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Humor and Revenge

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Humor and Revenge

Postby ericv » Wed Apr 15, 2009 9:06 am

The following stories are true, however some names have been changed to protect the guilty.
By Eric Van Cise - F/V New Hope - Sitka

It was just breaking light at the Sekiu dock near Neah Bay. Folks were quietly getting their gear stowed into their skiffs for a pleasant day of trolling along the southern shoreline of the Straits. The morning peace was suddenly shattered by a kid who repeatedly ran up and down the dock, screeching, screaming and destroying just about everything his mitts touched. The panty-waist Dad only cooed at him to stop, it was clear who wore the training pants on this team. Restraint was held by many of us visually, internally we all held in our mind some sort of solution for this foul, spoiled kid as the ambiance of the morning rapidly evaporated. Then came our salvation, a divine intervention from the sky of whom we beheld in a much more reverend light from therefore after. With grace and purpose, it's white and gray image bore into our view, the moment of judgment and justice had arrived. The kid was in full running stride, mouth wide open (remember that part about the mouth), vocal cords amplifying at their max, the rest of us getting ready to take action on behalf of sanity when it happened......The seagull was flying the opposite direction of the kid, at the precise moment it pulled upward to add velocity to it's payload delivery. With dead eye accuracy (pun intended) it cut loose of what was a very substantial nights worth of digested beach goo and festering seafood puree. It was a direct hit witnessed by many, a full face load much like a pie fight of the 3 Stooges. The sound it made on impact was indeed impressive, kind of like a wet hand being slapped across the face. The kid stopped cold as if he'd hit a wall and froze, his mouth gaping wide open, an ample serving of seagull gut gurry inside it, the extra portion oozing out the sides, his nose splattered, his eyes and face nicely decorated. The silence was golden, the moment was diamond, the seagull circled above apparently checking out it's work of art. The kid was totally shell shocked, dazed and confused, hands too afraid to swipe at this mystery form of weird discipline sludge. He made a funny gagging sound kind of like a Labrador who ate too much wood. A crusty old timer looked up from his skiff and roared at the kid "serves ya right ya little bastard!" He then looked up at the circling seagull and gave it a profound thumbs up and threw 2 herring onto the dock for it's reward. The entire dock broke into a cheer directed to our circling savior.The kid went squalling and gagging up the dock, every person he passed just chuckled and life returned to normal at the dock; the ambiance of our morning restored, it was time to go fish. Never did see the kid or panty-waist Dad again, guess they headed back to their suburban pseudo utopia.

