Not So Expendable
The most difficult thing about working sixteen hours every day is not so much the work load but rather the lack of freedom. Simple often overlooked pleasures of life become immensely gratifying. As the weeks wore on I developed a strong urge for dark chocolate but none was around. I called my wife and gave her detailed instructions for sending me a care package of dark chocolate covered cranberries, other dark chocolate candies, sprouted blanched almonds, and dates. I anxiously waited for the package to arrive and when it did I picked it up from the office at the beginning of my lunch break, skipped lunch, and dashed to the bunker to tear it open and shove a handful of assorted dark chocolates into my mouth as well as stash another handful in my pocket to munch on during break. It’s amazing how much gratification the dark chocolate has brought to me. A little bit of sweetness in a bitter world.
As the end nears Ben and I begin discussing plans of climbing Bear Mountain, that massive chunk of rugged earth capped with white snow that we first became obsessed with during our climb up Mount Verstovia. Each day during break we stare across the bay and try to perceive the best route to take up the mountain. We are waiting for the end of the season to make our escape. Yet there are still a few things we need to prepare for our trip. I ordered a wide angle lens for my camera so that I will be able to capture the impressive scenery, a multi-piece travel fishing rod, as well as a book that covers many of the edible plants of Alaska. The arrival of these items brings a little excitement and sense of reward for all my hard work. The book will prove to be a very valuable source of information to help us find food during our hike.
A lot of rumors have been circulating. Many unattended injuries, especially carpal tunnel syndrome, are not accepted as an excuse not to work. Rather than sending these people home they are encouraged to continue working. One of the rumors is that the company ignores these injury claims in hopes that the workers will eventually quit and then that will result in a breach of the contract which states that Silver Bay Seafoods will pay roundtrip airfare from and to Seattle as long as the worker completes the season. An injured worker that can no longer bare the pain or discomfort but isn’t released will eventually buy his own way home. This claim appears to be true in many cases and causes me some uncertainty especially since the past few days the supervisors have been putting me on another position – gutting. The grueling task of gutting involves standing at the end of the butchers and using the fingers to yank out un-extracted guts from the salmon as they are sent through the machine. The task requires precision timing and accurate movement as the fish move through the machine quite quickly and heavy moving metal parts could clasp onto the finger and cause severe injury. The first time I performed this task I became dizzy from staring at the continuous motion of the fish moving by. The job of gutting requires a lot of focus for long periods while standing there and also a lot of strength and endurance of the fingers and wrist. My already injured hands aren’t lasting long and I wonder if this is simply a tactic to get me to quit and buy my own ticket home now that we are nearing the end. I toil with this thought for days then I finally make a tough decision and decide to act proactively and just select a date and buy my own ticket now while the prices are lower than if I wait until the last minute. After work I go online and visit the Expedia website and purchase a ticket to return home on September 10th. I figure that the season will probably end about four days before that date giving me a few days to explore before returning home. Suddenly all my worry goes away. Now I’m in control and no longer at the mercy of the company regarding my travel back home. In fact, the fare was a lot less expensive than I had expected and even if I were to wait until they were to buy me a ticket to Seattle the separate ticket from Seattle to San Diego would have been nearly the same because of the last minute purchase.
Imagine an existence where you awaken exhausted day after day, and do the exact same thing every single day at the exact same times. Three tasteless un-nourishing meals, sixteen hours of the same mindless labor, constant mild physical pain, the same sleep schedule every night, and absolutely no time or even energy to relax, enjoy company of friends, or to even watch television. Imagine over a month of this Groundhog Day routine. But somehow, many people make it through the season year after year but it’s also common for a lot of people to also start to ‘lose it’ emotionally. While dealing with the sharp dagger-like stabbing pains in my back I eventually got so frustrated that at the beginning of another shift as a reaction to the first piercing pain of the day I forcefully slammed my clenched fists on the conveyor belt and beat the cadaver of a poor dead salmon. This kind of behavior was not at all uncommon from others also. As the season is approaching the inevitable end (it’s now near the end of August) the company is in a rush to process as much salmon as possible. Articles are posted in the hall of the mess hall telling about the immense catch of 219 million pink salmon harvested in all of Alaska (read the press release). The quantity is so high that processing plants are doing all they can to quickly unload the boats and get the fish frozen. Time is of the essence because if the fish are kept in the boats too long they will begin to rot. More and more workers are desperately sought to replace the injured and those that voluntarily quit. A new guy is placed on the panning line next to me. Art is in his early twenties, tall and thin with long unkept wavy blonde hair and very light complexion. He’s very friendly and at the same time, like many others, a bit odd. One of the first things he shares with me is that he was raised on all kinds of drugs during his childhood, mostly drugs to correct behavioral issues. Art says he was wandering in California a week ago when he met a young woman who offered him a place to stay in the Oxnard area. They immediately began a relationship and he calls her his girlfriend. It was then that he learned of this job and the company expedited him to southeast Alaska to help get all these fish frozen. Within days his upbeat personality turns strangely dark. In a small violent angry outburst a few days later as we are working on the panning line Art randomly grabs a pink salmon and starts beating it and mangling it before slamming it back down on the panning belt. He then calmly walks away. About two days later while we are again working side by side I notice that he is very quiet and withdrawn. Suddenly he stops working, turns around and sits down on the metal platform with his arms folded across his knees as he stares ahead. I observe an unusual kindness from JR as he hurries over to see what is the matter. JR even places his hand on Art’s back and compassionately talks to him. Moments later the two leave. Art is never seen again.
