Wrong Way Diver
By John Hurwitz
Sitting in my brother’s driveway, rigging new crab pots, I realized that the upcoming crab season was our first joint effort at fishing since we were kids. Buzz was 8 years older than me, so his job as a teen was to baby sit me, and all I wanted to do, even at five, was to go fishing. It was 1946 and our family was living in Japan. My dad was a sgt-major with the Marines at Yokuska Naval Station. My brother spent ‘46, ’47 and ‘48 taking me everywhere to fish. I don't remember ever catching anything but I guess that didn't matter. Now, forty years later, here we were again, tying gear, this time as commercial fishermen.
Our routine prior to crab season was to tie gear until noon, jump in the truck, and go to Dolphin Isle Marina past the Noyo boat basin for lunch and to visit other fishermen. We were just settling down to our hot dogs when the deli manager Suzy came over and sat down. Suzy was sort of our adopted little sister, and we let everyone know not to mess with Suzy. It was amazing, all thought she was actually our sister, and we liked that. When she sat down, she said, "I need a favor." “Name it,” we chorused back. "There’s a really nice guy staying here at the marina, but he has nothing, lives in this little broken down teardrop trailer. I give him odd jobs now and then, and he’s ok. His name is Mr. Squiggins.” Buzz and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. Suzy commanded us to stop, and we did. She then said, "Do you think you could find a place for him on your boat for crab season? He doesn't get seasick.” We weren’t happy about this turn of events, but couldn't say no to Suzy. “Sure, let’s meet this guy.” Suzy rushed out to find him. She returned with this little fellow, I think he was 57 at the time and the sight of him brought back memories of elves from fairy tales.
We fulfilled our promise to Suzy and brought aboard “Squiggy", a name we all liked, including him. He was to help on the deck, prepare all the meals, and just be the general gopher. He had never been on a commercial boat before.
Things went well for the opener and thereafter. We were fishing out of Eureka running 200 pots. Squiggy would make sure the diesel stove was on, the wheelhouse warm, and the coffee brewed when we got to the boat around 4:00 am. I ran the boat, Buzz operated the block, and Buzz's son, Ben, handled the pots. Squiggy would help with the pots if we were stacking gear. He would bring me coffee during the day up on the bridge, and he made sure we had sandwiches when hungry. He wasn't too handy on deck but otherwise, I had no complaints. He was making 10% and happy to get it.
Whenever we were blown in, Buzz and I would head for some watering hole and Ben would head back to school at Humboldt State. We always invited Squiggy to join us and his standard reply was, "No thanks, I don't drink." Sometimes we would razz him about his not drinking; but never much. When the season ended, we stacked the gear and headed back to Ft. Bragg. After we had unloaded and stowed the pots for the winter, Dolphin Isle Marina decided to host a party celebrating the season, etc. At this well attended party, Suzy and I were talking about fuel prices and she said if I wanted to bring the boat up the river to Dolphin isle, she would give us a great break on 900 gallons of diesel. I agreed. It would have to be a very high tide as the boat drew 7' and the river above the regular boat basin was shallow; but it could be done if you knew the river. As I was looking at the river I noticed it was almost at slack high. I also noticed that Squiggy was drinking a beer. This roused my interest, so I went over and asked "Hey, I thought you didn't drink!?"
He just shrugged his shoulders and said, "Not anymore." “Well then,” I said, “let me buy you one!” “Ok,” he answered, and I produced a cold one for him. He took the beer and motioned me over to a table. We sat down. He moved closer and whispered, "I could have run the boat, you know". I was amused! “I don't think so, Squig, it’s not as easy as it looks.” "I could do it!” he insisted. Again, I said I didn't think so. What did it matter anyway, he had done his part. "I wanted to do more," he said. I assured him it was cool, not to worry about it. We had another beer and then another. "John, I can run that boat" he sputtered. In a weak moment, I said, “Ok, Ok. I'll tell you what: let’s go down to the basin right now, at high tide and we'll bring her up here for fuel.” "Great," he said, and you’re gonna let me steer?” “You bet, Squiggy. Let’s go before we miss this tide.”
Down at the basin, I backed the boat out of the slip and got it straightened out. Moving down along the seawall towards the river, I gave the wheel to Squiggy and said, "Now remember, when we get to the river turn right or starboard, and go upriver, not down.” He nodded. As we neared the entrance to the river, I could see his hands tightening on the wheel, I didn't comment. As the bow broke into the river current, Squiggy started to turn the wheel to port, down river! I yelled, "Damn Squiggy, I thought you said you could run this boat, you just turned the wrong way."
All I remember hearing was an agonized groan, and Squiggy dived out the portside wheelhouse door right into the river, in front of the Coast Guard station. I was stunned. I ran up to the bridge where I could see him floundering toward the beach at the Coast Guard dock. I swung the boat around, backed up close to him, jammed it into forward and gunned it. The prop wash pushed him up on the beach. I had a big Cummins in this boat and it did the job on beaching Squiggy. I quickly parked the boat back in the slip and went back to the party. Squiggy went to jail for being drunk in public and disturbing the peace.
It was the last time I ever teased someone about their drinking or not drinking. We bailed him out later and sent him to bed.