WRITING SAMPLES
From Every Boat Has a Wave: An Interview with Dave Densmore
What happened the night your boat went down in the Bering Sea?
I had a real good crew. I was twenty-five. At one point I was the youngest king crab skipper in the Bering Sea. Anyway, these two young guys, Bryan and Doug, had never been on a boat before – came down looking for a job. I needed crew. In those days we could king crab year round. So right around Thanksgiving everyone would tie up and most people would spend Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s back home, then return to fishing after New Year’s. So we left the next morning. We were six hours out of Dutch Harbor. the cook had just made supper. He had just filled his plate and sat down – I don’t even think he’d gotten to take a bite of food – and suddenly, KABOOM! from the engine room. My engineer and I raced down there. There was a HUGE wall of fire.
I could see it was burning diesel from the way it was dropping down from the overhead. I shut off the main engine, trying to stop the diesel. I had another engine behind that wall of fire in what we called the pump room. I was looking at that wall of fire – I was going to jump through it – and just as I was getting ready to run through, my engineer triggered the CO2 system. The CO2 sucked the oxygen right out of there.
I started feeling around, holding my breath. I just kept going until I found the ladder. But my engineer wasn’t there. I couldn’t call him because I had no breath, so I tried to feel for him, wondering if he had passed out. I held on to the ladder so not to lose it, and I stepped as far off as I could, holding on to the ladder, and I put my hand out. I let go of the ladder with my arm still pointing at it and reached, trying to feel. My fingers just brushed across his chest. I leaned just a bit further and grabbed him. He was frozen, standing there in shock. I jerked him over to the ladder and climbed up behind him. I grabbed him and said, “Get the life raft off the top of the house before it starts burning.”
I had a real good crew. I was twenty-five. At one point I was the youngest king crab skipper in the Bering Sea. Anyway, these two young guys, Bryan and Doug, had never been on a boat before – came down looking for a job. I needed crew. In those days we could king crab year round. So right around Thanksgiving everyone would tie up and most people would spend Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s back home, then return to fishing after New Year’s. So we left the next morning. We were six hours out of Dutch Harbor. the cook had just made supper. He had just filled his plate and sat down – I don’t even think he’d gotten to take a bite of food – and suddenly, KABOOM! from the engine room. My engineer and I raced down there. There was a HUGE wall of fire.
I could see it was burning diesel from the way it was dropping down from the overhead. I shut off the main engine, trying to stop the diesel. I had another engine behind that wall of fire in what we called the pump room. I was looking at that wall of fire – I was going to jump through it – and just as I was getting ready to run through, my engineer triggered the CO2 system. The CO2 sucked the oxygen right out of there.
I started feeling around, holding my breath. I just kept going until I found the ladder. But my engineer wasn’t there. I couldn’t call him because I had no breath, so I tried to feel for him, wondering if he had passed out. I held on to the ladder so not to lose it, and I stepped as far off as I could, holding on to the ladder, and I put my hand out. I let go of the ladder with my arm still pointing at it and reached, trying to feel. My fingers just brushed across his chest. I leaned just a bit further and grabbed him. He was frozen, standing there in shock. I jerked him over to the ladder and climbed up behind him. I grabbed him and said, “Get the life raft off the top of the house before it starts burning.”
From Family Dynamic: An excerpt from the poem 'Fisherman's Boots' by Jack Merrill
a pickup ride home in the rain
as if the water insisted
on following him through the door
the water drips on the wood floor
wool cap and damp jacket hung on ancient hooks
the aroma of fish and old clothes salted
invades the entrance
as if the water insisted
on following him through the door
the water drips on the wood floor
wool cap and damp jacket hung on ancient hooks
the aroma of fish and old clothes salted
invades the entrance
From For the Love of Fish:
An excerpt from the song 'Sophomore Seiner Blues' by Richard E. King
An excerpt from the song 'Sophomore Seiner Blues' by Richard E. King
Well I mortgaged my life, got no time with my wife,
‘Cause this boat wants every day
Can’t afford to park it, had to buy a market –
Now I own a ‘silver bay.’
And my hands ain’t clean, I got holes in my jeans
But I gotta pay my dues.
So I’ll do my best, ‘cause I’m all invested
In the Sophomore Seiner Blues.
And I don’t care what the boat average thinks of me,
And I’m too old to wait in lines.
The Sound’s a place that I know I deserve to see
‘Cause I’m runnin’ out of time.
My body’s achin’ and I’m always takin’
Those Ibuprophen pills;
I know I’m sinkin’ and I can’t help thinkin’
That I shouldn’t have done this deal.
But if I let go, then I’ll never know
What else that I can do,
So I’ll do my best to stay invested
In the Sophomore Seiner Blues.
