Fishing Vessel Patricia Marie, October 24, 1976
Captain William King
Maurice Joseph
Alton Joseph
Walter Marshal
Richard Oldenquist
Robert Zawalick
Ernest Cordeiro
Fishing Vessel Capt'n Bill, February 9, 1978
Captain Ralph Andrews
Earnest Tasha
Edward Hoerning
Robert Sullivan
Fishing Vessel Victory 11, May 8, 1984
Captain Kenneth R. Macara
Benjamin Fernandez
John J.D. Dorff

From the engineer’s log:
       Fri, 1 a.m. Blowing like hell—Rain—Rough as a son of a bitch—11 bag watch.
Water over the rails—still fishing steady.
       1:45 a.m. Joe woke me up—a boat is sinking 9 miles away—hatch's under
water—we're steaming for her now to pick up the crew!

“Pedro! Wake up! The captain needs you on the bridge!”

It’s some time after midnight and before 6 a.m., and the five hundred horsepower diesel engine in the next room makes shouting almost impossible. I have to cup my hand to my ear and offer it close to Joe’s mouth. “Sorry to wake you,” yells Joe, “but there's a boat sinking nearby, and the captain wants you on the bridge.”

“Did you wake Mike up?” I yell back into Joe's ear.

“Yes, everyone up forward is awake.”

“What did Mike say when you woke him?”

“Mike said screw ‘em, let ‘em sink.”

My head clears enough to find the humor—Mike is an experienced shipmate and I trust him with my life; he will do all he can to help in this emergency. Joe waits a few minutes as I brace my body against the violent rocking and rolling of the boat and struggle to get on my boots and foul weather gear, then he hollers again. “Pedro, don't hurry, you have time, their boat was nine miles away. I'll see you topside.”

“OK, thanks, Joe, let the skipper know I'll be up soon as I can.”

“Alright, Pedro, be careful when you come up on deck, it’s nasty.” He turns away from me and climbs up the steep engine room ladder.

It's September 1979, and our fishing vessel, Stellar Night, is 100 miles offshore, dredging the ocean floor for sea scallops. But tonight’s work has been interrupted by a distress call—the fishing dragger Ocean Spray is in serious trouble on the high seas. Stellar Night is the only boat in the area, and our captain has ordered all hands on deck.

To wake from dead sleep isn’t easy. My routine when waking is to warm my hands for a few minutes on a handrail secured to the back of the engine, to ease aches and relieve stiffness in my fingers so I can work the buttons on my clothes; but tonight is no night for hand warming. Dressed, I climb the ladder to the aft deck, struggle through the tight emergency passageway door into the captain’s quarters, and through a second door emerge in the wheelhouse.

“Well, I'll be damned! Where in hell did you come from, Pedro?” asks the captain.

“I wasn't in your quarters, Captain, except for passing through. I entered through the emergency door and made my way through your quarters, sir.”

“Christ, Pedro! That door is so small I didn't think a mouse could fit through there. Hey, listen! It's nice to see you!”

“What going on, skipper? Joe woke me and said there is a boat in trouble.”

“Yes, Pedro, we got a mayday from the Ocean Spray and she's taking on water. I guess the pumps all stopped working. I'm in contact with the Coast Guard and they keep asking me questions.”

“Hell, capt'n, it ain't a very nice night to be screwed up out here tonight, rough as all hell.”

"The radio interrupts. “Calling the fishing vessel Stellar Night, this is the United States Coast Guard, this is the United States Coast Guard, come in please!”

But Captain Joseph doesn't answer the radio; instead, he fills me in on what is going on. “Pedro, I have the Ocean Spray in the radar. My mate went forward to see if he could help our gang get ready to pick these men up. Take a look into the radar, you might see the boat.”

“OK, skipper, how far away is it? Where are they?”

“Pedro, she’s away off; forward, port side.” Captain Joseph finally reaches for the radio. “This is the Stellar Night, go ahead Coast Guard!”

“Fishing vessel Stellar Night, fishing vessel Stellar Night, this is the United States Coast Guard. What is the name of the vessel in distress?”

Captain Joseph barks into the radio microphone. “The name of the vessel is the Ocean Spray. I already told you that ten times! How many more times are you going to ask me that? Over. Pedro, I've been saying the same things over and over to those guys, what the hell’s the matter with them, can't they hear?”

The radio crackles again: “Fishing vessel Stellar Night, this is the United States Coast Guard.” Our captain cuts off the coastguardsman: “I know who you are, what in hell’s the matter with you guys? Stop saying everything over and over. I need some help out here. Send a chopper and give me some lights and some help or something!”

“Skipper, sorry to interrupt.”

“That's OK, Pedro, I'm not getting anywhere with those guys anyway, got something there?”

“Yes sir. I can see the fishing boat in our radar and sometimes spot her lights. Look off our port bow. When she’s up on a wave you can spot her lights but they disappear when she goes down into the trough.”

“Good boy! Keep an eye on her, son. Last I heard from them they abandoned her and six men would be going overboard. Their captain said, ‘There are six of us and we'll be in the water.’ Now, Pedro, I don't know if they'll be together but I hope so for their sake.”

