Only two things were epic about turning sixteen. I finally had boobs…sort of. And I could finally drive, at least during the day. Otherwise my life sucked…majorly no less. The barrier island we lived on had three small schools. There were only twenty-six hundred families living full time on our island. As a result, everybody knew everybody else.

My father, a marine engineer and thermos-nuclear propulsion expert, got an epic job near Jacksonville. So he upped and moved us to this island about half an hour or so from the city…Jax as we called it. I was six at the time and though I spoke English, the cultural shock was enough to throw me into the choicest Danish profanities.

But now, having wheels to take me places, finding a secluded stretch of beach to ruminate on was easy. Though I sort of had acquaintances, I had no friends. That was fine with me because being around people for any length of time, especially my peers, became painful; emotionally and even physically.

Having enough in my life to keep me busy, the social interaction wasn’t necessary. Not at all…! I rarely had anything to say of interest to them anyway and my mom and dad were quite receptive to whatever I did need to verbalize. So the beach and the sea were my true friends.

Putting on a bikini top with something finally showing, and the matching bottom hiding something from showing, I finished my attire with baggie shorts. I was beginning to really have some shape and could only hope that my ‘growth’ would continue. My mom is a lush woman with full breasts and I was told my ‘growth’ might continue.

Finding a totally deserted stretch of beach wasn’t difficult. On Thursday I took my mom’s car and drove down the one main road. I parked in the nature preserve lot and simply crossed the road from the beach…and the sea. The preserve was strictly tourist because we live it every day. And the beach was far more off-islander friendly at the south end where you could get refreshments whenever.

So I sat on the dunes and gazed out at my friend and we conversed in our own special language. When the breeze blew in that fishy smell, I knew that fishing would be good. That smell was fish oil being emitted as the big fish feasted on the schools of smaller fish. When I could see the terns and gulls working, I knew the fish were closer in. The sea held few secrets from me.

During the weekend the beach was deserted. Once again the south end had all the attractions. On rare occasions somebody might jog past on the shore line but other than that…no people. I had my very own ‘Fortress of Solitude’. That sort of changed on Monday. Arriving at my usual place, there was this guy sitting on a dune on the opposite side of the beach entry.

Standing at the top of the wood planked entry, I stared at him trying to decide whether I should go to my perch, or seek out another spot. The aroma of the sea called to me and so I went and took my ‘throne’ atop my dune. I gazed at him briefly before deciding that I was of no interest to him. His gaze was fixed seaward.

However…from what little I could see…he looked kind of cute. His longish curly blond hair was sun bleached and his tanned skin only accentuated that fact. Though he wore a white tee shirt, I imagined his body was as hard and muscular as his bulging arms. For sure he was an islander with his faded jeans and sandals.

Not one to be easily distracted, I took my eyes off him and cast them at the ocean where they belonged. The water was a bit choppy inshore which almost always assured rougher conditions offshore. My nose was up and into the fresh ocean air. Today it was devoid of the scent of fish oil; yet another sign of rough water offshore or an impending storm.

At dinner that evening, I was too distracted to partake in the conversation. This was somewhat problematic because we always spoke Danish at home. My mom and dad didn’t want me to forget my heritage. They, and I, would someday return home. And sooner was way better than later.

But I was one step ahead of them. My Danish had to be better than merely good because I always spent my summers with my grandfather back home. He was captain of a fishing vessel and was currently operated an eighty-meter ship. His crew was mostly other Danes. His first officer and engineering officer, as well as his first mate, have sailed with him for years.

Although most trips were only two months or so, he sometimes would put out to sea for up to several months at a time. He allowed me to plot his courses complete with all the navigation by working on the charts. Then he would verify my bearings, and time on bearing, with the electronic gear.

Learning to pilot the ship was next. I knew how to operate all the electronics. Then I would work as a deck hand feeding the baits to the long lines, or sorting and even cutting out the catch. My Farfar (that’s familiar Danish for grandfather) enjoyed the fact that I took to the work so easily and naturally.

But it was all his doing. I’d been going to sea since I was one month old. I had trouble breathing on land and mom and dad suggested he take me to sea. My mom would pack enough of her frozen breast milk and my Mormor (that’s familiar Danish for grandmother), who often went to sea with him, saw to the rest. The ritual simply continues to this day.

Normally the North Sea was usually favorable during the summer months. But on one of our trips we encountered a fearsome squall. Even the most seasoned hands felt queasy whilst the others were flat out sick on their bunks. But I was fine and I was taught how to pilot a vessel in foul weather.

But for all this to happen I needed to speak the language quite well. Almost every inch of any ship has a precise location. So I needed to know what ‘abaft the main thwart on the starboard side of deck two’ meant and exactly where that was and how to relay that to a crewmember. Even though decks were well marked, my grandfather insisted I know these things.

“Where are you tonight Yulia?” Dad sometimes called me ‘Yuli’ or ‘Lia’ but never Jools.

Shrugging my shoulders I could only smile and blush.

“Was he handsome?” My dad grinned.

“He was really cute.” I whispered with a grin.

“He goes to your school?” My mom enquired.

“I don’t think so. He’s a little older and I didn’t speak to him.” I frowned. “He was sitting on another dune.”

“Perhaps Njǫror will bring him to you.” Dad chuckled.

I simply smiled coyly with downcast eyes and a blush rushed to my cheeks.

Njǫror is the sea God who brings fair seas and good catches when he’s pleased. I should only be that lucky to receive such a ‘gift’. Dad and mom were always telling me the Old Norse legends. It began as a bedtime ritual and grew to spur of the moment recitals of the tales and sagas.

At least those old tales gave me something to fall asleep with as they often did. And I’d dream of valiant shield maidens and warriors and great kings doing fabulous deeds. And I dreamed of captaining a great ship and bringing in amazing catches.

The next afternoon I decided to do something different; something that might get me noticed if that guy was on the dunes. After checking my beach bag for the bare essentials…beach towel, a horrid number fifty sun block…with moisturizer of course…, my driver’s license and a few dollars, I ran back to my bathroom.

