A lucrative fishing haul and a race against the storm
In an excerpt from The Sea Was in Their Blood, Quentin Casey recounts how tragedy unfolded
The Cape Sable Lighthouse stands on a small piece of land, composed of shifting sand dunes, just off the southern tip of Cape Sable Island. At 30 metres, it’s the tallest lighthouse in Nova Scotia. It’s a key navigational aid, known to anyone who takes to the surrounding water. Says one local fisherman: “You know where that lighthouse is at all times.”
By 7:40 p.m. on Tuesday, Feb.12 — about 90 minutes after leaving West Head wharf — Katlin Nickerson and the crew are south of Cape Sable Island. Katlin has the Miss Ally steaming east. In the distance, off the port side, is the Cape Sable Lighthouse. Its beam is likely visible to Katlin in the wheelhouse, and perhaps to Cole Nickerson, Joel Hopkins, Tyson Townsend and Billy Jack Hatfield. More likely the light goes unnoticed by Katlin and his crew; they’ve spotted the Cape Sable light plenty of times before. Tonight they’re probably focused solely on the trip ahead: the weather, where they’ll fish and, most importantly, getting some sleep before they start.
As promised, Katlin calls Sandy Stoddard, aboard the Logan & Morgan, for advice on fishing spots. Over the satellite phone, Sandy passes along some co-ordinates and water depths he thinks will be fruitful this time of year. Sandy is happy to offer guidance to Katlin. He also feels the need to, once again, emphasize caution.
As a young skipper Sandy felt invincible. He ventured into bad storms with little doubt that he’d emerge unscathed and with a full hold of fish. Three different times Sandy was written off in storms — everyone on shore assumed he wouldn’t make it back. One day, early in his career, Sandy was at the wharf preparing to head out on the Debbie & Jamie. His Uncle Alfie strolled down the wharf. “What are you doing?” Alfie asked. “I’m going out.” “Did you see that sundog today?” Sandy paused. “What’s a sundog?” Alfie said nothing. He turned and walked back up the wharf.
Out at sea, Sandy got caught in a huge storm. He lost 26 tubs of brand-new gear and was fortunate to get back to shore at all. Sandy was tying up at the wharf after the trip when Alfie reappeared.
“Now you know what a sundog is,” his uncle said.
A sundog — when bright spots or coloured rays appear to come off the sun at certain angles — is now one of the many signs that warn Sandy of poor weather.
Now on the satellite phone with Katlin, Sandy has taken on the role of his Uncle Alfie.
“Be careful,” he tells Katlin. “Don’t take no unnecessary chances.”
Katlin and the crew begin setting their gear on Wednesday, Feb. 13. Katlin remains in regular contact with Sandy as their crews set and haul gear. The two men are far apart on the cold Atlantic but they share information and keep one another updated on their progress, chatting every day and night by satellite phone.
Sandy is roughly 100 kilometres east of Canso, N.S., up near Cape Breton. Katlin and his crew are closer to Woods Harbour, nearly 200 kilometres offshore.
The first reports of bad weather arrive on Thursday afternoon, broadcast over each captain’s very high frequency radio. By early Friday morning, the forecast has worsened: west winds of 90 kilometres an hour are coming on Sunday afternoon.
Chrisjon Stoddard, Sandy’s son, arrives at the fishing grounds near his father at 3 a.m. on Saturday morning. Chrisjon, helming the Benji & Sisters, started fishing with his father at age 6. At 19, a year after graduating high school, he became a captain. He started out skippering his father’s boat and spent a summer on the Grand Banks. Though similar in age to Katlin when he took the wheel, Chrisjon estimates he had three times as much experience at sea. He credits his dad with teaching him how to handle a boat in a storm. “I learnt by him and going by his lead and learning from his actions,” he says.
In the early morning darkness of Saturday, Feb. 16, Chrisjon’s crew fires out their longlining gear. Shortly after they begin, Chrisjon receives the latest Environment Canada forecast. It’s not good. A low-pressure system is expected to develop near Cape Hatteras, N.C., and intensify as it tracks north. By Sunday night, the system will be lying directly over Nova Scotia, creating gale-force winds. A storm warning is now in effect for the waters from the Bay of Fundy to Cape Breton and beyond. Any boats still out when this storm arrives will have to face snow, whipping winds of more than 90 kilometres an hour, and waves up to seven metres tall. Chrisjon has just set his first string of gear, but he won’t be staying long. He picks up his radio and calls his father.
“You listening to the weather?” Chrisjon asks.
“No, not really,” Sandy responds, unconcerned. “It’s giving quite a bad storm.” “Is it?” “Take a look at it.” Sandy checks the forecast. “Yeah, that don’t look good,” Sandy tells Chrisjon.
The father-son pair decides they’ll head for Cape Breton once their gear is pulled in. Chrisjon knows Katlin is also at sea, and he’s fished with every guy currently aboard the Miss Ally.
“You better call Katlin and let him know,” Chrisjon says.
“Yeah, I’ll call him,” Sandy assures him.
Katlin is more than 300 kilometres to the west of Sandy and Chrisjon. The storm will be thrashing through his area many hours before it hits Sandy and Chrisjon. Katlin must also retreat, and soon. Sandy calls Katlin on his satellite phone.
“Did you look at the weather forecast?” Sandy asks. Katlin hasn’t. “It’s not giving very good weather,” Sandy notes.
“The weather ain’t that bad here,” Katlin responds.
“Not right now, because it ain’t got there yet.”
