Ocean Adventures

 The ocean treats everybody equal, for those not prepared it shows no mercy.    In the years we lived in Gold Beach, along the southern Oregon coast we heard about a number of incidents and a few fatalities out at sea.   Two Forest Service co-workers went fishing near the mouth of the Pistol River, south of Gold Beach.    One turned his back to the ocean for a minute to discipline his dog.  A sneaker wave came in behind him taking him and his dog out to sea.  The other co-worker looked on in horror not able to do anything to save them.   Their bodies were never found. 

North of Gold Beach along the coast there are hidden coves that were used by smugglers using small boats or zodiacs to bring in drugs from larger ships out at seas.   One night law enforcement got wise to what was going on.   In a panic much of the cargo, high grade marijuana wrapped in waterproof packages, was dumped into the ocean and washed ashore near Gold Beach.  The next day the beach was filled with beach combers collecting the debris and there was much doubt how much of it was turned over to the authorities. 

My boss, Earl, had a small boat with an outboard engine and would go out over the Rogue River bar into the ocean where he would fish whenever conditions were right.   There was a seasonal Coast Guard station at the mouth of the Rogue River that would respond to any bar crossing that did not go well.    This bar was notorious for sediment building up on the south end of the opening between the jetties, and the only way was to enter on the north end which could be narrow at times.  Earl told about one time he was out at sea fishing and the fog came in, restricting his view of the jetties.   He knew to find the buoys and follow a compass course from each ocean buoy to make it to the river.    The only problem was, would the compass bearing from the last buoy take him over the south entrance or north entrance?   He put full throttle to the engine and luckily made it through the north entrance of the bar. 

Earl would invite me to go fishing with him, but I was reluctant hearing all the incidents with small crafts on the ocean.   During the fall the ocean would settle down and some days looked like a big pond with no white caps or swells.   On one of these days Earl persuaded me to go with him and off we went with a few beers for enlightenment.   Earl was a knowledgeable sailor, had been in the Navy and his boat was well equipped with all the necessary items in case of an emergency.   He had a CB radio with a base set at his home where his wife could be called about our whereabouts.   We made it over the bar with no problems and made our way out to some rocky outcrops where there was good bottom fishing for red snapper and ling cod.   These rocks were covered with sea lions.   While fishing Earl had to make sure the boat did not drift into the rocks, so he would move it out until it would drift again.   Some of those seas lions looked like they would eat us if we ended up on the rocks.   At the end of the day we made it home in one piece with all kinds of bottom fish to fill our freezers.

There was another co-worker that had bought a jet boat, which are intended to be used on the river, not the ocean.   One day he and some other Forest Service people took it out on the ocean to fish about a mile south of the mouth of the Rogue River.   They had no problems getting over the bar and the sea was fairly calm.   Within a few hours the north wind was blowing and the swells getting bigger.   They headed back toward the river with full throttle, bouncing over the swells and at times the suction pump could not take in water due to rise and fall of the boat.   It only took them 20 minutes or less to get to their fishing spot, but the return trip took two hours as they fought the wind and swells.   Some on board were tempted to jump ship and try to swim to shore, which was just beyond the breakers or less than an eighth of a mile.    All stayed with the boat and eventually made it back.  It was something they never repeated. 

When I worked for the Forest Service at Cottage Grove, I volunteered for a work detail to the Tongass National Forest in Alaska in September of 1993.   We worked out of the Rowan Bay logging camp on Kuiu Island.   There was a Forest Service boat there we used to access sections of the island where roads had not been constructed.  After work hours we were allowed to use the boat for fishing as there was not much other entertainment there and it was a dry camp—no alcohol allowed.    One evening after dinner the crew leader Don and I took the boat out to catch halibut in the channel outside the bay.   We were fishing about an eighth of mile from shore where some Orca whales were also going after fish.   They were not happy with us in their waters as they bounced against the boat and surfaced under the boat, making us fear they could overturn us.   The thought raced through me of having to swim to shore and could I make it as 20 minutes in these waters was about the limit for a human to survive.    One of the whales got snagged by Don’s hook and the fishing line, a small cable was racing off his reel as he was trying to hold on to the pole in fear of losing it all.  He told me to get my pocket knife out and try to cut the line which I was able to do.   During all this the whale was actually pulling the boat away from the shore line.    We made it back to camp with no fish, but were content with surviving the ordeal. 

Today I feel lucky to have made it this far, and for me the ocean is there to look at and admire from a distance, while standing on solid land.