Gazing at myself in the mirror, I thought…‘maybe…just maybe…’! Carefully I applied some light brown mascara to my lashes. I’m so blond that they can’t be seen easily. And, not doing this every single day caused me to be even more careful applying a deep red lip stain with a top coat of sun block gloss. Whilst the rest of me might go unnoticed, my lips and lashes certainly wouldn’t.

Throwing on a tee shirt over my bikini top, another first since the weather was so very fair, I grabbed my floppy straw hat, sunglasses, and I was off. And there he sat with his face pointed into the wind. I made as much of a show setting myself up as I could without shouting ‘look at me’. But the effort was of no avail.

After some time I removed my floppy hat and sun glasses. I craned my face up into the wind and let in blow over me. But when I quickly glanced over toward him I saw that he was standing at the water’s edge looking outward. Yet another major league bust…!

In truth I didn’t know what I would do if he did come over to me. All I wanted was to talk with him. Okay…so maybe I wanted to do more than simply talk. But there was only so far I could go. I couldn’t remove my shorts lest I reveal my not-so-little secret. I was at my wits end.

On Wednesday Njǫror must have heard my silent lamentations. A dark shadow appeared upon the water. At first I thought it to be a cloud passing and casting a shadow. But after gazing up at the sky, I saw that none were present. I knew it was a school of fish packed tightly together. Something much larger had to be ‘balling’ up dinner.

Racing to the water’s edge I gazed at the approaching mass of fish. To see what was causing them to ball up so tightly, I would need to wade into the water which I promptly did as they came by. Suddenly I heard a voice from behind me. I turned to see who called out. It was him!

“Hey…! Come back out!” He shouted and waved emphatically.

“But I want to see what’s balling them.” I whined…sort of…as I heeded his words.

“Yeah…? And wind up on the wrong end of a broadbill or bull shark?” He shook his head. “Don’t be stupid.”

Turning back for one last peek I caught a glimpse of a really large fish. Hmmm… I liked his voice. A tenor…

“It’s a tuna!” I cried out with excitement and pointed. “A really big one…!”

“The water’s been warm this spring. Probably a yellow fin… You don’t usually see them this close in.”

Standing still to catch another glimpse of the large fish, I spoke again.

“By the way… My name is Jools.”

When I heard no reply, I turned to see him jogging back to his perch atop the dunes. Gone…! He looked as good from the rear as he did from the front. Let’s see… The stubble on his chin and cheeks was a reddish-blonde hue. A killer band of freckles bridged his nose linking those just beneath his eyes.

Those eyes were still a mystery hidden behind wrap-around sunglasses. Very cute butt… Hmmm… I felt like I was wanting to squeeze it? Not hard mind you… Just like checking a melon or something…?

But…no pun intended…it was not to be. Perhaps it wasn’t Njǫror at work. Perhaps it was Loki teasing and tempting me. I left the beach down hearted. I was no closer to being with my new crush…not that I had an old one. I was totally FOMO.

Dinner was even more depressing. My mom and dad kept trying to involve me in their daily but I couldn’t be bothered to pay attention. I knew that they knew that something was going on with me. Thankfully they never broached that topic. My mom sort of knew what was up with me? She smiled gently and knowingly at me.

Passing on dessert, my mom bothered to bake spandauer…a type of Danish pastry of course, I went to my bedroom and completely lost my poopie…but in a quiet way? Covering my head with my pillow, I let it all out…whatever ‘it’ was. I was doomed to never really meet him. My crush was crushing me. The knock on my bedroom door went unheard as did its opening.

“What troubles you my child?”

Mom’s voice broke through my tearful demeanor. I sniffled and shrugged my shoulders. She sat down on the bed and smiled gently. You know…that motherly smile?

“It’s that boy. No…?”

With a sniffle, I nodded my head. Then a sudden rush of emotions caused me to sit up and hug her. I needed to feel her arms around me letting me know that everything would be all right. She didn’t disappoint…as if that was ever a notion at any time with her. As mom held me, patting my shoulder gently, she chuckled and I could feel her smile.

“I know exactly how it is. I was sixteen…at one time.” She chuckled again and I relished her supple body’s movements against mine. “And I couldn’t have enough of the parties and the boys…and the girls.”

Mom never told me that before. ‘…boys…and girls’…! I was a bit surprised. I mean truly… Can you ever image your folks having sex at all? With each other…with anyone…?

“I know how powerful the wanting can be. But you must be careful here Yuli.” She never called me Yulia or Jools. “This is not home and these people do not understand. I do not want you to suffer from their childish ways and ideas.”

“I know mom.” I pushed away slightly to gaze into her eyes. “I just don’t understand. I never felt this way toward anyone. And never toward someone I’ve never even met.”

“Oh Yuli…” Mom sighed and smiled; her hands upon my shoulders. “There are no flowers or music…no fine meals…no moonlight…no…romance. We are not a romantic people. This is how it is. We are a passionate people full of fire. And we burn. That is what you feel. The burning...”

In spite of sniffling, I smiled and nodded. Indeed it felt like a fire inside me. And I burned for someone whose name I didn’t even know. Mom was right…as usual. Back home, I would be noticed and I would be able to know if someone burned for me as well.

There is no fuss like there is here. Back home, it could just as easily be a ‘yes’ as a ‘no’. My ‘issue’ would not be a hindrance or an excuse for abuse of some sort. It would simply be a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and we could walk off together…or separately. This is how it was when I went back home for the summer.

“And so my child…” Mom smiled, gazed into my eyes, and ran her hand through my hair sweeping it back behind my ears. “Now you know how it is. Tomorrow we will go into town. I think it is time to have our nails done. Pick a bright color to brighten your spirits. And we will have lunch together.”

There was such joy in her eyes…and her smile. In the depths of utter despair, I’d forgotten about our monthly ritual; mani-pedis and lunch. She would go at least twice a month. But the way I ran through manicures, it would be at least once a week. So once a month would need to do.

