August Hunicke Essays etc.

August Hunicke

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I thought I would share some of my writing with you guys from time to time. Cory had asked a while back about my commercial fishing experience. Here is one experience from that time of my life. There are many others but this one is one that made me famous back then (famously "lucky" anyway.) This is a writing work that I've picked up and put down a few times but now feel is about as good as my ability to convey the experience. I am not much of an editor, so there may be typos, but here it is hot off the press.

The Death of Neptune
By August Hunicke

My brother and I called it The Hot Lava Game. We pretended the floor was hot lava, certain death, and only the furniture was safe. We would throw couch cushions or pillows into the lava and leap from one to another to get across the house. We fell into the lava now and then, but we always gave ourselves another chance.

At eighteen I started working on the fishing boats in Alaska. One look across the mountains of undulating icy chill and I remembered my childhood game. To miss the cushion, to go overboard into the crippling coldness of the deep, was a peril with no second chance. And it was there, in the belly of the cold Pacific, that I met Death.

The ocean is a mocker. Winds turn sky gray and whirl clouds, then waves. Those of us on the surface are tossed about, and our limits of skill and preparedness are tested, but the fury of nature sharpens the wits of a good seaman and puts him on guard.

A blue sea, however, is cunning. There is less tossing about, and the calm may even drug an amateur into thinking there is no danger at all, as if he were not perched precariously above the fitful vastness of the sea, a finless, wingless, air breather with only a tiny floating cork between himself and heaving oblivion.

The day Death introduced itself, the frigid lava surrounding our sofa cushion was a calm sea of glass, mimicking the peaceful sky and lulling me into tranquility. We were setting anchors. It was my job to launch them. The anchor that took me was brand new. It had never been to the bottom, but its one-hundred-fifty pounds of streamlined steel yearned to get there. We were launching them that day from our twenty-foot work skiff, which meant rapid retrieval was not possible.

The skipper, who was built like a barrel and not known for his sensitivity, steered the skiff from launch site to launch site perfecting his grand scheme to outsmart the most fish, and fishermen, possible. I was a greenhorn at the time, and most of his strategies were beyond me. I ran myself silly trying to anticipate his orders, and at the same time I had very little grasp of how each assignment I carried out was helping. If he ever took a class on praise or diplomacy, I’m sure he got an “F,” and as a result I was only allowed to know when I was wrong--which was. . . All the time. This, however, did not stop me from clamoring for his illusive approval.

Decked out in rubber boots, rain pants, and bright yellow raincoat, I stood near the bow as we sliced across the glassy surface. I felt like Neptune, god of the sea, as if I was the force that carried us so freely along. As the wind whipped my hair across my face, I was sure I must be the strongest, and most fearsome thing the world had ever seen. It was just then, at the pinnacle of my vanity, that the captain slowed the skiff and I prepared to launch the anchor.

In the past, I had launched the anchors by first leaning them upright against the side of the skiff and then picking up the more dangerous fluke end, and cautiously throwing it up, out, and away from the skiff. This had to be done while keeping a wary eye on the coils of line attached to the anchor that chase it in a frenzy out of the skiff. This time, though, I was sure that I, Neptune, could just heave it over the side like it was made of Styrofoam. I held one of the horns of the anchor in my left hand. The main body of the anchor was in front of me across my waist, while in my right hand, I grasped the base of one of its curving arms. After giving the order, the skipper turned his head to port, searching for clues to the movement of the migrating salmon. His head suddenly snapped back around when the usual splash of the anchor brought with it the sound of a scream. My shipmate, the skipper’s stepdaughter Nina, screamed a warning when she saw the sharp triangular fluke reaching out for the small of my back. I never heard her. She made it to the rail fast enough to peer over and watch the brightness of my yellow rain gear shrink out of sight.

“Where is he?” The captain asked.

I had gone over so fast that it didn’t register with him. He had simply turned his head to the side, and when he turned back, I was gone. Nina shouted my predicament to him as the coils of line smoked over the side; she dared not interfere with the retreating anchor line and risk joining me.

