Deeper Water's (part 2 of 2)

Deeper Water's (part 2 of 2)(Logan I. Sivils) I found waking up the next morning no problem at all as the aroma from Cookie preparing breakfast filled the entire boat from stem to stern. The smells of bacon, ham, eggs, grits toast and oatmeal were too much to resist by rolling over in the small bunk bed. There was enough time to wash up a bit, and have a cup of coffee before breakfast was ready, and for some reason the fresh salt air made us ravenous at any meal time. It made Cookie happy to see a bunch of hungry fellows make his food disappear and we could all tell he did love his job. No matter the time of day or night he always had fresh hot coffee and different snacks available for the odd hunger pain with no one ever going hungry.

Our second day would be all travel as the Sandy II made its way across what was at the moment, a relatively calm Gulf of Mexico. We would not drop a line until the next afternoon sometime closer to Mexico and the fishing grounds the Captain favored. Today I would be taught how to use the electric reel I had been assigned to along with tackle preparations for leaders, hooks and such. Each reel would have anywhere from six to twenty-four separate hooks along the lines from the end up towards the top. I was shown how to attach the swivel from the main line so not to slip, then how to tie the proper knot from the leader to the swivel to prevent the loss of any big fish. There was a very large and heavy weight attached at the bottom of the line for rapid descent plus being able to maintain the lines straight down trajectory. That was needed because the next reel on deck was only ten feet away in either direction from where you stood and fished. To fish you would release twenty feet of line and hooks over the edge of the boat, holding the weight in your hand. Then you would set the reel to free spool, toss the weight straight out from the boat so the hooks would not tangle. The heavy weight would arc directly beneath the end of the extended arm and fall straight to the bottom. Once the weight was on bottom you raised the weight several feet up to swing free above the bottom floor. You could reach out and pull the line towards the boat and feel every bite you got far down below through the line. You did nothing until the weight at the bottom slowly took the line back to its original straight down position, but you could feel the added weight at the end. You then just flip the switch, the reel slowly brings your catch up to the surface; turn off the switch when the first fish is in front of you, now it’s your turn to work.

All of my lessons had gone well, although some of the minor details had been left out. Now whether it was by accident, oversight or on purpose I don’t know, but in my own afterthought it may have been for the best on my part. Each man had his own box behind him at the reel for his gear, but the tackle was assembled on the open deck with everyone chatting on what ever subject came up at the moment. Hooks and leaders were stored on spools, neatly rolled for easy use, and separated by hook size and number of hooks to be set on a line at any given time. The Captain determined the size and amount of hooks by his readings on the sonar; the smaller the fish, the more hook sets, and the larger the fish, the less amount because of the weight limits on the reels. The line on the reel remained empty until the Captain called out the required size, and there was just a short amount of time to prepare before he would say, “Lines over”, and your line had better hit the water in time with the others. The big diesel engines never stopped humming during the entire trip, going somewhere, slowing to circle and check a hole, or holding to fish in one spot. I always thought that to be an amazing feat when we fished with never an anchor and our lines never moved in any direction unless moved by a fish below. From the moment our lines hit the water until the last was on board, the Captain would hold his boat perfectly still for the crew to do their work.

This second day was a good day for everyone on board with no incidents such as the day before. I could tell these were happy people just living a hard life, but after getting to know more about them that day, they would have it no other way. I laughed a lot that day as these men told their war stories of fish and weather, and of quite a few nights on shore enjoying the time off. I had my sea legs now and moving about was almost funny as I leaned one way or the other with the motion of the boat, plus learning to et and drink as the boat surged or was held for a moment crashing against a wave on the bow. The waters movement changed a lot that day from a small to a larger chop of several feet in height, or rolling waves that almost made a rhythm as the boat reached one height then dropped to another. It got a bit rough before the calm of night fall but the engines never slowed as the big boat made its way easily against the changing waters.

That evening a few of us sat around the rear deck, relaxing after a huge meal, trying to remember if we had left out any jokes earlier in the day. I could not remember ever eating so much food in one day in my life, and I still could have eaten a snack. We talked about tomorrow, wondering how this trip might produce a good catch providing a decent paycheck at the end. I could tell the older fisherman were used to it going both ways at times, and could see how the need of any income would keep them coming back over and over. The Sandy was home to some of them, with food and shelter, companionship and at times good money in their pocket. After our coffee we headed off to bed, we would fish tomorrow and still had a few things to do, like the old saying, “fish or cut bait”, tomorrow we needed to cut bait!

For some reason when I woke the next morning the boat felt different under my feet. I heard the low hum of the engines but it was as if the boat was not moving. I looked through the galley to see the sky and could tell we were moving, but my feet detected nothing. I went on deck and found the water all around us completely calm. Not a wave to be seen, not even a ripple in the water moved. The water looked like we were floating on a sheet of mirror and only the wake behind us had any motion. I had seen calm water before but never anything to compare with what I now saw. There was no difference in the sky from the surface where they met, and I had to look hard to find that. Even looking down next to the boat I could only see the sky and a few clouds with only the disturbance of the boat allowing me to see under the water. The sun was only up by an hour or so and it was like to sunrises going in two directions as it rose higher.

