Chapter 4

The Abode of the Damned

WAYNE’S ADDRESS

“When I first got into this business I worked eighteen hours a day for three months straight.  I’m not telling you this to brag but rather so that you know that I understand what you are going through.  I thank you all for your hard work.  Without your hard work we would not be successful.  This salmon season is the biggest catch in the history of southeast Alaska.  So I’m asking you guys to hang in there for two or three more weeks of sixteen hour days then the season starts to die off.  This is hard work and not everyone will make it but we just want you to know how much we appreciate your hard work.  Thank you everyone.”

Wayne Unger is the plant manager here at Sitka.  As he steps down from his soap box of a pile of pallets on the dock next to the plant, the crowd of disgruntled workers on their morning break seem to soften up and give Wayne a nice applause of approval for being considerate enough to speak to us.  Two or three more weeks of sixteen hour days?  I think I can handle that.  We’ve already managed to survive one full week.  Well, not all of us.  Several have quit and new workers continuously arrive.  Today is July twenty-eighth.  I’ve been here for two weeks so far.  My hands are killing me and I hate my job.  If I didn’t need the money, I would leave.

Back on the panning line wearing somebody else’s rain gear (after the fourth day of work my blue rain gear disappeared, somebody else apparently began using it, as is the case for many of the workers, which means that I inevitably have to grab another person’s rain gear and thus begins the unending cycle of inconveniencing others) I creatively invent ways to distract myself and put my mind to constructive use.  I’m bored of estimating how many pounds of fish I handle each day.  I’ve settled on a conservative number of about thirty thousand pounds.  At the beginning of the job I assumed that my hands would grow really strong from the work but the opposite seems to be happening.  They feel a little weaker each day and although the pain is more tolerable it still worries me that I may develop carpal-tunnel syndrome if I work too hard.  The low quality of the food we are fed increases that worry because I know my body isn’t getting the proper nutrition to promote healing.

Four hours of panning between each break can make a person go crazy.  The repetitive mindless work, long hours, lack of sleep and leisure time, and sight of nothing but death cruising along the belt really can affect a person emotionally.  My mind wanders off calculating my earnings each day and estimating my taxes and expenses.  I hope to profit enough to make the sacrifice worthwhile.  Then my mind goes off to bigger ideas.  In my head I do a complete analysis of my stock photography business.  While sales have slowly grown over the years it is still not earning enough to keep me from becoming a slave at a salmon processing plant during the summer.  My mind goes into overdrive calculating time invested, model fees and expenses of recent photo shoots while I estimate the earnings from those photo shoots.  I realize that I’ve had some shoots that are showing promising numbers and if I focus my efforts on the twenty percent of my photography subject matter that sells on a regular basis and if I put as much effort that I’m putting into being a fish panner, then by this time next year I could be doing quite well.  This revelation excites me and I realize that if the only purpose for me to come here and work like a slave was to learn how hard I really can work, then it is all worth it.

(If you like photography and are pretty good at it, you may find stock photography to be a fun way to earn extra money)

In addition to stock photograph a flood of other ideas consume the space of my mind during the long torturous hours.  An advanced language learning program that uses techniques that I used to learn Brazilian Portuguese without a teacher or classroom. Simple mobile rigs to enhance photo and video production.  And most exciting, a two-month solo adventure journey along a remote and mostly uninhabited coastline testing my survival abilities in a very harsh environment.  I replay my ideas in my head every day so that I won’t forget.  Taking out a notepad and pen and jotting something down is a bit difficult when you’re covered in thick plastic rain gear, gloves and liners.  The simple act of scratching an annoying itch on the nose requires a series of steps to accomplish, that is if you can even stop your work for the time necessary to remove the gloves.  I find that if I just grab the collar of my jacket and twist it so that the canvas interior faces out, I can rub that on my nose and relieve the itch.  The simple things we take for granted.

