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The Filson Lady, The Later Years. CH 1

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The Filson Lady, The Later Years. CH 1

Postby ericv » Tue Jan 18, 2011 11:13 am

The Filson Lady, The Later Years. CH 1

Top off the coffee, relax and hopefully enjoy. Chapters 1 & 2 have a course that runs about an hour in total length.

Loren, hearing the unmistakable “splat”, looked up at the ravens now adjusting themselves and fidgeting as now they'd blown their cover. One of them had just finished depositing a nice load on a shiny Ford Excursion that advertised for a local fishing lodge that had a less than steller record with Alaska Department of Fish & Game. “Guess they’re not too fond of that outfits reputation either” he commented with a grin. There was a soft laugh from Audrey who was helping her dad load up their groceries in preparation for the second summer King opener in mid August. The troll closure for a week in S.E. Alaska had allowed the fleet time to tend to repairs, catch a bit of a breather and prep for the final seasons push. A close friend of hers rode up on her mountain bike and Audrey paused to catch up on the latest scuttle-butt. As the two chatted away, laughing and joking to each other, Loren paused. It was one of those surreal, defining moments that occur randomly as a parent. Audrey was nearing 14 yrs old and Loren was taken in by the fact that she was no longer that little, mischievous girl but now in all practical appearances; a fine young woman. The mischievousness still was intact as was her sense of humor along with a confidence, not conceit; that she had surely gained from her Mom. Where does the time go he thought; seemed just the other day she was running around the deck of the Filson Lady conquering the world in her child size X-Tra Tuff boots. At 5’ 4” she was able to glance down at her Mom, Danielle, who was 3” shorter than her. “How’s the weather down there?” she had said the other day to her Mom who quickly slapped her bottom with the twinkle that seemed to always shine in her hazel eyes. Audrey’s hair was darker than her Mom’s auburn color and she had her Dads eyes. Her body was toned from 7 years of being on the local swim team and as a midfielder on the Middle School soccer team. She played a mean Baritone Sax and was first chair in band. As far as Mothers and Daughters go, they were a rare pair being that they truly helped and depended on each other along with a mutual trust. Loren called out to the girls saying he hated to break up their hen party but the old guy could use some help getting this cart of food down the dock. He commented colorfully that 7/8 of this stuff was destined for Audrey and her brother’s gut anyways. Audrey told her friend “The Old Man” needed assistance, she indicated she’d text her friend later before they departed town. Loren lightly protested to them both about the “Old Man” thing saying further that just because he recently broke the 50 mark didn’t mean he had one foot on a banana peel and the other over a grave. Audrey’s friend bid them both goodbye as she departed on her bike reminding Audrey with a grin that “Mr. Larssen” hadn’t seized up yet and for Audrey to watch herself.

Just as Loren and Audrey where starting to head away from the rig with the cart; a hell of a racket came pulling into the parking area. Audrey and Loren looked up to see the infamous ‘63 Jimmy of Lorens yester-years come pulling in. The rig was now primer gray; took precisely 17.5 spray cans of the stuff to do the job. It actually had turned out quite well since the new owner had meticulously taped off the rig so no over spray existed. The new owner had also discovered the fine art of Bondo and sheet metal riveting, now the Jimmy no longer had cancer and holes all over her. Danielle and Lorens son, Logan, was at the helm as he wrestled the “Armstrong” steering to park the rig next to them. He gave the throttle an extra boost which the roar from the newly rebuilt 305 V-6 engine; a joint father and son project, caused Lorens hearing aids to whistle in protest. Blue smoke billowed out like snot from a deck ape’s nose from the dual pipes that exited just before each rear tire. It smelled like burned oil. Logan had a huge grin on his face that was typical of carefree youth and testosterone as he turned off the engine which then let out an ear splitting backfire like a seal bomb, scattering the devious ravens. Logan enthusiastically stated he had to adjust the timing just a bit as he climbed out, wrench in hand but otherwise the old girl ran great and had lots of “zip”. Through the blue smoke and silence, Loren let out a deep sigh commenting under his breath to Audrey that it was her “Mother’s egg”. She laughed. Loren and Danielle had an on-going joke whenever one of the kids did something off kilter. She’d say “that’s your sperm” only to be countered by Loren saying something like “no way, that’s clearly your egg” and so it went. Logan had recently turned 17, had his Mom’s facial features but chiseled more sharp; he definitely had his Mom’s hazel eyes, his hair dark like Audrey’s. He was tall and lean, pushing 6’ to Lorens lean 5’8” frame. Both kids resembled what were called “dark Norwegians” as their skin was like their parents with a slight olive tone instead of the snow white of most Nordic folks. Danielle knew her Mom was of Scandinavian decent; her Dad was unknown, even to her Mom. Danielle was 14 when she had asked her again about her Dad; this was 2 weeks before her Mom died of hepatitis and kidney failure at the ripe age of 31.

