This was a race against time. An offshore floating oil platform badly needed resupply. The storm had taxed their diesel fuel supply to the maximum and the platform was having problems staying on station. We were laden with diesel, ‘blue’ water, and parts needed for onboard repairs. Storm or no storm, we had to go out.

Suddenly a rogue well over one hundred feet from trough to crest hit us on the quarter turning the huge OSV (Offshore Service Vessel) broadside to the massive swells. We began to roll and then broach as the mighty rogue struck us on our starboard side. Turning the wheel hard to starboard, we managed to recover only to be hit by a second rogue! We were done!

Awakening drenched in perspiration and trembling, I sat up and attempted to catch my breath. My heart pounded furiously as I glanced quickly around. It was but a dream. But I took a moment to carefully listen. The sounds of a working vessel met my ears in a very familiar and comforting manner. All was well as the gentle pitching of the ship attested.

Chris had the overnight watch in engineering and I needed to see him; to feel his arms around me. After washing my face and shedding my dampened sleeping tee, I dressed quickly, put on my hard hat which was required below deck, and went to see him. Below decks was a cacophony of sounds. When the fishing was good, we worked around the clock. The conveyors ran full of fish.

And the work continued…non-stop. After being cut out, the fish were fast frozen into large rectangular blocks. The blocks were then stacked and, because of the size of the vessel, moved into the freezer hold via fork lift. Then the sounds of another line being set could be heard, the hooks being baited, and yet another line coming up on the opposite side.

People were working continuously. Shifts and watches lost all meaning. This was indeed a great symphony. Computers and automation were the instruments and the crew acted as musicians. And the symphony they played would be rewarded quite handsomely with their bonuses. The work day was twelve hours at most. We had a large and very experienced crew even for a vessel this size. We could easily handle the load.

And as we used fuel, the weight loss was compensated by the taking on of fish. The vessel’s ballast was always evenly maintained and our center of gravity never shifted much. The steel deck vibrated as though the ship was breathing and, once I got down to the machinery section, that breathing became even fuller and stronger.

The noise in the engine room was truly deafening and I needed to put on ear protection before even entering through the sea door. Chris was seated in the control room surrounded by a score of digital displays and switch panels. Thankfully the room was sound dampening and, as I entered, I removed the ‘ears’ and my hard hat.

“Hey…” Chris’s smile was huge. “What are you doing up? You looking for another job?” He chuckled.

“No…”

The word was whispered as I strode over to Chris and plopped myself down upon his lap as he sat. We embraced and I buried my face into his shoulder. I inhaled deeply and could smell his salty and strong scent. That aroma was as comforting as his embracing arms.

“I had a dream.” I whispered; my face still burrowed into him. “There was a very bad storm and we broached.”

Chris’s embrace tightened comfortably.

“It’s just a dream babe.” He whispered back. “We’re in fair waters and nothing is being said about a storm.” Chris chuckled. “And you should know that since you’re on the bridge so much.”

But I knew different. My dream could only be one of two things. A ship in a storm could be my own hidden insecurity about our relationship. Or…we could be heading for a really wicked storm. In spite of the amazing sensation of Chris holding me firmly, I still trembled. And he still embraced me.

After an amazing kiss and last embrace, I left. Unable to shake my feeling of dread and impending doom, I went to the galley for a snack. It wouldn’t pay to get caught on Chris’s lap during his shift on duty. So food would need to make due. Climbing my way up to the main deck, I hoped that there would be something hot, cheeses, and heavy dark brown bread.

The single most important place on any vessel out for any period of time is the galley. A really good master chef is treated like royalty. Life onboard a working vessel is just that; work. And the crew’s recreation room, no matter how well appointed with amenities, usually only provides computers and movies that’ve been seen all too often.

So the only bright spot during one’s day was the food. It had to be varied and it had to be good. After all, you can only eat fish so many times in a week. So beef, lamb, chicken, goose, pork, seafood pickled or otherwise, fresh veggies, assorted soups, freshly baked breads, and desserts brightened our day.

Good chefs are worth several times their weight in gold. If the chef could do Thai, Italian, or anything other than the usual Nordic fair, it was truly a blessing. There had to be food available twenty four hours a day to accommodate around the clock shifts and watches. And pizza every middle and morning watch just didn’t make it. Not…at…all…!

Now you must understand that our mess sat twenty five souls. But only fifteen were ever there for a full meal in three one-hour shifts. Twelve full sittings needed to be prepared every day. Others who had an extra hour or two sometimes went there simply to converse whilst sipping ‘real’ coffee or expresso, and nibbling on some pastries. But good hot and cold foods also needed to be available all the time.

As a reward for my interrupted sleep, medisterpølse, a Danish sausage, was awaiting me. That topped with roasted onions and peppers proved to be just the tonic for what ailed me. So with some sweet and spicy mustard, and heavy dark bread, I made a smørrebrød of epic proportions.

Determined to eat my snack in total privacy, I went to feast in our cabin. Doing this is very dicey for several reasons. There is no maid service. We cleaned wash our own sheets and clothing and we clean our own heads. Even famor cleaned the heads in both his day and night cabins. And then there was always the threat of vermin. Cleanliness is Godliness in the crew quarters.

A point of information… A ‘head’ is a toilet on board any vessel of any size. In the days of the ‘tall ships’, the toilet was located way up forward by the ship’s figure head. In this manner, regardless of the particular nature of the ‘movement’, everyone else would be upwind. This was of vital importance considering the diet at that time. And so ‘going to the head’ meant you were going to take a… Never mind…

Now where was I? Oh yes… With a sated tummy and my anxiety finally quelled, I easily fell back asleep.

After only three weeks out, the holds were nearly three quarters full of our catch. Not even my grandfather remembered such a productive trip. But the sea had yielded all it willed and it was time to move on to new grounds for fish. It’s like farming in a way. You don’t over use the soil nor do you over fish any ground.

After following Mister Gunderssen nearly daily, I was rapidly becoming proficient at my new tasks. I made my daily rounds and anything of interest went into the log. Although famor kept a personal handwritten log, the ship’s business went into the ship’s computerized log. Famor kept record of a more personal nature that included someone’s birthday, a holiday celebration, or the birth of a crew member’s new child.

Chris was becoming comfortable in his new position as well. When one of the auxiliary diesels broke down, he actually was able to machine the needed part out of stock metal. Even the forty meter vessels had rudimentary machine shops for just such a purpose. His skill and diligence was also rapidly being recognized to the point of handling the morning operations whilst Mister Knutsen surveyed the ship.

Our relationship had also radically changed. At the end of the first week, we were both free one evening. We took a stroll on the foredeck with our arms around each other. The seas were calm with a refreshing breeze coming off the bow. That breeze coupled with the speed of the ship’s forward motion felt amazing. The full moon reflecting off the sea was breath taking.

When we got to the forecastle deck, we sat upon a stowage locker and kissed. There was no rush to it although we both burned. Nobody could see us a fore the forward deck crane. Having on our sea coats to ward off the chilled air, we fumbled at each other’s snaps and zippers to embrace. We both knew that this was our moment. Our moment…!

Chris was masterful and gentle. He handled my ‘sleeping boy’ as if it was his own. The raging fire he slowly built in me went totally out of control when he squatted atop my lap and took me into himself. Tears flowed down my face as I held onto him with everything inside of me.

This exquisite bliss was something I’d never felt before. My entire being was totally overwhelmed and overcome with all the physical and emotional surges of pleasures I’d never known existed. The moments turned into an eternity and that eternity lasted but a mere few moments. Tears of exquisite joy flowed down my cheeks.

But in those few moments we were both forever changed. I felt as though I was bonded to Chris forever. And as we held each other in the warmth and glow of the aftermath, I felt complete. I felt…right. Chris dried my tears with his fingers and smiled warmly at me. He held me closely as my sleeping boy was slowly, and reluctantly, being squeezed out of him.

People noticed the change in me the next day. My famor simply scowled. But his eyes twinkled with joy. That is how it is with him and me. He knew and it was good with him. Even Mister Gunderssen noticed how much more…adult…more mature I seemed? And then again my stupid grin and incessant giggling when I thought about those moments in time betrayed it all.

It was also in my manner. I felt so sure of myself, and I felt so sure of Chris…and of us. Just as any vessel needs christening, so did ‘we’ as ‘us’. And the fact that we both mirrored the same stupid grin on our faces didn’t deceive anyone into thinking we were anything but. Our energies and our inner spirits had touched and the mix could never be undone.

And the aromas of us mingled in our wetness were epic. I’m almost, but not quite, embarrassed to tell you that I didn’t shower that evening or the following morning. I wanted to be able to reach down and then bring my hand to my face to savor those aromas once again during the day.

In a very real sense I smelled almost the same at both ends; Chris on my face and us down below. But then again, I could smell myself on his face and us at his other end. After that night, we made a list of items we needed to purchase in port to assist our ‘personal relaxation time’.

The cabin became our playground. Snuggling and cuddling suddenly became the aftermath rather than the entire show and the buildup to the main act was always amazing. Although Chris knew exactly what to do…and I relished his leading…I was at a total loss. But I was always a fast learner.

My knowledge of a vagina was limited to say the least. Oh sure I knew the parts and what functions they served. And I did know how they were depicted as being used. But there was a wide gap between the knowing and the doing. Chris was very patient and understanding with me and our knowledge of each other's body and needs grew.

However Chris was so very knowledgeable in dealing with my parts. I’d often forget that he didn’t have one and yet he handled mine as though it was his own. It didn’t take long for us to give one another exquisite pleasure at any given time. But along with this amazing pleasure came the knowledge of just how difficult it must be for those married and ‘coupled’ crew members who didn’t have their mate aboard.

Chris knew so much. I simply had to ask him. This wasn’t about a body count. Who really cares anyway? But I was just very curious. And thankfully Chris understood what I was asking.

“When I was twelve…I was tall…and big for a girl. I was the second tallest girl in the school.” He snickered. “Anyway…there was this cute guy down the street from us. I knew he worked full time so I’d guess he was around…twenty…or twenty one?

“So one day he catches me just walking down the road. Now he was really cute and we decide to play ‘you show me and I’ll show you’. I’d never seen a dick up close and personal before and I was curious. We did this a few times. And then came the touching.

“It didn’t take long before we were fucking. It was painful at first but…” Chris grinned. “…I got to liking it…a lot. He knew what he was doing. I was alright with what we were doing for a while. And then I wasn’t alright with it.” He frowned. “And then it became very ugly for me.”

Chris’s tears were welling up and I didn’t want that.

“I got…hurt.”

“Chris… Please…!” I plead softly. “You don’t need to tell me. That’s not what I was asking.”

“I know.” He swiped at a tear with his thumb. “But I want to tell you. You should know.”

Acquiescing with a gentle smile and my gentle touching of his hand, I let him continue.

“We fought…physically. But he was way too strong for me. He…” Chris choked up. “…raped me and it wasn’t gentle. I wound up in the hospital in Marathon getting stitches up my ass. I don’t even remember how I got there. The cops were all over me. I told them nothing. That's something I was taught by my...mother." He spat the word. "I was too embarrassed…and ashamed anyway I guess. But they knew.”

“Then what happened?” I asked softly.

“My aunt and uncle came to get me and I told them. The next thing anyone knew, the guy just disappeared. He left everything and vanished.” Chris uttered as he grinned weakly. “But I knew better. My people are Conchs…born and raised in the Keys for generations. And they had their own way of dealing with…issues.” He smirked.

My hands embraced Chris’s cheeks and then slid down his shoulders and arms until I was clasping his hands. I understood what he was telling me. And now I understood his strong reaction to the ‘chomo’ on the beach when we first really met.

“So…” Chris giggled meekly. “I became a lesbian.” He grinned. “It seemed the way to go. I had all this…what did you call it…burning? And that was okay for a while. This was just before I started to bind my boobs and take hormones. I was…” He glanced off for a moment. “…very butch. And very confused…”

“So then what happened? I mean…”

Chris stopped me with his finger upon my lips.