Dan and Phil had pretty much had it with the belly-aching that a guest had been doing while accompanying them on a very productive 4 day troll trip. The fellow wanted to photo document the troll fisheries and be able to write about it in some obscure publication that neither the well read Dan or Phil had heard of. Despite that, they agreed to allow the "flat lander" to tag along on their trip. Just to play the cards straight, Dan required him to get an out of state crew members license of which the guy chafed a bit at when the price rang up. He was politely reminder he was a guest, not being billed for food or fuel. Dan also required for him to run through a full safety drill with him and Phil running him through the paces of what is required - he whined that the survival suit zipped up his beard and was too hot. First day out on a mill pond day, the guest kept a steady chum line of shore side cuisine trailing behind the troller. He soon had consumed nearly all of Phil's stash of Ginger Ale, put a big dent in the Sailor Boy Pilot Bread, two main staple items of Phil's. The guest was treading on thin ice already. The guy had been clearly lined out on where to be or not be during various aspects of day to day trolling, especially when they were on the bite of which they were. Dan and Phil worked the gear seamlessly as they always did; spreads flying in and out, fish carefully landed, bled and dressed, iced immediately and so it went. Seems in the accelerated pace of things the guy received the brunt end of flying gurry and spraying water, said it was hurting his camera, could they please mellow out and be more careful? Didn't feel like he was getting enough sleep cause the VHF traffic on 16 kept him awake, why is the coffee so strong? He had initially inquired about the "facilites" on board. Dan showed him the porta-potti that was all set up, with chemical inside and in full functional use. The rub came when Dan informed him it was a genuine decoy for the USCG. No way in hell was it to be used, he nodded at the 5 gallon bucket with a rope and said that's for the #2 stuff, for #1 you hang the hose over the side. The guy struggled with this. #1 he finally got down, sort of, seemed his rain pants got the most of it. After day 2, the #2 event was looming and long overdue, Phil even embellished on the finer virtues of hanging the posterior-port-hole over the side as long as you cleared the guards with the payload. He finally grabbed the bucket and headed back to the pit, was there a long time, forgot to bring the TP. You'd thought he'd just given birth by the amount of complaining he did about the bucket routine, the TP is awfully rough, any two ply stuff? By day 3 both Dan and Phil had had their fill, but the bite was great and it was the make or break time of the season. Evening fell, the troller rested on her anchor and the guy stated he needed to do a #2 again like it was a breaking news event. Phil indicated the bucket was already in the pit, he'd just rinsed it out, TP in a zip lock in the monitor box. As the guy exited and cleared the wheelhouse, Phil started laughing so hard that in his effort to suppress the noise nearly soiled his own pants. Dan inquired as to what was up, Phil just said to wait and see as he coughed and gagged. The journalist returned later and sat down at the galley table, he soon began to fidget and had a worried look on his face. After awhile he stood up, obviously in some kind of distress. Phil headed to the foc'sle and once hidden, buried his face in a pillow. Dan finally asked the guy what was up as the guy was pacing around like a gerbil in a cage. The guy said his butt was burning something fierce along with various parts of the hanging equipment. Dan inquired about possible hemorrhoids and was given a look of puzzlement, not that the guy knew of. Dan heard what he thought was a convulsion down in the foc'sle. Things got desperate, the journalist wondered if Dan could check him out being that he really couldn't get a good visual on his rear. Dan replied colorfully of what he thought of that. Instead, he handed him the small mirror that adorned the port wall so he could look himself; off to the cockpit again. The guy reports a red, irritated ring, large in circumference around his butt cheeks, his hose a bit red and angry looking in a few choice spots. Phil was no where to be seen, he'd probably died by now as he had crawled into the engine compartment where the small genset was running. That's when the light bulb finally went off in Dan's brain. Was the red ring about so big? Yes it was, Dan mentally noted it was about the same diameter as the 5 gallon bucket. As not to draw attention to his hypothesis, later he wandered back to check things on deck. He carefully examined, w/o touching, the 5 gallon bucket. Phil, you are one crafty SOB as he spied the source of the inflamed hind quarters, a small, neat pile of jelly fish sitting near a spread. He correctly surmised Phil had carefully spread a thin film of jelly fish goo around the lip of the bucket. Remaining evidence pointed to this as well as a few remaining clear morsels on the outer curled rim. Good thing day 4 was next, by the time they hit town that evening the flat-landers back end and equipment was not getting better but worse. About then Phil slapped in his old Johnny Cash cassette and when the song "Ring Of Fire" came on turned it up to the Detroit-diesel-override-volume-setting; "It burns, burns, burns, the ring of fire, the ring of fire" Was nothing life or appendage threatening mind you, just per reports from the guy things were really festered up. Guess the lack of jelly fish in the flat-lander's home environment created the fertile grounds for an adverse reaction - Phil style. The guy never figured it out, even posted a rave review of his trip and sent Dan a copy of the story. Said he was heading to Dutch Harbor to do a report on the crab fisheries. Hmmmm, crab fisheries....crab.....crabs!....Hey doc, I got these things crawling around my you-know-what and I don't know how............umm yes, the crew did set me up on a date when we got back to'd you know? why,..why do you ask?