Loren commented dryly to Logan that he thought he was putting new mufflers on the rig as he rubbed his ringing ears. Logan responded that he did, he’d just finished welding them in place that morning and had wanted to show him his work. Loren inquired as to what the heck kinda mufflers did he put on anyways and what’s up with all the blue smoke? He thought they had set the rings just right on the old girl. Logan responded that the engine was just fine. He refreshed Lorens memory that it was he who had told him how he’d take brand new glass packs when he was his age and pour a quart of oil down each one before welding them on. That way it burned out the fiberglass inside making for more power and sound. Logan recalled his Dads reason was if the cops stopped him for noise, he could show them he had mufflers in place and wasn’t running by-passes or straight pipes. Loren was busted, thinking to himself what else in god’s green earth did I tell this kid of mine.

Logan, like Audrey was a fine young adult, Loren and Danielle truly felt lucky in this respect. They had many friends who did not share the same experience. Both kids kept good grades, had good friends and since they were in diapers, had drilled into them to be respectful and kind to all. Logan was slim yet muscular, was the top rated cross country runner for the high school, a striker on the soccer team and an accomplished percussionist in band. Loren swore the kid could run at a blistering pace for hours and finish with that crazy smile on his face. He got along well with both parents. Occasionally he’d scoop up Danielle when she least suspected it, toss her over his shoulders and run around whooping and hollering with her like some harmless youthful Berserker. Both kids felt comfortable in confiding things personal to their folks. Didn’t matter what it was, they both knew they could talk to their Mom and Dad about anything that concerned them. Honesty was all that was asked, even in times of error. Audrey and Danielle had recently been having more quiet walks talking about “women things”. Audrey had a boyfriend her age and they’d actually been going steady for almost 2yrs which for that age was equivalent to a golden anniversary. He was a good kid, or “young man”, Loren had to remind himself. He too kept good grades, was also an accomplished distance runner, a top rated soccer player and percussionist like Loren. It was about a year and a half ago when he had stopped by the Filson Lady and shyly introduced himself to Loren and Danielle as they worked on some troll gear. The relationship had actually seemed to help them learn social and coping skills and things were going well. Loren remembered Arne telling him of his starting to date Etta when they both were 13. They recently celebrated their 42nd wedding anniversary and 47 years of togetherness and were still going as strong as ever at 60.

Logan also had a sweet heart. They had been close friends clear back since kindergarten and for the past year and a half they had been in a solid relationship. She was a skilled, competitive swimmer for the high school team, accomplished violinist and an honor student in academics. Her sense of humor and joking rivaled Logan’s and it seemed a good fit for both. Her hair was jet black and her brown eyes put a doe’s to shame; a curvaceous women of strong Aleut decent, 2 days younger than Logan. A few months back during Spring Break, Loren and Danielle had come home from a short troll trip earlier than expected. The kids were old enough to be home by themselves; kept things locked tight, were responsible, reliable and didn’t get out of hand technically speaking. They were planning to arrive at the house by dinner time but actually showed up quite early on that Saturday morning and wanted to surprise the kids. Audrey was asleep in her room. Their faithful black lab, “Trapper”, who felt it was his job to guard her and occupy half the bed, greeted them with the usual table clearing tail wagging. His “where-the-hell-have-you-been-I-wish-I-had-a-thumb-to-operate-the-can-opener-glad-to-see-you” enthusiasm that only labs truly possess, was always a welcome site. Logan’s door was shut tight; Loren opened it slightly just to check in, Danielle was just behind him. As he peered in, there was Logan in bed, sound asleep under the light covers, the early morning light pushing through the curtains, his dark hair skewed in every possible direction. There, wrapped around him as one single unit, was his lady friend, also in a deep, tousled hair sleep. Loren mentally noted the clothes of both persons that were strewn about the room as if a gale had blown through, which technically speaking had occurred. One of Logan’s gym socks, complete with the requisite hole in the heel, was dangling off the ceiling light cover. A black sports bra lay balanced precariously by one cup on the antenna of his boombox. The bedroom looked as if Trapper had gone through one of his wild “hair-in-the-ass” Labrador racing frenzies that came upon him without warning other than a crazy look in his brown eyes. Loren knew that Trapper was innocent of this event. Loren backed away and quietly closed the door. Danielle began to ask him what was up; Loren slowly put his finger to his lips in the universal signal that means to say we must stay quiet. He softly whispered that it was best they go get a cup of coffee down at The Iron Wood Café and come back in awhile. Danielle noted that Loren didn’t seem alarmed or mad; he just had a different look in his eyes. He led her outside by the hand and told her of the discovery. It was bound to happen at some time, both of them knew it. In reality, it may have been happening for some time already. Instead of freaking out, they laid out a plan of further education for Logan. For now they’d have to hope the measures Loren had provided him “just in case” had been used and worked. There was no way to really know if they’d been careful in their hormonal hurricane frenzy. Time would tell if there was a bun in the oven so to speak, if so, they’d work through it.

