Seaworthy

The sea boiled with millions of little silvery fish darting and dashing whichever way their hivemind commanded. In one moment, they’d head towards the rocky shore. In the next, they’d head away from it. The school would dive down and right away they’d change course and rush the surface, rippling the grey-green water and creating a great tinkle of splashing. Others quickly took notice.

One by one gulls came until the angry sky above the herring swarmed with them. Again and again, they would throw themselves like lawn darts into the sea, disappear for a few seconds, then return to the surface with a mouthful of fish. Sometimes they would fly off to savor their prize. Sometimes they would eat their catch while floating on the water. Sometimes they would fly onto the gunwale of my dinghy to eat their prize.

Taking on so much water from the rain and the waves, I was terrified I wouldn’t make the shore. My trawler was already under, its flotsam being kicked about by the rough water of Dixon’s Entrance. The decision to abandon ship was an easy one. There was no way I was going to be able to put out the fire that had spread from the engine compartment. My old boat was a goner, and the only way out was over and away. Unfortunately, the dinghy was older than the trawler and hadn’t been used or even inspected for years. Now, with a storm rising, I was in the middle of the choppy sound, a mile from land in a waterlogged craft that might only have a half a mile of life in it. On shore, the Sitka Spruce, poplar, and hemlock patiently stood, not caring if I made it to them or not. Part of me didn’t care, either. I was so mad at myself for letting that engine overheat. The fire was my own damn fault. My negligence.

Mine! Mine!” the gulls yelled as they circled the school of herring. Their black and white feathers stood out from the dark, mottled clouds only because of their flapping. A bold fellow, a huge male, stood proudly on the prow of my tiny boat, oblivious to me and my angry, desperate rowing. Perhaps his belly was already filled from feasting, but I’ve never known a gull to stop eating when there’s food around just because they’re full.

Back in the water, more silver slashed through the water, but bigger this time. A two-foot-long arrow shot through the school, separating it into two parts. Another silver missile came and separated it yet again. The three schools reformed into one and the herring waited for the next attack. When it came, it came from below. A Coho salmon rose from the water, mouth agape, pushing a small group of herring with it. The tiny fish that didn’t go into the salmon’s mouth fell back safely into the chilly water.

More salmon came. More salmon jumped and rushed and dove at the herring. The school of little fish divided and rejoined time and time again, splitting for safety then coming back together for the same reason. Hundreds were lost to the salmon. Thousands, perhaps. The dozens of salmon were feasting with ardor and gusto—until they weren’t.

One of the salmon froze mid-attack, paused in space, looked around, and darted off in a seemingly random direction. From under my dinghy, a harbor seal with its dotted grey coat shot out towards the school of herring. It ignored the smaller fish and went at some salmon that were in the middle of their own attack. The seal must have gotten one on the pass because it rose halfway out of the water with the big silver fish in its jaws before diving into the deep with its catch. More seals joined the fray, swimming and skipping through and along the water in pursuit of a meal. The first seal reappeared with less of the salmon than when it first went under, modest rivers of blood dripping into the salt water. It dove again and reappeared, each time with a smaller piece of salmon in its mouth until the fish was gone.

All the while, I kept working the oars. As fascinating as the show may have been and as worthy of narration from Sir David Attenborough as it was, I still had a leaky craft to deal with and a long way to go across a rough bay before I was safe. My gloveless hands complained in their special way and my shoulders pinched and moaned with every row. My wet weather gear kept me dry enough but it also made for a limited range of motion, making each stroke a huge effort. It also kept my sweat trapped inside and close to my skin. I was nowhere close to shore, but I was already fantasizing about the fire I was going to build that would get me dry and keep me warm.

An immature bald eagle with its dark head of feathers swooped near me and scuffed the water in a failed attempt to catch one of the salmon that was swimming away from the seal fracas. That drew my eye to the next layer of calamity. Three orcas expelled their air in the middle distance halfway between me and the site where my trawler went down. One of them, a massive beast, had the bent-over dorsal fin of an elder, probably having swum this bay and sound for decades. It probably knew every curve and contour of the shoreline and every inch of the depths and was teaching its younger companions the same.

In their rabid hunt for salmon, the seals seemed initially oblivious to the orcas but when the big white and black killers came within 100 feet, they couldn’t help but notice them. Several scattered and fled right away. A few stayed to take an appraisal of what was happening, perhaps, like me, wondering if the fire might go out on its own. The seals would plunge down and swim around then pop to the surface to check where the orcas’ fins were. They'd dive when the orcas did and stay afloat when their antagonists would. I didn’t like that they kept pace with me as I made my way to land, like I was a Pied Piper for marine mammals. I wanted to be free of this mess as I had my own trouble to deal with. Sadly, the animals didn’t agree.

The orcas circled me, and the seals stayed close. My boat lurched as the massive elder swam under me, lifting me with its wake, as it made a feint towards the seals. It was hoping to break up the pack, sending them in different directions. It didn’t work though, as the four remaining seals stayed together, swimming in a choreographed ballet of escape. The smallest of the orcas must have attacked the foursome from underneath because he came up and out of the water where I had last seen the seals. Now the seals scattered in separate ways, abandoning their plan. Another orca, the third and last of them, made a bold rush towards a target, raising the level of the water. The deep guttural cry of a struck sea dog was loud even over the wind and rain as crimson frothed in the salt sea. But the hunt wasn’t over.

Only two seals remained. One must have made it out safely and the last two bobbed, weaved, and swerved as the two orcas without a catch continued their maneuvering. The orca that had a seal played with it off in the distance, tossing the body up in the air, blood and saltwater spraying in a whirl as the carcass danced in its arc. The two other orcas made a lazy pattern around me, keeping the seals close by, preventing them from escaping. I continued rowing, the orcas circled, and the seals fretted. Nature moved along in its own, unique way—until it didn’t.

I was about 200 meters from shore. My hands afire. My back singing, hoping to be heard. Instead of facing the orcas any longer, instead of trying a bold escape through the water, instead of giving up and dying, the seals did the unexpected: they came aboard. First one, then the other, they leapt up from the water into my bow, exhausted and scared. They stared at me for an instant and read correctly that I wasn’t a threat. I was worried about them jostling us all overboard into the waiting mouths of the orcas, but they settled down quickly enough. Immediately, the killer whales came close to the boat, I stopped rowing for fear of hitting the beasts and upsetting them. I’d often heard that they’d never attacked humans, but I wasn’t of a mind to give them a chance to prove that information right or wrong

The biggest of them came alongside us and stared at me, judging me with its big black eye. Water dropped off its bent dorsal fin and onto my coat. As it cleared my boat, it flicked the side with its tail, I think just to let me know what it could do if it wanted to. My guests remained quiet and polite as the orcas slowly swam away towards their friend with the kill.

I began rowing again, offering a silent prayer to a god that I hadn’t been familiar with in quite some time. The remainder of the voyage to the shore was uneventful. No herring, gulls, eagles, or salmon. Just my two passengers, neither of whom helped me bring the dinghy ashore once we struck the pebbly beach. They stayed in the bow until I jumped out and started to pull. That was their cue to leave. They scooted up the beach, away from me and stayed out of the water. I tied the boat off to a heavy rock and started the fire that I had been wanting.

Fire. A dry, warm fire. Flames and wet wood crackling on the stony beach high above the tide line. The spruce poplar, and hemlock that had been oblivious to me bow had me as a neighbor I undressed down to my skivvies and laid out my clothes on sticks to dry by the fire. Surrounded by these scarecrows, I slowly regained some life, unsure if I deserved to.