And I was so terrible at the task that I all would do is add top coats to what was left until the only recourse remaining was to remove everything. Then I would apply only the base coat and two of the topcoat. In other words, it would be harder to mess up until I would mess that up! At least mom’s announcement eased my despair.

Now please understand…it’s not like I’m into makeup and fancy hair styles. But something about having shiny blood red finger and toe nails makes me feel…complete? And nothing too fancy or strange either…no sparkles or charms or other stuff… Just a deep red color and at least two top coats for protection.

But…and a very big but…I would miss the beach that afternoon and yet another attempt to connect with my crush. And so my delight was just slightly tempered. But…and yet another very big but…if it was meant to be…it would be. And if not…at least I had killer nails.

We had a wonderful time. Mom kept a stream of chatter going in both English and Danish. And her amazing energy infected me. She stayed by my side the entire time saving me the task of having to speak with the stylist. Our stylist was my mom’s age and she was always asking me about boyfriends and school. Not my fave subjects…! And so mom did all the talking.

Lunch was amazing as well. We had a view of the inlet and the ocean that expanded beyond. So I spent my time enjoying my mom, the food, gazing at my sparkling new nails, and having a view of my first true love; the sea.

“So my little one…” Okay…so sometimes she would call me that even though I was now just slightly taller than her. “How is it with you today? You were very upset last night.”

Mom gave me her best ‘mom’ smile. It’s the one that hugs you even though you’re seated away from her?

“Oh mom…” I sighed and smiled weakly.

“I know. It is hard…growing up. Painful at times…” She put her hand atop mine.

“So how do you deal with it?” Fair question I thought.

“Deal…?” Mom stared blankly at me for a moment. “Deal…? Ah yes… Deal…!” She chuckled. Mom didn’t always understand me. She took English quite literally. “You must always believe in a tomorrow. He may be of a different place than you…than us. If he doesn’t feel a connection…then that is how it is. But if he is of the sea as you are, then you must wait for the right tide.”

Mom believed in people having spirits based on what is natural. I sort of believed that as well. There was no hiding my spirit. But that spirit was only at rest when I was at sea. Beaching it wasn’t my first choice by any means. And merely playing in the water with a variety of water toys only cheapened that spirit.

Sunday came and once again my crush was missing. That was three days gone. Perhaps he did find another beach. Maybe he wanted the same solitude I did. And once again I was crushed by my crush. At least I had my gleaming red nails as consolation. As if…!!!

But on Monday he was back. The only problem was that Loki brought him. As I was exiting my car…well…actually mom’s car…I was accosted by this guy. He was def a mainlander. Just gazing at him made me cringe. He was almost…too polished? Madras shirt… Tailored shorts… Boating shoes…with socks no less…?

After answering a few questions, I quickly walked up the path and over the dune. I could sense him following me and I hoped that someone else was on the beach. My crush was there and I walked briskly over toward him. As usual he wore a tee shirt, faded blue jeans, sandals, and he had a beer in hand. He gazed up at me as I approached.

“Listen…” I said in a hushed and plaintive voice. “There’s a guy over there that’s creeping me out. May I sit near you?”

Without a word he placed his beer down on the sand and waved his hand indicating where I should sit. Then he stood up, removing his sun glasses and glared back where the guy stood. I could see his hands curl up and his forearm muscles tense.

“That him…?” He asked.

Glancing back toward the creep I nodded my head. Before I could say anything…like stop…my crushed began to briskly walk toward the guy. I knew what was going to happen if he caught up to the creep. And the creep must have known as well because he ran off. My crush came back and regained his place on the dune. Blue eyes…! He picked up his beer and took a sip.

“Fucking chomos…” He said under his breath as he stared out at the sea.

“Chomos…? What's chomos?”

No response…

“So how do you know about balling bait?” He asked as he turned to gaze at me.

“My grandfather fishes and I’ve been going out with him since I was quite young.” I grinned. “In a few weeks I’ll be going home to spend the summer fishing with him.”

“I have a forty one foot boat that I fish.” He said smugly. “I long line and fish traps.”

“His current vessel…” Vessel is so…it’s such a buzz type word? And I felt the need to smug him back. “…is eighty meters.”

“What….?” He was shocked. “Eighty meters…?”

Good…!

“I know how to open sea clams, cut squid and bait the hooks if it’s a long liner. And I worked below sorting and cutting out…” More buzz words… “…fish. I can fillet and split heads. I even save the livers, the milk (fish sperm) and egg sacks when we get cod or pollack for the oil. We even fry some up for a snack.”

Letting him soak a little as I snickered, I saved the best for last.

“But the last two seasons I spent a lot of time on the bridge learning to pilot and navigate.” Getting excited, I chuckled as I spoke. “I can’t wait till I finish school so I can go to sea all the time.” I grinned at him. “I want to get my master’s rating so I can captain my own vessel.”

“You’re the one they call the bean stalk?” He asked softly.

“My name is Jools.” I snapped back.

“Yeah… I know.” He heard me that time? And he remembered? “The two deck hands I have are still in upper school and they talked about you.”

“What do they say?” I huffed and folded my arms.

“Mostly…? They talk shit.” He chuckled. “They think you’re gay or something. You never seem to mess with guys and I think they’re…I don’t know…envious of whomever? But I shut them down quick. I pay them to work and not talk.”

He paused for a moment and gazed out at the sea.

“So where’s home and why would you want to go to sea?” He glanced at me. “You don’t look like the type.”

“Right now it’s Skagen.”

“Skagen…? I heard of that port.” He said softly.

“And I just love being at sea.” I grinned broadly. “It’s like…” I gazed at the sea. “It’s like being at home. You know? And life is really simple. Listen to the captain and do your job. Those are the only two rules. Simple…”

“Yeah…” He sighed. “You’re lucky. I can only fish four days a week at the most. At least for now.”

So that’s why he wasn’t around! Revelation…!

“And I need to attend this marine diesel repair course on the mainland so I can get a job as maybe an engineer aboard a vessel.” He gazed at me. “You’re very lucky. I would love to do what you’re going to do. I bet that when the time comes he’ll even certify you for a master’s license.”

