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The Filson Lady

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The Filson Lady

Postby ericv » Sun Dec 13, 2009 8:58 am

The Filson Lady

A 25 minute fictional story based on historically relevant events.
By Eric Van Cise - Sitka, AK

The 305 V-6 on Loren's old '63 Jimmy pickup ran as it always had, heavy on fuel consumption but reliable and steady as he parked his rig at the grocery store. He stuffed the gear shift into the low, low slot, assuring that his rig would stay put this time. A year ago he'd forgotten to do so while in a hurry, while inside the store the Jimmy decided it wanted to roam and was found with its nose buried firmly in the hindquarters of a reluctant Ford compact much to the distress of it's owner.

The backside of the rumpled Standard Oil receipt in Loren's hand served as the grocery list he had embarked to fill; friend and skipper Arne Severnsen of the 46' troller/longliner Valkyrie had scribbled items down for him to fetch as they prepped for the upcoming halibut trip. Rain clogged his glasses as Loren made his way to the store, despite that he came up short as his eyes adjusted their focus onto a pair of Filson Double Tin pants like he had not seen before. He owned a few pair himself, bombproof, never requiring a wash and as they say "Gained character with use". His had been used primarily in his logging days much the same as his dad and granddad had done. They were a pant for working men, not lightweights or noose-neck tie-types yet this pair was different. This owner knew the gig, they had been oiled, stagged off and showed the heavy signs of use. They definitely had gained it's unique character to the body they encased, that of the body of a slender woman packing a heavy, well worn army surplus duffel bag across her shoulders. The X-Tra Tuffs she wore where well broken in, darkened with use and had the orange upper band of the fisherman's gloves cut off and used as her cuff straps. Her long, auburn colored hair roamed out of the faded green bandanna tied on her head, it adorned a well kept Woolrich Railroad vest that had the back, belt strap snugged tight enough to show the subtle curves in her back. A not so well kept wool shirt lay under that, a few small tears and worn spots showing it's age. All this was noted in mere seconds as Loren followed along, surprised at how acute his eyes were to these details. He couldn't help but notice how decent these working clothes looked on her in contrast to the fashion trends many her gender and age were wearing at the time.

She pulled the old duffel off her shoulders and stashed it at the counter area, turning to get a hand basket as Loren attempted to dislodge a suddenly locked up cart. With a clang and bang the cart came free causing him to abruptly step back, blocking her way. She stopped momentarily, he looked up to apologize, embarrassed at his fumble-thumbing event thinking to himself, Why does this crap always happen to me at this time? She was just over 5' tall, maybe tipping the scale at 105, her hazel eyes met his and in a flash he somehow knew her story. It was one of Don't Ask, Don't Tell. She possessed a natural beauty that makeup would only foul up, but what caught his eye and she knew it was the jagged 2" long scar that cut across her left eyebrow. An injury from some time ago, appearing to have healed unaided by stitches or precise medical care. Her gaze silently burned into his mind the phrase "I've seen your type, now let me pass by in peace or else". Loren attempted a smile, he wasn't the type to mistreat or disrespect a woman, it just wasn't his style, yet somehow that had kept him an involuntary single man. She passed by as he glanced down, her hand gripping the basket was small yet strong, her left thumbnail blackened by some blow in the past. He caught the faint aroma of patchouli oil in the stirred air of her wake.

The cart filled as Loren focused on the list in hand. Without planning to, he'd occasionally encounter her in an aisle of which in one he nearly took out a row of jarred pickles due to distracted navigation. He last saw her in the produce section as he headed to check out. With the boxes of food placed inside the canopy of his Jimmy he headed to the harbor, wondering just who she was and why he even cared. Straighten up and get a grip, he thought to himself, we've got tons of work to do and you got to be focused.