As it turned out, Loren and Danielle were not due to be grandparents. Loren and Logan had a good man to man “discussion” out in the shop about what had taken place and revisited the measures that must be taken each and every time if, or better put, when, things heated up again. Both Danielle and Loren took a realistic approach knowing they couldn’t always be at their kid’s side 24/7. Since abstinence obviously wasn’t even on the young lover’s radar screen, at least as parents they could be aggressive on education and instilling responsibility. At the same time, they strongly emphasized that teenage life didn’t meant open season for breeding. They wrestled with telling Logan’s girlfriends parents about what had happened for they had assumed she had stayed overnight at a girlfriends located 3 houses down. In a covert operation, she had snuck in late, even under the radar of Audrey and Trapper. In the end they kept it quiet as her parents, though very nice, were very religious to a point of where such news could be harmful and even destructive. It was a very tough call. Loren was given a few extra yard cleaning duties for veering off course on the house rules while the folks were away.

Audrey and Loren grabbed the loaded dock cart together while Logan made a few “precision” adjustments by ear to the distributor since the timing light was back home in the shop. The ramp was pitched steep with the tide nearing low slack. Loren anchored his legs as they eased down the ramp; Audrey positioned herself at the head of the cart holding back the forces of gravity. At the bottom, 2 boxes toppled out ejecting there contents of Sailor Boy Pilot Bread, peanut butter, 24 tins of sardines, powdered GatorAid, Yuban coffee, cans of Spam and corned beef hash, a huge bag of Hershey's dark chocolate and 4 jars of green olives (they didn't break). Just a mere sample of the cuisine headed to the Filson Lady. The bulk of the food came from their garden, venison, blackcod and the fresh fish they knew lurked out at sea. As they headed down the main float they past the menagerie of commercial fishing vessels. Some famous, some derelicts, all had a story to their past. They soon came upon the Sugar Magnolia, moored to the main float. She was built in 1922, a 36’ horseshoe stern, trunk cabin style troller that had been on the beach near the south end cold storage for untold years. Back in about ’84 to her good luck or not, depending on who you spoke to, she caught the eye of a not so unique character type seen in nearly all fishing ports, a fellow who went by the name of Fast Eddie.

Now Fast Eddie was quite a sight. He was nearly bald with a few sprigs of white hair that resembled a rat-nested fishing reel jammed with old bait. It snaked itself out from underneath a heavily soiled cap that obscured the infamous Grateful Dead skull. He had no visible teeth and eyes as bloodshot as a Red Bone coon dog that’d been up all night chasing ringtails. His pasty white, Jello textured belly rivaled that of a woman 8 months along in pregnancy with twins. The whole scary mass was then partially covered by a seriously stained t-shirt. Under the fold of this enormous protruding gut, laying in the shade, was a pair of sweatpants that had a cornucopia of stains of both human and non-human origin. He loved weed and beer hourly and never harmed a soul. He was always there to lend a helping hand with things, especially if you were on the bite. The Sugar Magnolia had been beset upon by a man who the words “improvise and jury-rig’ were named after. With a 16”Craftsman chainsaw on its last gasp, a belt sander notorious for shaving off knuckles, hasps, rasps, bow saws, hammers etc. and an ancient worm-gear driven drill stout enough to snap a wrist like a dried twig – he set to work. The Sugar Magnolia was a real piece of work. Virtually everything about her defied the ability to hold together. She was a scattered, jury-rigged, spliced, epoxied, bond-o’d, 5200 slathered girl dressed out by 8 different shades of interior and exterior paint that Fast Eddie had lifted from the haz-mat collection site. Each can had passed Fast Eddies prolonged, rigorous sniffing test much like a fine wine connoisseur. It looked as though the only thing keeping her from sinking were the frayed yellow poly mooring lines. Her bilge pump turned on precisely every 544 seconds and pumped for 27. Yet somehow he not only survived each trip, sometimes in god awful weather, he always came back like a bad rash with a hold full of pristine fish. He had the knack and the know-how; it was as simple as that.