“I hope so.” I sighed. “You know…?” I gazed at him. “People look out there and they see nothing but water and sky.” I turned to look out. “But I see a whole world of life. I see fish and birds and drop offs and…well…everything.”

“Yeah… So I noticed.” He laughed. “Balling bait…? Most guys around here couldn’t spot it if they were on top of it. They don’t even know that expression.”

My crush turned toward me and took off his sun glasses. His expression was quite serious…but also quite cute. I smiled and simply stared into his gorgeous blue eyes.

“What’s the longest you’ve ever been out?” He asked.

There was a different look to his eyes and his facial expression had changed. It was almost one of…dare I say it…respect?

“Ummm…” I had to think for a moment. “Six weeks…I guess? We were trawling herring and mackerel and the hauls were unbelievable. My dad had to fly me home from sea. That…was epic!” I snickered. “My dad was kind of pissed but my grandfather was even angrier. He thinks I’m his lucky charm.”

“That’s a long time at sea…for anybody.” He said and quietly stared at me. “My longest trip was four days. And with the blood clots I had for a crew it seemed way longer.” He stated sadly. “By the way…” He extended his hand. “My name’s Chris.”

“Hi…” I giggled and firmly…as firmly as I dared…shook his hand. “My name is really Yulia but I couldn’t bear being called ‘You’. ‘Hey You’ just doesn’t make it.”

Chris’s hand was quite stout…and rough. I enjoyed its brief and warm embrace…and its strength. But he didn’t let go. Instead…Chris looked at my hand closely. He turned it over and then reached for my other hand and examined it. Then he chuckled.

“These are not the hands of a fisherman…or should I say fisherwoman?” He grinned.

“Either works. Well…” I rolled my eyes and giggled. “I wear gloves. Rubber or steel mesh over silk… It depends where I’m working.” I grinned. “And I do use a lot of moisturizers and stuff.”

“They’re so soft…and smooth.” Chris said in almost a whisper. “You have such long thin fingers.” He added as he let go of my hand. “By the way…” He briskly said with a glorious smile. “I love the nail color. Very hot…”

What could I do other than to blush profusely and smile ever so shyly? Was he flirting? Was I for that matter? I felt…tingly.

“How old are you anyway?” Chris asked with a grin.

“Sixteen…” I replied softly. “That’s old enough to drink back home.” I snickered. “In public anyway…”

“You’re definitely weird. You look younger but talk a lot older.” Chris chuckled. “And weird is good. Weird is right up my alley.”

And we just talked. There was nothing in particular but it’s like we both just needed to be heard by somebody…anybody really. Someone who would simply listen to our voices… There were moments of silence but the silence was a comfortable one. Then my phone went off. I quickly pulled it out of my bag.

“Crappers…! It’s my mom.” I said frantically as I answered the call. The call was quick. “I’m late. I’ve got to get home.” I spoke softly as I got up. “I guess I lost track of time.”

“Funny how that happens when you’re having fun…” Chris laughed and stood up. “I’ll walk you to your ride. That chomo might still be lurking.”

“What’s a chomo?” I had to ask.

“It’s short for child molester.” He spat the words out. “He better hope I don’t catch him.”

Chris walked me all the way to mom’s car. And we talked all the way there. Just before I left, I put down the window.

“See you tomorrow?” I asked tentatively.

“Yeah…” Chris smiled softly. “And by the way… You don’t look anything like a bean stalk. At least not any that I’ve ever seen.” He chuckled.

Floating on air all the way home, I felt totally electric. My crush not only noticed me, he liked what he saw and who I was. My energy carried over into dinner as I told my mom and dad about him.

“He fishes.” I exclaimed. “And he has his own boat.”

“How old is he?” My dad eyed me closely.

“Ummm… I don’t know. Maybe in his twenties I guess. I mean…he’s going to school for marine diesel engines.”

“Where does he live?” Mom asked, watching me as closely as dad did.

“On the island I guess. He looks and talks like an islander anyway.”

And so it went. I didn’t tell them about the creepy guy. There was no sense to getting them upset and doing their parental protection thingy. But not even their inquisition could dampen my spirits.

After dinner, whilst they were having one of their ‘talks’, I went to my room and flopped down on my bed. My mind was full of Chris. I closed my eyes and imagined what kind of adventures we could have. Images of us fishing together filled my spirit and a prayer went out to the God of the seas…and Loki…just for good measure.

School was impossible the next day. I was tired. Sleep didn’t come easily and all I could think of was my crush and the beach all day long. Of course it took me no time at all to change out of my school clothes and into my beach stuff. I even put on lipstick and mascara…again.

His pick-up truck was in the lot. I scooted out of the car and literally ran up to the dunes. I waited a few moments to catch my breath and then did the short climb up and over on the walkway. Chris was in his usually spot in his usual mode of dress. As I walked toward him my smile became so big that it actually hurt!

“Hi…” Great opener… “Want some company?”

“Give me your phone.” Chris said calmly.

“Hello…?” I was slightly annoyed.

“Yeah… That to…” He chuckled. “Phone…!”

Handing him my phone, I loved his commanding voice. It wasn’t a harsh sound. Chris took my phone and fiddled a moment with it.

“Code…” He said as he motioned me to sit.

Having no choice but to lock the phone because I have my credit card on it, I told him the code. I wasn’t afraid of him doing anything weird with it.

“Do you give everybody the code to your phone?” He grinned up at me.

Derp…! I blushed and smiled coyly. I mean…it’s not like he’s just anybody. Is he?

“I’m putting my phone number in here.” Chris spoke as he entered the info. “If you see anyone that makes you uneasy…” He glanced up at me. “Just send me a text and I’ll come to the lot or wherever to get you. It’s under ‘C’ for Chris.”

He handed the phone back just as I settled upon my beach towel and we both gazed out at the sea. The breeze was thick with the scent of fish oil.

“They’re close in today.” I grinned.

“It’s that time of year. They’re coming up on the reef. All the birds are out there today.” Chris nodded seaward.