"Roller Hog" Ron met him at the ramp with a harbor cart that had an injured wheel. He was a crew member for the longlining gigs aboard the Valkyrie. He was Loren's age but from a different cut of wood. He was a vet from the Navy, tattoos adorned his hands and arms along with the near 24/7 cigarette dangling from his mouth with eyes that seemed stuck in a permanent squint. Tough, foul mouthed and opinionated, he was the guy you wanted at your side when things went sour. He got his nick name for hogging the roller. He was damn good, lost few fish with the steel gaff along with his bull strength to heave the biggest slabs flopping onto the deck with apparent ease. Arne had given him a chance when his chips were down, paid his bail and despite his many social ungraces, he'd proven to be a reliable hand for longlining. He was sober and drug free now for 4 years and 217 days to be exact per Ron. His only remaining vices being coffee, Lucky Strike cigarettes and women with absolutely no morals.

Arne met the duo as they arrived with the cart that had a perpetual sheer to port. Loren had been his reliable deckhand and friend for years and they both worked together with the goal to see Loren with his own operation some day. Arne too was a vet, Army, 'Nam in '68 and '69 not by choice. Was affectionately called "Doc" as he had a natural ability to bandage stemming from some basic First Aid he took as a kid. The Army stuffed him into the mode as combat medic without asking and he walked away, honorably discharged and decorated yet full of the visual nightmares of shattered buddies and mangled women and children. Thankfully Arne's sweetheart since they were 13, Etta, married at 18, was there for him before and after. A rare women known as a soul-mate. Even at 13, they knew it was the right mix and 3 kids and many years later they were not only best friends but each others rock. Arne never took that for granted and wasn't a day gone by that he didn't reflect on how lucky a man he was.

The last hitch was securing a deckhand to replace a man who had been fine on shore but transformed into a psycho at sea. The last trip had been cut short because of this. The guy was lucky Ron hadn't caved his head in and chopped him up for bait while Arne and Loren kept the Valkyrie headed home to unload this mess of a man. Two of the local pickled-liver guys showed up, faces bloated and swollen from years of being hammered and were promptly turned away. Arne had a hard set rule; no booze or drugs at sea, didn't matter who it was, get caught doing it and your butt was fired immediately. He didn't even like or tolerate the stuff on land, seen too much of the damage done, too many friends put in the grave. Best damn high he'd always say was the natural one; didn't cost anything and left no side affects.

A woman's voice called out asking if this was the boat looking for a deckhand. Arne was on deck, Loren hearing the voice while stashing the supplies in the galley. As he stepped out to see who it was, he noticed Ron on deck damn near drooling with that look he gets in his eyes whenever he spies a woman he wants to consume clothing and all. It was the auburn hair he first caught site of and for some reason the clutch in his brain slipped a spline and shifted into neutral. Arne invited her aboard and Ron promptly greeted her with the brilliant raspy commentary of her sweet cheeks and her supposed desire to fish and bump with the crew as the cigarette dangling from his teeth shed a wad of ashes on the deck. She stopped cold, set down her worn duffel bag and looked directly at him, a good 14" in height shorter and 110lbs less weight than Ron. Said her names Danielle and she didn't work on her back, got it? The tone and posture said it all, even causing Ron to pause his verbal assault. More so, it was the look she had in her eyes that foretold an unseen rampage that would ignite something fierce and beyond all calculation. Arne cast a hard look at Ron basically saying; Can it now or pack your bags. It was abundantly clear a line had been crossed, it would not happen again, everyone on board distinctly knew this. The only sound present was that of a nearby seagull calling out to its mates.

The awkward moment broke when Arne invited Danielle into the galley to discuss matters. He'd given Ron strict instructions to bait gear on deck, Loren continued to stow the supplies. Seems things were okay as Arne asked Loren to put her duffel down on the spare bunk in the foc'sle while he showed her the layout of the Valkyrie. The duffel was surprisingly heavy as Loren carried it down the steep steps and knee kicked it up on the top bunk much like a bale of hay. The canvas handle had the carcasses of airline destination tags on it, some mere shreds, others more fresh. Without intending to, Loren noticed tags that ranged from California to Alaska, he didn't glace at the old faded address tag, didn't seem right to do so. The scent of patchouli oil was faint, a powerful memory inducer of a time, place and events with a woman he'd known years ago.

