was chain smoking cigarettes in her nervousness looking to see how much clearance we had. We happen along this small coastal town called Stewarts
Pt. There was a gas station, general store, post office and whatever else you could think of this all purpose complex could provide. I was noticing a few old farm type pick up trucks around and a few scattered parts in the store. So I asked the proprietor if would happen to have a fan belt for my old International. He thought about it scratched his head and made a gesture that appeared to be in the affirmative. He walked over and grabbed this long pole, with a hook on the end. He snaked it clear up into the rafters and unhooked this old fan belt with yellowed packaging, as if it had been up there for ever. It looked identical to my old one, nice and thick. I was astonished. Then I asked how much? There was an ancient price tag on it that read $5.00 He said that if that's what is said, then that's what it is, much to my delight.. Lesson learned “if it aint broke dont fix it” On ward to Bodega Bay.

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.