“But going lesbian didn’t do it for me either. Not totally anyway… I mean the girls were fun to be with. And for sure I learned a few tricks about my own equipment. But there still something missing…” He smiled and sighed. “And the drama was always fucking epic.”

Chris paused and glanced down at our fingers intertwined.

“I wasn’t really into men or women. But I liked fucking both. It’s just that neither made me feel complete. I really didn’t understand men or women and I really didn’t understand myself. At least not back then…”

Although this answered my question…or questions…it brought up another more important one.

“And us…?” I whispered.

“Us…?” His smile was amazing. “Well…?” He snickered. “You’re way different. I mean you’re not like anyone I’ve ever known before.” He smiled and kissed my fingers. “You’re the real deal. You’re everything you say you are and that’s fucking freaky.”

Chris leaned in and embraced me. “I feel so…so fucking connected to you and I never felt anything like that before.”

“It’s like we’re joined or something?”

“Yeah…! Joined…!” He said emphatically. “And it’s not just the way you are or I am.” I knew he meant our ‘mix and match’ parts. “And it’s not just the fact that we both want the same things. This…” Chris’s embrace was firm. “… just feels right. 'We' feel right. We’re both on this amazing adventure together and that makes it good.”

We held onto each other for some time. Our embracing was very comforting to us both. Chris told me that he never revealed that part of his past to anyone else before. Not ever… Except for his people that is… But he trusted me enough to disclose his past to me and I felt really special.

Empathizing with the others onboard who left their loved ones to go fishing was easy. Though I knew little about them, they too must have had lovers and families back home. Whilst it takes a certain breed to sail the seas, it took an even more special breed to stay home and put up with this way of life. It is not very conducive to long term relationships.

The tension onboard was only tempered by the long hours and hard work. Whilst tempers flared on rare occasions, peace always followed. There was no room for anything else this far away from home. But the promise of fat bonuses was always at hand and if we wanted to sail with my famor, we all had to work as a team…always.

Writing home became a challenge. We were only allowed so much internet time because we had to upload and download off of satellites constantly for navigation and the ship was our provider. I was careful of what to tell my folks regarding Chris and me. I hadn’t told them about our sharing the same cabin let alone the same bed.

But I think they knew that we were being intimate anyway? After all, my mother knew I left with a burn and she could see that Chris burned for me as well. And they were young once…our age. My mom had disclosed bits of her teen years with me. So they knew, and I knew that they knew.

The evening before the start of our fourth week at sea, my famor had a meeting to discuss where to fish next. He always made this decision. But every so often he wanted to get other opinions. He felt we could completely fill our holds at the Flemish Cap. Mister Gunderssen, Mister Knudsen, and the first mate Bjørn nodded in agreement.

But they all could see me visibly trembling. I was filled with such terrible foreboding. My famor gazed at me and his scowl became deeper. My place was not to disagree with my captain. It was the dream you know.

“What is it my sea angel? Why do you look so?” Famor grumbled.

What could I tell him? I had a bad dream?

“You are here at this table for a reason. If you want to captain a ship one day, then you must always speak what is on your mind.” He glanced at the others and they nodded.

“This is your ship as much as anybody else’s.” Mister Gunderssen smiled. “We are all here to make a decision on where to make our money.”

“I make more sea miles with the Captain in one year than you have made in your life.” Bjørn said. “And when he asks me, I give my opinion. If you must say different, then that is what should be.”

“Færøerne...” Was all I could muster in a weak and almost plaintive voice?

The Faroe Islands were but one long day away. The Flemish Cap was at least two long days sailing. The Cap could produce broadbill and halibut of epic size. Both are a premium fish that command a higher price at market. The Faroes only produced more of what we were catching; cod, pollock and hake...and maybe...just maybe...some broadbill.

”What makes you think this?” Famor’s eye brows arched.

Shaking my head and shrugging my shoulders, I had to think of something to say that made sense…and quickly. So in a very weak and nervous voice I began.

“It is a close run.” I began gazing sheepishly at famor. “And we can fill our holds and be home sooner.”

“Do you miss home that much?” Famor asked with arched brows.

“No... Not at all...” I uttered quickly and sighed. “The Cap will be four to five days more at sea and what profit will be left for a quarter of the hold? Even if it is all broadbill...it will cost four to five days of fuel and food.”

The silence was truly deafening. I scrunched down in my seat and blushed. The others looked to their captain and their captain stared at me. The tension felt so thick that I felt like screaming. Then my famor spoke.

“Then this is what will be. The Faroes it is.” He thumped his fist upon the table and turned to me. “You will set the course and brings us there.”

Grinning and blushing like the cat that ate the entire broadbill, I went back onto the bridge. I set the plotter on the course to the Faroe Islands. In practice, the ship ran on the computerized course that even set the variable pitch propellers for the correct speed. Everything was usually on automatic. But every so often, the helmsman would turn off the plotter and take control. We all needed to ‘feel’ the sea with our hands at the wheel.

Once the final set was hauled, everything was immediately washed down and put into order so that no time would be lost at the new grounds. All the equipment was checked; even the hooks. The baits were defrosting and waiting to be set. And the crew would have a short day’s well deserved rest.

Pointing the bow west-southwest, we immediately began to sail toward the Faroes. Never having been before, I was excited to venture into these ‘new’ waters. The Faroes were the tops of undersea mountains formed from long silent volcanos. They are renowned for the finest Atlantic salmon; both farmed and fresh caught. Halibut was also freshly caught by the local vessels. Almost their entire economy is based upon fishing.

This was kind of my very first command decision...sort of…and Chris was excited when I told him. He exhibited this by hugging me and lifting me off my feet. That is such a ‘guy’ thing. Now all we needed to do is catch fish...no small order on my uncertain whim. I didn’t tell Chris that it was because of my dream. But I didn’t need to. He knew.

Our chef decided to set out something special for the crew to enjoy. An epically amazing and totally Danish smorgasbord was set out against one wall of the mess. The custom is to have an epic meal during the last night at sea. But since a day’s rest was truly something special, and given we nearly filled our holds with a prime catch, an epic meal would be just as revitalizing as a nice hot sauna followed by a quick dip in icy waters.

Chris was in heaven! An assortment of cod, herring and mackerel prepared several different ways only enticed him to greater...epicurean debauchery? And the salted, smoked, and baked salmon only added fuel to his hunger. Smoked eel and cured salmon were my personal faves. The chef had also prepared smoked, roasted, and baked pork delights that went straight to the heart and squeezed.

All this was highlighted by the condiments. Capers, chopped sweet onions, eggs, parsley, and tons (not literally...but you know what I mean) of different cheeses with different textures and tastes. There were several different types of fish eggs...okay...caviars. And the aroma of the freshly baked breads and rolls permeated the air.

For balance we had potatoes, red beets, and cabbage all prepared in different manners from pickled to boiled to roasted. We ‘buttered’ our breads with roasted garlic. Of course the ever present liver paste and Swedish meatballs done Danish style only added to the amazing selection of foods to be had. But with sixty five souls aboard, too much was never enough.

Overweight crew members were almost non-existent in spite of the rich diet. One does burn it up quickly whilst the fishing is good. And even when the fishing is not so good, the nominal work in refrigerated spaces required quite a bit of body heat anyway.

Beer was the only thing missing from this feast and for reasons that are quite obvious. Our chef put out tropical fruit juices and various bottled or canned soft drinks. Water, the old standby, along with coffee...Danish style...and tea...Danish style...helped to wash it all down along with the freshly made desserts.

During the evening, we began to encounter swells of ten to fifteen feet. The frequency...the distance between the waves...was long and, with our bow design, we gently rocked. We can easily fish in those seas. Even twenty foot seas posed no problem unless the wave frequency shortened and fishing becomes too dangerous for the crew.

Chris and I were rocked to sleep like babes in a cradle. This only occurred after a head to foot belly rub followed by more animated types of rubbing? If we were any indication, the crew would be well rested and somewhat recharged for the final line sets. And if we also were any indication, they too slept like babes in the same cradle that so gently rocked us.

In the morning, famor stood over a chart set out on the charting table. Knowing his disposition in the early morning hours, I first stopped by the galley to fetch (am I turning Southern...?) a large mug of freshly made coffee and several freshly made Danish pastries. I offered them to him upon reaching the bridge.

“Ah… Min havets engel...! Kom og se det her.”

‘Sea angel’… Well… Literally…? ‘Angel of the sea’… The warm fuzzies yet again… I loved that appellation. With a smile as big as the sea, I joined him at the chart table. We conversed in Dansk…as usual.

“We will be here in two hours.” Famor pointed to a particular ground just southwest of the Faroes. “I have fished there before.” He rubbed his bearded chin. “But I haven’t been there in two…no…three years. It was very productive then. What do you think?”

His gaze was unflinching and deep. I quickly glanced at the plotter and could see the Faroes about thirty miles away and the grounds a mere fifteen. Then I gazed down at the chart. It was marked up in my famor’s hand over the many years. This was his ‘fishing’ log. Each date, each catch, and the tonnage was meticulously notes as well as the method used.

Upon close inspection I saw a piece of bottom that appeared particularly interesting. The average depth was about four hundred fathoms. But I noticed a hump which was at only ninety fathoms depth. Drop-offs such as ninety to four hundred fathoms are a fisherman’s dream. The bigger fish below chased the smaller ones up onto the rise. If you hit the edge just right, you can catch both. I looked up at my famor with a huge grin.

Yet another point of information… A fathom is six feet of depth. Why is every six feet of depth called a fathom? You can blame the English. They measured the length of a man’s outstretched arm from middle finger to middle finger. They called this a ‘faethm’ or an ‘outstretched arm’. The use of the word is now a maritime tradition. Navigation charts are marked in ‘fathoms’.

“Then this is what will be.” He announced gruffly. “Mister Gunderssen will take us there and you will watch the depth. You’ll know where we need to set our lines.” He nodded his head. “Come to my day cabin for a moment.”

Following him into his day cabin, I felt a degree of anxiety. Famor obviously wanted to have a private conversation. He closed his cabin door and pointed to a chair at his meeting table.

“Sit…”

Placing myself in the chair he pointed to, I watched as he took the chair next to mine and turned it toward me. He sat and smiled.

“I was proud of you yesterday.” Famor began. “You spoke your mind and that is how it should be. Now tell me… How is it with your man?”

“It is very good Farfar.” I literally beamed.

“If we come in early…I will put out in a week or two after.” He clutched my hand in his very large one. “If your Chris sees fit…I will want him to sail again…” Famor paused for a moment. “…with me.”

Nodding, I realized the implications.

“And you as well. This may interfere with your schooling.” Famor leaned in toward me. “But if this is what you wish to do, then you must consider yourself carefully. When the fishing is good, we must go out as soon as we can. Your mor and far will not be pleased. Did you give them your word that you will finish with school?”

Looking away for a moment, I sadly nodded.

“Then here is what it is.” Famor stroked his beard. “It is most important to be true to yourself. But it is more important to be true to others.” He paused and pointed his finger at me. “You are young and all you have is your word. When you make an oath or vow, you must stay the course and do as you promise. Without your word, you are nothing in this life.”

Famor was right of course. At the very least I would miss two weeks of school. But at the very most, I could be without my Chris at least until winter…or longer…if he got a one year contract.

“I think I can miss a week or two of school. I can speak with mor and far when we put in. They will not be pleased but I think they will understand.”

“Yes…” He sat back and sighed. “They know what it is for you. But I ask you again. How is it with your man? You might not see him for months.”

“We want the same things. We want our own ships to fish. I will not say anything one way or the other. It will be his choice. But if he does ask me, I will tell him to go to sea. I will be there when he does return. I think that this is the way it will be for us.”

Speaking firmly, I had to let famor know that I would do whatever it takes to have my ship…and my man. He got up…my signal to do the same…and he hugged me close to him. Famor then kissed the top of my head and then my cheek.

“It has been an easy life for you so far. But now you are no longer a child and you must enter the life of a grown woman.” He held my shoulders and smiled again. “This is what it is for us. We must make choices and stay with them…if they are the right choices. And I have complete faith in the choices you will make. After all, you are a Magnussen.” His smile beamed brightly. “Now go and do your job.”