Moderate heavy weather, cool temperatures and Arne's knack of finding the "Haliboot' as his granddad used to say all came together for the crew of the Valkyrie posing a challenge to those living off the sea; lots of fish, unsteady deck and a breakneck pace to keep on top of things, not to mention safe. Arne kept the Valkyrie properly positioned, Ron worked the roller like a madman, his vitamins C-squared of cigarettes and coffee kept the checkers full. Loren, being 5'8'' weighed out roughly the same as a dressed halibut his same height. Slim yet strong, he had a reputation of having some of the steadiest feet and fastest hands in the worst of weather. Pound for pound he could match any man in endurance, strength and agility. Add to this an innate ability to know the sea and run the vessel under his feet was precisely why Arne had him as his right hand man. The conditions tested all involved to their max. Danielle worked at a pace and style identical to Loren, using the gravity of the lurching deck to expertly move slabs much larger than her. Fish for fish she worked the gut table next to Loren, not a wasted effort, her knife kept razor sharp, they plowed through the ever filling checkers. Nobody complained, nobody whined, skate after skate was hauled, re-baited and shot out the chute. Loren, Arne and Ron all happened to look up once to see Danielle packing a heavy tub of coiled longline gear back to the bait shed. The decks of the Valkyrie were violently slanting and slashing yet Danielle kept a steady tack, not a waver in her step other than a veteran pause to allow the vessel to conform to her steps as the scuppers shot sea water knee high to her ankle tethered Grundens.

Someone was tapping heavily at his feet. In a brief mental haze and fog Arne glanced at the small clock beside him, 2:07am, the voice of Danielle entered his brain and he sat up. He had instructed her as all his crew to wake him up if anything seemed off kilter during their wheel watch. They were heading back home, the Valkyrie was loaded to the guards, all gear and hatches lashed tight, the sodium light arcing up and down as it projected light out through the mountainous seas. Danielle had more than proven her ability to run a vessel. She possessed the rare ability to sense where the Valkyries next move would be and had the wheel adjusted for such. Further more was her ability to work all the systems and an acute awareness of how the Valkyrie was performing. Arne subtly checked the gauges and electronics as Danielle explained that the Valkyrie just didn't feel right, something Arne wasn't picking up on himself. She seemed to be riding as expected with the load and weather. He was strict as hell at having good bilge pumps, high water alarms and good secure hatches. No warning alarms had activated, he himself had done the last check and securing of things. Danielle switched on the aft deck work lights noting that she seemed to be shipping more water than the previous hour. Arne trusted her call, time to check things out.

The cold blast of vagrant sea water directly to his face rudely woke him up, Arne had worked his way aft checking all the hatch covers and gear, all secure and tight. He gained the water tight hatch of the lazerette and with a grunt turned the handle to be met with a void totally full of water that always had been bone dry. Damn, what the hells going on? he thought as his heart lodged deep in his throat at the site. He himself had installed a new gasket just prior to leaving port and had secured it tight. They were dozens of miles from any protection, no other vessel had reported in nearby all night and this weather was not laying down. Just as his pulse was skyrocketing he sited the gasket seal on the hatch, it had significantly slipped out of the groove. It was evident that his install had not been done properly thus during the entire trip it had allowed water to enter in to the large space. He cursed at himself as it was he, and no one else who had caused this foul up that could have doomed them. He worked quickly to properly re-secure the gasket of which during the entire time water charged across the decks in a race from scupper to scupper. Gasket properly re-secured, he wrenched the hatch handle tight to the locked position, his sweatpants soaked under his Grundens since he had kneeled down on the deck and hadn't secured his ankle straps allowing the deck water to race up nearly to the jewels. As he worked his way back to the wheelhouse he wondering how come the pump didn't activate or the alarm to warn them of this event.