Again the radio makes noise. “Calling the fishing vessel Stellar Night, this is the United States Coast Guard, come in please, over.”

The captain answers. “Go ahead Coast Guard, this is the Stellar, over.”

“Fishing vessel Stellar Night, what is the color of the vessel in distress? Over.”

“I don't know what color it is! How the hell would know? Those men are in the water! What in hell’s the matter with you guys? Pedro, those guys got me so mad I don't want to talk to them! Where's that boat now?”

“She's still there, captain, closer but a ways off.”

“Pedro, I need you up here with me in case we have to shut the engine down. We may have to listen for men in the water. But God forbid if we have to shut it down in these seas.”

I say nothing to the skipper. Secure in the wheelhouse, I look out of the window at the scene on deck—crewmen scurrying about, all hands getting ready for what is about to happen. Men are moving about with hand lights and coils of rope; life jackets litter the deck, ready in case they have to be thrown to men in the water. Two of our crewmen are standing by dressed in survival suits, in case they too have to go into the water. I think to myself, “God, they couldn't go over the side tonight in this nasty weather.”

The radio crackles. “Fishing vessel, Stellar Night. What is the latitude and longitude of the vessel in distress? Over.”

“That doesn't matter anymore, those men are in the water now. I gave you my latitude, longitude, and loran-c bearings a long time ago. Where the hell is my help is what I want to know?”

“Fishing vessel Stellar Night, who is the owner of your vessel? Come in Stellar Night. Fishing vessel Stellar Night, who is the owner of the vessel in distress?”

“What in the hell difference does that make? I'm too busy to talk now. I have to get these men out of the water. Don't bother me for a while. I'll get back to you guys. Stellar over and out. Damn it, Pedro, those guy are really getting to me. We got work to do here, m’boy. Things are going to be happening fast around here in a few minutes.”

Both of us now see the Ocean Spray as she rides up on huge cresting seas and falls back down into the trough. She is a big western rig, with the pilothouse located on the bow of the vessel. Each wave is pushing her closer toward us. We can see the boat but no sight of the men.

“Pedro, go forward. Get some men up on the bow. See if you can spot anything. Look for men in the water, but be careful.”

“Yes, sir.” I make my way forward, climbing over the starboard side rake that was placed on top of a big scallop pile. I see Mike’s familiar baby face looking out from the hood of a bright red survival suit. He stands there smiling, ready and willing to do whatever he can.

“Hey, Pedro! Where in hell you going?” asks Mike.

“Mike! I hope to hell you don't have to go into that water tonight!”

He chuckles. “Hey man, I hope I don't have to go in there too, but if it was my ass in there I'd hope to hell someone was coming after me.”

“Mike you crazy sonofabitch, you’re right on that.”

He laughs again. “Pedro, we’re both crazy to be out here in the first place. What's the skipper going to do?”

“Mike, he wants some men on look-out to try and find these guys.”

“Christ, Pedro, everyone's on deck lookin' for ‘em now.”

Wind whistles and howls through the ship’s rigging as we plod along, slowly making our way through rough seas piled up by full gale force winds. Waves braking over the bow are crashing and sweeping the deck; the sea is pushing and shoving the bow of our vessel high into the air, then letting it plummet downward deep into the trough. For the moment the crew is doing all it can, all eyes staring intently into blackness.

“There they are! Look! I see couple of small specks of green light.”

I make my way back to the wheelhouse and enter the leeward side door. The unanswered marine radio is spewing the same endless questions: “What are the sea conditions? What are the wind conditions? Who owns the vessel you are on? What color is your vessel?” Captain Joseph has his big hands full of the ship’s wheel.

“Pedro, what's going on out there?”

“Skipper, your son James is keeping his eye on some small green lights, and he's keeping the gang up there safe.”

“Pedro, I heard the gang holler to give it the power, but we have to be careful.”

“Capt'n, the raft is a ways off yet. I can't see them from here. It's real nasty out, God help those men.” The Stellar Night pulls and yanks us with her heaves, struggling up the enormous waves and fast falling way. We can now see the Ocean Spray close off of our port bow. The sight of her takes me spellbound; I hold tight, feet sick; the sea will soon swallow her.

“Pedro, you've never seen anything like that, m’boy, have you?”

“No, sir. Not at all, not ever.”

“I don't think there is anyone aboard her now, Pedro. But I don't know if they are going to be in the raft—God help them if they’re in the drink.”

The Ocean Spray is close, still afloat but down by the ass. The stern is under water and seawater is flooding its way half way up the back of her bridge, but her lights are still shining bright. Her radar keeps turning for an unwatched screen. She’s a ghost ship, soon to surrender herself to the sea that she has fished for the last time.

I watch the Ocean Spray as if nothing else mattered and ask myself, “What the hell am I doing out here?” The abandoned boat comes along side our port beam. I pray for her men, and for us. “Captain, do you want me to answer that radio?”

The skipper ignores my question. “Pedro, I'm going to give it a little power in order to let that boat go past our stern. I don't want to get tangled up with her. Go forward and let me know what's going on. Make sure everyone is careful, I don't want to lose any of our boys.”