Glancing quickly around, I noticed that the gulls, terns, and even the pelicans were absent.

“You going out there?” I asked innocently.

“Nah… Everybody’s going to be out there and the whole commodore fleet …?” Those are sport fishermen. “It’ll be way too crowded. I’m going crabbing instead.”

“Crabbing…?” Ek-site-mint…!!! “Blue claws…? I’ve never been crabbing! I know how to eat them though.” Major giggle…

“Of course not…” Chris laughed. “You’ve only fished the North Sea.”

“And the Grand Banks too…” I grinned. “The Flemish Cap… George’s Bank… Greenland… Iceland…”

“Okay Captain Ahab…” He chuckled. “But you never fished for crabs.”

“Nopers… I do know how to grade them.” I offered. “I looked it up once just out of curiosity. I know that when we get them in the fish store we’re lucky to see number threes at best.”

Now Chris looked at me seriously. His stare made me…tingle…sort of? I guess not everyone knew the grading system.

“Tell you what.” He paused for a long moment. “If you’d like to come…”

“Really…?” I didn’t even let him finish speaking. “I’d love to! I can pilot or grade or bait or whatever…if you show me. I mean I can already pilot and grade for sure.”

Chris laughed and took a sip of his beer. Then he eyed me carefully again.

“I’ll need to get the okay from your folks though. And you’ll need to be at the boat by six. Can you do that?”

“I’ll get my dad to bring me.” I responded thoughtfully. “When can I go?”

“Well… How’s Sunday? If I don’t make my catch by then it won’t matter.” He spoke quite seriously. “And you’ve got to know that this is my living. It’s not like a date on the water.”

“I’m quite accustomed to working for my keep.” I huffed and crossed my arms.

“Okay…okay… I bet you are.” Chris laughed again. “My draft is too deep for the flats but I know an island that has a small bay I can get into.”

“If you put in the numbers…I’ll get you there.” I said smugly.

“The numbers…?” Chris grinned.

“Yeah… I can read charts and I know how to work course plotters.”

“We’ll see.” He spoke with a smile.

We spent the afternoon talking about crabbing and fishing. His interest was as totally manic as mine. I had a ton of questions about crab fishing and he was patient enough to answer them all. I guess there weren’t many people as interested in what he does as I was. And he made a clear and very sharp point of telling me that his crew was less than the best.

But only fishing four days a week held Chris at a disadvantage. He could only get upper schoolers who wanted some extra money. They thought that a commercial fishing job sounded really cool to their girlfriends. And being a boat captain seemed to be the dream job of every guy on the island.

My mom and dad weren’t quite as enthusiastic about the trip. My dad was more than clear with only a few words.

“I wish to meet him. This…Chris...” He stated quite firmly and my mom nodded.

“You really know nothing about him.” Mom said flatly.

Knowing better than to try and convince them he was not some kind of pervert, I simply nodded. I didn’t mention that I had his phone number or anything. The less they knew the better off I was. I would wait to see him tomorrow and ask if he minded a major inquisition by my folks.

That night as I rested upon my bed, my thoughts were only of Chris, crab fishing, Chris and crab fishing, and Chris…and crab fishing. There was no way I was ready to sleep. Even the hot bath couldn’t stop my mind from thinking and imagining. So I got up, went to my trusty desk top puter, checked the time, and wrote an e-mail to my grandfather.

At least once a week…every week…I checked in with him. Usually I simply wanted to know how he was. Of course I wanted a full report of how the fishing was. But this time I wrote about Chris. I told him everything including Chris’s help with the creepy guy. And I especially told him about Chris learning marine diesels. All to often my emotions worked faster than my mind.

Of course there was no way I was leaving out the possibility of me going crabbing with Chris. I wrote that he had his own boat and crew. My excited spirit flowed out through my hands as I wrote word after word. I suddenly had something approaching novel length? And…it was in English! I never write him in English!

That realization plus having to rewrite the entire e-mail in Danish finally depleted me. He could read and speak English, and several other languages, quite well. But only Dansk with me. I knew I would have a response by morning. My grandfather had instant alert to e-mails over the ship’s system. And if he slept, it was usually on the bunk in his day cabin where all news reached him first.

First thing after I woke up…okay…maybe the second thing…I checked my e-mail. Sure enough there was his response. My grandfather was having a good catch and would be returning to port a week early. As usual he was anticipating my summer return. ‘As for your new friend, see how it is with him.’ That was all but a personal invite to ship out with him!

But that also meant I needed to see how Chris worked his fishing day. The one thing my grandfather wouldn’t tolerate is a ‘sloppy operation’ as he called it. Everything onboard his vessel had to be safety first. Stopping operations for someone getting injured and air evacuated was very costly. Perfect operating order waylaid that concern quite a bit. And a sloppy crew meant less than desirable catches.

Of course explaining that my folks wanted to check Chris out became my main concern the next day. I mean it’s not like we’re going on a date or anything. And simply saying ‘my folks want to check you out’ wasn’t exactly…tactful? So I slowly and carefully worded my request when I saw him.

“So…” He grinned slyly. “Your folks want to check me out. Why didn’t you just say that?”

Derp…! My ‘derp’ expression caused him to break up laughing. He almost spilt his beer.

“Sure… Of course…” Chris finally said with a grin. “That makes perfect sense. I would do the same if it was my daughter.”

So I called my mom and asked if Chris could come over when I came back.

“Of course Yuli…” Always Yuli…never Jools…! “Bring this new friend. I will set out a plate for him.”

Of course she would. Nobody ever left our house with an empty stomach or a dry mouth.

“Well…?” I grinned sheepishly. “I think you’re invited for dinner?”

“We’ll see.” Chris snickered. “They may hate me on sight. Anyway…I need to be up early tomorrow so I have an easy out. Just in the event… You know?”

Chris followed me home in his pickup truck. He was totally gronked by our house.

“Shit…! This place is epic.” He said with wonder. “I’ve seen these houses before but I’ve never been up close to one.”