Head stuffed behind the electrical panel Arne located the main wires that lead from the lazerette, they had been jammed and disconnected by a heavy tool pouch that had shifted into them. The fix was easy only to be met by a piercing alarm next to his left ear. As he gained the wheelhouse Loren and Ron were already assembling next to Danielle at the helm, dressed in rumpled sweats, t-shirts askew and eyes wide open as the alarm screamed at a pulse elevating volume. Arne silenced the alarm and the lights indicated the pump was doing its job. Life returned to normal on everyone's face. The familiar "clink" of a Zippo broke the air as Ron fired off a cigarette setting free that distinct, first lit aroma, somehow the cloud of smoke helped calm everyone down a notch or two. Loren and Arne both thanked Danielle for her persistence and were met with a quiet smile of appreciation.

The anchored Valkyrie swung lazily to her tether, Arne had brought her into a secure bay and dropped the hook so everyone could get a much needed rest break, it had been a nerve wracking, heavy weather night. They'd be in town tomorrow about first light, the halibut were well iced and secured by the stout galvanized bin boards below. Ron, Loren and Arne sat at the galley table in the late morning. Coffee cups and half eaten grub were scattered across the table, a can of Bag Balm lay open with a collection of eagle feathers stuffed into the gel as a vase. Danielle, who had been getting a much deserved rest, climbed up the steep steps from the foc'sle, her auburn hair slightly amiss with her eyes having that certain first morning look. Her faded black sweats had the white draw strings dangling out, the fabric flecked with ancient boat paint. At the top step she innocently yawned and stretched her arms up high. Her gray, tucked in t-shirt, sheer and thinned by untold washings, pulled close and tight to her chest enhancing the two, tea-cup sized mounds of which each had a distinct protrusion outward. She happened to glance over at the table only to be met by three pairs of eyes staring directly and intently at her chest. Spontaneously and spastically, all three men suddenly adjusted their eyes to anything but her. In the process, Loren clumsily knocked over his partial cup of coffee soaking Arne's new issue of Boats and Harbors magazine, Ron nearly toked on the lit end of his cigarette and Arne just sat there, stuck in the middle. A distinct flush came across their faces as they knew they had been caught red handed in the gaze that is genetically hard wired into men. The awkward moment passed as easily as a bout of cement constipation. She turned her back to them and silently re-adjusted her shirt, the faint hum of the small genset seemed way more distinct. The guys shifted themselves to open a spot for Danielle to sit, all three silently feeling guilty of their blatant wandering eyes along with a weird sense of betrayal to a crew member whom mutual trust had been won. The ice was broken as she sat down with her cup of coffee, an understanding look now in her hazel eyes. She noted that it was a bit "nipplish" down below in the foc'sle. A good laugh was had by all and life was good once again. She then teased Loren that the boxers he had on last night had a pretty good rip on the backside, just in case he hadn't noticed the increased air flow.

With a shift into reverse and a bit of coal on the throttle, the Valkyrie snugged into her stall, Danielle secured the stern line while Loren caught the bow one sent over by Ron. She rode high as they had spent a full morning unloading a very substantial load of halibut. Final clean up and overhaul would commence in earnest tomorrow morning. Arne reflected on the trip, and his new deckhand. She had proven as or more capable than any guy he'd had on board, she sure as hell was more reliable than most. Time after time, event after event, she had pulled her weight and more. The crew worked together better than he could recall in years, especially after the basket case they had the previous trip. He recalled in his mind how Danielle had calmly cut off Ron's sweatshirt sleeve and irrigated with fresh water a nasty hunk of flesh that had been nearly torn off his forearm from getting too close to a circle hook shooting out. She had used povodine iodine diluted with tap water to clean and dress the wound frequently during the remainder of the trip. Not a spot of infection showed and Ron refused to seek further care, she'd shown him how to do it himself. Arne had been skunked not only once, but three times in a row by her in cribbage, something only his brother had done years ago. Loren finally got to work with someone who had the same challenges as him and the same solutions of not being an overgrown deck ape. He remembered the evening she had crowded briefly into his bunk to listen to his favorite musician, Gordon Lightfoot as the music from the small portable cassette player tried to override the sound of the Detroit main. She knew every song by heart and said she had gotten to see him once at a long ago folk festival.