Every few days a small entourage of Japanese men, led by Wayne or another manager, pass through the plant to observe procedures and to ensure that cleanliness and quality control is maintained.  Before their arrival the supervisors race through to tell us to make sure no fish fall on the floor.  The proper procedure for removing fish from the floor is to pick them up (never by the tail because the body weight of the fish may snap the vertebrae) and drop them into the rinsing bin.  The entire concrete floor of the plant is hosed down several times a day.  Jorge, the man from Morelia who also works at Tyson Foods, works the same shift as me and is usually assigned the task of keeping the floor clear of fish and hosing down the blood and guts that drip from the conveyor belts.  There is a lot of emphasis on keeping the floor clean and free of fish for compliance with food safety regulations but an even far more unsanitary condition exists on the panning belt where all the fish travel.  After weeks of non-stop work the gears and guides inside the conveyor system have acquired an accumulation of guts. Cleaning the inside of the conveyor system is a lengthy process and would require the shutting down of production for a few hours.  That’s obviously not an option.  So the guts accumulate for a few weeks and water constantly drips down over the guts and into the pans of fish as they drift off to the freezer.  One day the supervisor Keshaun watches me as I pick a fish up off the floor and toss it back on the panning belt instead of into the rinsing bin.  He immediately points out my mistake saying, “Think about it.  That’s food.  It’s going to end up on somebody’s dinner table”.  I simply reply that I hardly see anyone picking up fish and putting them into the rinser, not even supervisors.  He doesn’t believe me but it’s true, and in all honesty, the floor is much cleaner than the panning belt that drips foul-smelling fermented extract of fish guts into the pans of fish.  I say nothing more and promise to follow the proper procedure.

My roommate Melvyn is now working on the panning line.  A few days after beginning the sixteen-hour work days he suffered a slip on the loading dock.  It was raining while he was loading frozen fifty-pound slabs of salmon into a trailer and his feet slipped on the wet wooden dock.  He didn’t just slip and fall but rather his feet slid in opposite directions sending him into a splits position and tearing his groin.  His visit to the clinic was less than optimistic.  First of all, the nurse expressed her contempt for Kyffon, the HR guy at Silver Bay Seafoods.  She charged him with failing to send people for medical attention when they actually need it.  Melvyn reaffirmed this charge by saying how difficult it was for him to get Kyffon to send him to the clinic.  Second of all, the nurse recommended him two weeks of rest.  He took two days off and, loaded on pain meds, went back to work.  Two weeks off would have ended the season for him and he would have returned home with no profit.

My roommates Melvyn and Marvin work different shifts than me so I’ve had the room all to myself at night.  Nobody entering and leaving, no noise.  I’m able to get a solid five to six hours of uninterrupted sleep each night.  At least I WAS able to get uninterrupted sleep.  Melvyn’s groin injury bothers him continuously and he now sometimes leaves work early to rest.  However, he complains that he is having trouble sleeping at night.  I assume that the pain meds are the cause of this but when he does sleep he sounds like an animal.  One night at about two in the morning I was abruptly awakened by the deep growl of a large beast.  The adrenaline rushed through me as I instantly awakened wide-eyed and just knew that there was a grizzly bear under my bed seeking vengeance on me for trampling through his territory on our way down Verstovia Mountain the week before.  On the second deep growl I realized that it was just Melvyn snoring.

This snoring condition did not improve.  I began to dread coming home on the nights that I knew Melvyn would be there.  On another occasion when I returned home after another sixteen-hour day Melvyn was fast asleep and snoring so loud and so deep that I swear the walls vibrated.  Each cycle was in ten-second intervals.  Upon inhaling it sounded something like wind passing through a deep tunnel while bears clawed at the exterior of a stucco wall of a house.  The sound was so abrasive I couldn’t understand why his throat didn’t bleed.  Then the exhale was like a gush of air being expelled from a hot air ballon.  It was impossible for me to fall asleep.  I layed there for over an hour while pondering the idea of stripping my bed of the blankets and finding a spot to sleep next to Sawmill Creek.  Eventually, however, the intensity of his snoring decreased and I succeeded in falling asleep.

