Captain Keith Faces Tensions as His Crew Pushes Back on His Decisions
Right now, we’re three days into the fishery, and I’ve got zero crab on board. My crew hasn’t slept, and things are as bleak as I can ever remember. We’re in the jungle, baby—this could be the end.
Five days ago, I started studying the charts. We’re seeing a concentration of crab coming in between Black Hills and up into the Deeple. Using my 30 years of experience, I’m going out on a limb, trying new grounds. But those first pots are telling me to get the hell out of here.
After suffering defeat at Black Hills, I’m back to one of my trusted spots up in the northern gully. I had good fishing here in 2008 and 2009, so I’m going back to what I know and what I’m comfortable with. I need to make a comeback and catch some crab.
As I return to my comfort zone, my focus turns to minimizing the risks on deck. My brother, Paul, is 46 years old and doesn’t belong on the staff anymore. I need him down at the controls.
“Hey Paul, jump up on the stack and I’ll walk you through what you need to do,” I instruct.
But my crew is not happy about it. “I don’t think he’s ready for it,” says Mouse.
“I don’t care,” I reply. “I can’t rely on having you as the stack man forever. One of these guys needs to learn how to do it. Let’s see if we can pull this off.”
Paul has never even tied the gear down on deck before, and putting him up there now feels like throwing him into the fire. One false move on the stack could result in serious injury. But it’s time to train him.
“Start here with these ties, Paul,” I guide him. “Get off this side and start tying the next pot.”
But Paul is struggling. He’s slowing us down, and the crew is getting frustrated.
“I don’t understand why these guys have against Paul,” I hear someone mutter. “One wrong tie and the stack could tumble.”
“Sorry about that, guys,” Paul says, as the tension rises.
It’s clear that my crew doesn’t respect my decisions, and I’m fed up. “Alright, that’s it! Everybody back in the house now!” I shout. “Who’s the captain? Me! So stop arguing with me!”
The lack of discipline on this boat is unbelievable. “I give you guys an order; you take it!”
I’m shaking with frustration. “We need to get this done, and I don’t need anyone deciding they’re in charge instead of me!”
The tension between me and my brother is palpable. It’s been 26 hours since I lost it with the crew. Now, I need to find a way to regain their respect. The only way to do that is by landing some crab.
I’ve got the pots soaking on my favorite grounds. “I just really want to believe there’s some crab here,” I say, desperately hoping for a miracle.
The first haul comes up: double digits. But it’s not enough.
“Five crabs,” Lenny reports. “Not enough.”
We’re facing the harsh reality. Even my old hot spot isn’t providing any crab. The crew is starting to crack under the pressure. They’ve gone 50 hours with barely any sleep and no more than a snack break. I’ve seen this before—guys losing focus because of the exhaustion.
“Six hours of sleep, and I had to do it in the cod bin,” one of my crew members says. The pain is real. “We’re restacking a full load. More pain. No crab.”
The pressure is mounting. With no crabs in sight, the crew is on edge. And then, Monty approaches the wheelhouse.
“Hey guys, come in and have a candy bar,” Monty says, trying to lighten the mood. But it’s hard to keep spirits up when everything feels like it’s falling apart.
We’re running out of time and energy, but there’s still hope to turn this around. We’ll push through the exhaustion, keep hauling, and pray that we find the crab we so desperately need.