The tender pulled into the remote dock. Up the board walk 1/2 mile or so was the hot springs folks could use when the guests were out fishing. She was an old schooner style, seen many miles under her keel, in the hold lay a single 332 lb halibut on ice, they kept that one on the request of a paying friend, the rest had been offloaded earlier in Ketchikan, some 50 or 60 miles away. The skipper was a pleasant guy, well worn and worldly. The crew consisted on 3 guys and a striking, long dark haired woman who looked very comfortable and at home in her Carharts, Xtra Tuffs and T-shirt. The skipper and her headed up the dock to the springs, she arm in arm with one of the crew members. Awhile later she returned with him and proceeded to head up the boardwalk with another crew member. This was repeated a third time with the last guy on the crew. Everyone was in great spirits, laughing, joking, sober (booze and drug free mandated by skipper)and were all smiles. They got permission to stay tied up for the night. All this had been observed by a guest from Texas, up here for some "s-al-mon" fishing, had stayed shore side that day due to a foul stomach (hung over). He himself had been foul to deal with in general, complained about everything to everybody. He inquired to the skipper about his crew and being apparently the evangelical type (at least at home) wondered aloud about a women working on a boat. Felt they shouldn't be out, being exposed to the dangers and such and just what was her job anyways? The skipper smiled and explained the set up. You see, he explained, she's hired to keep the crew fed and happy on this boat. The Texan took awhile to digest what he said. What did he mean by keeping the crew happy? The skipper eloquently explained that she shared her private bunk each night with a different crew member, minus him as he was happily married. It had been her idea, she negotiated a double crew share and assured him the crew would be "well fed and healthy" in all respects. The Texan gave birth to a longhorn right there on the dock, what blasphemy, what a sin, what a crime etc. By God he was going to report him and his vessel to the authorities when he got into town for his outbound flight. The skipper just smiled and said in a calm, matter of fact voice, "a happy crew is a working crew, there's no booze or drugs, just good clean fun and hard work". About then the dark haired women came over to give some paperwork to the skipper, the Texan seethed at her and spoke in a harsh voice about what he thought of her and her pending eternal damnation. She smiled and said not a word as she headed back to the tender. Late that night, while shutting things down at the dock I noted a figure zig zagging down the board walk to the dock. Kind of careening back and forth like a pin ball with a flat spot on it. The Texan was too blind drunk to even see me in the darkness. He slurred his words at the tender as if talking to the boat itself, arms flailing around, ironically the women happened to be transiting across the deck at that time. She assisted him onboard, some conversation took place and soon he was following her, none to steady to the fish hold. He some how climbed down the ladder, she followed. I still had things to finish up, quite a bit later she climbed out of the hold and threw a bunch of what looked like clothing over the outboard side of the tender. She returned a moment later carrying a small item in her hands, down into the hold she went. There was about a half a dozen flashes that occurred over the period of a several minutes, she climbed out and left the hatch open. No Texan emerged. Later, there was a weak and wimpy cry emanating from the hold, kinda like what a new born calf does when it can't figure out who it's mom is. Climbing over the bullworks I peered into the hold, aiming the dim flashlight to the depths below. Lets just say there was a colorful blend and intertwining of raw flesh, not a stick of clothing anywhere to be seen. Picture a bologna fed Texan, a plump 332 halibut, a bit of shave ice in what can only be described as a unique "union" of two creatures on earth. Not quite sure how the striking dark haired woman accomplished what she did, I had to truly marvel at her creativity. Had she seen the movie Deliverance? Some things are best to walk away from. He wasn't in any imminent danger. It was time to head to the shack for the night. A friend of mine who worked at the lodge later relayed to me of seeing this guy zig zagging past her cabin in the wee hours of the morn, hair spiked like it had some form of organic hair gel worked into it, a single wet burlap sack wrapped waist-side in a futile effort to cover the privates. Come break of morning there was quite a commotion up the boardwalk I guess. Seems the outdoor display board that has polaroid photos on it of the best day's catch had 3 snapshots of this Texan and his concubine. There was a note tacked below indicating that 3 more photos existed that were more choice, written in a woman's hand. She signed it "Live and Let Live". I cast the lines on that tender, I gotta say that entire crew was truly happy and healthy in a positively good way (all morals aside). For the Texan, well it was like an ice pick lobotomy had been performed, quite a change in demeanor for his few remaining days. Ironically one of his buddies caught a pretty decent halibut a day or so later, was hilarious to see how he reacted to the site of that - some things are priceless.
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