I CAN DO IT

Day by day I feel life slowly being sucked out of me.  On each infrequent visit to the shower (to maximize sleep potential I reduced showering to once every five days) I see my naked body slowly withering away.  Bulging muscles are becoming increasingly longer and thinner.  My pectoral muscles seem to be receding into my rib spaces and my abdominal six-pack is smoother than ever.  In all honesty I look ill (not in a good way).  I slip into a slightly depressed state.  How did I end up here?  I’m better than to be doing this.  What’s wrong with me?  What will be left of me when I finally finish?  These questions and others flood my head.  I describe life inside the plant as a living hell.  It’s as if I have been judged of my sins and thrown “…into the fiery furnace, where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.”  The contrast is so distinct.  During break I stare across the bay at all the beauty and life that God created.  Out there is life, it’s like heaven.  Inside the plant it is like a dungeon where there is constant pain (wailing and grinding of teeth) and death (millions of salmon plucked out of the sea).

“Son, I have a word for you.  Remember this scripture, ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me'”.  Phone calls home are very brief and infrequent.  A week has gone by since I last spoke to my dad.  My wife and parents are about the only loved ones I’m in communication with.  After sharing with my dad the crazy long hours I’m working, the scripture from Philippians 4:13 seems very appropriate for me.  After hearing the detestable voice of Lenin calling the slaves back to work I repeat the words in my head, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

To help keep sane and control my thoughts I repeat the scripture to myself several times a day as well as pray under a soft voice and sing one of my favorite songs “Amazing Grace”.  By doing this I am able to program my thoughts and improve my sanity.  Over time I feel that the prayers, meditation, and singing are purifying my spirit.

On a Monday night after exactly eight days of sixteen-hour work days I set my alarm for a ridiculous four-thirty in the morning awakening.  Tuesday morning, in my unwavering determination to get some exercise, I fight off the urge to go back to sleep for another hour and instead crawl down the ladder, slip into my hiking boots, and wobble down the hall and out the door.  The dawn light is already casting a soft diffused illumination through the thick gray clouds blanketing the bay.  I walk to Sawmill Creek Road, do a quick stretch and start off on a sluggish jog south along the dirt road towards Bear Mountain.

After a couple of pitstops at salmonberry bushes I increase my pace to a steady jog.  There is no sound other than the impact of the soles of my well-worn hiking boots striking the compact dirt in the still chilly morning air.  Two miles and twenty minutes later I have reached my destination.  Herring Cove is a beautiful protected rocky cove with a small stream emptying into it.  Salmon randomly leap above the mirror-like surface of the still water.  A small pine-studded island sits alone at the mouth of the cove.  There is nobody around.  In the stillness of the morning I am invigorated and humbled by the greatness of this natural paradise.  But with time ticking away I know I can’t stay.  After about ten minutes of deep admiration of God’s beautiful creation I begin my trot back to the bunker house.

The last few hundred yards I increase my pace since it is already five-thirty.  Fully energized from the morning run I rush into my room, change into my rain boots and run off to the cafeteria for the same breakfast I’ve been eating for the past two weeks – scrambled eggs, yogurt, and cottage cheese.

Herring Cove

The workday begins well for me.  The run gave me a big boost of energy as well as endorphins.  I feel so happy.  I’m smiling and talking friendly to everyone.  I set a goal to run three times a week.  But then, after about ten hours of grueling manual labor, the inevitable occurs.  The good feelings wear off and major exhaustion sets in.  The run was great but it really needed to be followed by adequate rest.  I can now hardly keep my eyes open.  The last six hours of work turn into a hell of experiments in ways to stay awake.  With eyes half closed and strength barely keeping me on my feet I recall techniques I used years before to keep myself going during all-night work shifts.  One of my favorite techniques was exercise – just force myself to do pushups or go for a quick sprint across the parking lot.  It forces the heart to work and in that state it is impossible to sleep.  The  wakefulness would last about fifteen minutes and then I’d have to do it again.  However, with this job it’s more difficult because I can’t stop work to do pushups or a quick run.  Instead I try working faster and using more physical effort.  As one supervisor said, “If you’re too tired to work, work harder”.  I push myself to gather up the fish and throw them into the pan as quickly as possible, as if it were a competitive race.  Nope, it’s not working.  The sleepiness doesn’t leave.  The problem is there isn’t enough muscle action to get the heart working hard enough to stimulate wakefulness.  Then the thought occurs, “What if I fake it by simply breathing deeper and harder as if I were running”.  I take super deep breaths inhaling all the way followed by exhales that completely empty my lungs.  After only a few deep breaths I immediately feel more awake.  Surprisingly this works.  I don’t know the physiology behind it but doing super-deep breathing while working a repetitive mind-numbing job actually stimulates my mind enough to keep me going.  You can’t continue breathing like this for very long because you get dizzy and light-headed like when blowing up an air mattress in one continuous effort so when I begin to feel dizzy I stop the breathing exercise and resume it again when ready.  This technique becomes one that I use every day to help stay awake and also to exercise my lungs.  An interesting observation is that before beginning this breathing exercise my rib cage actually felt as if it were shrinking and restricting the breathing capacity of my lungs due to lack of use.  This frightened me and I am happy to have learned a simple way to fix the problem.