Arne told Danielle that she had a permanent, full time spot on his boat if she'd like and he meant it. The time had come for the crew to depart until tomorrow morning. She looked up at Arne and said she'd gladly take up his offer, thanking him for giving her a chance to prove herself and treating her well. Ron threw is gear bag over onto the dock with a thud, gave Danielle a sideways hug as not to shed ashes on top of her head indicating he had to run, had a woman waiting for him in a shower and was due for some serious carnal candy consumption. Danielle smiled and threw a chunk of petrified herring at him with dead eye accuracy beaning him squarely on the back of his head. She didn't tell him it dropped into his sweatshirt hood, he'd find it someday... maybe.

Arne told her she could stay with him and Etta if she'd like, their kids were grown and they had plenty of spare rooms. She thanked him for the offer indicating she was going to check out a possible lead on a place, if it didn't go she'd give him a call. Meanwhile, Loren heaved his gear over the side, he'd head home to his studio apartment in the old trusty Jimmy. Back to his collection of albums, cassettes, books and the radio, but that was okay, one step closer to owner/operator some day he thought to himself. As Danielle shouldered her duffel, her legs gave a slight buckle and Loren grabbed hold of it offering to place her gear and his in a nearby dock cart to save their backs for once. She agreed to the suggestion. They had barely moved a slip or two clear from the Valkyrie when Danielle came to a sudden stop, Loren wasn't sure what was going on, she just stood there and looked at him. As he set the cart down on it's skids he suddenly felt self conscious to the fact he hadn't showered in days, his hair was matted and crusted solid and he reeked of BO and halibut gurry. She slowly walked over to him and silently wrapped her arms around his back and pulled herself close and tight, resting her head on his chest, her auburn hair graced his neck and the faint aroma of patchouli oil met his nostrils. Loren's calloused hands navigated to the small of her slender back, just below the back belt buckle of her Woolrich Railroad Vest, seemed such a natural fit. After a long, long while, she leaned back and looked squarely at him with her hazel eyes. She asked in a soft voice, that had become music to his ears, if it would be okay if she could stay and live with him. He broke into a wide smile and was met by hers, of course she could, how could he ever say no to that? Then he remembered the small bed, cramped bachelor quarters and general disarray of his studio apartment and wondered aloud if that going to be okay with her. She drew close to his ear and said quietly not to worry, it would be just right. Loren again, becoming very aware of his ripe, disheveled condition indicated he really needed to grab a good shower when they got home. Danielle asked if he didn't mind if she could join him and how was the hot water supply? Loren commented that the building had a main boiler that provided pretty much an endless supply of hot water, Danielle smiled and replied that was good. Arne, who innocently happened to see them from the Valkyries wheelhouse, would later report he thought they were welded together at the dock. He jokingly placed an old slag hammer and some welding rods in Loren's bunk in the foc'sle, Loren would get the hint.

The '63 Jimmy fired up fine, it was going to be different to shift the gears now, but not in a bad way. Loren just happened to have a slender lady graced in Filson Double Tin pants sitting beside him. He adjusted the manual choke a bit and engaged the clutch. He was careful not to stuff his elbow into her as he shifted into second gear.

The 48' fiberglass freezer troller FILSON LADY glided into her slip. Two lively kids, a boy and younger girl clad in lifejackets, peeled over the side and expertly secured her lines, laughing and giggling at how their legs wobbled on the steady dock after several days at sea. Loren lurched suddenly upward, banging his head hard on the low door frame on the way out, the button on top of his cap nearly driving a hole in his head. He had just gotten goosed in the butt at the precise moment by his wife one step behind him. He wheeled around to be met by a mischievous looking women with auburn hair graced with a few light tinges of gray, far less than his mop had. Paybacks are hell he said with a grin as he turned to exit only to get a seriously administered, double handed grab on the butt again.