‘Cause this boat wants every day
Can’t afford to park it, had to buy a market –
Now I own a ‘silver bay.’
And my hands ain’t clean, I got holes in my jeans
But I gotta pay my dues.
So I’ll do my best, ‘cause I’m all invested
In the Sophomore Seiner Blues.
And I don’t care what the boat average thinks of me,
And I’m too old to wait in lines.
The Sound’s a place that I know I deserve to see
‘Cause I’m runnin’ out of time.
My body’s achin’ and I’m always takin’
Those Ibuprophen pills;
I know I’m sinkin’ and I can’t help thinkin’
That I shouldn’t have done this deal.
But if I let go, then I’ll never know
What else that I can do,
So I’ll do my best to stay invested
In the Sophomore Seiner Blues.
From Gathering: An excerpt from the poem 'There Ain't No Fish in Morro Bay' by Rob Seitz
I’d never believed it could be a problem,
always seemed like a dream come true,
now I’m realizing the frustration of a fisherman, without
another fisherman he’s gotta tell lies to.
I can tow wherever I want,
don’t have to worry about anyone crowding my spot.
Never thought I would miss telling someone
I found fish in the opposite direction of where they were really caught.
Not a blip on the radar screen,
nor voice on the radio,
I pick up the mike and say to no-one,
“We didn’t have much on that last tow.”
See, being a fisherman is a skill,
of which finding fish is only a part.
Keeping the other boats off ‘em,
that’s where it becomes an art.
So, now I’m a painter without a canvas,
a sculptor without any clay.
I might have to run for office,
just to keep my lyin’ talent from slipping away.
always seemed like a dream come true,
now I’m realizing the frustration of a fisherman, without
another fisherman he’s gotta tell lies to.
I can tow wherever I want,
don’t have to worry about anyone crowding my spot.
Never thought I would miss telling someone
I found fish in the opposite direction of where they were really caught.
Not a blip on the radar screen,
nor voice on the radio,
I pick up the mike and say to no-one,
“We didn’t have much on that last tow.”
See, being a fisherman is a skill,
of which finding fish is only a part.
Keeping the other boats off ‘em,
that’s where it becomes an art.
So, now I’m a painter without a canvas,
a sculptor without any clay.
I might have to run for office,
just to keep my lyin’ talent from slipping away.
From Illusions of Separateness: An excerpt from the poem 'Middle Rip' by Patrick Dixon
It has been cloudy now
for a long, long while.
The sea is building.
The unexpected blow
always seems to come from the south,
and is always the worst.
From shore you can’t see
the middle rip;
can’t tell how bad it is:
waves crashing in all directions at once,
moving mountains of green and gray.
And even if you were there
fighting the wheel to keep her headed in the right direction,
riding them up and over, throttle up and back,
watching more of what’s next than what’s now,
you couldn’t tell whether the changing tide
would make it lay down or stir it up more.
for a long, long while.
The sea is building.
The unexpected blow
always seems to come from the south,
and is always the worst.
From shore you can’t see
the middle rip;
can’t tell how bad it is:
waves crashing in all directions at once,
moving mountains of green and gray.
And even if you were there
fighting the wheel to keep her headed in the right direction,
riding them up and over, throttle up and back,
watching more of what’s next than what’s now,
you couldn’t tell whether the changing tide
would make it lay down or stir it up more.
From Making Waves: An excerpt from the poem 'Making Waves' by Balika Haakanson
It was important to make waves.
A net released too close to ours,
Honor to be defended and space defined.
A delicate gender balance always in question,
Always something unsaid and just below the surface.
A boat full of women in a sea of men meant
Following different rules, making our own path.
Wake Required.
A net released too close to ours,
Honor to be defended and space defined.
A delicate gender balance always in question,
Always something unsaid and just below the surface.
A boat full of women in a sea of men meant
Following different rules, making our own path.
Wake Required.
From Mending Holes: An excerpt from the poem 'Fourteenth Birthday' by Erin Fristad
Side by side we traveled. I watched lines: taut, slack
taut as our little pleasure boat tried to keep up.
The unshaven men returned, took turns smoking cigarettes,
watching our progress. A woman appeared, dressed like the men
a black wool coat and knee-high rubber boots.
Her hair danced wild around her face. She winked,
gave me a gentle wave. I blushed, looked at my feet.
taut as our little pleasure boat tried to keep up.
The unshaven men returned, took turns smoking cigarettes,
watching our progress. A woman appeared, dressed like the men
a black wool coat and knee-high rubber boots.
Her hair danced wild around her face. She winked,
gave me a gentle wave. I blushed, looked at my feet.