Taking my station on the bridge, I was more than a bit subdued. Of course these thoughts had occurred to me before. Having to leave Chris and having to miss school…well…sort of miss school. But now the reality of it all began to set in. Famor was right. I did have it easy. One sailing each summer and then it was back to my ‘other’ world.

But could I fulfill a yearlong contract with a vessel’s owner? That is if I could even get one to begin with. And what if Chris and I sailed on different ships? At least with my famor, I could feel close to someone whilst at sea. For Chris to sail again with famor would be an enormous plus. He was becoming more comfortable around his Captain. But if we sailed separately, and with different captains and crews…?

My Chris was already a different person after only a few weeks. This is not to say he wasn’t confident on his own vessel. But this, a full blown ship, was way more complex. The diesels on Chris’s boat were smaller than the auxiliary diesels on this vessel. The main engines were two decks high! And the environmental systems also needed constant vigilance.

Chris worked very hard the first week at sea and he soon became very confident in everything he did. And when he wasn’t on duty, he had his nose pressed into a manual. Chris was always learning something because he wanted to be prepared for whatever vessel he was on. This only reaffirmed what he would do when…and not if…famor wanted him on the next sailing.

Watching the plotter and famor’s chart carefully, I felt we had finally reached the right spot for our sets. I called out ‘lines away’ and Mister Gunderssen relayed that message to the two line ports; one on each side of our vessel. The second officer, under Mister Gunderssen’s watchful eye, simply let the plotter do its work under his watchful eye.

We set two very long lines; one at an intermediate depth and the other at a deeper depth. The intermediate line might catch passing broadbill swordfish. The deeper lines were for the cod group (cod, pollock, haddock, ling, whiting, etc.). With any luck we might catch good sized halibut as well. In any case, whatever came up would be a huge bonus.

Birds from the Faroes were already circling us hoping for a hand out. This was a good sign as we began to haul the mid-range set. It yielded little save a few small broadbill. But the deep set was so amazing that famor had the crew switch out the mid water buoys and lines for another deep set.

We were hauling mature Atlantic halibut! This was pure gold…in fish terms that is. Massive flat fish were coming up so large that a second gaffer was needed! I could see fish over one hundred pounds and fish over two hundred pounds. An occasional cod or mud fish would appear. But otherwise it was pure money!

When my shift was finished, I went to my cabin and donned my ‘working’ gear. Grabbing my knives and gloves, I simply had to get a piece of this action. There is nothing more satisfying than cutting out the perfect filet. I always start on the white ‘belly’ side. The filet is thinner and normally harder to cut. The intact thicker top gives support for a good clean bottom cut.

The knives must be sharp, but not too sharp. If the knife is too sharp, it can cut through the bone; especially around the ‘ribs’. And if it’s too dull, meat gets left on the bone. Everyone at the cutting station had their own stones and the slightest variation in the feel of the cut required two or three quick swipes on the stone.

Filleting is kind of like riding a bicycle? One simply does not forget. After the third fish I was moving on automatic. I was at the end of the fillet line. The skinner stood next to me and he was really good. Nothing ruins a fish meal faster than a stray bone or piece of dark skin. Okay…so the work is messy. But the end product is worth every cent one might pay.

The fillets, like the cod in the round, were flash frozen and put into sacks. These were then stacked onto a pallet bin. The bins were then moved into refrigerated storage. Super frozen and refrigerated fish can be stored for up to six months and still be viable. But in truth, the fish reached the counters and restaurants within two days of arrival at port.

After collecting a few sizable cod and halibut livers and roe sacks from the 'cow' cod to have fried up for famor, Chris, and myself, and after finally tiring, I left the cutting table and made my way topside. I told the chef to keep a few of the ‘prizes’ for himself. He happily accepted these 'gifts' with the promise of a meal of delicacies. I then made my way to our cabin.

My gear was fairly clean after hosing myself off before coming topside. But I put them on hangers and hung them by the shower anyway. My boots came off before I even entered our cabin. Then I had to remove two layers of clothing.

You can’t wear jean shorts on a factory ship…or any ship for that matter. Everything below deck is refrigerated…except for the engineering sections where it’s only super air conditioned. Even the superstructure was air conditioned and pressurized. A gust of very cool air always met us upon opening any sea doors.

This pressurization is done to prevent our greatest pestilence from coming onboard; flies! Cruise ships perform this practice of pressurization for the same reason. Flies breed rapidly and can infect our stores and our very precious cargo. Everything we do is done to prevent this from occurring. Even the conveyors that send the fish down to the cutting out station have a plastic flap as do the gutting belts at the hauling ports.

My shower felt amazing. A hot shower always feels amazing. But after cutting out fish in the cold lower deck, it is more so. This was a luxurious contrast to being below deck and the steamy air began to flow out and into the main cabin. The water was really hot and I was able to finally erase the odor of the cutting out stations and warm myself.

As much as I loved the aromas of the sea in all their varied forms, I adored the aroma of Chris’s body…and he adored mine. And although the scents of the sea never fully leave you, which scents you decide to keep depend upon how fragrant one’s soap is.

The odors of our work, mine at the cutting out stations and Chris’s of the mechanical spaces, required something a little extra. So my fancy rose scented soap with its very rich lather solved the challenge. My gear was a minor beneficiary of the scented soap.

My coveralls would need to wait for a thorough cleaning. And my long underwear would wait with them. But Chris would need to change his overalls if he got them dirty. The stench of oil and grease does not make for a good and intimate couples setting. Did I mention that we all did our own laundry?

The fishing was truly amazing. We would have been out the full four weeks but our holds filled up in only three days! Everyone was putting in extra hours and gladly so. The bonuses would be epic if the product could be brought to market in a timely fashion. And so I became more important at the cutting out tables than on the bridge.

Chris even came up several times to lend a hand. It was good to work side by side with him again and we sneaked grins and hip bumps every so often. And we talked and joked while we cut the halibut and cod. Those moments reminded me of our working together on his forty foot vessel. The time went quickly when he was around. But he also had to tend to a fouled conveyor, a broken electric motor, and some plumbing issues.

Where Chris found the strength to be…well…intimate…I’ll never know. But he did. Chris would drive me crazy every night and every morning. And he did all the work! I certainly could have but he’d start something that would feel so amazing that my sleepy boy couldn’t help but wake up as he took over control.

During the last evening on the grounds, I finally had to tell him to let me get some rest. Let me assure you that he did not make that easy for me. And I was truly too tired to make it difficult for him. So I simply cried and told him I was really worn and frazzled. Chris understood and put aside his horniness. Well…it was really more like…swampiness? So we held one another until sleep overcame us.

With our holds were filled to absolute capacity, we were finally under way and our course was set for home! It would be two days run time and I was excited. Indeed everyone was excited. It was the mental change that took place. When we’re fishing it was one thing. If need be, we could fish for two months or more. But once the fishing was done, thoughts of home would begin to rapidly seep in.

It’s that stroll in the sun. It’s the taste of a good beer. It’s a meal without the sea’s motion. It’s breathing fresh air. It’s being warm without at least two layers of clothing. It’s being with family and friends once again. And it’s walking in the streets and gazing in the shop windows and at the new and unfamiliar faces passing by.

But in one week or so we had to have our fill. The events on land are but mere moments in time and soon the sea begins to call again. This is what it is and this is who we are. Very soon the calls become like those of the sirens singing to Jason, tempting him to change his course. Only we did not have our Orpheus with his sweet music to help us waylay the sirens’ songs.

After our usual Wednesday dinner with famor, we were all on the bridge speaking of the sailing and all the good things our catch would bring. Chris was at the helm under Mister Knudsen’s careful watch when a call came in for famor. This was not usual. But this was not unusual either. Maybe the owners…? Maybe the markets…?

Famor took the call on the bridge phone. His smile told us this should be nothing.

“Hej… Kaptajn Magnussen...” He said and his smile suddenly faded. “Gud i himlen...!”

Not good…! Not good at all…!

“Og besætningen...?” Famor’s brows jutted upward.

Survivors…??? He listened intently for several very long moments. All eyes were now on famor. I could actually see him age as he listened. He sighed and his shoulders drooped. This was seriously not good news.

“Tak fordi du ringede til mig.” And he ended the call. “There was a great storm at the Cap.” He began in English for the benefit of Chris. “Erik Svenson…” Famor gazed at me. “You remember him from last season. The big Swede…? You were on his vessel. The sixty five meter line boat…”

Remember him…? Indeed…! We all had dinner at famor’s house and he allowed me to taste his wine. And he personally took me on a tour of his ship. I felt a terrible foreboding throughout my entire being.

“His ship lost power and broached.” Famor put his hand over his mouth and sighed…deeply. “Two souls were given to the sea. All others were rescued.” Famor sighed deeply again. “Erik and the engineering officer Jan Nielsen were lost.”

Things began to spin and the lights sort of went out.

“Jools…?”

A voice began to break through the dense fog. As it cleared I saw the faces of almost everyone on the bridge. Looking about and gathering my wits, I was in famor’s day cabin on his bunk. Chris was smiling down at me and I smiled back. As I quickly glanced around I saw famor’s face as well as Bjørn’s.

“You passed out.” Famor smiled gently. “You are lucky your Chris caught you before your head hit the deck.”

“Yes... I felt dizzy. Svimmel... Og svag...” I said softly. “I guess the shock of the news…?”

“You will stay up here tonight.” Famor said quite firmly. His concern actually pained me. “Your man will be here with you. The best thing for you is quiet and rest. It is probably nothing but…” His scowl deepened with concern.

Famor cleared his cabin except for Chris.

“What happened?” Chris asked softly and held my hand.

“I don’t know.” I sighed. ”I think the news of Erik Svensen..? The storm...?”

“I told famor about the dream. Your dream...” Chris paused. “And why you wanted to go to another ground.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing…” Chris shook his head. “But he had the strangest look on his face. Like…maybe he already knew.”

Poor Chris looked so concerned. In a rather successful effort to comfort me, he held my sleepy guy firmly, leaned over and kissed me.

“You really scared the crap out of me.” He said softly.

Hugging him, I kissed his cheek and closed my eyes. I felt so tired and weak…and worn. Chris stayed holding me until I fell asleep. When I awoke in the morning, Chris was asleep in famor’s big chair.

Three injuries occur with frequency on board a vessel…any vessel. People get cuts. When the ship goes one way…like down…and you go the other way…like up…and when the two meet again you get a jammed knee or worse. And people bonk their heads. Most ships have a space or cabin that serves as an infirmary. And it is well equipped for basic injuries.

So when I finally needed to get up and go out for some air, Chris had a wheelchair handy. I thought that was totally ridiculous and of course refused to be wheeled about…even by Chris. As we walked on the aft section of the main deck, the strangest thing occurred. Various crew members came to me and touched me; my hair, my shoulder, or my hand. And then they would kiss their fingers.

Evidently the tale of my premonition had made the rounds. And sailors, be they fisherman or otherwise, are very superstitious; including me . I was now perceived as having a special gift. I was thought of as being…blessed? And in an attempt to have a share of this great gift, they touched me.

Being signaled out in such a fashion caused me to feel good. I felt important…as in being needed…and special. I’m not sure why but I felt as if I’d grown spiritually as well? Even famor treated me with diffidence. He didn’t want to upset this ‘lucky charm’ he currently possessed. I guess it felt nice to be recognized as ‘me’ and not simply famor’s barnebarn; his grandchild.

As we sailed ever closer to home, more of the crew began to appear on deck. Some went forward to gaze out at the expanse for any of the signs of land and others lazed on the after deck. When the shore birds would appear, just as the doves returned to Noah's great ark with a twig, land couldn’t be far off. And with the right wind, I’d swear land could be smelled.

Chris was becoming little bit more than antsy. He’d never been away from land for this long. Whilst I was nearly born on a vessel, Chris, like many others before him, would need to find his home at sea. During our last day at sea, he was unapproachable. He was like some animal that had been caged just a little too long and battling the confining space.