Mom? Dad? are you guys coming out? their daughter called into the wheelhouse. They're down in the foc'sle, Dad says they need to check over some of the systems on the boat, replied her brother. Yeah okay, hey! lets get the fishing poles out with the big magnets and see what we can find! she said excitedly. Maybe I'll find that tape measure of Dads I dropped overboard last year, said her brother, remember the new one that he had just taken out of the package? Yeah I remember, Dad just smiled and shook his head, guess that's why he bought two of them that day, reflected his sister.

Arne no longer longlines, he and Etta troll during the fair weather winter days and during the summers on the faithful Valkyrie. Still soul mates, best friends and each others rock. Been known to frequently disappear into the cabin, fish hold, beach or where ever to play a game of "Twister". Their doctors say to continue what ever it is they're doing cause they're both getting older but damn sure staying healthy. They provided the rock solid references needed for Loren and Danielle to secure the partial loan on the Filson Lady. Etta and Danielle are absolute best of friends and as close as they could ever be, Arne like a loving elder brother she never ever had. The Seversen's grown children have an older sister that fits like the final piece to the puzzle, a polar opposite to what Danielle had known in her past. Affectionately called "Auntie Dan" by all their kids.

Roller Hog Ron finally met his match, ironically a woman who found and went after him first. She works as a critical care nurse at the regional hospital. Has given Ron a foundation he never had, loves to make him laugh, pulls constant pranks on him to keep him on his toes. Ron's ironically a counselor now for those with addictions, brings a sense of solidarity, empathy and support to those under his wings, was awarded a Letter of Recognition from the Governor last year. Replaced cigarettes on his own right with mint toothpicks of which he regularly lifts in large quantities from the local Denny's counter when he goes to have his morning coffee and BS session. The restaurant owner is still puzzled as to why his toothpick inventory, of all things, is so out of whack. Ron even toned his swearing down to zero, saves it for the annual adults only "PROFANITY SHOUTING MATCH" held each year. A fund raiser to buy food for the local family shelter. Takes place at the corner barber shop, been the winner 3 years running now. Identical twin daughters made the elementary school honor roll this year and have Ron firmly and happily wrapped around their fingers. Proves all is not lost and much can be gained with a course correction or two.

Hey Dad, did you and Mom get everything checked out? asked their son. Yep, everything's in fine working order according to your Mom, you guys ready to head home? Loren asked. Yeah!.... uh... hey Dad? I lost my fishing pole off the back of the boat again, his daughter said quietly. No worries replied Loren with a dad like smile, we'll see if we can snag it again tomorrow, bet there's some little fish down there that's sure got one heck of a collection of our stuff by now eh?

The Jimmy's V-6 305 purred to life with a quarter pull on the manual choke, still running after all these years, typical rust showing in the rocker panels. Primarily used just for the harbor trips. Of the 3 sets of old lap belts, one is used to grab both kids which the cops tend to frown upon. The canopy rotted free long ago, had a spectacular death as it broke loose on a turn scattering it's carcass onto the grass of the local funeral home. From the stern one could see a semi-gray haired man on the port side, one small head and another tucked lower mid ship. On the starboard side sat an auburn haired woman with a touch of gray and a jagged 2" scar across her left eyebrow. Danielle told Loren of the incident their first night together in the studio apartment. Luckily the men who inflicted the wound, and much, much more, were both dead. Otherwise, Loren, always a peaceful and lawful man, would have relentlessly hunted and finished them off without a hint of remorse or lost sleep. What she had endured and survived in her life only made him love and respect her all that much more. In his eyes, he considered himself the luckiest man to grace the land and sea.