Body aches and solutions

The breathing exercise worked to help get me through the work day but the combination of sleep deprivation and running undeniably will cause my body to suffer so I scratch out the idea of running on a regular basis and just figure that I will resume jogging after two or three weeks when the work begins to slow down.  But I still need to at least do some kind of exercise to give my body movement.  I’m concerned that standing in the same spot for sixteen hours every single day is going to bring physiological injuries.  This has to be doing damage to my spine, hips and knees.  I’m especially concerned about my knees because I suffered sports injuries to both of them years ago.  In fact, my left knee actually produced a loud audible snapping sound while engaged in a Brazilian jiu-jitsu match with a friend of mine.  I met Luis Henrique Jaguaribe (I lost contact with him a few years later when he returned to Brazil) at a Bally’s fitness center back in 2000.  I was learning Brazilian Portuguese at the time and thought that he appeared to be Brazilian so I began talking to him.  His accent was a dead giveaway and I began practicing my Portuguese with him.  We instantly bonded and became good friends.  I had also been practicing mixed martial arts for the past year and learned that Henrique was a seasoned purple belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu.  Before coming to the U.S. a couple years earlier he used to train in jiu-jitsu nearly every day in his hometown of Rio de Janeiro.  In April of 2001 I was visiting Henrique at his home in Encinitas, California and we decided to have a match.  Although he had beat me by points every time in the past he never managed to sink in a submission hold on me that I couldn’t get out of, and I became instinctively and effectively defensive to his beloved arm-bar attacks.  However, during this match something went wrong,… terribly wrong.  After several minutes of holds, rolls, and escapes I did an awkward twisting movement while pivoting my foot resulting in something snapping in my knee.  Another person was recording the match on video tape and it can be seen by clicking the image link below.  With the sound turned up you can easily hear the distinct snapping sound and then see me collapse to the ground.  I even provide several instant replays.

CLICK to watch VIDEO FOOTAGE from April 2001

Being totally uninsured and about to leave on a four-week journey through southeastern Mexico with my two children traveling from Cancun to Veracruz, Henrique gave me a big knee brace and off I went hopping on one leg for several days.  The knee swelled up like a grapefruit and became black and blue in the lower hamstring area.  I couldn’t bend it more than ten degrees which created a problem when piling into the back of a small Mexican taxi but little by little as the days passed the swelling slowly decreased and I began to put a little weight on the leg.  It took about a full year for me to regain complete mobility and then a few more years before I was again able to run distances of five miles or more without much pain.  Amazingly, the knee continues to improve with time and running has proven to be very effective in the healing process.  Surprisingly, long hours of standing in one place in the cold processing plant haven’t affected my knees at all, however, my back is beginning to hurt intensely.  

It’s the beginning of the third week of sixteen-hour work days.  According to Wayne the work should slow down at any time.  Rumors begin floating around.  A co-worker next to me says that one of the supervisors told him that after this lot (term for one boat-load of fish) is finished there will be no more until tomorrow.  A feeling of relief overcomes me and I anxiously work hard with hopes we will finish soon and finally have a much-needed rest.  The hours pass, my mood returns to sour, and the work doesn’t stop.  When will it end?  Eventually I learn to ignore the rumors and accept that I may be here for eternity.