“Yes, sir.” Up forward, men are talking about the raft that J.T.—the captain’s son James—has spotted off our port bow. At times the yellow spot rides atop the huge seas; we see it, then it’s gone. Full gale winds blow it closer and closer as it surfs on each wave. Now the raft is coming right for us, and it's coming fast
. . . too fast and too close. The raft is in danger of going under our bow. For the first time since he spotted the small green specks, J.T. turns away and looks toward the wheelhouse of the Stellar Night. He cups his hands to his mouth and hollers, “Back it down, dad! Back it down! Hard!” Everyone takes up the frantic call: “Back it down! Back it down!”

Now we can see petrified faces and looks of fear in the raft, as it is coming close to being run down by the bow of the Stellar Night. Our boat rides high up on a wave, and the faces in the small raft disclose shock and horror at getting crushed under the barnacle encrusted bottom of our boat. With a loud roar from the big exhaust stack billowing out black smoke, the Stellar Night lurches as it begins to back down. The captain has heard our cries from the bow.

The door of our wheelhouse opens and Captain Joseph steps outside, feet spread wide apart to steady himself. “Listen, men! We'll take the raft around to starboard and put the crew on the leeward side. When we get them, bring them up over the rail and put them down below. Don't drop them in the water or they'll be a goner and I won't be able to get them back.”

We have one shot to get those men out of the ferocious sea and aboard our vessel. A successful throw of a line makes our gang jubilant—men cheer at the toss. The raft rides the seas but is now tethered at the end of its umbilical. “Let’s pull them in! Let’s get them!” say our men. Many hands join in grabbing the line, pulling the raft closer, but the sea heaves the raft high above the rail, out of reach. Quickly the sea falls away and the raft goes down by our side. Problems in the raft add to the difficulty: everyone wants to be the first man to be rescued. With shouts and yells back and forth, their men organize with us. One man at a time is to come aboard, and the first man is ready. With the raft now close enough to make a grab, everyone waits for the perfect rising sea. Two arms reach toward our gang as the sea falls away and the raft starts on its downward plunge. “Grab him! Get him!” With a successful grab our men have hands on the arms of the first man. We hold tight as the raft slips out from under him. The man is brought over our rail and literally thrown onto the deck. Shouts of joy and excitement go on as one by one each man is brought aboard. “Hey we got a big one here, don't drop him, get him aboard.” Our cook greets each one and welcomes them aboard, directing them to go down into the galley.

Six grateful, shoeless men are now added to our passenger list. “Hey, do you guys want your raft?” asks one of our men. “Sure,” and the raft is hauled aboard and stuffed into our whaleback. I make my way to the pilothouse and greet the captain. “You got them, skipper.”

“No, Pedro, we got them. They're better off now. Keep an eye on their boat. She's going by our stern and should be on our starboard.”

A glance at the ship’s clock is showing 2:10 A.M. I step out of the starboard door to have a look. The Ocean Spray is on our starboard stern quarter; with all the excitement going on aboard, nobody has noticed that she has rolled completely over, showing us her bottom. I step back in to the pilothouse. “She rolled over, but she’s all clear of us, captain.”

The skipper doesn't say anything. There is quiet, except for the engine and the weather. The radio is also quiet. “Capt'n, is there anything I can do for you, get for you?” The captain doesn’t answer. “What happened with the Coast Guard?” I ask.

“I had to shut them off, Pedro. We've been a little busy out here. I'll have to get ‘em back on that damn radio to let them know we have these men. We'll have to meet them someplace so we can drop off the crew of that sunken vessel. We got some long steaming to do.”

2:20 a.m. I look out for the Ocean Spray, but she is gone.

“Pedro, stay here while I turn around to port. I want to be sure we don't get in trouble with that sunken boat. She is under here someplace now and we need to get clear. Keep an eye for me.”

“Sure, Capt'n.”

The skipper powers up the Stellar and brings her around, getting the wind on our stern. “Go get my boy for me, will-yah. I have to give him some bearings so we can make a run for Chatham.”

“Captain, do you want me to make up a wheel watch for the steam?“

“No need, boy, Jimmy and I will run the regular watch. Our gang have plenty of scallops to shuck to keep them busy. We still got a deck load. Too bad we had to stop fishing. I'll keep the gang on the six and six till the scallops are all shucked. We'll head back here to finish up this trip. We're just a hundred miles off Chatham, so we should be in there noon. Damn, we’re goin' to lose a lot of time this trip. Hell, we won't be back here till midnight.”

Engineer’s log:
       6 a.m. Steaming for Chatham—to meet with coast guard to debark our passengers—Vessel's name Ocean Spray—out of Plymouth—some men from New Bedford—one man from Nantucket—Ruff as hell—seas like mountains
       10:30 a.m. steaming through a pod of whales and dolphins as far as you can see—I have never seen so many at one time—all the crew of six men seem to be in good shape—The Ocean Spray had 70,000 pounds of fish aboard—10 bags of scallops—3,000 pounds of lobster—vessel completely gone when we left her last night . . . we are to return to fishing grounds after debarking passengers.



Pedro Farais lives in Provincetown, Massachusetts.