During dinner one evening I find myself seated next to a middle-aged man, short, stalky, and of Filipino descent. As usual the conversation begins by a casual introduction to where we’re from and why we are here.
“I was homeless before I came here,” Alex tells me almost shamefully after a long pause before plunging his fork into another piece of heavily sauced meat.
Alex is from Carlsbad, California which happens to be a neighbor city to where I live. After some family problems he ended up being kicked out of where he was living and ended up sleeping at shelters and even behind a car wrecking yard during warmer times of the year. A family member urged him to apply for this job. Before allowing him to get too down on himself I relate to him a little of my own history.
“I was homeless. I lived out of my car for several years. It wasn’t a big deal.”
Alex’ eyes are wide open as I tell him how I lived out of my car to reduce my monthly expenses and live a better life. I explain to him how this allowed me to travel and learn new skills. I could have rented a place but I thought it to be a waste to pay rent just to have a place to sleep. After all, I was working full time and often two jobs while pursuing acting, learning Spanish and Portuguese, practicing martial arts, and fishing at the beach. I was busy and didn’t want the burden of having an apartment to get in the way. Alex seems soothed somewhat to meet someone else who has lived without a home and found a way to make it a positive experience.
New characters appear and disappear within days. A young chubby black guy is introduced to panning at the station next to me. In his silly humorous personality he comments that he’s going to need some crystal meth to maintain the demanding work schedule. Then, in a very serious tone of voice, he whispers to me, “Hey, do you have some crystal meth?” A few days later he is nowhere to be found either.
Perhaps one of the most dramatic characters of the crew is Daryl, a rugged Caucasian man in his late 40’s from southern California with a loud sometimes obnoxious personality with an underlying tone of light-hearted comedy. His loud voice, lack of verbal discretion and free use of profanities make him quickly known among the work force. He begins his employment at the panning line but soon gets bored and requests to try out different stations.
The time comes for Melvyn to leave. His injury isn’t improving and he is spending more time in bed than in the plant. Kyffon finally gets a return ticket to send Melvyn home. Marvin, the young mischievous lad from L.A. informs us that he is going AWAL on the 28th. He spends his final week leaving work early, hooking up with one of the young ladies, smoking pot, drinking alcohol, and acquiring a small collection of stolen goods.
Soon after Marvin is to leave Mackenzie is scheduled to return home. His departure date was established when he was hired. He has to return to school soon after. His room is shared with roommates John, Paul, and James. Paul who had been suffering from carpal tunnel syndrome became frustrated that they wouldn’t release him so he stopped going to work and has been laying low doing his best to avoid being found by Tiny. Silver Bay Seafoods doesn’t support freeloaders. If you’re not working, you gotta leave, and they will boot you out at any hour of the night. Don’t take it personally, it’s just business. So Paul has been spending his days and nights drinking while he waits to get the courage to face management. Eventually Paul confronts his demon and Tiny escorts him to the airport.
So now, with Melvyn and Marvin gone, I have the whole room to myself. But Tiny says I will be getting a new roommate soon. More workers are being shipped in.
The list of injured goes on and on. Big Mike (not so big since losing fifty pounds since beginning the season) works in the freezer moving around frozen trays of fish. While working at a fast pace a fifty-pound solid block of frozen salmon slipped off an upper shelf and struck him between the eyes briefly knocking him out and sending him to the floor but it will take a lot more than that to keep Big Mike down. John, another big guy was moved to the panning line. While working next to him I read a message written in black ink on the back of his blue rain jacket – “Been hurt, still working”. He explains that he suffered a shoulder injury while working but he is still pushing on. However, a few days ago I saw him no more. I think he left.
