The Saga of Barbara Ann

"Well, we’d better head back!" I yelled to John from the flying bridge.

"The fishing is starting to turn bad, and I don’t want to go through Peril Straights in the dark!"

My deckhand and friend since high school yelled back at me, "Alright, come help me pull in the lines!"

The two of us had been trolling the outside waters near Sitka in search of winter Kings for about two months. It is a dangerous area, but a lot of money can be made. We had been doing really well, but lately our luck had been bad. During the past two weeks, we had only brought in half a ton of Kings. We both knew it was time to give up. Besides, we wanted to get back to our home port of Haines, and so did our boat.

We were aboard the fishing vessel Barbara Ann, a 41-foot aluminum work of art built in 1985. I purchased it in 1992 and had her repowered in 1997. She was a jewel of a boat, with all kinds of special modifications to bring in more fish in a shorter amount of time.

The twin Caterpillar twin-turbocharged, propane-vapor-injected diesels could push her to a top speed of 45 miles per hour with a full load of fuel and empty holds. Worth well over $300,000 by now, she was a magnificent vessel.

An evil North wind blew my hat off as I pulled in the last of the hooks from the starboard line. I had a feeling we would be in for a rough trip home, but I wasn’t worried; we were aboard a very sturdy boat.

Finally, loaded with a few hundred pounds of fish and 400 gallons of #1 diesel fuel, we started home. Being against electronic equipment, I hadn’t installed a weatherfax system on the Barbara Ann, so I had no idea what we were headed straight into.

A few minutes before my watch started I was awakened by the frantic yelling of my companion for me to get up. "What the heck’s the problem?" I asked as I stumbled into the wheelhouse half asleep.

"This," John replied, pointing at the radio.

"...and Ketchikan will have light easterlies throughout the week." Then, the computerized voice announced our death warrant, "Now for Peril and Icy Straights. Currently, there is a severe storm warning in effect for both straights and all areas in between. ALL VESSELS SHOULD LEAVE THE AREA IMMEDIATELY. Winds may reach 100 knots by late afternoon, with gusts to 120. Wave heights cannot be estimated at this time."

All I could say was, "That is not a good thing."

"Should we turn back?" John asked.

"Well, to actually get someplace, we’d have to go through a gnarly rock garden in the dark, in rough water. Either that or go outside," I replied.

"Screw it, let’s give it a shot," John exclaimed. "I really want to get back to Haines. Besides, this thing is like a freakin’ Coast Guard cutter, we shouldn’t have much trouble. "

"Yeah."

Being as I had more experience operating powerboats, I was assigned to drive. After we bolted down the fish-hold hatches, closed the extra vents, and put out the fire in the stove, I put the hammer down and steered toward home. All the while thinking, "Please, dear God, let us make it through this. If you let us live, I’ll devote an entire year to worshipping you and doing good."

"Here it comes!" I yelled when I saw the first of the huge waves. I guessed 35-footers at least. "Woohooo!" I yelled as I felt the entire boat leave the water just after cresting a monster 40-foot roller.

"Dive, Dive!" John cried as the Barbara Ann plummeted to 10 feet below the water line. After about 20 feet of traveling underwater, she decided to come back to the top. As we triumphantly wriggled out of the grasp of Poseidon, the bilge pumps clicked on to remove the water from the hull. I thanked God again that I replaced the cabin glass with two-inch Lexan panels all around last year.

We went on for at least 35 hours like that. Laboriously climbing gigantic waves, then plummeting back down to the sea. At least it hadn’t gotten any worse.

I was about to go to sleep after 36 hours at the wheel when I noticed that the top half of the radar screen was black, and it was spreading fast.

I immediately flipped on all of the floodlights and armed the propane-burst system just in case. That enables the Barbara Ann to reach 65 miles per hour for very short periods of time.

"Holy Shit," both John and I gaped in awe at the 75 foot monster as it became illuminated by my nearly 4,000 watts of lighting equipment. The rouge wave looked like a gigantic ghost about to swallow us up in the presence of the artificial halogen sun.

"HOLY SHIT, HOLD ON TO SOMETHING!" I screamed as I slammed the throttles home and pulled the triggers for the propane-burst system.