Spending time on the bridge with me certainly helped. At least there were distractions and, true to form, he soaked everything up like a sponge. It was the free hours that challenged him. We spent a bit of our free time together up forward on deck. The air was cool and we could create our own shelter from the wind and the coolness with our sea jackets and warmed bodies.

There was no relieving any of Chris’s tension in bed. After a failed attempt at ‘distracting’ him with my fingers and my mouth, I finally gave in to his desire to simply hold me in silence. Chris would acknowledge me every so often with a kiss or a squeeze. And the silence wasn’t awkward in the least. We both sort of knew what the other was thinking. Home… Home…!

Almost everything was packed. Our personal bedding, my sleeping bag that opened to queen size and several pillows famor brought aboard, would be stowed in our closet. Although the basics for bedding were supplied, we all brought our little bits of home with us. Only what was necessary for the morning remained. Both our sea bags were already by the door only awaiting the last minute toiletries.

One last nighttime ritual of applying the special creams and lotions I used at sea. We would be docking early in the morning and would need to be off the vessel quickly. There would be work crews dockside to offload the catch, the bi-products, the trash, and to freshen up all the living spaces.

No time would be wasted. It would take at least two full days just to offload the catch. A barge would pull alongside to begin the refueling. Dockside power would take over and the diesels would be shut down and serviced as needed. Fresh food stores would be taken on. Much work had to be done before the ship could leave port again. But none of this was our concern.

In the morning we followed famor down the gangway and onto the pier. Chris dropped his sea bag and simply touched the ground with his fingers. He grinned and snickered. Even the news of the horrid tragedy and loss at sea couldn’t dampen his emotions.

“Land…” He chuckled. “What a rush…!”

We laughed with him. One did feel so very strange standing quite still and have everything around seem to move to the rhythm of the sea. And certainly not having that rocking cradle at night would prove even more interesting because the entire room would rock in its stead. Our inner ears would need to adjust. But Chris was right. Being back on land was a serious rush.

An electric cart took us to where famor’s car stood waiting along with his ‘housekeeper’ Agathe Jansen. I grabbed Chris’s arm to hold him back as famor went to greet her. Agathe was not simply famor’s housekeeper. She was also his…intimate friend?

Famor knew her husband who was also a fisherman. He too was lost at sea and Agathe swore she would never marry another. But she was a woman and famor, in spite of his years, was very much a man. So nobody thought it unusual for them to keep intimate company. That’s simply how it is.

They hugged with passion and desire. Then famor took both her hands and I could see her head drop till her chin was on her chest. He had told her of the loss of Erik Svensen. Knowing how they had entertained him on more than a few occasions, and knowing of her own loss, I truly understood how she felt. How they both felt…

But this is how it is. Sometimes the sea is merciful and sometimes it is not. I know that back on the island, every so often a boat would go down and lives taken. And there is always some reason. You always must respect, but not fear the sea. One mistake… One stupid action… One bad judgement… One accident… And all can be lost all to easily.

We waited hand in hand until famor glanced at us. That was my signal to come and greet Agathe and introduce my Chris. Agathe is a big boned Nordic woman; an equal match for my famor. She slapped aside Chris’s hand and hugged him to her much to his surprise. But this is our way.

“This is how we greet our family here.” She beamed, her rosy cheeks puffed out with her smile. “And you…!” She turned to me with open arms and a huge grin. “Min havets engel... How you have grown into such a beautiful woman.”

‘Sea angel’… Well literally…? ‘Angel of the sea’… Agathe wrapped me in her arms which reminded me of my mom. And her scent was fresh and spicy from her perfume; her lush full body warm and comforting. I settled into her briefly and easily.

“Come...” Agathe grinned. “Let us go home and I’ll show you both to your place.”

Famor’s home was a very short drive from the port gate. It was an old house of traditional style. The high peaked roof began on the ground floor and extended up two more stories. The first floor facade was stone. The other two floors had stained white oak facades. All the beams were white oak as well. Much of the inside detail was of various maple woods.

With a large stone fire pit in the main room and heat exchangers running up to the other stories, this home was quite comfortable during the bitter cold winters. Famor even had his own sauna and cold dipping pool! This home would neither bend nor break during the formidable North Sea winter storms. Not…at…all...!

But before anything could happen or life move on, we had to eat. It is our custom and we were hungry anyway. Dropping our sea bags at the foot of the stairs, we followed famor into the open dining room. Agathe set out a table full of different foods fit for a homecoming from the sea. The room seemed to pitch and roll ever so slightly as we sat and ate and talked of our sailing.

After slaking our appetites, Chris and I followed Agathe upstairs to the guest bedroom. This was opposite famor’s on the other side of the house and it did have its very own bathroom. Such is not often the case. Sometimes one bathroom had to service the entire house. We don’t seem to put in as much bathroom time as Americans nor are we so...uptight about it?

The room was quite spacious and had a wonderful view of the sea. The bed was quite large and the blankets and pillows where stuffed with goose down. Although the summer temperatures were in the high sixties, at night it did drop to the low fifties. Famor often had married or partnered guests overnight when at home and we were the beneficiaries of this comfort.

Once settled in, we went back down the stairs to find famor and Agathe sitting in the kitchen; each with a glass of good port. Her eyes brightened with her smile as famor told her of our sailing in more detail. She sat totally enrapt with his tales, her eyes ablaze with life.

I loved this woman a lot. Agathe had the very same fiery inner spirit as famor only she hardly ever scowled or frowned. And she could give better than she got when famor was feeling a bit feisty. But Agathe was not one to put up with trifles either. And she was not one to shy from public displays of affection.

Agathe’s blonde hair, once fiery red, and her eye crinkles when she smiled, gave the impression of being grandmotherly. She indeed was one. But she’s the kind of grandmother who would go horse riding or skiing with you. She was an energetic woman and her energy spread to those surrounding her. I truly loved her and she adored me.

Agathe was sure to include Chris in all of our conversations. She hung on every detail as we excitedly related our tales. Agathe really was struck by the entire dream thing. She knew of others who have had ‘visions’. Her word choice…not mine…

As Chris told of his adventures aboard, beginning with his first meeting famor, Agathe got us each a glass of port and we also enjoyed our first alcoholic drink in weeks. I was grateful for the calming effect because I still needed to call my folks and work this school thing out. So at ten in the evening, four in the afternoon in Florida, the call was made.

Although they were thrilled to hear my voice, as I was theirs, my request did not make them happy. Not one bit…! Not…at...all…! They had expected this call sooner or later but they were prayer on later. Perhaps much later…? Of course they tried to deflect this on Chris but had no success. Then of course there was famor to blame. Famor was not very happy with that and had to speak out.

“Hej…” A blunt hello… “Jaaahhh…?” He lilted.

Famor got right into it as befitting a Dane. He said he would be a fool not to ask me out again. I made money for them all. He then said…I almost peed myself…that I was better on the bridge than the second officer who went to maritime college! And if that wasn’t enough, famor said that the fates had chosen this life for me. But he reluctantly had to add that if they wanted me back he would see to it.

This is how it is with us and this is who we are. To speak our minds other than honestly is not in our nature. Usually we’re not quite as blunt as famor. But then again most of us aren’t captains of great fishing ships. My parents couldn’t argue with what he said. Their last words on this subject were they’d see to what the school required for a delayed start.

We all celebrated their decision with yet another glass of the wonderfully nutty port wine. Agathe asked what I wished to do in the morning. That was a no brainer for me. After four weeks of buns, ponytails curled into buns, and watch caps covering my long hair, I definitely needed a bit of hair resuscitation and a trimming.

And a man-pedi wouldn’t hurt either. My nails were a mess. They were on the brittle side anyway. And though the extra top coats helped, my nails were still in need to help. I loved the way my nails looked and felt after an expert tending to. And the sensation of having my feet pampered after so many hours on them…? It’s like an orgasm for one’s hands and feet!

Agathe laughed and nodded. Such things were usually for the tourists come from Copenhagen or other large cities. Cosmetic appearance was not necessarily a local priority. Whilst appearing neat and well-groomed was one thing, the fine art of ‘contouring’ and fancy nail applications was quite another. But Agathe couldn’t deny that a little self-indulgence now and then felt amazing.

New clothing was also a must. I’d grown quite a bit and the clothes from last season I’d left behind simply did not fit any longer. At least not in a manner I found acceptable… So after a large and hearty breakfast, we drove into town and left the ‘boys’ to their own devices.

Although most Danes learn English at an early age, this far out it is rarely spoken. Agathe relished the opportunity to indulge in practicing with me. After our grooming and fluffing, we strolled through town arm in arm simply talking and browsing the windows of the various shops.

“So how is it with your man?” She asked with a gentle smile.

“It is very good and I am very happy with him.” I grinned.

“And he has no problem with you?”

Agathe didn’t need to say what the problem might be.

“Chris knows and he has no problem.” I giggled.

“That is indeed good.” She sighed. “We hear such…such awful things about Americans and the ways they treat those who might be…different. It seems to be such an…” Agathe paused in thought. “…issue? I don’t understand it at all.”

“He is like me. We have the same spirit. He is of the sea and that is all that matters to him…and to me.” I hugged her arm in excitement.

“Yes… I can feel that in him. I see the way he looks at you. I think your Chris is a fine man…a good man. And that is what matters. I am very happy for you…and for him. It is hard for us to find another that fits us. It is like he is one of us…and not one of them.”

“Mor believes he has our blood in him.” I snickered.

“Your mother is a smart woman and she is probably right. You two have a fit.” Agathe said and suddenly stopped. “Ahhh… Look…! Look at this.” Her smile suddenly beamed.

We’d stopped in front of a clothing store and Agathe spotted an amazing white linen top. It was definitely summery and very…light weight? The design was very traditional with billowing sleeves and a loose fitting neck and hem line. It was almost tunic in length with natural bone buttons. And the collar was rimmed with white on white embroidery. Just my style… Nordic…

Our trip proved quite productive. Several new tops, a lovely summer dress…also Nordic style…and new Glerups wool shoes for cabin use, were all the direct result of our efforts. Normally I am not a very good shopper. My mind is usually full of so many other things far distant from the mall. But this day was different. Today there was a true need.

Agathe was patient. She loved shopping with me. This brought back her memories of doing so with her daughters’ and she treated me as one. She also paid for everything without expecting acknowledgement. I spent all my money on Chris’s gear and hadn’t been paid for the voyage yet. I expressed my gratitude anyway. Agathe actually had more fun than I did, and I had a lot.

After depositing our new purchases in the car…she couldn’t resist a top she saw…we set out to have lunch at the port. We sat and dined with a view of the havn and surrounded by an amazing assortment of smørrebrød seafood. I got to ask Agathe more interesting questions away from my famor.

“You’ve been with famor for quite some time now and...”

“Why we didn’t marry…?” She chuckled. “After your bedstemor... What is this in English?”

“Grandmother...” I smiled.

“Ah yes… After your grandmother passed your grandfather was very upset.” She paused in reflection and smiled softly. “And my husband…a very good man…was still in my heart. But it is just as it is at sea. You live in another’s home and you become to know them. We both felt the same things and, after time, we see those things in each other.” She sighed with a smile. “And, as it is at sea, we begin to work with…and for…each other. That is how it is.”

Smiling, I nodded. I knew exactly what she meant. They were a fit.

“But after time, you begin to realize that there is no reason to marry. Our families are grown and our children have children. They have our names and our blood. So for that…? We have no reason.” Agathe chuckled. “And maybe there’s a bit of the old ways still in us. We have said our vows and oaths to one another so of what use is a piece of paper?”

How could I disagree with that? Not that I was seeking to… And I knew that legally divorcing here was totally easy. Perhaps I was becoming too American in my expectations of a wedding? Maybe a simple public announcement was truly the thing to do. But I certainly understood how Agathe felt. If you couldn’t trust a person’s word, what good was the paper? Echoes of my famor...

“How do you put up with famor being at sea for so long?” Curious…

“It is not easy.” She sighed and frowned. “But…?” Agathe grinned wickedly. “The coming together afterward is so…so wonderful!” She sighed wistfully and giggled. “We may be old. But we are not dead.”