During the course of just a few weeks Daryl has worked at just about every entry level position. Daryl is a late hire to help replace the vast numbers of quitters. He can’t believe it when I tell him that we’ve been doing almost a month of 16 hour days before he even started here. He’s just catching the end of the season and the first indication that the end really is approaching comes on August 29, 2013. At the end of my shift I learn that the last of this lot of fish will finish being processed in a few hours and the next lot isn’t due to arrive until about 10:00 AM tomorrow. Finally, a sign of relief, a few extra hours to rest.
In the mess hall everybody seems to be a little more cheerful. I imagine it is something similar to what Christopher Colombus’ crew must have felt at the first sight of land after months at sea. I walk back to the bunker in a typical cool foggy night but feeling better than before. It must be what a prisoner feels knowing that he is soon going to be set free. Even though I am only going to have a few hours of freedom tomorrow it’s enough to motivate myself to do something that I’ve been longing to do for a long time – go for a run in the forest.
I arise early the next morning tired but excited. I do my customary morning jog down the street to the mess hall holding my breath as I pass through clouds of tobacco fumes suspended in the still air from the cigarettes of the other workers that slowly shuffle along on their way.
At six in the morning in the cafeteria Ben and I agree to go for a run together. He is equally anxious to get out into the wilderness. After my usual morning meal of eggs, yogurt, and cottage cheese we return to the bunker, slip into our hiking boots and head out down the muddy Sawmill Creek Road south toward Herring Cove but before going too far we turn off the road and down a trail that leads to the shore of the bay next to the mouth of Sawmill Creek to try a little fishing. I’ve got my new multi-piece rod and I want to show Ben how easy it is to snag these salmon. I fished here a few mornings early this week before beginning work and was amazed at how thick the salmon are out there. I show Ben how to cast and I soon hook a nice sized pink salmon. After a difficult battle I finally land her and dislodge the hook from behind the dorsal fin. Ben gives it a try and he eventually lands a three-pound male pink salmon with the featured humpback that characterizes male salmon. The salmon are so thick in these waters as they await their turn to move upstream that by simply casting a lure with a treble hook and slowly reeling it in it is inevitable that the lure will skim across the backs of half a dozen fish during a single retrieval and eventually the hook will sink into the flesh of one. These salmon are very strong and when one is hooked it becomes quite a battle to bring it to shore especially with light tackle. Ben is now hooked on fishing and catches another one and we release it too and then continue our run down Sawmill Creek Road.
Ben proudly displaying his first salmon
Salmonberries are now long gone but as we head into the forest at the Herring Cove Trailhead we soon find huckleberries and other interesting and tasty species. The cool moist air oxygenates our lungs as the soles of our boots pound the damp dirt and rock trail that winds through the thick green forest along a stream that cascades into several waterfalls along the way.
About a mile into the woods we see a stream of water falling from a cliff near the base of Bear Mountain. A hardly distinguishable trail leads through a thicket of salmonberry bushes to the waterfall. After sampling the fresh water we begin our return back to the plant. We’ve pushed the time and now must hurry in order to avoid being late. We run hard on the downhill trail pounding our boots into the soft earth as we increase our velocity. Ben catches up and runs alongside of me and comments that I’m in pretty good shape. “How old are you?” he asks.
“Today I just turned forty-one”.
“No way! Really?”
“Yeah, today’s my birthday”.
“Man we gotta celebrate”.
“Running free out here in the forest is the perfect way for me to celebrate”.
I find it so ironic that we finally got a break from the work drudgery on my birthday.
Waterfall visible from Herring Cove trail as it pours down from lower level of Bear Mountain
When we return to the bunker it is almost 10:00 AM however the work schedule has since been updated and we are now required to begin work at two in the afternoon. This is great news. Ben and I decide to go to town with Jay to get supplies for our upcoming backpacking adventure.
Ben and I split off from Jay and head over to the camping supply store. We browse the isles and between the two of us we get a quality knife, canister of bear spray, a plastic tarp for shelter, a bag of trail mix, and a few fishing lures.
When we are ready to leave Jay had already left so Ben and I split a cab to hurry us back to the plant. We are running a bit late and the traffic delay due to the widening of Sawmill Creek Road isn’t helping our situation. We arrive to the property at about 2:15 PM. I hurry to leave the items we purchased in the room and then sprint to the plant and clock-in nearly half an hour late. Keyshon is disappointed that he is going to have to write me up but after talking to someone in management they decide to let it slide this time but not to let it happen again. Happy birthday to me!