Just past the Sugar Magnolia on the same main float moored the antithesis of her, the pristinely white fiberglass troller called the Maranatha, complete with a dove silhouetted by her name. “Preacher Pete” was the owner of this 8yr old lady or maybe better put, Nun. A nice man, single like Fast Eddie but he was a pure, clean and 100% devout, Born Again, evangelical Christian whose virginity was being steadfastly preserved for marriage. His clothes were always clean, X-Tra Tuffs were wiped off daily and he shaved twice a day. Gargling and brushing his teeth were endeavors he relished, his hands always properly gloved if the risk of contaminants were present. The Maranatha was so precise and clean that she actually pained the eyes. One could drop a Ham and Swiss face down on her decks and place it back in their mouth well past the standard “5 second rule” with no worries. She smelled of Comet and Lysol as opposed to stale beer and Mary Jane smoke on the Sugar Magnolia. Now Preacher Pete was very nice and always willing to offer a cup of decaf to any takers. Caffeine was noted to be a sin since it altered the body. The inside of her was spotless and tidy. She had a marine sanitation system straight out of MIT compared to Fast Eddies blue, 5 gallon Delo 100 40wt plastic bucket with a rope. Strange as it seemed, Pete had few takers on his invites with virtually none being female, as opposed to Fast Eddie, who’s floating, semi-brothel flophouse was packed to the bullworks nearly all hours while dockside. Preacher Pete had the latest and greatest electronics and gizmos yet often came home with fewer fish than a hand-cranker in a 16’ Lund. He said it was God’s signal to him to be patient; Fast Eddie figured Pete had dialed in the wrong frequency to the heavens. The biggest challenge for Preacher Pete was the fact he had to pass by the Sugar Magnolia several times daily as he was like Fast Eddie, a liveaboard type. Recently Loren and Audrey had passed Pete as he headed up the main float with a face as red as a Morse throttle knob, he was reciting some psalm and clearly in distress. As Loren and Audrey approached the gently rocking Sugar Magnolia, there came a song of intense passion emitting from deep within the bowels of the trunk cabin. It was a loud and nearly screaming duet song by a soprano and a raspy baritone voice that shrieked in harmony the same two words of “OH GOD!!!” much like an old vinyl LP with a skip. The chains for the stabbies gently tapped the side of the wheelhouse in a semi-metronome rhythm of the carnal romp. Poor Preacher Pete had to turn back and follow Loren and Audrey as he realized he had forgotten his truck keys. As he was abeam of the Sugar Magnolia the “OH GOD!!!” song hit an apex taller than Everest. Even the seagull on the piling nearby ruffled its wing feathers, took a quick dump and flew off. Pete was last seen washing his hands and face vigorously with a bar of soap. Both men truly felt sorry for the other and wanted to spare each other from what both perceived as imminent death. Fast Eddie repeatedly maintained he was born right the first time and didn’t see the sense of going through that again since he claimed to have a vivid memory of the original event. Preacher Pete saw Fast Eddies path as an express lane straight to hell and his body and soul needed to be saved. Fast Eddie maintained he was already saved because of all the preservatives he had carefully placed in his body for years. Preacher Pete especially addressed Fast Eddies sins of the flesh and wanted him to experience the folds of the bible instead. Fast Eddie in rebuttal, repeatedly implored Preacher Pete to “just once…just one single time” to experience laying his face in the “Valley of the Sternum surrounded by the Mammary Mountain Range" and to enjoy the beautiful inner workings of a woman. He’d surely be hooked and cured. And so it went on day after day.

One thing was for sure, the working harbors provided a fishbowl view of life in the real world; it was not an environment for the faint of heart. Loren and Danielle as well as the kids took it all in stride and accepted things without judgment. Many were down and out but still worked hard for what they had. One day might find them passing by a guy whizzing off the side of his boat while giving a smile and wave with his free hand. Another day may find them face to face with a sultry dame on deck who faces them and purposely bends over to pick something up, offering a clear unobstructed view of all of her topographical anatomy clear down to her ankles. Regardless, it was a crowd they’d pick any day to be around as opposed to some stuffed shirt, hoity-toity affair of the clueless elite.

