by Larry Low
It was a sparkling July morning on the coast of British Columbia, a rare summer event. The sun was off to a fast start. Only moments after dawn broke, the mist that lay over Seymour Narrows had been banished, thanks to a gentle breeze. On a gill-netter off our port bow, salmon were being cleaned, the guts jettisoned. Even the frenzy of the gulls wheeling and diving did not mar the memorable peace.
Our tug was anchored. A boom of Sitka spruce was snugged to the stern.
Tom Thomson, an ambitious eighteen-year old, was sprawled out on an old growth cedar, a renegade that had somehow wormed its way into the boom and was being carried by the others. The log boom made a quiet place for Thomson to get away from the crew for an hour or so while waiting for the tide to turn. Thomson was studying for his Mate’s ticket. I had every confidence that soon I would officially be able to make him my assistant. Although, Thomson was a whiz when it came to book learning, there were a few things that he could learn from the Old Salts if he had but a mind to. He never would be one of the boys but it was my guess that he would command respect when his turn came to command ships. I just hoped that along the way he would lose some of his hard edge. Thomson had a quality about him that should have been banished from the sea with Bligh.
“Look at Thomson, will ya?” Rigby said carefully nursing a coffee, wishing it were whisky.
Rigby was wrung dry from a weekend drunk in Port Hardy. He had sweated for three days coming down the East Coast of Vancouver Island and he still had the shakes. There was no comment from the log boom. It took Rigby an age to get an acknowledgement from Thomson, who tended to act as though his ambition set him above the common herd. Eventually, Rigby did manage to get a subdued reaction.
“Always studying. What good is it goin ta do ya, lad?”
With deliberate slowness Thomson got to his feet and faced his tormenter. The slowness was not for effect as in a showdown. It was merely because the renegade lay above a mass of swirling water that would suck anyone down who made a false step. Ripple Rock lay dead ahead. Even at slack water there was still a deadly undertow. A man overboard would be held down forever as surely as whisky held Rigby. Thomson was not about to let himself be sucked into the maw of the Narrows, not until he had gotten in at least one good shot at Rigby.
“Yes, Rigby, I’m always studying,” Thomson said cradling a book in his arm.
It was probably the longest string of words that he had ever deigned to utter in our presence. We were in for a treat. Thomson was not finished. “One of these days, Rigby, I’ll be Captain and you’ll still be a deckhand. That’s what good it will do me.”
Rigby snorted.
“Don’t worry about it, Rigby,” First Mate Frederickson said not altogether unkindly. “You’ll have drunk yourself to death long before that.”
“Sure hope so,” Rigby laughed. “Wouldn’t want to be subjected to the whims of that young whippersnapper.”
“You won’t be that lucky, Rigby,” Thomson said. “Whisky is a great preservative.”
“Perhaps,” Rigby conceded.
“Before I allow you to sign on, you’ll have to do one little thing. Do you think that you can manage to remember?”
“Remember what?” Rigby asked leaning over the lee rail and letting fly a dirty stream of tobacco juice.
“Only one thing,” Thomson said.
“What could that possibly be, Matey?”
“Address me as Sir.” Thomson said leaping from the renegade cedar to the stern. “Or find another ship to ship out on, if you’re able.”
There was a guffaw from the crew cut short by a shout from Frederickson. Thomson smiled knowing that he had gotten in the last word. In the next moment, all hands were busy ensuring that we made our way through the treacherous narrows safely.
“And no second chances either, Rigby.”
“You, Sir, can also call me Sir, then,” Rigby laughed.
His laugh was cut short by the First Mate. “Prepare to weigh anchor!”
“I’ll do that too,” Thomson said. “And you Sir will get the shock of your life.”
“Ease the Capstan. Full Speed Ahead!”
We were anxious to put distance between ourselves and the boom. Only briefly did these waters remain placid and poised. In ten minutes, the water would be as slack as it would ever get and it would take us all of that and more to gain momentum. We needed to bring our boom through the narrows before the ebb flow began in earnest and made havoc with our precious cargo snapping boom chains and scattering boomsticks.
We hit the Narrows proper just as high slack was reached. The boom swung lazily on the towrope, skewing the tug ever so slightly. Nevertheless, coming through the Narrows, even at full slack, could be tricky. All hands needed to keep an eye on our tow. The capstan was feeding out rope at a steady pace. Although the tug now lay beside still waters, the boom was being thrust towards us by the turning tide. We were okay as long as the capstan maintained the slack. The rope must have kinked and thrown itself over the drum. The line suddenly became as taut as a guitar string about to snap but three-inch rope doesn’t snap easily.
Before the rest of us had noticed the danger, Thomson and Rigby had grabbed fire axes and hacked us free. The tug shot clear. All we had to do now was wait for the boom to approach. The rope was soon spliced and we were back in business.
“Good job, Sir,” said Rigby.
It was at that,” agreed Thomson.
Thomson never did get to serve as my second in command for I soon graduated from tugs to ships. He eventually took over my old tug, I heard. We lost touch with one another. However, at a distance, I followed his career with interest. He climbed the ladder swiftly. I had never forgotten the way that he handled himself in our little emergency. I just hoped that he had learned to be a little less flinty with those who were not quite so well endowed with intellect or who were possessed of character less sterling.
Some years passed. Although, since my heart attack, I had given up captain’s duties, the Royal Canadian Navy suddenly demanded my services. A tanker, the Hecate Queen, was taking a load of gasoline up the Inside Passage to Skagway to supply the builders of the Alaska Highway. I was assigned to the tanker as radio officer. We were due to depart Vancouver at first light and would run without lights, maintaining a listening watch only.