Catching up with the Time Bandit
They’re back! I knew they would be. All these years later I still know the routine: the crab season, the weather’s feel, a fleet manager’s supposed schedule, a positioned Processor anchors and stations outside Saint Paul Harbor while Alaskan crabbers line up and wait their turn dockside to off-load their catch.
It was during one of those rare long flights back east when I waited for days for the fog to lift and weather to permit me to hop across the Bering Sea, connect with several flights, and jump into huge JFK airport. It always was a lot for me; adjusting to all the people even on the jet. I hadn’t seen so many folks all at once for such a long time so I kept to myself; unless of course the passenger next to me happened to ask “So where you from?” In that case, I was always so excited to share the details of what became a wild high seas adventure for me on a tiny island out in the middle of nowhere.
“Wow, sounds like the cover of a National Geographic!” a fellow passenger once said after I explained my work in the Pribilofs.
“Oh, it is; it really is!” I said. “And you wouldn’t believe all the seals — they’re Northern fur seals and they ONLY migrate to Saint Paul Island.”
“Saint Paul Island? ‘The Deadliest Catch’? That island?” “Yes. You’ve heard of us?” I asked. Even now I have to laugh. I never watched much television because the real Alaskan Bering Sea life unfolding before my very eyes was just enough.
That particular flight flew by as I imagined the real F/V crews I watched out my real window when I lived on the island, with wild wranglers onboard sailing and scaling “mountainous” open seas and lassoing crab pots. Like some fierce and furious barrel race in the Bering with no dust to kick up. Cowboys, mutinous captains with sea parrots, treasure maps leading to Red King, Opilio and Blue King Crab.
The conservationist in me remembers these “Derby” style crabbing seasons would soon make way for designated fishing zones, allotted quota, depleted species observers on deck. I saw too this real-life drama and even entertainment could possibly be a country’s main staple.
At the time, I was stepping into survival mode. I naturally became resourceful — even inventive. I knew I loved my community, my tribe. I knew I needed a job to suit, and I knew I could tell a people’s story. And sure enough, as in sync as my surroundings and thought seem to be out there, I happened by the tiny KUHB radio station, spotted an old Marantz recorder and mic and immediately asked the manager, “Was there ever an island news reporter?”
Months became a year or so, and the thick salt air and frigid sea spray seasoned my enthusiasm and somehow “The Voice of the Pribilofs” emerged.
Then in late October 2008, the savage sea worked perfectly together with late autumn’s predictable weather — a vicious storm that swallowed the fishing vessel Katmai. Alaska radio and USCG out of Kodiak reported some were rescued but also noted lost and perished crew.
It was around then when I first met captain Jonathan and co-captain Andy Hillstrand, two brothers and a wily crew. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. Simply, here we all were in this very port in a storm.
With an extended hand I was helped aboard Time Bandit as I jumped down from the Trident dock. I glanced at the familiar skull and crossbones, climbed up to the bridge and tucked into its warmth away from the frosty elements.
I remember that audio interview. Mostly I recall Jonathan solemnly describing the relentless winds and seething waters. But I also felt and heard how thankful he was to be alive; the extreme dangers of the industry had taken the lives of some of his comrades.
Then Andy packed me up with “Deadliest Catch” stuff — autographed photos, a signed book, a hat. They teased me, saying I was “the gal who knew THE guys” and suggested it was my radio piece about THEM that would shoot ME to stardom. I even received an “early Thanksgiving” dinner invite from the crew as I was helped back onto land.
I smile now. I politely declined the invitation back then, saying I had “plans” as I didn’t want to offend anyone, but there was a lot of cigarette smoke aboard.
Seven years later, once again in October, we happened to meet out in the middle of the Bering Sea. Well, that’s Pribilof Island Time, and I still am thankful for it.
Justine Kibbe is the island naturalist for the Fishers Island Conservancy. A lifelong environmentalist, Kibbe spent six years on Alaska’s Island of Saint Paul among the native Unungan people to study fur seals. Now a Fishers Island resident, Kibbe offers wildlife snapshots from her observations on the island and now from a return trip to Alaska. You can reach her at bjkibbe@gmail.com.