Three-foot flames jumped from the stacks, the turbo whine went up three octaves, and the tachs leaped to 5,000 RPM as the Barbara Ann roared up to 60 miles per hour. We slammed straight into the huge wave at full tilt. I couldn’t see a single thing for about ten seconds except for the flashing red light of the high water alarm. I heard a terrible snapping sound, then some loud banging noises, and finally another snap.

Neither John nor I was sure what just happened. I think we went straight through the side of the huge wave and just kept going. About halfway through, we lost the starboard trolling pole, as well as all the cables that are supposed to hold it in place. At least 80 gallons of water had found their way inside through the vents, but since I put snorkels on both engines, they didn’t suck any water. As we exited the behemoth, John gave me a high-five for not killing us. I think I counted four days and five nights before the waves got larger than 30 feet again, but they were all breakers, which slowed our progress to a crawl.

It was just before the Eldred Rock Lighthouse that we almost met our maker. John was asleep, and I was getting more coffee when it happened. The Barbara Ann was tossed like a pop can into the air by a humongous breaker.

The Godzilla of a wave had to be close to ninety feet tall. You can imagine how scary that is when a wave half that size is capable of sinking lesser boats of the same size as the Barbara Ann.

The hot coffee spilled all over me as the tiny ship went end-over-end 50 feet in the air. As we finally landed on the stern, John flew back from his bunk, causing both of us to slam into the door.

The latch gave from the water pressure, and we almost went over the back of the boat. I scrambled to the rear controls by the time we were 20 feet under and throttled down. It seemed like an eternity waiting for the Barbara Ann to claw her way out of the water. Luckily, John had climbed back inside and held the door closed before too much water could get inside. By the time we were upright on the surface at least 30 seconds later, we were standing chest deep in the frigid water.

During the ordeal, the starboard Cat sucked in a gallon of water and suffered a long and painful death. The port engine mourned the loss of both of its turbos and three of its six cylinders. One of the turbochargers flew apart, putting a two-inch hole in the Barbara Ann just below the waterline. The mast and port-trolling pole had been bent forward 45 degrees. Also, every one of the floodlights had been taken out in one way or another.

Luckily, the fuel tanks were still intact and the three remaining cylinders of the port engine were still firing okay. Though there was a steady stream of blue smoke emanating from its exhaust stack, probably from burning oil and unburned diesel fuel.

By the time we reached Battery Point about a week later, the Barbara Ann, once a magnificent vessel, was listing dangerously to port and riding low in the water. Even the 4,000-gallon per hour engine-driven bilge pump and the 1,000-gallon per hour electric pumps were starting to lose the battle. Only the starboard side of the wheelhouse, the port trolling pole, and the flying bridge remained above water. I had to rig up a makeshift snorkel towering over the deck to keep the engine going, and we were steadily sinking deeper and deeper into the icy water.

Apparently somebody on shore had seen the Barbara Ann floundering in the eight-foot seas as we rounded the last point. The flying bridge was nearly underwater when we were even with the tour ship dock. Both John and I were slumped over the wheel from exhaustion by that time. We hit the beach at about 10 in the morning during a fierce snowstorm.

"We made it," I choked as I killed the engine.

John smiled back, "I would hug you, but I can’t move."

I have no idea what happened after that. The next thing I remember is waking up in the "Hospital". Apparently, all the shock had put me in a coma for a week and a half. I was told that it took us 25 days to get from Sitka to Haines, normally a 14-hour trip for the Barbara Ann.

After a week of recovery time, I salvaged the Barbara Ann with the help of a few friends. The inspection of her in my garage revealed the horrific details of our adventure. The bow was crushed in about a foot and a half. All of the windows were cracked badly, and one was missing. There were big dents on the starboard side from when the trolling pole broke loose. All down both sides the heavy aluminum was bent out of shape. The bottom was riddled with dents of all sizes. The one remaining trolling pole and the mast were severely bent and hanging on by one or two bolts apiece. The transom was severely crumpled. Both of the engines were almost completely gone. The one that was able to keep running had oil starvation damage, and the other one wouldn’t run at all.

The last thing that I looked at almost made me cry. In all of the fuel tanks combined, there was less than a quarter gallon of diesel fuel. Enough to run the remaining engine for less than half an hour.

Creative Writing Contest

2001 winners