The mild pain in my lower back is tolerable but then, while bending over slightly to push a full fifty-pound tray of fish onto the belt, a sudden piercing pain fans out from the middle of my back out toward my shoulder blades.  The pain is so sharp, like a dagger being plunged into me, that I yelp in pain as my knees bend causing me to slump over on the rail of the panning belt.  The stabbing pain is followed by an intense tingling that lingers on and on.  The agonizing pain also happens as I scoop the fish into the pan.  I soon realize that performing the same repetitious movements more than a thousand times every day for the past month has tweaked my vertebrae.  Every time I duplicate this motion of bending over and pushing the pan with my left arm acute pain shoots through my back.  Rather than complain to the supervisors or request time off I search for ways to relieve or eliminate the pain.  After several days of experimenting I find that by stepping down from the metal platform, keeping my head looking up, and using my right arm to push the tray makes a significant difference.  A variation of the scooping motion that seems to work well is to inhale deeply and hold my breath while I raise my head, lean forward, and forcefully scoop the fish into the pan.  Both of these methods help me to avoid the piercing pain of the pinched nerve but require a conscious effort because they are more complex multi-step movements.

This helps to reduce my mid-back pain but the pain in my lower back continues to linger. While slaving on the panning line my mind searches for techniques to fix my lower back.  Pain killers are not an option.  They simply mask the pain, not fix it.  Regardless, I don’t do drugs.  I recall that ever since I decreased my sitting time and began running barefoot my instances of lower back pain have disappeared.  The current book I began reading before coming here, “Born to Run” by Christopher McDougall, further confirms my personal observations.  Simply put, the human body is built to run, and to run far.  Shoes, however, cause us to run incorrectly because the thick soles in the heal allow us to lengthen our stride and land on our heal.  Unfortunately, this technique puts us off our natural balance and creates a lot of impact on the knees and lower back.  By running barefoot we automatically assume a correct running posture because it is too painful to land on the heals.  When I read about this in McDougall’s book I was excited to learn the science behind a technique that I somehow figured out on my own years earlier.

I apply this basic technique to my job and instead of standing flat on my feet I raise my heels up just enough to keep them off the platform.  Incredibly, this simple adjustment provides a lot of shock absorption and eliminates my lower back pain.

“Hey Joe.  They should stop the f@*%^#% production when the godd@^%&$ f@*%&#$ in the freezer get f@*%^#% backed up!  What the f@*% man, that f@*%$ us up!….”

Phillip, a thirty-something heavily acne-scarred man with an odiously aggressive personality flips out when the panning line gets backed up from the freezer and the salmon continue pouring down the chute and spilling off the belt and falling to the floor.  Supervisor Joe, an ex-marine having served in Iraq, remains totally calm and nods his head in agreement.  Phillip, while having a wildly uncontrolled mouth and a tendency to use every variation of the f-word in all conversation, is a very productive panner working twice as fast as most of the other panners.  He has had smaller outburst before but this time he is really fired up.  A few days later I didn’t see him anymore.  I ask Joe what happened to that guy that used the f-word more common than any other word.  Joe remorsefully replies, “He quit. It’s too bad, he was a good worker.”

At this point there is more interest of the company to keep existing workers than to continue losing them at such a high rate.  The supervisors find themselves between a rock and a hard place.  The fine art of enforcing rules and maintaining high production while at the same time keeping workers from leaving is becoming increasingly more complicated. At the same time a hacking cough is going around.  A very young pretty brunette girl is sick with the cough and runny nose.  I call her “the hacker”.  Her unrestrained coughing angers me because I know that my immune system must be compromised after a month of a diet lacking in necessary nutrients.  “The hacker” keeps working and later that week a large number of the workers are also coughing.  Fortunately, I was infected only slightly.

Now that we have exceeded the time that Wayne said we would be working sixteen-hour days I begin to wonder when will this ever end?

…continue on to chapter 5