“It’s not ours.” I stated quickly. “My dad leased it and the government picks up some the cost. They even paid to have us move.”

“What does he do for them?”

“He’s into marine engineering and propulsion systems and my mom’s into math? They kind of work as a team but she does it from home.” I giggled as we walked up the steps to the front doors. “It works out great for me because I get the car after school.”

We walked in and I dropped my beach bag by the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. I took Chris by the hand and led him through the house and into the heart of our home; the kitchen. Mom was busy fussing with the usual fair. I could smell the vinegar and the smoked aroma and my tummy growled.

“Mor…?” That’s familial Dansk for mom. “This is Chris.”

“Hi…” Chris offered his hand…at arm’s length. “Chris Wilson…”

“Ah… It is good to meet you.” She quickly shook his hand and smiled warmly. “Wilson… Perhaps there’s a bit of us in you. I am Astrid. My husband is on his way. Maybe you would like a drink? We do have some decent beer.”

“Ummm…” Chris smiled and glanced at me. I nodded enthusiastically. “Sure… That would be super. Thanks…”

Quickly scurrying off to the pantry, where the ‘good’ stuff was kept, I retrieved two bottles of the Ceres dark beer. But my mom doesn’t miss a thing.

“Ah…! Thank you Yuli… I had the taste for one.” She grinned wryly.

“Mor…!” I whined.

“You may have one with the dinner.” She grinned and gazed at Chris. “You see how it is with daughters.” Mom laughed.

As Chris sipped his beer and gazed around, mom and I discussed my day. Mom and dad always waited for one another when something important was being discussed. I noticed Chris staring at one of the bowls on the kitchen island.

“Is that mackerel?” He asked.

“It is.” Mom replied with a grin. “It’s pickled. I hope you don’t mind the bones.”

They were mackerel steaks prepared much the way herring is pickled. It’s kind of like Nordic soul food? That and smoked herring…

“And this is smoked herring.” Mom pointed at the platter. “We receive a shipment of foods from home every two or three weeks. We don’t feel so…what is the word…” She gazed off for a moment. “…home sick?”

“That I understand. I’m accustomed to seeing the fish prepared the other way around.” Chris chuckled.

“We have that as well. If I would have known you were coming earlier I would have prepared a seafood soup with grouper…or better yet a cod fish. The heads and bones make for a good base. And the shoulders broil out well.”

“My mom makes amazing chowder. It goes right to the heart and squeezes.” I snickered.

“Yuli…?” Mom pointed at the bowl and platter.

It was my job to help out with the dinner. Although the kitchen had an eat-in area, we loved dining in the Florida room off the kitchen. With its view of the sea and the ocean breeze coming through the open windows, we could almost feel at home.

Mom had already set the table having me sit opposite Chris. It would be a hard choice whether to look at the sea…or Chris. Mom grilled pork chops with potatoes and onions. She also prepared Brussel sprouts dripping in butter and garlic. I threw together an assortment of baked breads and condiments for the fish. Chopped onions, sour cream, capers and blue cheese…of course…

Mom and Chris spoke for a time until I heard the front door open. My dad had arrived. I quickly left the room and went to greet him at the door with a hug and a kiss on his cheek. He chuckled and returned my favors in kind.

“Well… Somebody’s quite happy.” He grinned.

“Chris is here. He’s staying for dinner so you can kind of…”

“Check him out…? Is that how you say it?” Dad laughed.

Grabbing his hand, I tugged him toward the sun room. Dad tossed his attaché onto his architect’s desk as he entered the room in my tow. Chris came from where he stood speaking with my mom. He introduced himself and offered his hand.

“Good to meet you Chris. I am Erik.” Dad grinned. “I am told you are studying diesel.”

“Yes sir…” Brownie points for the boy…?

“And what do you make of this?” Dad showed him a drawing on the board.

Chris looked at the drawing. His finger traced something as it travelled across the sketch. Then his index and pinkie touched the paper at two different points.

“Well…” He sighed. “This looks like some sort of fluid driven system.” He suddenly glanced at my father with a quizzical expression. “Steam…?”

“Very good…!” Dad exclaimed.

“But what vessels use steam?” Chris asked with a totally puzzled expression.

“Do you understand diesel electric systems?” Dad quickly asked.

“Yeah…? Sort of…” Chris frowned. “I’m kind of getting that on my own. The electric part that is…”

“Yes…” Dad smiled. “That is good. Do you know LNG propulsion systems?”

“Nobody uses that here but I’m also learning them anyway. It’s the future.”

“In your country it may be the future. But back home the future is here. We already have LNG vessels working and many more on the boards.” He patted Chris on the back as he spoke. “It’s quite that good you look to the future.”

When we sat down to eat, Chris was immediately taken by the mackerel and the herring. He ate as though this was his last meal on earth. My folks grinned. I know they were enjoying him enjoying these treats from back home. And as Chris slowly told the story of his interrupted youth, I could tell he was…shy about it?

Though born on the island, Chris had to move with his mother to the Keys when his father left them. Evidentially his dad couldn’t put up with his wife’s drinking and carousing. Chris was three at the time. Then his mother was killed driving drunk. She ran off the road and drowned in a canal.

Chris then moved to his mother’s brother and his wife. When he was six, Chris was already a veteran of fishing boats. He mated for his uncle. Whilst attending school in the Keys he discovered that everyone wanted to be a fishing captain and guide millionaires around the back country waters or some channel, or on the reef, to pin-hook (that’s fishing with a rod, reel and hook) tarpon, bonefish, yellowtail or snapper.

But this was not to be for Chris. He loved being at sea and the half day or full day trips with tourists…even though it was good money and helped the ‘conchs’ survive…was not enough. So he moved back to the island when he graduated upper school.

With the money he saved and a loan from his uncle, Chris bought his boat. He was never very close to his aunt or uncle other than for the fishing. But they were decent to him and him toward them. He rarely mentioned them but was always kindly when he did.