We were getting close to our first stop, having breakfast already and most of the frozen mackerel now cut in to strips, waiting to be used in our iced down buckets. It was just after lunch when The Captain gave the call to fish on the first place using the rigs with about eighteen hooks as the fish seemed small but plenty enough for the first try of the trip. We caught between thirty and fifty fish each, weighing an average of five to ten pounds before the call was given to move on. To remove each fish we would grab the leader bringing the fish on board, then taking the snapper by the gill we removed the hook throwing it into the holding pens beside the ice box compartment below. I was already used to a cut or nick by fish I had handled before, but it did not dawn on me, since my hands were wet, how many I was accumulating that day. We had made a dozen or so short stops by the end of the fishing day with close to a total of a thousand fish in the hold now. When I looked into the box though, it looked as empty as when we had started, and could only imagine how many it would take to fill it. The Captain pointed the Sandy II to another spot in the fishing grounds, but it would be morning before we reached the next stop. With clean up and dinner out of the way we hit the bunks, knowing tomorrow would be a full day of stop and go until the sun went down on us again.

When I woke the fourth morning I definitely knew the boat was in motion. We were in a five to eight foot chop as the Captain searched his sonar for fish. Although a bit harder to keep our feet planted it was a good day for fishing so our day began. My biggest surprise this morning was that I could not close my hands for the cuts working on dry hands. I did as told and went on deck, collected a bucket of water from the side and soaked my hands until I could move them again. This was pretty much a morning ritual after a days fishing since gloves were useless, they just hung up in the gills every time you released a fish. I learned quickly to keep water by my reel every day just to keep my hands useable.

Another day passed with not much luck, at least to fill that big box below, which when full meant we had made some money. The fifth day started out normal at least, fishing until around noon, and then for some odd reason the Captain called to put all the gear away and secure the boat. I looked above and across the Gulf but saw no signs of bad weather, but I knew the Captain knew way more than I did. How he knew I never asked, but soon the Gulf began to roll, not rough, but the rolls became bigger and bigger as the boat was guided up and down each wave. Our speed slowed to where the boat was under his control and we waited. I had heard and seen many things by ear and TV and the such about what changes the water can make, but what came next amazed me but for some reason did not frighten me. Most of the crew was standing at the edge of the boat holding on to something firm as the rolling waves grew even larger. WE were moving up and down in the giant swells as gently as if Daddy was moving a see saw for his little girl. The swells grew to over forty feet each one right after the other, dropping us down between them, and us looking straight up as the water surrounded us. The next moment we had been lifted to the top, looking straight down the side of the boat to the bottom of the swell forty feet below the hull of the sixty foot boat. The Captain was so good at his job the big boat never tilted once in the several hours this happened, we just went straight up then straight down. Finally the water calmed again but I don’t believe any of us would ever forget the ride Mother Nature gave us all that day.

The next several days went for the most part without incident except for the daily soaking of the hands, putting on more weight than ever before, and getting one heck of a suntan. So far we had no problems with sharks except a small one or two, and the rule was if a big one got on your line to immediately cut the line so it would not swim in circles tying up the other lines below. We did manage to pull in one about eight feet long since a fresh one was on Cookies cooking list. Till then I had never tasted shark but it was delicious I thought, unless it was the hunger brought on by the sun and salt air. The thick slabs of the blue tip shark were very tasty, and what was left of the carcass, (pretty much most of it) we hung at the transom as sort of a joke about what waits if you fall in. It went back to the sea as soon as the smell became a bit too much even for humor, which was about mid morning.

So far the Captain was not impressed or happy with the catch so far and we were behind in the numbers we needed. It was about two that afternoon when we all heard the Captain shout in an exuberant way, quite unlike his normal voice, “We found em’ get ready, eighteen hooks!” Having now switched our rigs for bigger fish we waited for the call. The big boat just seemed to freeze, hovering in the deep clear water; the motor idled as the weights with baited hooks hit the surface with a splash. WE could not see the sonar, but the look on the Captains face told us we were on fish, good fish. Before my weight even hit bottom I could see the jerks in my line as it went down. I raised the weight a bit with the motor and reached to feel my line; already I could only bring it half way to the boat. In a few seconds I could not even move the line and flipped the switch to bring up my catch. Looking deep into the water I could see the gold flash of the fish darting about without going anywhere. As they come from that depth the air sack breaks on most of them making it easier to release on board but not all do that. When I stopped my reel to unload there was a string of twenty to forty pound Red snapper hanging from every hook. As I began throwing each to the holding pens on deck I could see every other reel was doing the same, all with good fish. Every trip my line made to the bottom came up with the same result, and oddly enough after a while became a non feeling routine of nothing but hard work. The massive school of fish below us was like a gushing oil field with no end in sight. All we could do was bait, drop, retrieve, and remove over and over with not more than a minutes wait to start all over again. We lost all track of time and were barely aware when the deck lights came on. Cookie was bringing sandwiches and coffee to everyone, and we paid no attention to the combined smell of mackerel and snapper on our hands. The holding boxes on deck had filled long ago and we just kept throwing the fish on deck. To just move we were wading through a foot and a half of wriggling snapper at our feet. Later that night we would realize we had been steady fishing for almost eight hours before the Captain called the day. Totally exhausted I turned to sit on the railing. It was only then did I see the deck behind me, with not a single place to put your foot. From the very bow to the wall at the stern the deck was completely covered in a gold glittering surface. I had never imagined a sight such as this, the entire floor covered in glittering gold and that moment forever frozen in my memory. All of us just sat and looked at such a beautiful sight, with the biggest smiles I had ever seen on worn out men. After a good break we finished our chores, fish away, and decks cleaned and ready for tomorrow. The only thing I remember after that was waking up really sore the next day.

