On car trips parents will sometimes threaten their kids with the line, “Don’t make me turn this car around!” How often do they actually need to enforce that warning? Most times the words are just spoken words.
Well, I’m proud to say that my health forced the captain to give the order to haul in the nets, turn our boat around, and head to Dutch Harbor early. Maybe proud isn’t the right word, but I feel like not many people can say they’ve forced a Bering Sea fishing vessel to head to port without a full load.
Confused? It all starts with my last entry, but then it becomes an unanticipated adventure to give me the full experience of life at sea.
Last week I found this strange painful lump that made standing to work very painful. As I may or may not have mentioned, I found no rhyme or reason to why standing, sitting, or leaning in some positions was more comfortable than others. Being woken up in the middle of the night by pain 3 nights in a row was not exactly my idea of a good time. Our 2 medically trained crew members on board were stumped as to what was wrong with me, so on Monday we decided to call a line in Seattle to hear a doctor’s opinion – even though I couldn’t exactly provide many details.
With a slightly elevated temperature, the doctor – who didn’t have a particularly clear idea of what was wrong with me – suggested I start taking an antibiotic, use warm compresses on the area now and then, and continue taking Advil as needed. We should call with an update in 24 hours. Should I keep working? Yes, I could work “as tolerated.” For me, that meant I could maybe duck out of work for an hour to let Advil kick in, but even that made me feel a bit like a slacker.
On Tuesday I was happy to wake up and hear that we’d have fish to process starting at 6am, meaning I could “sleep in” compared to my usual 4am start. With my extra morning hours, I discovered there was a development in my health: a new swollen area. When we called in our update to Seattle, the doctor responded by saying, “How far from port are you?” After we got the answer – 12 to 14 hours – from the captain, there was a pause on the line.
“Are you saying we should head to Dutch Harbor?” we asked.
“Yes,” came the basic reply.
With his best guess being that I either had a cyst or an infection, he seemed to think it was critical that I get to a clinic soon. I don’t remember the details of what he said over our choppy phone connection, but he indicated that my condition had the potential to go downhill quickly.
“Better safe than sorry” fit the situation perfectly. Before I went down to work in the factory and Mitzi (purser/medic) headed up to the wheelhouse to let the captain know, she said to me, “Oh, don’t tell anyone about this.” She wasn’t quite looking forward to giving the word.
Off to work I went, feeling surprised and slightly worried by the development. (I was thinking all health costs would fall on me, so I wasn’t too excited that my body decided to act up while at sea, away from everything. Later I learned that the company would cover it. Thank God.) Even though I didn’t know what was wrong, I really didn’t feel like my health was in danger, so I wasn’t particularly worried about myself.
During my lunch break one of the deckhands greeted me by saying, “I hear I’m taking you for a skiff ride tonight.” I couldn’t help but think, Oh boy! A new experience on top of the new experience! (We were still about 2 days’ fishing shy of having a full load of fish to offload, so rather than dock the whole vessel and offload a partial catch, they’d be going back out to finish fishing.)
Right before I needed to head back to work, Mitzi appeared and asked if anything had changed. The swelling had grown, but I still felt fine otherwise. Next she asked me, “Where’s home?”
My favorite question. My storage is in Fairbanks, but my parents are in Michigan. She was actually asking, “Where am I sending you for medical care?”
Huh? I was going beyond Dutch Harbor? I’ve been to enough remote Alaskan villages to know most clinics are very limited in their treatment capabilities, but I figured that as the hub of “dangerous” fishing, Dutch Harbor would have more complete facilities. Nope. I would stop at the clinic in Dutch before flying to Fairbanks!
Considering it was only noon, I was having quite a day! Not only was I getting a private boat ride to the dock in Dutch, but I was taking ALL of my stuff with me in the off-chance that I wouldn’t be able to return to the boat.
Mitzi had me return to work until our 3:30 break, and then I went to her office to fill out an illness/injury report, take a breath test (per Coast Guard regulations when there’s an incident at sea), chug water for a drug test, and learn about my arrangements for Dutch Harbor and Fairbanks. It’s safe to say I’d kept multiple somebodies working all day.
Once I more or less understood what was going on, I needed to pack, which felt incredibly odd after so recently having unpacked and settled into my new life. Entertainingly enough, running around the various levels of the boat to grab my work gear and laundry, snap a few pictures in the off-chance I wouldn’t be back, chat with people, and pack in my room provided me with the most exercise I’d had in weeks. The extent to which possessions can get spread around in such a small space is amazing!
Shortly after 6 in the evening, I was ready to go with bags waiting to be loaded in the skiff. For whatever reason the captain had decided he wanted me to wear a survival suit rather than just a life vest, so I laughed with the deckhands as I crawled my way into one and zipped it up. As we cruised by the coastline on our approach to Dutch Harbor, I couldn’t help but think, This isn’t what I had planned! Oh well, I get to do something even more uncommon than just spend a winter in the Bering Sea. I’m getting an evacuation, of sorts. Wow, I’m “fortunate.” Hahaha.
By the way, if anyone wants to give me a GoPro for better documenting purposes, feel free. My little camera requires hands and can’t do these tales justice!