Trapper greeted them at the slip of the Filson Lady with his near 24/7 blue racquet ball showing part way out of his mouth. He could entertain himself endlessly by squeezing down on it and shooting it out the side of his mouth which caused it to ricochet in all directions. At times it shot off the troller or dock to be followed by a thunderous splash of black fur and tail rudder in action. Loren estimated that they had purchased nearly 4 dozen of the doggone things in one season. Several were out somewhere in the Pacific on a journey similar to the plastic bathtub toys and debris that are the product of imploded freight containers lost off ships in a storm.

Audrey tended to the grocery supplies which was planned as Logan had a habit of gouging heavily into the food. It seemed he could endlessly pack 1/4 ton or so in his body per day. Loren climbed down into the freezer hold of the Filson Lady where Danielle had been organizing the freezer plates and other accessories, she saw Loren climbing down the ladder and met him at the bottom. They had been together for 19yrs, married for 18 which had truly been a life changing experience for both. Neither Loren nor Danielle, prior to meeting each other, believed such a relationship existed. So many couples they knew had started out with a spark and fire only to die into a hopeless dungeon of resigned, estranged fate. They were the couples that shined in public, feigning love and affection, the perfect model of family. But once the lines were cast and life at sea resumed, or the door to the home was closed from public eye is when the facade fell apart. For many of them, they kept the charade going even for the “kid’s sake”, knowing that when the last one flew the nest the papers would be filed. Others recognized the time was done and called it good, often in a flame of fight and fury. Both could be equally destructive. Audrey’s boyfriend just last year was told while right in the middle of enjoying a rare treat of a cheeseburger at McDonalds by his Mom that she and his Dad were getting a divorce. It was a sickening premeditated set up similar to placing a bowl of choice food down for an ailing pet as you prepare to aim a bullet home. There was no warning, no sign, no nothing, just bam; his world of pseudo calm and security was dumped upside down in 8 simple words that took 3 seconds to say. Thankfully Audrey and her family were solid for him and his sister and they were adjusting as good as could be expected.

Danielle greeted Loren with a bone crunching hug, his mostly gray hair still intact with a bare spot on the back covered by the usual weather worn cap of their fish co-op. His eyes looking into hers told her all was well, his faced was etched hard from work and weather. Both ears were now decked out with hearing aids which made life more fun for all. His hands were like small baseball mitts, curved, calloused and rough as 40 grit sandpaper since he typically only wore gloves working in the freezer hold. She never minded the feel of them one bit on her bare skin when they frequently traveled the intimate peaks, valleys and curves of her body. His own body was toned tight and lean, no sagging beer gut or hacking cough as he stayed clear of the vices that disable the body. His arthritis in his back was worse and she knew how much it pained him yet he never, ever complained. She would take her hands and slowly work the knots out of him from head to toe knowing the full mapwork of his body with her eyes closed. He had never said a cross word to her, always complimentary, caring and full of support, laughter and confidence. Loren was a Seer like his great grandmother was. He never knew her, only the rare stories quietly told by his dad and aunt who both had absolutely no ability, or reason to lie or fabricate such things, ever. Loren, like his great grandmother, possessed the unexplained ability to frequently read a person’s mind and to be able to occasionally know of things before they actually happened. In some cases he would know what had happened without actually being there. In her era of the late 19th and early 20th century, it was considered the work of the devil. Her abilities were neither exploited, discussed or shared since no one, including her, understood how or why these things happened. Loren too, kept this ability in tight wraps. Danielle was the only true person he could share this with and she believed and stood beside him. It was this “gift” in part that never ceased to amaze her how he could be for her. He seemed to know what to say or not say; he especially knew what touch or caress was needed to care for her deepest inner soul. This attention and care he gave to her was the sole reason she had been able to overcome the trauma and ungodly abuse she had been subjected to years ago. She had never loved anyone or anything as much as she did him, it just never ever grew old or routine. The affection they shared was genuine both in public and private; it proved how healthy it was to their well adjusted children who truly benefited the most from it all.