Our hopes were high the next day but it was not to last long. The next three days produced less fish than in the beginning and the Captain was quickly using up most of his fishing sites. On the third morning he had decided to make a long run to grounds he seldom used, in hopes the fish might be there. We settled in for the long ride but noticed more chatter on the CB than normal. The ship Captains were talking back and forth a lot more than usual but we had no idea what about. Our curiosity was about to be explained, so we thought when the Captain put the boat in neutral and called everyone for a meeting. This had never happened so we were all ears while he did his best to explain.

One of the other fishing boats had come across a very large cylinder shaped object adrift in the Gulf with no idea what it might be. Even talk about ET had entered the conversation thinking maybe a space object of some kind. Salvage for this lost object was the main concern, but the two boats there now were not powerful enough to even move the giant object. They were asking the bigger boat, The Sandy II to hook up and tow it back to shore. It was not a decision the Captain would make without the approval of his crew. He tried to explain how they had worked out shares between the two boats, finder and mover, but I think the possibility of finding something from space won the vote. It was settled, and ten hours later we reached the floating cylinder and the first ship waiting for our arrival. The Gulf would pick this day for a rough chop on the water of eight to twelve feet. The boats could not take the chance of a close approach with a guessed sixty or seventy foot long object about twenty feet in diameter. Our Captain looked over our crew, asking for the obvious volunteer to swim over and hook up to the cylinder. Everyone looked right at my friend knowing he was the only choice considering the ability of the rest of the crew and their age. Our boat held about forty yards away from the bobbing giant when my friend went in the water. Swimming in a big life vest against this kind of chop would be a very hard thing to do, then add the rope tied to his waist making things even more difficult. Standing next to him before he jumped over we both laughed about the shark that hung at the stern a few days before. I could only imagine what he was thinking as he fought against the waves taking forever to reach the cylinder.

He finally made it and crawled his way to the top sticking out of the water and began to pull the rope over. I had to laugh as the picture before me was just like the movie where the man rode the rocket to the moon, with the only thing missing being the point on the rocket. My laughter was not to last very long as we all watched my friend struggle with the wet heavy rope and chain. It was obvious he could not do it alone! No one had even looked in my direction before I began putting the big life jacket on. We all knew what had to happen next, and before I had time to think twice I was in the water. Even after only a few feet away I could only see the boat or my friend when the wave brought me to the top of a wave. I was terrified, but there was no way anyone was about to find out as I paddled toward my friend. I reached the thing, crawled up to my friend, and the first thing he said was, “see any sharks yet?” We both worked and laughed as we managed to get things right for towing. Neither one of us was about to mention the fact that we had to swim again to reach the boat and safety. When finished we both said nothing jumping back in headed for the boat, once safely on board talked and laughed about not finding another shark. We both confessed how much like bait we felt bobbing up and down enticing a nibble or two.

The engine revved a bit and the rope tightened beginning a long trip back to the port of Cortez. We stood four hour watches over our mysterious cylinder behind us and I even managed to carve a red snapper from a piece of wood I found on board for a neck chain. The radio buzzed about our haul with no answers as to what it might be, making the trip back more worth while. By the time we reached Tampa bay many boats had come to see this thing behind our boat but still no answers. It was the late sixties and no one even had an idea about it; what it was, where it came from, or even what good it was.

Seeing this familiar place again I began to relive my adventure, what I had seen and accomplished. The money was on my mind but not really that important, which turned out to be a good thing. We docked the Sandy II , leaving the cylinder floating a distance out in the shallow bay. All of headed our separate ways to return a few days later for our share of the trip. As for me I had been staying with the family of a friend before I left and I had a nice big red snapper I was going to cook for them for dinner. At dinner we had been talking about my trip and our mystery cylinder, which caught the interest of the Father who was an engineer. Our mystery had been on the news and TV but no one came up with an answer yet. The next morning we all went to the docks to see it and as soon as we came in sight my friends Dad started laughing. When asked why he said he used to design them in Texas and it was simply a heat exchanger off of an oil rig. After he told them what it was they fond out that three of them had been lost in bad weather from a barge in the Gulf. One showed up in Texas, the other in Mexico, and we had drug the last one here. A few days later all the money had been worked out in shares, and mine for a month was just shy of five hundred bucks. I didn’t even frown when I got the check, the trip and adventure alone was worth way more than I could have ever been paid!