Sandy explains the situation: there’s an approaching low-pressure system that will bring wind and big waves.
“You gotta get your gear and get outta there,” Sandy advises.
“What are you and Chrisjon doing?”
“We’re gettin’ our gear back and we’re gone. We’re going into Cape Breton.”
“I’ll get my gear and I’m gonna go too,” Katlin says.
But it will be another 36 hours before Katlin finally has his gear on- board and begins steering the Miss Ally toward shore.
It’s nearly dark on Saturday when Sandy’s crew hauls in its final piece of gear. Sandy and his son, Chrisjon, promptly turn their boats toward Petit-de-Grat, an Acadian fishing village on the southern tip of Cape Breton. Sandy calls Katlin to confirm he’s also on his way in. Aboard the Miss Ally, it’s Joel who answers the satellite phone. “What’s going on?” Sandy asks. “Katlin’s laying down,” Joel responds.
“Laying down? What’s he doing laying down?” “We couldn’t find our gear.” Joel tells Sandy that the boat’s inverter isn’t working. Without it, they can’t power the bright overhead light the crew uses when working at night. The lighting is essential. High flyers — the pieces of longlining gear that stick above the water — are topped with radar reflectors, making them traceable by radar. But in rough weather it can be hard to detect them because they dip behind waves and are rolled by the wind. The hunt for your gear is made easier if you have an overhead light, typically mounted high above the wheelhouse. During bad weather, the lights are running constantly so you can find your gear — and see what’s coming at you.
Katlin is essentially driving the Miss Ally blindfolded. And with the high flyers hiding between waves, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to locate the gear. Joel tells Sandy the plan: they’ll stay the night, find and haul the gear at first light Sunday morning, and then gun for shore to outrun the storm.
Sandy knows no fisherman wants to leave gear behind. And Katlin borrowed about half of the gear for this trip from John Symonds. John has helped Katlin extensively — first giving him a deckhand job and, more recently, aiding Katlin as he worked to get his own boat shipshape. The idea of returning with little or none of John’s gear must be influencing Katlin’s thought process, at least to some degree. But sometimes you must abandon your lines, buoys, anchors and high flyers and simply hope to retrieve it all later.
“You fellas can’t stay there,” Sandy tells Joel. “You gotta get out of there.”
For now, though, the Miss Ally will stay offshore. It is not, however, a unanimous decision. Cole calls his girlfriend, Shelby, on Saturday night. “Tyson and I aren’t happy. We’re upset,” Cole tells her. “We want to go in. We’re done.”
Shelby knows Cole isn’t reckless like he used to be. A younger version of Cole may have voted to stay out, might have even been excited to remain at sea and ride the rough waves. But he’s matured in recent years and tonight Cole wants to steam for shore. Not that votes matter — fishing boats are not run as democracies. A captain always has final say, and that decision is to be respected. Cole and Tyson have been outranked.
Later that night, as Cole and the rest of the crew lie in their bunks waiting for daylight, a massive storm is building and barrelling toward them. At 3 a.m. Sunday, Environment Canada issues a worsening forecast, calling for waves to reach 10 metres.
On Sunday morning, Sandy Stod- dard calls Katlin again. “How ya making out?” he asks. The crew has located the gear — about 25 tubs worth — and is starting to haul it in, Katlin reports.
“It’s not bad here right now. We ain’t got no wind,” Katlin tells Sandy.
“You’re going to have wind before nightfall. You got to get your gear and get going.”
“As soon as we get it we’ll be on our way,” Katlin assures him calmly.
Katlin gives a similar report to Terry Zinck at Xsealent Seafood. Katlin is fishing for Terry’s quota. Although he used to be a fisherman himself, Terry doesn’t tell those who fish for him how to conduct their affairs at sea. It’s a business arrangement and each man is free to do his own thing. Today, however, the forecast is menacing. Terry suggests Katlin race for shore; they can always get the gear later. But Katlin is confident they can haul the gear aboard and get underway in time to outrun the approaching system. Katlin tells Terry he’ll call later to set up a time on Monday to unload the boat. The call never comes. Hours pass, yet the Miss Ally is no closer to shore. It’s not until late Sunday afternoon that the crew finally gets the gear in. The positive news is that they’ve made a good haul. Via satellite phone, Katlin tells his grandfather Ronnie that they have about 20,000 pounds of halibut in the hold, including a 250-pounder. Katlin wants his grandfather to come see the big fish when they reach land.
Terry Zinck is paying $8 per pound at the wharf. It’s a good price for halibut. Katlin can do the rough calculations in his head: he is potentially sitting on $160,000 worth of fish. After paying quota charges, including $57,000 to Terry, he’ll be left with about $93,000 — enough to cover expenses and ensure a nice payday for himself, Joel, Tyson, Cole, and Billy Jack. And Terry has quota left. They’ll be able to return for more fish.
But first they must outrun a ferocious winter storm. Tied up in Cape Breton, Sandy Stoddard is confused. Why did it take so long to pull in 25 tubs of gear? By now, however, it’s a moot point. With the gear stowed, Katlin is finally steaming for shore. Yet the storm Katlin was hoping to escape has descended.
“The wind has just struck here,” Katlin tells Sandy over the satellite phone. “It’s blowing hard.”
“Well, be very careful,” Sandy warns him.
The water around the Miss Ally is now full of large lurking waves. As daylight disappears, Katlin — without his overhead light — can’t see any of them. An edited excerpt, reprinted with permission from Nimbus Publishing ©2017, Quentin Casey.