The following day, August 31st, is another shorter than usual day and excitement continues to be felt in the air. My shift ends at ten-thirty and when I check the work schedule update in the mess hall the question we’ve all been wondering is answered. A list is posted on the board with the names of all those whose last day of work will be Monday, September 2nd. I am on that list. Our plane tickets are for departure on Wednesday, September 4th. With this new information I quickly get online to check the weather forecast for next week. We currently are having rain that is supposed to end on Monday and then it is supposed to be sunny or partially sunny through Wednesday with a chance of rain for Thursday and rain likely thereafter. With this information I decide that we have to begin the hike Monday to take full advantage of the narrow window of good weather which means that I will be quitting one day early. Having a departure ticket for September 10th means that I have an entire week to explore. Ben, however, is not on that list but is able to negotiate with Kyffon four days off to go backpacking with me.
We get off work early on Saturday and there is a lot of activity in and around the bunkers as most workers are happy that the end is near although some still want to keep working. Mackenzie already left for home this morning but his roommates want me to show them how easy it is to catch salmon from the river. James wants to catch a bunch of salmon, freeze them in the plant freezer, and ship them home. It’s near dark when a small posse of about eight of us march down to the mouth of Sawmill Creek Road.
I quickly hook into a female salmon that puts up a good fight. The guys think it’s pretty cool to snag salmon but James wants to get in the water and catch them by hand. He and a few other guys go to the other side of the river to try it out. It’s almost dark and Ben and I begin walking back to the bunker and as we cross the bridge over Sawmill Creek we see James and the other guys wading in the stream with small flashlights as they hunt for salmon. Ben decides to call it a night but I want to see if they caught anything so I scurry down the hill to the rocky stream below.
This female pink salmon fought unbelievably strong.
I find James almost to his waist in the frigid water while John shines the flashlight into the water in front of James who crouches down and then lunges forward to try and snatch a big chum salmon at least two feet long. In a bucket on the shore the tails are visible of several salmon that they already caught. He may have missed that one but several more he catches. He looks like a small bear as he stalks the stream and then swings his hand into the water to toss the salmon onto the shore.
Knowing that I should get a good night sleep to help recuperate before beginning our scheduled climb up Bear Mountain Monday morning I return to my room at about 9:00 pm. My new roommate Brian is lying awake and highly talkative. Brian has a long interesting history in Alaska and claims to have worked in just about every plant and fishing vessel in Alaska. From long lining for cod, to crab, to salmon, he’s done it. He shares stories of entire fishing crews high on cocaine to a suicide ride across the Alaskan highway. However, he is particularly proud of his land parcel on the beach near Mazatlan, Mexico. After quite a lot of story sharing I tell Brian that I really need to get to bed.
Sunday is another short day. I feel good. Relieved. Like a prisoner awaiting his release. In the past month and a half I have put in around six-hundred hours of labor on the clock – the equivalent of nearly four months of work for the average full-time worker. At lunch I sit next to Alex. He appears sad.
“Aren’t you happy the season is finally ending?” I ask Alex.
“I have nowhere to go!” he replies almost panicking.
I try to help him see a little light by explaining how he can use this money for a new start. He has had no expenses while working here so he can use all of the money. As for me, all the money I earned has gone to pay for basic expenses at home. “Alex, you’re in a better position than me.”
That’s it for work. I go into Kyffon’s office to tell him he can cancel my plane ticket because I already bought one and I’m staying an extra week to go exploring. It’s a strange feeling because for so many weeks there seemed to always exist a tension and element of distrust between many of the workers and management. While feeling that I was totally expendable and could have been fired at any moment, the need for more workers continued to grow. Maybe we weren’t so expendable. And even though I am excited to escape from Baranof Island and return home to my family a small part of me feels sad that the hard work that has consumed my life during the past seven weeks has now ended.
Ben and I check the weather update on the crew computer and learn that the current rainy weather is scheduled to end at eight-thirty in the morning. With that information we return to our rooms to get our gear ready and with my ruck and suitcase packed I’m ready for tomorrow’s new adventure, and new freedom. After hearing more stories from my roommate Brian I manage to get to sleep early enough for almost a full night’s rest.
…continue on to Chapter 6
THE EXPENDABLES: Escape from Baranof Island 