Finally, we got the word from the captain to load the skiff. As some other processors – who I’d freed from work because we were all caught up on processing – watched; deckhands Marty, Michael, and I climbed in the skiff with my bags. Shortly after Marty gave me a quick briefing on where to stand and what to hold and to brace my legs, the crane suddenly lowered our boat from the height of 2nd deck down into the water. Initially it was a drop like on a roller coaster, but then it slowed a bit. As water sloshed into our skiff, Michael opened the giant closing hook that attached us to the crane, and off we sped, leaving my 240-ft. home behind.
I hadn’t been lied to; the ride to a dock really was fewer than 5 minutes long. Before I knew it, Starbound was a floating light, and we had landed at some dock where I was being passed off to the hands of Norm, an expeditor for Starbound who lives in Dutch Harbor. After the guys hauled my stuff up the ladder to solid ground, I managed to do the same in my oversized survival suit.
Before Marty and Michael turned around to head back to Starbound, they needed the survival suit back. The easiest way to get out of it was for me to sit and have one of them pull it off by the legs. “It’s not every day in Dutch Harbor you get to undress a pretty lady,” Marty said with a smile.
And in the blink of an eye, Norm and I were driving toward town. Just like that, I was back in the unknown. Sigh.
By this time it was probably 8pm and the clinic had received a patient in need of more urgent care than me, so Norm dropped me off at the hotel for the night. I considered pushing for an overnight visit, but based on what I’d told the clinic’s doctor over the phone, she thought my condition was stable enough to just wait until the next morning.
Maybe I haven’t said it here before, but I love “culture shock.” The road felt so very fluid during that drive from the dock to the hotel that I thought we were flowing around corners on a water slide rather than driving on a road. I had my sea legs on me, meaning the ground moved as I walked. Even now I’ve found that when I’m concentrating while I walk up and down stairs or balancing on packed snow, the ground moves. I like it! I’ll admit I felt like I belonged in Dutch Harbor with my vessel sweatshirt and XtraTufs, but it was strange to be surrounded by unfamiliar faces again.
The hotel lobby felt so foreign and open, and of course my room felt huge! I had a whole bathroom, king size bed, and television all to myself. (My favorite part about king beds is that if I flop down on them in the opposite direction from normal sleep, I still don’t reach from one side to the other. :)) Talk about a luxurious night! I’d been told I could get dinner at the slightly upscale restaurant and have it charged to the room, so I ordered a crab/asparagus/shrimp/avocado salad, which was a cheaper item, to go. Yum.
The following morning Norm dropped me off at the clinic at 7:30 when it opened. Who are we kidding? Dutch Harbor is on island time, so the doors opened at 7:40ish. When all was said and done – which wasn’t that much – I was going to live without a problem. For no reason other than that I’d suddenly been surrounded by international germs and living in close quarters, I’d gotten a vaginal cyst. It needed to be drained, and Fairbanks would be better equipped to deal with it, so that was that. Off to the hotel I went with a new antibiotic.
I called the boat to fill in the curious Mitzi and Sean with what had been ailing me. Of course then the cyst decided to rupture all on its own, but I had the go-ahead to safely travel up to Fairbanks. When Mitzi encouraged me to have room service bring me breakfast, I decided maybe I should. Eggs benedict and Bugs Bunny sealed my morning at the hotel! A girl could get used to this pretty easily.
Norm picked me up and drove me to the airport for my 1:20 flight to Anchorage. Then as a kids’ book I know says, I “sat and sat and sat and sat and…” you get the picture. I did chat with a fisherman on and off outside for awhile, and I fell for the Aleutians all over again when I saw this wall, but mostly I just waited.
The plane had been late in leaving Cold Bay, and then a low ceiling and variable fog had moved in, forcing the plane to circle for almost an hour. I honestly didn’t think it was going to land, but it finally appeared and then quickly got our flight on its way. While sitting there, I felt like I was back on St. George wondering whether the plane would make it or not. You never can tell with these remote islands!
By the time we reached Anchorage, I had 20 minutes rather than 4+ hours between landing and boarding for my flight to Fairbanks. Fortunately my gate was right next to Quizno’s, so once I’d made it through the non-existent security line, I coolly ordered a sub before boarding my plane.
As the plane made its final approach to Fairbanks, I realized that things didn’t feel right. Hadn’t I just left here? Yep, I’d only been gone for 3 weeks – far less time than my usual jaunts away. Unlike for my aunt and uncle (and probably most normal people), being away for that length of time meant nothing to me. I hadn’t seen or done enough – or in this case, made enough money – to be returning to the ol’ college town so soon. Hopefully I wouldn’t be back for too long.
I’d called Teri from Dutch the night before and surprised her with a “How do you feel about seeing me tomorrow night?”
Obviously she was happy to see me months early, and she greeted me with a ride to her couch and a pint of Hot Licks ice cream. 🙂
As a side note, I picked the perfect weekend to be forced to come to Fairbanks. The Yukon Quest started on Saturday, so I got to go downtown to see puppies. Today I watched the Super Bowl on a big screen and drank blackberry mead. I won’t be telling the boat captain, a loyal Seahawks fan, that I got to enjoy the game. He’d probably throw me overboard.