Now that anyone can understand. Intimate relationships are definitely not as complicated or complex as they are in America. Games simply do not exist. If you feel like it, and your ‘other’ feels like it, it is done. Whether it will continue can be discussed afterward. When you are asked ‘how is it with you two’, it is assumed you’re past the intimacy issue. This is very Nordic.

We finally returned home in mid-afternoon. Famor sat reading a commercial fishing journal but Chris was nowhere to be seen…or heard.

“I see your trip was a success.” He chuckled as he shook his head.

Famor set down the journal he was reading. Agathe immediately showed him her newly colored nails. Famor arched both his bushy eye brows and grinned.

“You will never make a European from her Yuli.” He chuckled. “Agathe is too Dansk for that.”

“Åh skat...” Sweetheart…? “That will never be.” She grinned slyly at him. “I wouldn’t have you if I was a European.” Agathe snickered and gazed at her sparkling nails. “But they do look nice.”

“Ja…” Famor beamed warmly at her. “I certainly have no complaints…yet.”

“It feels nice to be sixteen again.” I said. “And this is something I always did with Mor.”

“Ja min engel...” Famor held out his hand and I took it. He pulled me gently down next to him on the sofa. “This is how it is after a sailing. We work to be back on land again and as we were before we left. And it is important. We work to live. We do not live to work.”

Sighing and leaning upon his shoulder, I knew he was right. Famor put his arm around me and rested his cheek atop my head.

“You are very young and tomorrow does not come fast enough. But what is the purpose of work if not to live? What is the purpose of life if not to live...to feel this?” He waved his large hand around the room. “That the sea calls out to me I cannot change…and I never want to. But there must be some balance between the two.”

“Yes…” I sighed. “I understand. Where is Chris?” I gazed up at famor.

“He is out there.” Famor motioned toward the beach…and the sea. “He is a good man.”

Waiting for the ‘but’ is always a challenge. And I was not disappointed.

“But he is an American. And he suffers because it is difficult to know us. He believes he has no place here. This I can feel. You must show him who we are…and who he is.”

Well that didn’t sound very promising. But I understood. Chris never really had any of what we have. Family and a place… I could see that when he came to eat with us back on the island. And blood simply doesn’t make for family. It may be a start. But it is not by any means a finish. And place is where those who you choose to call your family live. That is where your home is and where your life is.

“He will be a good captain one day. But he needs to stay the course. He needs a bearing and every bearing needs two points.” Famor paused and smiled at me. “He has a destination of course. But he also needs a starting point. A home… And that will need your doing.”

“I will go to him now.” I got up off the sofa. “But I want to put on my new top.”

“And maybe a little lipstick…? Perhaps a little scent…?” Agathe grinned knowingly.

“Women…!” Famor snorted and chuckled.

Racing up the steps to our bedroom, my mind was already planning my makeup. I didn’t bring much with me. After all, fishing was not exactly a night out. But I always had two or three lipstick shades in my kit. And my mascara had a permanent place in my handbag. I brought only a small palette with three colors suitable for night time wear.

But this meager collection would need to do. The wine shade of lipstick was most dramatic. I loved the color. The deep red against my porcelain skin was quite striking. And now that I had lashes again after the mascara, a bite of bronze eyeshadow along my upper lid line defined my eyes perfectly.

Racing back down the stairs, I stopped in the living room for a final inspection…sort of.

“How do I look?” I said breathily.

Famor froze and stared.

“It is hard to remember you are no longer a mere girl. You've grown into a woman min havets engel. Kom til mig.”

Famor’s outstretched arms embraced me and he kissed both my cheeks.

Agatha simply smiled, nodded her approval, embraced me and also kissed me. As I turned to leave, I quickly debated whether I should take a sweater or my sea jacket. The sun was setting and the air grew cooler. Like to the low sixties…? But then again, Chris could keep me warm.

Running across the front lawn…sweater-less and jacket-less…I quickly crossed the road and ran onto the beach. The cool sea air washed over me and I regretted not taking something to shield me more. But then I saw Chris and all sensation left me. He was sitting as usual but without his ritual beer. Chris did wear his sea jacket and his sneakers.

The breeze shielded any sound of my approach. I leaped out in front of him with a huge grin and twirled around several times displaying my new top.

“What do you think?” I said as I struck a pose.

Chris simply stared at me wide eyed. He looked so tired and worn? Yet he did manage a smile.

“You look amazing babe.”

“You like this top? I grinned. “It’s kind of traditional?”

“Yeah… But you’d look great wearing a paper bag.”

That was my cue. I straddled Chris’s legs and planted myself between them, my body touching his and feeling his warmth. I put my arms around him and pulled him into me. Our cheeks were touching and I whispered in his ear.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

Chris hugged me a little more firmly. It was like he was holding on for his life.

“Everything is so different here. I don’t recognize anything.” Chris uttered forlornly. “The fishing was fine. I had no problem with the ship…or being out for so long.” He exhaled. “It’s just here…on land…I don’t know.”

“You are in a foreign country you know.” I replied as I put my hands beneath his jacket to hold him. “And I do know what you mean. I did come from here to your island.”

“Yeah…” I felt his head nod. “You did.” He lilted.

“How was it with my famor?”

“It was very weird.”

Leaning back but still holding Chris, I looked into his eyes. They seemed…pained?

“Well… It kind of began the moment you two left.” He offered.

Shock…!

“He yelled at me for calling him Captain. He said his name was Jarl. He said to call him Jarl or famor.” He snorted. “So okay…I get it. He’s at home and not on the bridge.”

“That is our way.” I smiled gently.

“So then he asks me how it is with you.” Chris shook his head again. “The first thing that popped into my mind was that you had a dick and I didn’t. I don’t know why it did. Maybe it was just the way the question hit me. You know?”

“I can imagine.” I sighed again and shook my head with a warmth smile on my face. “You don’t understand this yet but…” I paused for a moment. “It’s not about body parts or the way we wish to use them. And it’s not about what we are. It’s all about who we are.”

“He laughed when I started to tell him…about me.” I could see a tear well up in his eyes. “And all I could think of was all the years of shit I had to eat. People laughing and…sneering… So when he laughed, it made me angry. You know?”

“So what happened next?” I had to get him off this ‘ASAP’!

“He said he knew everything he had to know about me during the first few days.” Chris said as he cleared his throat. “I told him I’d like to call him famor.” He snickered. “I really never had one you know.” Chris rested his chin on my shoulder. “God almighty…! You smell so fucking good.”

His words caused me to smile.

“So then, what is the matter?”

“I don’t know. I mean…when I come back from a day’s fishing I go to places I recognize and do things I usually do. I sleep where I always sleep. So after four weeks at sea I come ashore and I don’t recognize anything. And when he said he knew everything he needed to know about me…” He sighed sadly.

Poor Chris sounded exasperated…beyond belief.

“And then after seeing you at work…? Fuck…! You are so totally the real thing and so at home…with yourself.” He was quick to add. “I know you started doing this as a baby. But…fuck…! I don’t really know you at all.”

That kind of struck me. I looked at him curiously.

“You’re so open and straight with me that I always think you’re hiding something. But I can’t imagine what. I mean…maybe there’s this deep dark side of you that only comes out during full moons or something.” He snickered.

“No…?” I lilted and smiled. “This is who I am.”

“Even...famor…” He said ‘famor’ like he truly owned it. “He’s just straight up and totally relaxed and…well…open about things. I’m just afraid I’ll wake up and all of this is a dream. It’s like he can just flip a switch from boss to average guy like it’s nothing.”

“This is who we are.” I smiled. “We don’t bother with what once was. Who you are is what we care about. Anyway…life is complex enough so we don’t need to be. You ask us a question and we give you an answer. We don’t argue. We negotiate.” I laughed.

“Then he said something that really got to me. He said ‘work to live and don’t live to work’.”

Shock wave…! Famor said those very words to me and I totally understood. It’s not a novel idea. In only four weeks I had my fill of fishing and could get back into being a teenage girl on land. I was fulfilled and relaxed and could do other things whilst I waited for the next sailing.

“That is also who we are Chris.” I hugged him firmly again. “You’ve only been here for two days. We will go into town tomorrow and I’ll show you how we live. The way you would show me your home…? I can show you my home. This is not Florida…or America. But that doesn’t mean you’re in a foreign place. I know that everything looks different. But if your heart is open, you’ll recognize the things you miss. And you’ll recognize things that you never thought existed but now want.”

“He wasn’t even interested in why or how…you know?” Chris snorted and shook his head. “He just carried on as if nothing happened. Just talking about things… I didn’t know whether the subject repulsed him or he simply wasn’t interested in my story. You know?”

“He knows about me and you see how it is with him and me.” I softly said. “Why should it be any different between you and him?”

“I guess it shouldn’t. He called me a good man. That’s not the kind of response I get when someone knows…or finds out. Fuck…! I should have been born here.”

“What…” I chided. “And you go to America and work onboard some woman captain’s boat? I don’t think so.” I laughed…as did Chris. “I think you’re tired and it’s time to go back in. We both could use another night’s sleep after eating one of Agathe’s epic meals.”

Truer words were never spoken. We stuffed ourselves silly on the meal Agathe prepared. Chris went wild with the home pickled fish. Agathe also does some fish smoking and curing as well. But her cupboard was bare of those delicacies. She did promise to smoke some cod and it was in the brine as we spoke.

The cod is a ‘fat’ fish with large flakes of meat. Although salmon is also ‘fat’, the meat texture is much denser. The smoking merely adds additional flavor to the already fabulous texture. Heavily salted brine does the actual ‘cooking’. Agathe usually adds a healthy measure of raw brown sugar which helps mute the salty taste a bit. Other spices can be added to the mix but brown sugar and salt will do it.

Her smoker was an old freezer. The large hanging space made it suitable for racks of meat as well as geese and duck. And when she does eel…? The Heavens open up for the Gods to feast! The eel is so rich in vital vitamins and oil that it belies the savory flavor and amazing texture.

The trick to it all is the final step. Cutting slices of salmon or cod carefully with a very sharp slicing knife, and served with fresh sour cream (Is that right? Can cream that is sour be fresh? Hmmm…), onions and capers, is truly an orgasm for the mouth and tummy! Of course a healthy platter of breads, toasted and not, and cheeses complete the true smørrebrød assortment.

But the assortment of home pickled and smoked fish only began the evening’s debauchery. Or is it gluttony...? Or both maybe...? When the roasted pork came out with the home pickled vegetables, it was all over. And why is it that pork is considered a healthier alternative to beef when the roasted fatty part is the best?

All this was washed down well with really good dark beer. I don’t think a Dansk food feast can be had without beer. I was even allowed a second bottle though I couldn’t finish it. This summer eating reminded me of wild bears. They eat all spring and summer so that they may sleep on their fat during the winter. Perhaps that is why we do so well in the cold.

By dinner’s end Chris was feeling quite relaxed and content. Of course his two beers and the rest of my second one didn’t hurt. I listened carefully to his voice when he spoke. He called famor ‘famor’ several times and each time it became more natural. He even called him ‘farfar’! Famor was quite pleased. He was enjoying Chris’s and my company.

We all cleared the table. This is our way. The only exception is a guest. But even then it is hard to stop a guest from lending a helping hand. This is also our way. Then the ‘boys’ went into the open parlor and Agathe and I prepared the desserts. Those were not homemade. But they might as well have been. They were freshly baked and still exuded a wonderfully fresh aroma.

No doubt famor was assembling an assortment of after dinner liquors. Nothing went better with fresh pastries than a good coffee and a good drink. Tonight both would be readily available. All the fixings were placed on a serving cart and Agathe wheeled them into the parlor. Famor and Chris were already seated on facing loveseats so that Agathe and I had our place beside our men.

The discussion was as light and cheerful as during dinner. My plans for the next day were the topic. It was time for Chris to really see my home and what better time than during the very mild weather of summer. Suggestions of what to do and where to go first flew like geese on migration. But I wanted to begin where I was born and all agreed.

Sleeping was not a problem that evening. Not at all... The air was cool and Chris was so very warm. I huddled into him and he enveloped me with his arms. Heavenly didn’t begin to describe the sensation. The feeling of a real bed and bedding was so very awesome that we both slept in. Sleeping in meant that we didn’t get out of bed till eight.

