At the time I met my husband, Bill, he’d been a commercial fisherman on both east and west coasts of Canada for the majority of his working career. As a young man, he’d gone around the world on a research vessel owned by Columbia University, as a chief oiler, which gave him his taste for sea life. After that He’d worked as a longliner, dragger, and lobsterman.

By the time we finally met, he was a BC commercial fisherman with his own troller, catching salmon off the north west coast of British Columbia.

We decided I would work as his deckhand. Both of us had gone through divorces, leaving neither of us much with which to start over. Working as his deckhand would pool the resources. That, and I didn’t want to be separated from Honey for three to four months at a time. I had not yet heard about, nor experienced “Mossman’s Law”. I soon would on all counts.

Sunshine, fresh sea air. It all sounded good. I think I gave the term “green” a whole new meaning, and I’m not talking about that eco-friendly term either.

When I crossed the Hecate Strait for the very first time in 1992, on our way to the Queen Charlotte Islands (since then, they have been re-named with the traditional First Nations name of Haida Gwaii) the water was an impossibly calm, eerie, glass table. Clueless me, I thought this would be a piece of cake!

We reached the Charlottes and made a stop in Skidegate. A cable had come off its block at the top of the mast, and tangled with another wire attached to one of the trolling poles. The low tide allowed the pole to be lowered down to Bill standing on the wharf, so the wire could be untangled, while my job was to climb the mast to the top, and hook the cable back over the block.

I took a hard look at the itsy-bitsy footholds on the mast that led to the block. But, this was all part of deck-handing, so gamely, up I went. From the deck it didn’t look that high, but from the top, to which I now fanatically clung, I was very far removed from solid ground. Down on the wharf Bill looked ant-sized. However, I had a job to do, so I got to it.

I grasped the wire, heaved with all my might, and was in the process of slipping it over the block, just as the wake from the passing Skidegate Ferry set the Blue Eagle to jumping like a rodeo bull. The lowered pole did some crazy bounces on the dock and Bill danced back, letting go of the wire. I wrapped both arms around that cold aluminum and hung on, one foot firmly in the flimsy foothold, the other flapping free in the air.

When the swells died down I spent a few minutes persuading myself to stay up on the mast and get the wire properly in place. I got praise and compliments from Bill when the job was done, thereby passing my first test as deckhand.

We then proceeded through the narrow Skidegate Channel that separated the two large islands that comprise Haida Gwaii, to the fog-enshrouded west side of Hippa Island, just in time for THE OPENING, (referred to in this manner, because each and every commercial fisherman holds this event as their own version of Mecca).

Bill had still not managed to fix either the sounder or steering mechanism at their secondary locations in the rear cockpit, before we left home. So, being primary deckhand, I was assigned to the wheelhouse to watch the inside sounder, and steer the boat, while Bill stood in the cockpit at the stern, to haul lines and bring in the fish. His instructions were, “Steer around the shallow spots and stay on the tack.” … um .. Shallow spots?

Although I didn’t know it yet, this was not enough info. I wasn’t even completely sure what the term “tack” meant. I also didn’t know there were hundreds of massive pinnacles in the waters off Hippa Island that rose sharply to within a few feet of the surface and then fell, equally sharply to hundreds of feet deep. Think many pointy church steeples submerged underwater. Mossman said nothing about pinnacles. It would have helped. Maybe. Then again, maybe ignorance is bliss.

Dutifully, I kept an eye on the sounder’s image .. and watched the bottom rise steeply on the screen. Perhaps I should turn the wheel … which way? … left? … nope, bottom’s still rising! … right, I’ll turn right! .. oops, there’s a boat in my way! .. and the bottoms still coming up ..wa-a-aay up! I started screaming.

“BIIILLLL!!”

“Turn in, turn in!” Bill hollered at me from the stern.

“What??”

Never mind tack, this was a term I had never heard before.

I turned the wheel to the left again, but apparently not “in”. Bill’s voice reached an octave higher. “Turn IN!!!!”

I turned to the right. The bottom dropped out of sight. Aha! Got it! “Turn in” means turn right! A few minutes later the bottom rose again on the sounder. I heard the instruction from the stern, “Turn out!!”

“WHAT??”

…..wait a minute … if turn in means steer right, it stands to reason that turn out means steer left! Right? So my educated guess had me turning left.

Bill’s voice went up another octave. “TURNOUT!

TUUURNNNOOUUUT!!!” Spit flew.

My theory was shot to smithereens

I turned the wheel to the left again, but apparently not “in”. Bill’s voice reached an octave higher. “Turn IN!!!!”

I turned to the right. The bottom dropped out of sight. Aha! Got it! “Turn in” means turn right! A few minutes later the bottom rose again on the sounder. I heard the instruction from the stern, “Turn out!!

This went on, over and over until, fed up, and my post abandoned, I stomped back to the stern to match Bill’s octave and decibel. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE HELL TURN IN AND TURN OUT MEANS!!!

The darling man, in all his accumulated wisdom, had never bothered to fully explain these fisherman’s terms which, had I known, would have been so much easier on my poor, frayed nerves.

“Turn in” simply meant turn towards the nearest shoreline, and “Turn out” meant turn towards open water. Well why didn’t he just say so?!

I had much to learn.

Mossman’s Law Rule #3 – If the kitchen floor moves, you may not be home. 

Elly Mossman
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