Loren faked a groan from the tight hug as he looked deep into Danielle’s hazel eyes. She looked the same to him after 19 years, albeit her auburn hair was laced with a bit of gray, a few lines etched in her face due to wind and weather. At 49 she had aged like the finest wine with her natural beauty only increasing over time. The jagged 2” scar that cut across her left eyebrow was still evident as ever yet the deepest wounds had long faded from her soul. Loren simply could not get over how much she was a part of his life. She literally was his best friend, offering praise, laughter and encouragement even in the most trying of times along with her mischievous streak which he loved. There was no criticism, no judging, no hen pecking, no mood swings or silent treatment episodes. Some of their closest friends were nearly driven insane by these tactics deployed by their spouses. Loren and Danielle both allowed each other the time and space to do the things they needed to do with full trust and support. Her petite body was as solid, sleek and graceful as a Thompson Gazelle with amazing strength and endurance. He knew every millimeter of her by memory down to the finest, most intimate detail. The special times they shared were of the most pure form of pleasure known to human nature. It was the foundation for their souls, giving them a natural high that nothing could surpass. They shared a kiss and she updated him on how things were, it seemed all was set and they could depart soon. Loren followed her up the ladder and contemplated giving her cheek a nip. He decided to save it for later when the Carharts and sheer cotton undies were no longer in the way of progress.

Audrey met them on deck and asked her parents if “all the systems were okay down below” as she smiled her mischievous smile, Danielle pinched her side as she stepped by. Audrey’s boyfriend swung by in a skiff he’d borrowed from the local tender he worked on during the summers, they were about to head out to get positioned for the opener. They shared a close moment out of sight of parental eyes agreeing they’d try to make a few satellite phone calls to each other if they could. With that and a final wave, he headed off in the skiff to join up with his tender. Logan arrived a short time later with his “Aleut Angel” beside him; she carried a box of bakery goods she’d brought from the Iron Wood Café’ where she worked. After a long lip-lock on the dock, she waved and told him to be safe and keep in touch if he could. She’d take good care of the old jimmy of his while he was gone. Logan had taught her the fine art of double clutching and she was hooked; Armstrong steering, mechanical brakes, A.M. radio and all.

The Filson Lady lay ready. Her measurements were 48’ x 15’ x 7’, solid, heavy laid fiberglass, lead ballasted keel, roll chocks and massive anchor gear. Her 1400 gallon fuel capacity made for amazing endurance as a newer, fuel sipping John Deere main with a mini version for the auxiliary engine lay in her belly. Her rigging was stout aluminum complete with bow poles and shelter deck over the cockpit. All her doors and hatches were watertight with redundant pumps, alarms and systems throughout her caverns. The Lexan windows were extra stout with one having a spinner insert. Her full complement of modern electronics were set nicely in place, the never fail Dickinson oil stove kept her warm and kettle ready. She could pack and freeze thousands upon thousands of pounds of Mother Oceans best. She had seen use, not abuse and all systems from the mast light to keel, bow stem to stern, were meticulously maintained by her owners. Her safety equipment was of the very best and drills were frequently pulled at the oddest of times. It was about two years ago when they had been caught off shore during a search for a missing friend just south of the East Bank of the Fairweather Grounds and Lituya Bay. The seas were monstrous and angry as they hove to on a compass shot of S, SW throughout the night. The sodium light bore deep into the belly of solid green seas that slammed into her face. They and 2 other trollers had been kept on a 30 minute check in with the USCG. Thank God for thick Lexan and thick coffee. They made it through the night only to be nearly done in the following morning by a rogue wave that lunged like a wolf eel out of the west taking direct aim at their starboard beam. Danielle spied it just in time and yelled giving Loren just enough time to jam the hydraulic steering ram stick hard to starboard and nail the throttle to bear the brunt on her starboard bow quarter. The cresting wave slammed her flat onto her port beam end so violently it yanked the starboard staybie clean out of the water sending it like a chained rocket over the cabin roof shearing the open array radar clean off its mounts. Luckily the smaller secondary radar higher up the mast survived. Logan was face planted into the post by the galley and split his lip like a grape; Audrey was tossed under the galley table like a rag chew toy of Trapper’s. He himself was pitched headlong down into the foc’sle fortunately landing on a bunch of dislodged berth cushions. Loren, sitting at the port side helm seat had his head violently slammed into the port window that was showing pure green seas; Danielle flew airborne into his side with a wind knock out thud. The Filson Lady shook herself off and righted herself in what could only be described as sheer defiance; like hell she was going to let anything overcome her and her owners she seemed to say. The interior looked as though a bomb had gone off, even though they always kept things carefully stowed. They chiseled their way down the coast line into the lee of Dixon Harbor, less than ideal for the conditions but at least out of the teeth of the seething sea. The Filson Lady proved she could take one hell of a beating, something the Larssen family did not seek to repeat any time soon if ever again.

This ends Chapter 1. Chapter 2 of the The Filson Lady, The Later Years is located on the "Stories' site.
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