Famor greeted us at the kitchen table with a chuckle. He thought it novel that young people should spend so much time in bed when there was so much to do in life. I wasn’t even sure he slept at all. Agathe prepared our eggs with sautéed herring and onions. And as usual we had the ever present potatoes, cheeses and a variety of toasts.

After having our fill, famor called Erik Svenson’s wife. He expressed his feelings on the loss of Erik as did Agathe. I was handed the phone and I too made my sentiments known. Though I had only met him once, we left our impressions upon one another. The loss of anyone at sea was tragic. But the loss of a captain was more so. And everyone in our fishing community felt that loss dearly.

Good captains had their own crews; the same people sailing after sailing. So many mouths that needed feeding were now at a loss and at the mercies of a new captain and ship. Like famor, Erik Svenson’s crew was not only loyal, but dedicated to the captain who could put them onto fish and returned them to home safely.

But this is how it is with us. Those who choose to go to sea as a way of life. And every family with this tradition of going to sea has felt this kind of loss. A father, a mother, a child, a cousin, an aunt, an uncle, a friend, a loved one… This is the life we have chosen and this is who we are.

To his wife Hilda, I was the crazy girl who wanted to be a ship’s captain. She never tired of hearing the tales of my deeds at sea. Hilda thought me to be a throwback to the ancient days of shield maidens and great women warriors. She even told famor that one day people would sing songs about me. As if…!

Famor invited her to come to us. But Hilda graciously declined. She was surrounded by family and busy greeting the crew as they came to visit. She lives is Fiskebäckskil which is kind of the Swedish equivalent to Skagen? But she did promise to visit once things settled down. If Erik’s loss was felt in our town, then Fiskebäckskil’s fishing community had to be devastated.

As we gathered our things to leave, famor got a call on his cell phone; the one the owners gave him. We waited to hear the news. Famor gazed at us as he spoke softly into the phone.

“I must go to the port.” He solemnly announced. “It is a service for Erik and his engineer.”

“I’d like to go.” Chris quickly said.

“No…!” Famor insisted firmly. “This is for the captains…and for those who sailed with him. What you and Yuli do today is more important.”

“But we do the same when one of ours is lost.” Chris replied, still wanting to go.

Chris didn’t understand. But I did.

“Do not be in such a hurry to honor the dead.” Famor’s entire face…furrowed? “You will have too many times to do that. Right now the living are more important. But you two can drive me to the port.”

Famor hated going to these kinds of things. He would say that it reminded him too much of his own mortality. And it would remind him of how fragile we were when we dared to venture to sea and wrestle with the elements and the Gods.

Famor actually allowed me to drive! A major first…! And when we arrived to the port Chris let out with one of his colorful expletives.

“Fuck…!” He blushed suddenly. “Sorry…”

Famor just laughed. Six ships had come in and a seventh was docking. The smallest vessel was a forty-meter purse seiner. And the largest was an eight five meter long liner. But the real giant in the havn, aside from our ship, was a huge cruise ship docked at the very end of the port.

Skagen is a very picturesque town and the cruise ships stopped regularly during the summer months. Between the ship borne tourists, the summer vacationers, and the ships in port, our town would be crazy busy. So I drove first to the house I was born in.

Our home was a typically Danish abode. Not quite as grand as famor’s, it was still quite roomy and more than comfortable. Currently our home was being rented to a couple who are artists; painters actually. The light in the house was excellent and the town, and its surrounding location, were extremely picturesque.

“My mom said that I made such a mess coming out that it took a week to clean up.” I snickered.

“You mean you were actually born in that house?” Chris said wide eyed.

“We do have midwives and mom definitely didn’t want to be in a hospital.”

“Midwives…?”

Shaking my head and snickering, I drove off.

“This isn’t America Chris.” I grinned. “We still do some things the old fashioned way.”

“So I’m beginning to learn.” He chuckled.

We drove to the furthest most point of our peninsula; the very ‘top’ of Denmark. Along the way I pointed out the bunker that the Nazis built to house their wounded troops. I explained some of the history of Danish neutrality and of the occupation. Almost all of our Jewish population survived the Nazis by being sent to Sweden in an effort to thwart the great evil.

Chris was quite taken by the fact that the war actually existed in our lives and although resistance was nominal, the country never totally submitted to foreign rule. There was one concentration camp established with cooperation of the provisional government that almost exclusively housed Danish Christian citizens rather than to have them deported to most foul conditions.

Once rounding the road, we parked and walked to Skagen Nordstrand. Walking hand in hand, and then with an arm around each other, we went to the beach. This beach area, a natural preserve, is the most northern point in Denmark.

The view out onto the North Sea was quite amazing. We could see the Skagerrak (literally Skagen waterway). These straits connected the North Sea to the Kattegat gulf and the Baltic Sea. Norway and Sweden border the Kattegat gulf and their ships sail through this waterway as do the Germans and others. The Skagerrak is a witch during a summer storm. In the winter it can be a nightmare come true.

This place has such a dramatic view any time of year. We walked past several artists doing renderings and some of the works were visions of the winter sea. I knew Chris could relate to this place more than anywhere other than maybe his island home.

But sand and surf translates into any language if you’ve lived on an island. In a very real sense, this visit would allow Chris to ‘wipe his slate clean’ of everything that has passed in his life up to these moments. Those like us…truly children of the sea…let the sights humble us and the sea spiritually uplift us. This is the alter we truly pray upon and ask the Gods to show us mercy.

“This is almost like home.” He said as he held me. “Especially with you here…”

“Sometimes I think that anywhere we’re together is home.” I sighed. “But out there…?” I gazed out at the sea and smiled. “That is what I truly call home.”

“Yeah…”

Chris spoke softly and looked into my eyes. We kissed. We kissed and held one another as the sea breeze washed over us; the scents of our true home anointing us in the presents of the sea Gods. As our lips parted, we gazed deeply into each other’s eyes. I knew what he was thinking as we matched smiles…and then grins.

Removing his sea jacket and spreading it out upon the firm sand, we both sat down; me straddling him as usual. Our hands reached beneath each other’s clothing and we savored the warmth and textures of one another’s bodies. Our frenzied manner seemed so natural…and comfortable.

Not much effort was required to reverse our places as we loosened our trousers enough to consummate our union. If we were to be truly consummated before the Gods, then we had to offer them our pleasure with one another as our sacred gift. Tears of joy flowed down my face as we joined. I could think of no better gift than our great joy in our unity.

We could have stayed joined for the rest of our lives but there was still much to do and see. With reluctance, we gathered ourselves up in some semblance of propriety and slowly walked back to the car. Savoring that amazing afterglow that always seemed to accompany such exertion; we simply sat holding hands in the car and gazing stupidly at one another, our stupid grins saying it all.

Once on the road again, Chris saw his first windmill up close and personal. Still in use, it was one of the sites on the tourist itinerary. He laughed and gawked and actually took his first photo with his phone. Prior to this moment we were simply too busy being fishermen. As we headed back toward town, he was struck by the large tracts of natural preserve land.

“This land is very valuable.” Chris was wide eyed. “Think of the houses that could be built looking out to the sea.”

“It is more valuable just as it is.” I giggled and glanced at him. “Just think of what we couldn’t have done if an audience of people stood watching. Thankfully this is not America and one doesn’t need to search very hard for a quiet and deserted spot.”

“You do have a point there.” Chris chuckled.

Upon our return to the town proper, it was after noon and the cruise ship’s tourists were nearly all gone. The streets bustled…but at a slower pace. These were mostly Danes enjoying the summer’s day and nobody was in a hurry to see it end.

We walked hand in hand and enjoyed the various sights. People were eating their smørrebrød and beer. They were window shopping the trendy shops. And they were smiling and laughed and holding hands just as we did. And they were enjoying the fruits of their labors; time for themselves and each other.

“Yuli…! Her ovre...” A female voice shouted in Dansk.

Turning to see who called, I spotted someone I knew from past summers. Liv Hansen hopped up and down and waved from a table where she sat with some others our age.

“Liv...!” I shouted and waved back at her. “Hvordan har du det?”

We walked toward her group. I felt slight resistance from Chris and understandably so. New people speaking a language he didn’t understand was a factor for sure.

“Skør som altid!” She laughed. “Kom...! Sid med os!”

“She’s crazy…as usual…and she wants us to sit with them.” I giggled and whispered to Chris as we walked over to where they sat. “This is Chris. Chris…? This is Liv.” I turned toward her. “He didn’t think I knew anyone who didn’t fish.”

Liv laughed and hugged me. She was a tall classic Danish beauty with long blond hair and pale blue eyes. And she sat surrounded by a posse of cute guys just as any classic Danish beauty should be.

“We can only stay for a few minutes.” I quickly offered. “I have much to show Chris before we leave again.”

“You are the talk of the town you know.” One cute guy said with a decidedly Germanic accent. “The catch is a new record by a Danish ship. And we heard about the storm as well.” He spoke solemnly. “Everyone thinks you saved them from a tragedy.”

“We were lucky. That is all it is.” I blushed.

There is nothing to be gained from such talk.

“I’m Kurt. I fished from Cuxhaven.” He grinned. “I’m making sail on your grandfather’s ship.”

Resisting the urge to ask ‘so who do you know’, I simply smiled.

“Where are you working?” Much more civil a question I thought.

“I’m starting at the baiting stations. This is my first voyage on a large boat.” He leered.

‘Boat’…? He’s as green as they come. And he leered at me so…openly?

But this is the way it is for us. It can be a group of friends or a party. Glances and smiles are exchanged. Then the glances become leers and the smiles wicked. And ‘it’ is done. There will be plenty of time afterward to decide if the ‘it’ will go further. There are no games. A ‘no’ really is a ‘no’ and a ‘yes’ is…well…a ‘yes’. Why make things complicated? This is simply who we are.

“Perhaps I will see you then.” Polite…and non-committal… “I spend most of my time on the bridge or with Chris.” I kissed his cheek. “He’s the assistant engineer on board.”

This was just to make sure Kurt knew that I wasn’t interested. Men and women on board any vessel for more than a few days can lead to... mischief? Being cute is one thing. But being naked is quite another. And even if Chris wasn’t in my life, I felt no burn at all. Not even a bit of warmth…! My eyes turned back to Liv.

“So…” Liv smiled slyly. “This is your man?”

More of a statement than a question…

“Yes…” I beamed up at Chris. “We met in America. He let me work on his vessel there. Now he’s on my famor’s ship…with me.” Again just for good measure…

“Han er sød. Vil du låne ham ud?” She whispered as she leaned in toward me and leered at MY Chris! “Du kan være med, hvis du vil. Du ved, jeg altid har elsket dig.”

She leered no less…! I thought she might drool! If he wasn’t with me, and if he leered back, it would be done. But I would have none of that!

“Nej...” I blushed and giggled. “Denne her er min særlige ejendom.”

“I can see why.” She grinned…and leered again.

We stayed long enough to be polite and parted with the promise of my spending some time with her before our next sailing. As we continued along the road, Chris simply had to ask.

“What did she ask you?” He put his arm around my waist. “She seemed kind of…lit up?”

“Liv wanted to know if I would loan you to her.” I laughed. “And she invited me to join in. She said she always…well…” I lilted, blushed and giggled. “…wanted me?”

“What…!” Chris was shocked. “You mean like…”

“Yeah… Just like that…” I chuckled. “It would only have been for the evening.”

“You have got to be kidding!” Chris’s grin was huge.

“Why…? Are you interested?” I teased.

“That wouldn’t have worked out very well.” He said and frowned.

“Chris…” I shook my head sadly. “You are not in America. And what little I know of Liv…I’m sure she would have found use for you. For us both…” I snickered. “And if not…? It would not have been an issue. I’m sure either way she would play with her WAP.”

Chris stopped and turned me to face him.

“What do you know about WAP?” He grinned…wickedly.

“Well…?” I lilted and toed up to kiss him quickly. “I know about you.” I snickered.

“You are so...fucking...bad.” He grinned.

