Fisherman Lingo [UN-CENSORED] (Relatively)

Me: Morning [insert fisherman’s name here].

Fisherman: Go f**k yourself (said playfully).

Me: *"up yours" arm motion.

Such is the beginning of a typical day in the workplace. If there is one thing I have learned from this giant social experiment, it is to laugh, and not take what guys say too seriously, but with a grain of salt. Be confident, and be able to jestingly give it back to them, but without going too far. Fisherman generally have a sense of humor that varies from sarcasm, to making fun of themselves (or you), to not having graduated beyond phallic jokes. Middle fingers fly frequently. It is a hard balance for the good observer to find, that allows them to be professional in what I would say is a primarily less than professional environment.

The way I see it, we can have a positive, neutral, or negative relationship with our boat. I try to strive for a positive and friendly relationship as much as possible- as I do not think this and doing the job correctly and professionally are mutually exclusive. Life is better when you get along with your crew. It turns what for some can be a very lonely job- born of the neutral or negative relationship- into something socially bearable, in addition to them being more receptive to helping you whenever you need it.

Part of getting the crew’s respect is going the extra mile, and not being a minimalist. I try to do at least one thing that is helpful to the crew on each boat that also gives me an opportunity to do something fishing and not observing related, just for fun. For example, on the pot boat I was on, I would occasionally help the crew members bleed their cod if I had some extra time between samples, in addition to bleeding my own after I was done processing them for my sample. They appreciated this, and were therefore happy to help when I needed it. On the longliner I just got off of, they let me use the pole gaff to get fish that had dropped off of the line before the boat could attain it. I actually got quite good at it, at least as good as any of the others. I even got to be the roller-man for short periods of time between samples. The roller-man gaffs the fish and brings them aboard the vessel before they have an opportunity to fall off of the hook. This I did not get quite so good at, but they were appreciative of the effort nonetheless. This again, resulted in them being quite happy to provide assistance when it was required.

Aside from the freely flowing derogatory language, there is also the opposite occurrence in the form of language barriers. The Alaska fishing industry attracts not only personalities, but nationalities from all over the world, some of which speak English, but with accents so thick, you have to take the bits that you understand and try to reconstruct what they are saying, and it is often wrong. There is nothing wrong with that, just spices up the experience even more. For example, there was a Vietnamese fisherman on my last boat that I could understand about 5% during our conversations. I would laugh because I thought he was trying to tell me something funny, but then he would say “No! Not funny!” And then I would feel silly, but would be inclined to laugh more at the fact that I had no clue what we had been talking about for the previous 10 minutes. Finding a diplomatic way out of a monologue is an art that I am working on.

On a different and last note, what makes everything worth it is when you talk to a fisherman that understands your cause, and thanks you for your hard work. It may have been because of his youth and lack of cranky cynicism that is typical of older fisherman, but I appreciate it no less.

Winter Wonderland

As is typical of every new boat I embark, as I mentioned in my previous post, longlining presents new and different challenges. But as always once you do them a few times, all slips into routine, and I wonder why I allowed myself to get so stressed out about it. I suppose I stress because of the uncertainty of each new vessel type and their sampling methods, as well wanting to do my job right and be the best at it. But I am noticing that the stress level diminishes a little bit with each progressive boat, and now, having done all but one vessel type that the North Pacific Program offers, I feel quite self-sufficient and confident about my performance and abilities, and really no longer stress at all. It is quite a liberating feeling.

J-Hook

Despite what I have heard about longliners being one of the most difficult vessel types to work on, I really quite enjoyed it. I felt that my quality of data was much better than that which I was collecting on trawlers, which seemed much more subjective. The easiest part about it was also at times the most challenging. I would stand on the upper deck above where the fish were being landed and tally every fish on the line for my designated portions of the set. This in itself is very easy. However, this time of year, it is very cold, and even the special warm mustang suits that they issue us don’t always do the trick. Most notably when the wind picks up, it will find any little open nook and cranny in the suit and chill you to the bone. Worse yet, the rubber gloves and cotton glove liners are terribly un-insulating in these conditions, which is perhaps the most uncomfortable part of the whole ordeal. Additionally I have to concentrate below me on thousands of consecutive hooks that come up to ensure that no organism is missed or double-tallied. This can be, literally, a huge pain in the neck. But, I can’t complain too much about this- I am dealing with a minimal number of fish for my weight samples so the lifting and dirty/smelly factor is significantly decreased from what I am used to. I have to count hooks in the gear room to get an idea of how many hooks are contained in an average set, which is monotonous and time consuming, but easy. I have to do more frequent gear verification to ensure that the number of segments of line with hooks contained in a set is indeed what the vessel reports. It really comes down to: Am I working more? Yes. Am I working harder? No.

At my tally station awaiting my designated segment. Disclaimer-
This photo was not taken by mt nor my camera, but was sent to
me by the captainand is therefore neither data, nor confidential

Reflecting back, I had quite a few individual noteworthy happenings that will stay with me. For one, as I mentioned previously, this is the harshest time of year. We fished N of St. Paul Island, which is high up in the Bering Sea, just a short ways S of the ice pack, with a consistent N wind. Bottom line being that it was cold- all of the time- just another hurdle to acclimate to. At times it was snowing sideways and felt like a blizzard. The visibility would be so poor, that it was somewhat difficult to see the fish as they came up on the line, as my eyes would be inclined to focus on all of the blindingly white snowflakes amid me and the fish. At night this would be amplified, as the LED light shining on the area would further illuminate the snow.

Occasionally on such days, it would be too rough and cold to sample, so I would sit in the wheelhouse and either talk with the captain/mate or just sit in silence, often mesmerized by the bright white snowflakes illuminated by the flood lamps, and violently travelling horizontally- it seemed the cold strong winds would never allow them to settle. In contrast, other nights it would snow, but with little to no wind. In these conditions, the snowflakes would just float in front of the wheelhouse windows, seemingly suspended before us and their black backdrop. One could get lost staring into this abyss as well, as it was highly reminiscent of space with its countless bright stars. It easily takes your mind elsewhere, this “winter wonderland” in the middle of the ocean.