Danielle closed her eyes as her daughter snuggled deep into her side, they were getting moist as the peace settled over her body. It was the peace that she had continuously enjoyed ever since that welding day beside the cart on the dock years ago. In her mind rested the knowledge of the good that can come from the bad. She had a life mate of a husband who filled her very soul to the core and literally saved it as well. Her two children thought of her as an angel, considered her the best Mom ever and let any and all know it. Over the sound of the Jimmy's heater fan Gordon Lightfoot's tune; "Circle Of Steel" happened to be playing on the old AM radio on the dash...."a child is born to a welfare case where the rats run around like they own the place...." No more. Chapter closed. She was forever home.

So a fictional story goes. Those of us who work the maritime trade along our coastal shores may know or have known of such a woman as Danielle. They bring to life a balance and critical component of sheer will and determination, overcoming incredible barriers and events. This story is dedicated to those like Danielle who have endured so much and persevered, they deserve the best and respect from us all. May the lee side find you safe and the anchor secure.
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Re: The Filson Lady

Postby gumpucky » Sun Dec 13, 2009 11:34 am

WOW, damn near locked up on that one. That was excellent !
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Re: The Filson Lady

Postby ashadu » Thu Dec 17, 2009 3:42 pm

Well done! a great story, superb craftsmanship, and a tribute to "the Dream". happy holidays, ashadu
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Re: The Filson Lady

Postby tacorajim » Fri Dec 18, 2009 4:43 pm

Thanks, Eric

There's a lot of salt, tradition and emotional nostalgia you put into this story. Crafted, and smoothly told. Bravo!
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Re: The Filson Lady

Postby ericv » Sun Dec 20, 2009 8:15 am

Thank you for the comments. The source of story material is thanks to all of you from past and present. If I can put into ink a small snapshot of what our lives entail, maybe those who have no clue, or seek to drive us down, may someday realize that we are a fine, hard working group of men and women trollers that deserve recognition and support.
We may not be the most refined or elite, but what we do, the product we provide and what we endure to make it all happen sets the stage for who we are. Those in power and politics, especially those who make or break us, need constant reminders that the silver spoon in their mouth was provided by the sweat and backs of many who survive on a different kind of spoon attached to a hook of reality, not fantasy.

Happy Holidays to you all.
Eric & the F/V New Hope gang
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Re: The Filson Lady

Postby John Murray » Wed Dec 23, 2009 5:02 pm

Eric good story thanks for brightening up the day.
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Re: The Filson Lady

Postby tacorajim » Sun Feb 21, 2010 6:50 pm

The number of views to this story. Wow! Call me amazed.
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Re: The Filson Lady

Postby joeman79 » Wed Apr 21, 2010 4:56 pm

In 2 months and 6 days a middle aged man from Kansas (Colorado Native) will be on the dock in Sitka awaiting his first chance at catching up with a lifelong dream. Spending some serious time in Mental and Spiritual Rehabilitation on the Ocean on a Troller. Hoping to have some life changing experiences and see some things few others in the world have never had the opportunity to see and experience. This forum has answered so many of the questions I have had, it is a great source of info. Hopefully someday I will be able to meet some of you in SE AK and share a hand shake, or maybe a beer and a story.
Thanks Eric for a great story
Good Luck all hope you have a great season.
Joe
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Re: The Filson Lady

Postby ericv » Fri Apr 23, 2010 9:54 am

Thanks Joe, for every one of us who post a story here there are a dozen more who have far better tales in their mind. No doubt you will be embellished with a few, if not many. Some to such a degree we refer to it as "pulling up a chair" because of their ability to capture your ear voluntarily or involuntarily for a few tide changes. Without question, success or no success, you will soon be around a great bunch of men and women. Sitka represents a sample of what our fishing ports across America have to offer: Hard working, dedicated folks and colorful personalities. Like the gear of our trade, we are of many brands, conditions and quirks but it is a group I'd be lost not being around. When you hit dockside here and get settled in, give a call, we're an easy find in the phone book.
Eric
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Re: The Filson Lady

Postby Salty » Sun Apr 25, 2010 4:42 pm

My mother has a great line, "Don't let your great stories die with you." This is a great spot to post some of those.
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