If what had happened seemed fast to them, it was indescribably fast to me, one moment air, the next, water. Despite the stunning speed of events, I remember some of the details clearly, tiny micro-seconds memories, but yet big enough, to take from the shelves of mind and analyze closely.

The anchor fluke behind me had caught my coat and pulled me in, while my body, with all of my gear and the pockets of air caught up in the folds of my clothing, naturally resisted the anchor’s haste to get to the bottom. As a result, the anchor moved ahead of me, and my body swiveled around on the fluke of the anchor so that I faced up. Unfortunately, this strengthened the anchor’s hold on me, as the sharp new fluke twisted up my clothing in its cold metal fist. Through the galaxy of escaping air bubbles I saw the silhouette of the skiff diminishing against the brightness of the sky. I was pulled with such force that struggling was impossible. My arms and legs flapped in front of me like the windblown streamers on a child's bicycle. As Nina was watching my rain gear flutter out of sight below her, I was seeing the skiff quickly shrink on the surface.

It was during this brief span of time, while plummeting into the dark, that I faced Death. It wasn’t malicious, it was just there. I was not afraid. Death came so suddenly that there was no time for fear. The certainty of my fast-approaching demise was all there was to notice. I couldn’t barter; I could only accept the inevitable. My acceptance was not weakness, nor was it heroic. It was simply the only option.

People say that when Death suddenly approaches someone, his life will flash before his eyes. Mine didn’t flash. Quite the contrary, the only thing before my eyes, besides the meaningless details of the situation, was Death. Not flashing, just there, plainly, indisputably, there. One moment life, the next, death. I had just been thinking of myself as a god. Now I knew that I was no such thing, and that everything I had been and done in my life was going to have nothing else added to it.

So why am I here? Was I lucky? Does death toy with its victims? If it does, many events of my life would indicate that I have been a favorite toy. Could it be that death answered to a higher authority? I don’t know. I only know that just when the shrinking skiff was about to vanish forever, and just when the irresistible fist was about to pull me down into unbearable pressures, the anchor released its hold on me. The moment of my release came just after the point of my total surrender. The ugliness of ignorant pride had been washed away with each fathom of dizzy descent until all that remained was humility. The experience of being wrenched downward was suddenly replaced by a feeling of weightlessness.

I would like to say that I quickly launched into action, stripped off my heavy clothing and rubber boots, and swam like an adventure hero to the surface. It wasn’t like that at all. My surrender was so complete that when the anchor released me, I just hung there in stasis, doing nothing, completely resigned to my fate. Moments ticked away as the last tiny bubbles fled to the surface. The skiff and life, distant but attainable, waited silently while Death’s hypnotic certainty held me docile.

And then, by chance or by God, I was coaxed into action. The anchor, frustrated by my involuntary and annoying resistance, had torn through my clothing and continued its downward journey without me, and the anchor lines, still determined to keep up, were slipping madly past me. One of them snaked down the right side of my face. I thought, “That’s dangerous.” As if accepting death and waiting to drown wasn’t! A fisherman is programmed by instruction and experience to beware the bite of retreating lines, so I instinctively recoiled from the line by swimming one stroke up and to the left of the danger. That one stroke was like priming the pump. I only sought to kick away from the hazard, but once I did, the spell was broken, and I became quite sure that the entire situation—not just the passing line--was dangerous.

My journey back to life had begun. I swam straight up--clothes, boots, and all. I don’t know how far down I was, but the shadow of the skiff assured me that it wouldn’t be easy to get back. I’ve never been a strong swimmer, and I doubt that I could have swum down and back from such a depth in one breath. But I had the advantage of making the first leg of the journey strapped to a missile which cut my breath-holding time almost in half. Near the end of my journey I reached repeatedly for the skiff like a mountaineer whose summit was always beyond the next rise. It had taken no controlled effort to hold my breath up to this point, but during the last final strokes, when the skiff kept eluding my grasp, I began to need the precious seconds of air I had lost while entranced by death.