“I’m sure she was sitting in a puddle by the time we left. She couldn’t stop looking at you.” I grinned. “And I’m not surprised she wanted to invite me as well. That is simply how it is with us.”

“I was definitely born in the wrong place.” Chris chuckled and shook his head.

We walked to the port and the restaurant where Agathe and I had lunch. As we sat outside and awaited our meal, Chris took both my hands in his. He gazed at my fingers with a solemn face.

“You know…?” He said softly. “I’ve never felt comfortable in my skin. And it seemed like I never would. No matter what I did. Losing the boobs and even growing this stubble…? I just never could feel…whole…complete.”

Clutching his hand firmly, I gazed at the sadness in his eyes. I didn’t know what to say. I mean what could I say? So I listened. Chris gazed off at the ships in port.

“Out there…” He nodded toward the sea. “I feel…equal.”

“And here…?”

Chris looked into my eyes and thought for a moment.

“Do you know I’ve never had a day off?” He began. “School was my day…my days of rest. I was either working or at school. I never had a day like today. Not in too many years anyway… Nowhere to be…and nothing that needed doing…”

His emotions were rising and his face flushed red.

“We busted our asses out there. The fish came and everybody worked where they were needed. There was no time to simply sit and…just breathe. And then to come back to this…? Just buzzing around looking at things with nothing that needs doing…?”

I needed to stop him.

“What we are doing is what needs to be done.” I chided. “If you get the chance to sail for a year…? This will become your home. So…” I grinned. “Like in any new home…you must test all the chairs and the sofas…and…of course…the bed.” I giggled...wickedly if I may add.

“I know that. But knowing it…and feeling it…? Those are different things.” He paused and sighed. “If it wasn’t for you…? I’d be busting my ass on that dinky boat of mine and wondering whether my asshole crew would show up…and in what condition.”

We sat back as our foods began to arrive.

“The mass of men live lives of quiet desperation.” Chris muttered.

“What…?” I’d never heard that before.

“It’s a quote from Thoreau. He’s an American writer and philosopher. It always stuck with me. That’s kind of how I felt. It was like…this is the rest of my life and I’m only twenty three.”

“And now…?”

“Now…?” He smiled and sighed. “It’s like a fucking dream that I’m scared to wake up from. My life…?” He paused and grinned. “…is fucking amazing. I feel like…” He glanced away. “I feel like I’m being swept along with the tide toward whatever my destiny is. Everything feels so natural…but so very different than before.”

“And how do you feel in your skin at this moment?” I smiled gently.

“I don’t know.” Chris grinned. “Hungry…!”

‘…lives of quiet desperation.’ How eloquently sad… This sounded like the people who only lived to work. And the more I thought about this, the sadder it sounded.

“By the way…” Chris said between bites of food. “I didn’t say this before…but your nails really look killer.” He grinned.

Between my blushing and tingling at the compliment, I smiled coyly. This was something new in the way of ‘glamour’ for me. I had the stylist use a pink rose tinted base coat with a follow up of a pink rose tinted top coat. Two coats of each no less... And I added a coat of shiny clear just because.

The effect was amazing. My nails had an amazing pastel pink look that still showed the natural nail. It was like a French manicure without all the work. This was something I could wear to work without it being totally distracting…like a deep wine or ox blood red color might be.

Maintaining it would be easy since I simply had to purchase two bottles of each. You know how it is when you find a color you like and have a few moments to ‘play’. And I think we’ve all knocked over a bottle of our fave polish. So two of each was the only way to go…

Being thrilled that Chris noticed and liked it, I felt those tingles. I’m not one to make much of looking a certain way simply for attention. But knowing that Chris approved made me feel good…inside. In spite of all I was and all I wanted to be, pleasing Chris was very high up on the list for sure. And pleasing him pleased me. His star was still ascending in my sky.

On our way back to the car we encountered Viggo Gunderssen with his wife. He was delighted to see us and we stopped to speak with him for a few moments. I’d met his wife before on several occasions; usually at famor’s home or at the pier when the ship came in.

“Have you heard the news yet?” He asked me. “We took forty two hundred tons of fish. That’s a new record for a Danish ship and crew.” He beamed.

Although that may sound like a lot of fish, it is a very modest catch when you consider the Russian, Japanese and Chinese ships. Their factory vessels are much larger in size and number and they do not necessarily conform to the international limits of catches or territorial boundries. Even an English owned vessel that can take over seven thousand tons in a single sailing created a lot of controversy.

“The entire crew is anxious to know if you’ll come on the next sailing.” Viggo grinned slyly. “We all like the idea of what bonus awaits us with our havets engel onboard again.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” I giggled. “My mor and far objected but…” I grinned and shrugged my shoulders.

“I’m sure your famor had a word to say. And Ivar…” He chuckled and turned to Chris. “…looks forward to seeing you again. He gets to fuck off a bit more than usual with you in the engineering control room.” Viggo laughed. “He’s a natural boss.”

“Viggo…!” His wife chided. “Such language…”

Chuckling at her words, Chris blushed and grinned at Viggo’s compliment and colorful commentary.

“So you want to be a captain as well?” Viggo asked. “I know our havets engel was born for it.”

“It’s what I want.” Chris smiled. “This fishing you do is…” He couldn’t find the words! “This is what I want to do.”

“Himlen hjælpe os...!” He laughed. “With the two of you running your own ship...the rest of us will need to retire!”

“That will never happen.” I said boldly. ”You’ll just fish a smaller ship closer to home. The sea is in your blood as much as anybody’s. And you’ll have a pick of all the men tired of running the oceans as your crew.”

“Gud i himlen...!” He grinned. “That would be a dream. To fish with my old shipmates…?”

We spoke for a few more minutes and then headed back to famor’s. It had been quite a day for the both of us. Chris had seen my home and met my people away from the ship. And he was enchanted with all he saw. His spirit was giving off a different aura; one of calm and peace.

Famor took the news of our haul in stride. ‘What other purpose have we?’ Indeed...! He told us that over one hundred people were at the service for Erik Svenson. Most were people who had sailed with him at one time or another. And there were a dozen other captains that had known him. Even the minister had sailed with Erik at one time. The service was fitting and proper.

After dinner, and once the kitchen was put in order, Chris and I took our after dinner drinks to the beach. This time I wore my sea jacket. Whilst Chris sat facing the moon lit sea, I straddled his legs and faced him. In this manner I could pull on his ear lobe with my lips and he could do the same to me.

Not one word was said. None were necessary. With our bodies pressing against one another, we could simply just be. I closed my eyes and simply drifted on that sensation. That and the scent of the sea… The slight sound of the waves gently breaking on shore provided a lullaby that was beyond anything I’d ever heard. And the sea’s aroma caused me to recall our 'sacred' coupling on the sand.

When we finally returned to the house, our glasses empty but our hearts quite full, famor and Agathe were sitting on the loveseat. Famor was reading whilst Agathe listened to the music that softly played. They were holding hands and their smiles said it all. Is this not truly what we live for?

“Come... Sit with us for a moment.”

Famor spoke with that amazing smile. When he is not on the bridge, he easily fit the role of the Julemanden he portrayed if he was home for Christmas. And a fitting ‘Father Christmas’ he made. Agathe was no less cordial with her beckoning.

“Yes... Please...” She got up. “I will take your glasses and refill them. Come and join with us.”

As she went off to do as she said, Chris and I sat on the other loveseat. We held hands.

“It gives me great pleasure to see you two sitting together.” Famor said.

Chris and I glanced at one another and smiled.

“Oh…” I exclaimed suddenly. “We saw Viggo in town.” I blushed. “I forgot to tell you.”

“Celebrating no doubt…” Famor chuckled. “And there is no reason he shouldn’t. This was a very profitable sailing.”

“He said we should both be captains.” I giggled.

“A ship can’t have two captains though.” Chris frowned.

“And why not…?” Famor laughed. “I sail with two other captains.”

“What…?”

Chris looked totally puzzled. I gave his hand a squeeze…gently…and grinned.

“Both Viggo and Ivar have their master’s papers.” I smiled joyfully. “Normally Viggo takes us out and he brings us back to home. And Ivar takes the helm when we drop our set lines. Just for the practice mind you…”

“It is not unusual for a vessel of size to have at least two captains.” Famor smiled. “Often it is the first officer or the engineer for that matter. Should the captain take ill or become hurt, the ship still remains in capable hands and can continue to fish.”

Agathe reentered the room with a cart. Our glasses were filled with port. Upon the cart was the bottle and a selection of her almond butter cookies, cheese and cut fruit. This was their dessert whilst we were on the beach. We thanked her and Chris took a sip as Agathe took her place next to famor.

“But can’t they make better money with their own ships?” Chris was still puzzled.

“Who is to say?” Famor grumbled…but smiled. “Who is to say what ship they get? Maybe it is a forty meter netter. Or maybe running an offshore service vessel…”

“There are only so many eighty meter, or larger, vessels.” I quickly added. “The smaller vessels bring in smaller yields. And their sailings are only a week or two…or a month at the most.”

“Both men are good fishermen. But it is not me that needs the proof. To work your way to the larger vessels…?" He sighed and shook his head. "This takes years of proof you can produce fish. No owner gives a big ship to a captain who cannot produce the tonnage.”

Famor took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Though I already knew this, Chris was so totally unaware of fishing at this level. But famor was kind and patient. After all, he was not on the bridge where you can’t begin schooling about the business end of things.

“The owners care only about one thing.” Famor grinned wryly.

“Profit…” Chris replied and nodded his head.

“Just the captain alone is paid…” Famor gazed at me. “…maybe six hundred and forty thousand kroners…or more if he can produce.”

“That’s like…” I thought a moment. “…one hundred thousand dollars a year…or nine months actually.”

“But he must be very good.” Famor added. “And then you have the cost of your crew under contract… The fuel… The food… The expenses pile up and become quite steep. Then there are the insurances, the equipment…”

“Yeah…” Chris said softly. “It’s a lot.”

“Just think about the days you had poor catches.” I offered.

“So… If you have three captains and a first mate who can fish…?” Famor simply chuckled and held out his arms. “Everybody wins.”

We spoke for a little while longer and then said our goodnight. Our glasses in one hand, we held each other’s free hand as we climbed the stairs up to our room. As we showered, Chris washed a bit of sand from the very place I should have had. And I did the same with the very place he should have had. It is truly of no matter anyway. This is simply the way it is.

After toweling each other dry, another new ritual for us, we sat in bed and sipped our port. Chris looked somewhat sullen and I had to ask.

“What is it?”

He gazed at me sadly.

“How the hell can I go home?” He spat.

“Who said you can’t?” I shrugged my shoulders. “Who said you needed to?”

“This is what I want to do.”

“I know it is.”

“But I only had a one sailing contract.” He said sadly. “What happens…?”

Enough of this!

“What happens…happens. I know you will be asked to sign again.” I kissed his hand.

“How do you know?” He kissed mine.

“You seriously can’t think I brought you here just to spend the summer with me.” I giggled.

“Don’t you think I would have done just that?” He quipped.

“Maybe…?” I grinned wickedly at Chris. “But they’re checking you out.”

“Well…” Chris sighed and took another sip. “This is not my home. I mean…where do I stay in port? Who do I know besides the crew?”

“Riddle me this…” And yes…I really did say that. “Is your home really your home? I mean…you sleep there and you eat there. And you certainly don’t work in your house. But do you really live there?” And just for good measure… “Or can any island or spit of land that leads to the sea be your home?”

Chris glanced at me and then down at his glass.

“Maybe you’ll get another one sailing contract. And maybe another one after that... But sooner or later you’ll get the one year. Then what…?” Before he could answer I added… “You’ll sign it. That is what. And you’ll sign it because that is who you are and that is the way it must be.”

“Yeah…” Chris conceded. “You’re right. But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

“I’ve been away from home for almost…almost ten fucking years.” I never said ‘that’ word before. “But this is where I belong because this is who I am. And I must be away from here…and from you…for another nine months. So if…by the grace of the Gods…” I glanced upward. “…you get a one year contract…? You’ll be back just as I’m returning home.”