As the discussion turned to more pleasant and timely matters, Chris answered mom and dad’s questions about the impending trip. He proudly displayed his ‘six pack’ license that allowed him, to take up to six passengers on his vessel as well as his commercial fishing and crabbing licenses. They were on his phone…of course.

“I passed the test when I was eighteen.” He chuckled. ‘And the permits…” He swiped to them on his phone. “…were even easier. I didn’t even have my ‘six pack’ at the time, but the state fouled up and gave to me anyway. God bless Florida.” Chris snickered.

“I have all the gear Jools will need and there will be my two…” He sneered slightly. “…crew men. Although I use the word ‘men’ lightly…! I still need to tell them what to do.” Chris snorted. “They’re very slow learners.”

And as if to reassure them, Chris several times stated…once looking directly at me…that we were going crabbing and only crabbing! Did he suspect? Hmmm… Or maybe it was simply an admonition before the fact…as if…that this was a money trip. Suddenly he received a text message. He looked at it briefly, sighed, and texted back.

“Shit…” Chris muttered softly and then looked at my folks sheepishly. “Sorry…”

“A problem…?” My dad asked seriously.

“My two rocket scientist crewmen forgot to switch over the gear after school today. They wanted to do it tonight but I don’t want those two doing anything after dark. I’ll still need them in the morning.” He laughed and shook his head. “We’ll just need to start earlier.”

Chris stood up and began to gather his dishes and flatware.

“I truly hate to eat and run. But I really need to be up early tomorrow.” His smile said everything as he looked at my dad, and then my mom. “This was a true treat folks. A very rare treat…”

“We will do it again Chris.” Mom grinned. “Anyone who likes pickled mackerel and smoked herring is welcomed in our home any time. And please…leave the dishes. Yuli must earn her keep as well.” Mom smiled at me wryly.

“If you folks can have Jools at the boat by six…that would be great.”

“This is not a problem.” My dad said. “What time may we expect her so that I can fetch her?”

‘Fetch…’? My dad is going Southern?

“Well…” Chris drawled. “If the fishing is bad, we’ll be in by two or three. If it’s good…we’ll be in by six. I do need to get to the market so it won’t be later than that.”

After hands were shaken once again and the goodbyes said, we all followed Chris to the front doors. I walked him down to his pickup. The moment my folks closed the door, I hopped upon Chris and hugged him. I was totally thrilled.

Of course Chris didn’t know quite how to take it. He chuckled and gave me a quick hug. Then he took me by my shoulders and pushed me off to arm’s length. He smiled and gazed at me.

“We’re just going fishing.” He said.

“I know! I know! I’m going fishing!”

My shouts of joy turned to laughter as I skipped and sang my way back up the steps. I must have made quite the sight but I didn’t care. I was going fishing! I would be at sea once again. And…dare I say it…with a friend…?

Completing my kitchen chores in record time, much to my mom’s shocked amazement, I ran up the steps to my bedroom. Deep in the dark recesses of my closet, I pulled out my sea bag. I dumped its contents upon my bed and began to sort through the gear I’d need for the trip.

My grandfather got me a complete set of commercial grade gear before my last trip. I’d outgrown the last set. I sorted out the bibbed trousers, my deck boots, the silk glove liners, and both pairs of work gloves. The gear was heavy duty, especially for Florida waters, but ‘uber’ strong and durable. The boots had safety caps and rose up to mid-calf.

Hanging up my bib trousers, I placed my sea boots and silk glove liners aside. I also placed one pair my work gloves alongside the boots and tucked my two knives, one for cutting out and the other a heavy bladed work knife, into one boot. Then I proceeded to watch every crabbing viddie on YouTube until I viewed everything and anything of interest.

The entire process is relatively easy. It’s a little like long lining but crab pots are used instead of hooks. And the crabs go directly into an ice water bath to ‘slow’ them. Then they can be safely sorted without worrying about getting pinched by their claws.

The rest of the week I was virtually useless. I would sit on my spot on the dune after school and dream of huge catches. And school was a waste of time. I was so far ahead with simple subjects they labelled ‘advanced’ or ‘AP’ that even daydreaming couldn’t affect my work. Only one more year to do and I was out anyway.

Mom and dad could sense my excitement and tenseness. But they knew the way I always would become when going to sea was in my immediate future. I can’t say they were thrilled with my plans or dreams for the future. Dad especially tried often to steer me in other directions. But they could also easily understand why the sea was in my blood. And Chris understood as well.

I was up at five on Sunday. Getting ready for the elements was already such a ritual that I didn’t even need to think of what to do. After showering thoroughly, Mom helped slather me in sun screen. Then I donned the barely necessary sports bra and lightweight long sleeved cotton top. Jean shorts came next followed by my silk knee high socks.

I always cleaned my gear thoroughly so donning my bibbed trousers and sea boots didn’t foul the air around me. My utility belt held the two knives; the filet knife on the left and the heavy work knife on the right where it could be easily reached. The jacket wouldn’t be necessary but a floppy wide brimmed hat with a chin strap would. With my phone and ID in my jean pocket along with ten dollars and lip balm, I was set.

Dad was also more than ready with the lunch my mom prepared, a jug of water, several energy drinks, and my sunglasses. I was as ready as I ever would be for the day. We got into my dad’s car and he drove me to the small harbor at the south end of the island.

Arriving at the wharf at five thirty, it wasn’t hard to spot Chris and his boat. He had the worst spot on the pier; the one furthest from land. As I walked down to the end of the pier, I noticed my dad watching until I waved that I had found Chris’s boat.

The boat was christened ‘Lady Cliodhna’. I was to find out that Cliodhna was the Celtic sea goddess. The moment he saw me Chris left his chores and jumped up onto the pier. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“Now that’s the way a deck hand should look.” He exclaimed loud enough for his crew to hear and turn to look.

“The bean pole…?” One said.

“Hey…!” Chris bellowed. “We’ll have none of that here!” He scowled. “At least she looks like a fisherman.” He turned and grinned at me. “Or should it be fisherwoman?”

“Oh I don’t care.” I smiled shyly.

“And her name is Jools, you crap heads!” He snarled at them. “Come on board and I’ll show you the deal.”