Meanwhile, on the surface, about the time the anchor was landing on the bottom, Nina saw below her a blurry but expanding yellow form. Was it me, back from Death’s embrace, or was it a piece of my coat? Could I have somehow gained freedom? The form took shape. A smeary flicker of yellow slowly developed into the arms and hands of a man reaching for life. The sputtering form she helped over the side was not Neptune but an ordinary man with torn clothing and a vacant stare.

I didn’t speak, and I do not remember what Nina said to me, but I was comforted—and still am--by the combination of disbelief and compassion in her eyes. Her eyes were the warm, sweet eyes of a fellow mortal. A witness to the frailty of life and a welcome change from the looming, dispassionate certainty I had felt in the deep.

The skipper, still at his post, was silent. He thought me a fool, no doubt, and I had no reason to disagree. No sooner was I retrieved than the skiff was underway at full throttle. We were going somewhere, but I, as usual, didn’t know his next step. I sat in the bow, this time not as Neptune.

The sound of the motor diminished, and it became vaguely apparent to my shell-shocked brain that we had begun to glide quietly alongside our large vessel. I stared blankly, failing to see the importance in anything. The bow of our skiff began to drift away from the big boat. The captain, in exasperation, bellowed, “C’mon, tie up, get changed, we have work to do!” I looked at Nina. She had tied off the stern already, and she looked away as if to apologize for being efficient. My pale white hands tied the bow with all the coordination of a man in boxing gloves. My recent moment of mortality was making it difficult to adjust quickly to the mundane responsibilities of being alive. It was quite some time before I had much to say.
 
That's kinda how I used to free dive in the Gulf, only it was a voluntary plunge and I used diver's weights, not anchors.

Cool story! I was sunk on a workboat in the Gulf during a hurricane. I saw Death too, that focker!
 
Quite a revelation for an 18 year old to go through...accepting your own demise...and then being delivered from it. Life is so very fragile...good share.
 
Gotta say, that was f'g incredible. Really. All the different parts, too many to list but really cool the girl seeing the yellow coat get bigger, and you seeing the eyes of a fellow, live human being. Chills, broheim!!

It was also cool, even though the reader knows for a while ahead of time what was going to happen when you threw the anchor, the build up and the anticipation and then it finally happens (ha, "and then it happened" from "To Build a Fire"), fun to read it.

"That's dangerous" was an amazing part too.

And what human male can't relate to, "As the wind whipped my hair across my face, I was sure I must be the strongest, and most fearsome thing the world had ever seen." Awesome line and gives a smile to the writing.

Early in the story, I was digging the skipper ("The skipper, who was built like a barrel and not known for his sensitivity"), but if he really reacted like you say after you survived, he sounds like a friggin' retard.

Anyway, fantastic story. You could tighten a sentence here or there and submit it somewhere, that was awesome.

Glad you made it, bro.:drink:
 
thanks for the "cool" story. I like the way you integrated the childhood game into the telling of the tale.
 
Death is a constant companion for the living, however many don't see him, maybe they are the lucky ones.

Glad you had a crappy coat August!
 
Thank you, August, I can truly relate to your story. Born and raised on the western seaboard, and always been active in the fishing industry. I even leased a couple of salmon boats in the day, and got my share of scares, and lost good friends too. I love the sea as much as I love the forests and the mountains. Each so lovely, and so potentially dangerous in their own unique way. Life is rich.

Thank you for sharing.
 
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  • #11
Quite a revelation for an 18 year old to go through...accepting your own demise...and then being delivered from it.

Wow, the way you summarize it like that is more concise than all my attempts to explain it, and drives the "gravity" of the experience further home for me.
 
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  • #14
That's kinda how I used to free dive in the Gulf, only it was a voluntary plunge and I used diver's weights, not anchors.

Cool story! I was sunk on a workboat in the Gulf during a hurricane. I saw Death too, that focker!

Let's hear THAT story Butch.
 
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  • #15
Gotta say, that was f'g incredible. Really. All the different parts, too many to list but really cool the girl seeing the yellow coat get bigger, and you seeing the eyes of a fellow, live human being. Chills, broheim!!