Chris gazed at me steadily; his expression…serious. He was processing everything. I suddenly burst out laughing.

“What…?” He smiled gently.

“And I will be able to trust my second captain.” I snickered.

Chris immediately pulled me upon his lap.

“I won’t mind being the second captain on a ship that I own.” He laughed.

Needless to say… But I’m going to anyway because I don’t know how else to begin this? Needless to say…between the two glasses of port and our little…‘tumble in the rough’…we fell asleep quickly. And quite soundly for sure…!

During the night I had the strangest dream. I suppose it’s the closest I’ve ever had to a ‘wet dream’? Chris was playing with my sleepy boy and the feeling was…epic! Anyway…after the prelims, he sat down on me and…well…you know the rest…sort of.

Now it’s not that I’m shy about sex. It’s just that we assume everybody does it so why even talk about it? That is…except when it counts. And then you better talk about it or a good case of the ‘hornies and swampies’ will go to waste. Anyway…it was divine.

When I woke up the next morning Chris was not in bed. I felt so amazing…stupid smile and giggling amazing…that I felt no immediate need to search out his where-about. That’s when I remembered the dream!

Immediately I threw aside the blankets. Where was my sleeping panty? It certainly wasn’t on me. And my sleepy boy and the immediately surrounding area looked almost…glazed? I reached down only to discover that indeed my hair…what little of it exists…I don’t even need a bikini trim…was matted and stiff.

Chris had marked his ‘territory’? I could smell his aroma mixed with mine on my hand. So it did happen. I suddenly became a little angry and upset. I wasn’t really ever awake enough to realize what was going on. It would have been excellent to have an even bigger stupid smile that morning!

Hopping out of bed with a new mission from the Gods, I quickly washed, dressed and went searching for the culprit! Chris was downstairs having breakfast with famor. I stood glaring at him with a steady gaze and my hands on my hips. He smiled back at me impishly.

“Good morning Sleeping Beauty.” He grinned and patted the vacant chair next to him. “Famor was just telling me of our next sailing.”

“Yes… Come sit.” Famor beckoned with the very same impish smile.

Impish smile…? It took me a moment…my years in America no doubt…to realize what had happened. It is quite common is very familiar circumstances to ask ‘how is it with you and your woman’. It is our way of asking ‘so how’s Agathe’ in our style. Chris must have burst out laughing or something. After all, some things needn’t be said.

How could I possibly be angry? Gazing at the two of them looking so mischievous made me giggle. They appeared so conspiratorial. So I went and sat and indulged in some breakfast; eggs and…you guessed it…fish.

“Enjoy yourselves my children.” Famor smiled.

“Huh…?” Totally clue…less…!

“A Norsk ship came in last night with football Bluefin tuna. It was a forty meter purse seiner and they took one hundred tons.” Chris said excitedly.

Okay… This calls for a bit of an extended explanation. ‘Football’ tuna is really an American expression. Albacore, small yellowfin, big eye, longfin and assorted other tuna are shaped like an American football. Of course this always puzzled me because a football is neither played with one’s foot nor shaped like a ball.

Anyway…these fish range from a few pounds to perhaps a hundred or more; depending upon which family member one catches. But football Bluefin are tuna are those less than two hundred pounds! And whilst any tuna is a premium fish, Bluefin are the super-premium of all fish! And the fatter the fish, the greater is their value.

You may have two ninety nine inch fish and one weighs four hundred pounds whilst the other weighs in at eight hundred pounds. It’s all in the girth. But…and there is a very big but…they require the greatest of care in handling. It’s the blood you see.

All fish have blood and do bleed during the cutting out. But a single one hundred pound Bluefin will bleed more than five hundred pounds of halibut! Of all the fish in the seas, the Bluefin swims the fastest; up to…and maybe more than…sixty miles an hour! So a strong heart and much blood to pump is essential.

A giant Bluefin will hit a bait and not even realize it’s been hooked. On a rod and reel, it can run out over four thousand yards of braided line like it’s nothing…and possibly tear up the reel in the process. The only way they are caught is with a very fast boat to chase them or with very strong long lines. Having them in a purse seine can be the ultimate nightmare. The giants will crush everything beneath them!

And then the fun really begins. The Bluefin’s body temperature rises with any struggle. So the cutting out and icing process must be quick enough to prevent the meat from going rancid. Even the ‘footballs’ present this challenge. The cutting out is hard work on a ‘fat’ fish and it must be done quickly.

Once gutted, the gills must come out quickly. All the blood will flow through them just like blood through our lungs. The entire time the cutting out occurs, clean water is pressurized to force all blood out and away from the fish. So the water is running, the conveyor is conveying, and the knives can’t be swapped out quickly enough. It is another version of Dante’s ‘Inferno’.

Rubber mallets must be used with the heavy knives to separate the head and the tail from the body on the ‘small ones’. Once the final cursory inspection is done the fish must be either iced completely or flash frozen. And if a giant comes up, it’s not unheard of to have the fish gutted and de-gilled, put in a giant shook with ice, and air lifted to the nearest international airport for export to Japan.

In ports where the giants are fished for with rods and reels, Japanese buyers wait dockside for the boats to come in. They will actually pull a plug of shoulder meat to test for fat content before offering a price. It’s not unheard of for a quality fish around a thousand pounds, and in the round, to fetch over one million dollars dockside. But a single piece weighing but half an ounce is sold for over one hundred dollars in Japan!

No doubt the Norwegian vessel that took the tonnage was fishing local waters where there is a two hundred and twenty ton limit of the catch size. Although the smaller vessels could run to the offshore grounds across the North Atlantic, it is easier to make a few days in local waters for a haul and go back out again.

However, Danish vessels cannot fish for the Bluefin. The European Union gives the tonnage to Spain, Portugal and France. Other nations are permitted much smaller tonnage quotas and some countries have none. So by agreement we can’t fish for them. But there was a massive upside to this abomination. Whilst everyone else is fishing for the tuna, we had the rest of the ocean to ourselves.

“Your man didn’t know about the laws.” Famor glanced at Chris and smirked. “But he knows the laws where he comes from.” He turned to look at me. “It is you who must help him learn them.” Famor sat back and grinned. “Both ours and those from Bruxelles… And you must know them as well.”

“Ja Farfar…” A sigh and nod… “Det ved jeg.”

Famor was correct. I knew almost everything about ship handling and a lot of maritime law. But I knew nothing of the fishing regulations of the European Union. And then there were those of Iceland, Greenland, Canada, and even America. Those offshore grounds are the most fertile for bottom fish like the cod and the halibut.

Each country guarded their territorial rights most vigorously. There is actually a fishing war and illegally fishing ships are sunk over such things. Of course the crews are removed first. But there is a shooting war over fishing rights that extends to every ocean.

Recently over three hundred Chinese vessels, many forty meters or less, were sunk off the Galapagos Islands for illegal fishing. This represented most of their squidding fleet. And countries from Vietnam down to Australia have had their target practice at poachers as well. Some countries simply do not play well with others.

Fortunately our endeavors were not all that complicated. There was plenty of sea between us and Nova Scotia and the fish we sought were more plentiful. Each Captain knew their tonnage limit per fishing site and this wasn’t a harsh limit. It goes to the farmer again. They never wear out the soil by over planting and we don’t wear out the grounds by over fishing.

But this still requires legally set regulations on how much can be taken and how you must fish. We are not conservationists by any stretch of the imagination. This is how we earn our money. And whilst we feed our families, we're feeding the rest of the world as well. Filling our holds on different grounds is not being considerate. It is being wise!

For sure I needed to download all the regulations and laws before the next sailing. It would be too costly to do so at sea. And we could help each other learn.

“I am thinking the Cap and maybe the edge of the Banks.” Famor said as he rubbed his bearded chin. “I know of some spots that haven’t been fished in some time. Let us see if we can load up on the broadbill and halibut.”

“Most definitely…!” I laughed. “I will need a few new knives.”

Have one's own personal set of knives is important. Hilt grip is most crucial as well as blade size and style. It is simply a professional sort of mind set. It’s like a doctor having a personal stethoscope or a mechanic have personal tools. Granted it’s not rocket science or anything. But cutting out does require very good skills and very fast thinking. And I always like to be prepared…for anything...anywhere.

It was only at the ship’s chandlery that I remembered I was upset with Chris! I slapped his arm…hard.

“Owww…” He half smiled and grimaced. “What was that for?”

“Last night…! You…you røvhul!” My face flushed.

“A what…? A røvhul...?” He grinned.

“Asshole...! You’re an asshole!” I rarely ever use that word. It is reserved exclusively for assholes! “You had your fun and you didn’t even bother to wake me up!”

Chris laughed.

“You didn’t seem to mind very much at all.” He leered at me. Leered…! “In fact you seemed to enjoy yourself…completely!”

Chris laughed so hard tears formed. And I just stood there flushed with anger even though I knew he was right…sort of.

“And you also know very well you can’t resist me.” He chuckled.

My face went sour and I crossed my arms. So okay…! So maybe…just maybe…that’s true.

“And you know I just can’t resist you.”

So okay…! So maybe…just maybe…that gave me the warm fuzzies. Chris put his arms around me and all was lost. He was right. I couldn’t resist him. Who would have thought only a few months ago that I would have a boyfriend? Who would have thought that I would complain about not being totally awake for sex? The Gods have truly blessed me.

And if that wasn’t enough… The entire town seemed to know about my ‘adventures’ on this last sailing. It began with the chandlers manager. He knew everything…well…almost everything. And people I didn’t even know seemed to know me. Crew members I recognized and even a few from other vessels stopped me just to say hello and have a word or two.

After having lunch at a street side café, we decided to go home. As we sat and ate, Chris seemed a little down. He didn’t need to tell my why nor did I need to ask. We’d just been accosted by another crew member and his words were for me. And the longer we stayed put, the more attention I would get.

This was my very own fault. I wasn’t thinking of us as a team even though I always thought of us as one. I was soaking in the moment and forgetting about the hour…so to speak. Chris was the Yin to my Yang. For whatever reason, he filled up whatever my inner void might have been so that I could fully be me. If it wasn’t for him…? Who knows?

“Let’s go home and go to the beach.” I took his hand. “I just want to be with you.”

“Are you sure?” He smiled and took my free hand. “It’s a glorious day to be in town.”

“Yeah…” I lilted wistfully. “I’m sure.”

“Yeah…” Chris perked up. “Let’s do that.”

We began to walk with our arms around each other’s waist. The day was truly glorious and the sun warming and bright. There was not a cloud to be seen. Suddenly Chris stopped.

“Oh shit…!” His eyes went wide. “I almost forgot to tell you this morning. My boat got sold.”

“I bet you didn’t count on that happening.” I lilted with surprise.

“No… I didn’t.” Chris laughed. “The captains were able to find a buyer and sold the boat at a good price. They didn’t think I would be returning.” He shrugged his shoulders. “They probably know me better than I know myself. I guess with no boat to fish, that bridge is totally burned.”

There was a note of sadness in Chris’s voice. And I understood. Now he really had nothing to go back to. I placed my arm back around his waist and we slowly continued to walk back to the house. We didn’t speak as we walked. But words weren’t necessary. I knew what he was thinking about because my thoughts were almost the same.

What was there for me to go back to? My folks would be returning home sooner or later. And one more year of school certainly didn’t pop my cork. I knew I could fish with the captains back on the island. But that was only two days a week at the most and it wasn’t the kind of fishing I wanted to do. And Chris wouldn’t be there with me. That was the most painful thought of all.

The sea breeze struck our faces as we walked onto the beach. I sat between Chris’s legs facing the sea and his arms were around me. We sat for the longest time in silence. A blanket taken from the house kept the late afternoon’s chill from us. Our hands roamed freely and gently upon each other. I felt warmed, comforted, and very safe.

“I think I’m ready.” Chris finally whispered as he nipped at my earlobe.

“Yeah…” I lilted and sighed. “Me too…”

“I didn’t think this would happen so quickly.” He also sighed. “I think I’m fucking tired of being on land…among people.”

“Yeah…” I lilted and sighed…again. “Me too…”