It was also cool, even though the reader knows for a while ahead of time what was going to happen when you threw the anchor, the build up and the anticipation and then it finally happens (ha, "and then it happened" from "To Build a Fire"), fun to read it.

"That's dangerous" was an amazing part too.

And what human male can't relate to, "As the wind whipped my hair across my face, I was sure I must be the strongest, and most fearsome thing the world had ever seen." Awesome line and gives a smile to the writing.

Early in the story, I was digging the skipper ("The skipper, who was built like a barrel and not known for his sensitivity"), but if he really reacted like you say after you survived, he sounds like a friggin' retard.

Anyway, fantastic story. You could tighten a sentence here or there and submit it somewhere, that was awesome.

Glad you made it, bro.:drink:

Yes Cory, that was his personality. One of, if not the most, insensitive cruel and hated by his peers, people I have ever known. I made it with him for four years. Longer than anyone else ever had. . . Then I made a stand one day and quit. It was the first day he showed me any respect, and the last day I ever worked for him.

I wouldn't know where to submit this… Any suggestions?
 
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  • #16
thanks for the "cool" story. I like the way you integrated the childhood game into the telling of the tale.

Thank you. The truth is I literally had those thoughts when I first looked out across the ocean. I was born and raised inland and sort of "fell" into commercial fishing when I was 18. Never planned on it. I never really planned on anything.
 
Which one? The free diving? Or the sinking? I've told them both, several times. I need to save those stories...
 
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  • #18
Death is a constant companion for the living, however many don't see him, maybe they are the lucky ones.

Glad you had a crappy coat August!

Ha ha, wow another perspective I hadn't thought of. You know what's funny? It was my first year out there so it was indeed a crappy coat. I didn't start gearing up smart till my second year. that was no Grundens raincoat.
 
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  • #20
Thank you, August, I can truly relate to your story. Born and raised on the western seaboard, and always been active in the fishing industry. I even leased a couple of salmon boats in the day, and got my share of scares, and lost good friends too. I love the sea as much as I love the forests and the mountains. Each so lovely, and so potentially dangerous in their own unique way. Life is rich.

Thank you for sharing.

Wow, didn't know that. We have "Charted" similar courses in life. I worked from 86 to 95 out there, bouncing back and forth, from forest to sea.
 
It was hurricane Bob, and I was the "engineer" on the Gwen Lyn, a work boat owned by D & B boat rentals out of Abbyville, LA. We pulled into our dock at Intracoastal City carrying a load of offshore workers we were evacuating because of the hurricane. The port Captain ordered us to head back out to evacuate more workers, so away we went. The hurricane wasn't so bad, but it was getting worse. We went through the locks, entered the Gulf, and that's when the shit hit the fan. We were in a hurricane.

We were loaded with water, almost submerged on the rear decks. I asked the captain if he wanted me to pump water out to raise us up higher on the water, but the cap said no - we would bob around too much. Long story short, the cap opted to tie up to a wellhead and ride the storm out. Because he was a wuss boat driver, he set us tied up stern first instead of bow first. The incoming waves overwhelmed the scuppers and the waves entered the engine room vent ports, which should have been sealed. They weren't sealed because I was never told to do that, which I should have been told to do, but our Captain was a maroon and we weren't trained worth a shit.

As the boat was going down, I ran downstairs and made a MayDay call. That's a weird feeling, making a MayDay call. "MAYDAY! MAYDAY! GWEN LYN GOING DOWN IN THE 26 FIELD! MAYDAY! MAYDAY! MAYDAY!!! Plus, I was in the depths of the sinking boat. I was really not wanting to see water pouring down through the hatch. I escaped with seconds to spare.

A sister ship heard my call, as they were moored correctly and they came to our aid.

I remember being in the water, with all this shit that was on the loading deck swirling all around me, any of which could have killed me in a heartbeat if it struck me. It was actually more peaceful when I was in the water, as opposed to fighting to stay on the boat.

At the Coast Guard hearing, the Captain was found to be completely at fault.
 
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