Chris’s boat was a typical coastal fisher. A long canopy extended from the helm station to the stern giving relief from the sun. Its top was also a convenient surface for stowing traps and pots. On deck just aft the helm station were two engine boxes. Their surfaces provided excellent work spaces.

A long work table ran down the center of the deck for tending the traps…or today…the pots. There were various tubs stacked to one side along with large accompanying ice chests. A ten gallon water jug was fixed near the helm and electronic gear…the plotter, radar, digital depth recorder and radios…lined the combing creating a display quite visible and reachable from the helm.

Power blocks for pulling lines were on each side of the vessel. I was quite familiar with their way larger brothers and knew how to work them. Chris took me forward to the small cabin which held the head (that’s the toilet), a small galley with refrigerator, a two burner propane stove and a stainless steel wash basin.

Forward of that was a ‘vee’ berth and the anchor rode (that’s sea talk for line) locker. The ‘vee’ berth held life vests and other safety gear. Everything was laid out and in good order and easy to get to. Two very large fire extinguishers hung on either side of the bulkhead and were in easy reach from the helm.

“Does she know what she’s doing?” One guy asked.

“Jools…? This is Brian and the other crap head is Kevin. And yes…” He turned toward Kevin. “She works eighty meter trawlers in her spare time.” He snapped. “And she comes prepared to work without spending half an hour gearing up first!”

Both guys blushed at Chris’s reprimand.

The engines, two diesels, were already running and warmed up. I gazed slowly around the boat spotting where all the equipment was located; boat hooks and gaffs and other sundry tools of the trade.

Then I stood at the helm. I recognized the Furuno equipment and knew how to work it. I looked at the various gauges, ‘RPMs’, oil pressure, engine temperature, etc. and the double throttle and gear levels.

Then I walked to the gunnels to see where the spring lines were cleated. Aside from the age and the wear and tear typical of a working vessel, everything was not only ‘ship shape’, but just as one would expect. Then Chris startled me.

“Think you can take us out?” He asked with a sly grin.

“Oh absolutely…!” I said quite excitedly.

Brian and Kevin looked at Chris…and then at me…with shock. It was obvious they had never done that before. And now a girl was going to show them up. The tide was incoming…I had checked the night before…and the winds fair.

“Spring lines first.” I ordered as I took my place at the helm.

When they took their places up the gunnels to release lines they looked toward me.

“Away springs...” I said.

Once released they quickly came back to the stern.

“Away stern lines…”

They complied and I put both gear levels in forward. The boat slowly left the pier and cleared both mooring poles without touching them at all. As soon as the boat cleared them with some room to spare, I reversed the starboard engine and the boat swung calmly toward the channel. Then I put back into gear and we moved out toward the inter-coastal.

Wanting to know if I did it right, I gazed back at Chris. He stood with his arms crossed and watching closely. He didn’t smile. He simply nodded and came forward to the chart plotter.

“This will be our course.” He used his finger to trace the way on the screen. “The inlet is witchy; a class ‘D’ so read the water. The channel tends to shift every so often. You can read the deep water and keep the bow into the waves. It should be an easy out but…”

Chris didn’t need to finish his sentence. ‘Beware’ is the cardinal word at all times when one is underway. As I followed the course out onto the sea and toward the key he wanted to fish, Chris and his crew readied the pots.

Each pot had a number tag. In the center was the bait trap and Chris and his crew began to cut open the mullet and stuff them into the bait trap. By the time the pots were all baited, we had arrived at the entrance of the channel semi-hidden by the overgrown foliage.

With an incoming tide, I guessed we had a good eight hours of water depth to fish. As I entered the channel, Chris came to my side.

“Well…” He said gazing straight ahead at the channel. “That got done in record time. Of course I had a good pilot.”

“Thanks…” I grinned and blushed.

“I’ll take the wheel now.” We sifted positions. “I’m going to try several spots I haven’t fished before. Why don’t you watch what they’re doing. I’m sure it’ll be familiar.” He chuckled. “By the way… That gear and throttle move at the dock… That’s the way to do it and most don’t.” Chris smiled.

He smiled! He smiled and I tingled!

Both Brian and Kevin were readying the pots. They attached the first four to shackles spliced into the line and then readied the buoy attached to the head of the line. All of this was primitive to the way we fished. I was accustomed to automated systems where I only had to place the baits on a conveyor. But I knew what to do none-the-less.

Chris suddenly slowed his boat.

“Get ready.” He shouted over the engine noise. “Now…!”

Brian tossed the buoy out marking the line, and then the pots. As he tossed the pots out Kevin attached the rest one by one. The line was set with a buoy on the tag end and we went to the next piece of ground. We set four lines of twelve pots in about half an hour in four different locations. Chris put the engines in neutral and we waited.

“I like them to set for about half an hour.” He spoke softly as he sat on the helm seat. “They don’t move so quick. Notice anything familiar?” He smiled softly.

“Well…? Yeah…!” I smiled as the memories flooded back of past voyages. “It’s kind of like long lining. Just the scale is different.”

“Yeah…” Chris snorted and chuckled. “Like…eighty meters different…”

“I can do what they’re doing.” I said off handedly. “It’s really no biggy.”

Chris laughed…heartily.

“I have no doubt of that. But today you’re more important as a pilot so that I can work with those two idiots.” He said and leaned closer to me. “Neither one of them has taken this boat out. They think they’re not ready.” He snickered. “They’re either too scared or just not interested.”

He grinned and gazed at his two crewmen…or should it be ‘crew boys’…trying to bask in the sun.

“What do I do when it’s time to haul the pots?”

“Brian hauls and Kevin takes the pot and dumps the crabs into an ice bath.”

“Yeah… To slow them down…” I grinned.

“YouTube…?” Chris grinned.

“Yeah…” I blushed. “I wanted an idea of how it’s done.”

“Good… Those two only know TikTok. You can’t learn to fish there.” He snorted and frowned.

We spoke for a while and it was easy…pleasant. It just seemed that we were both on the same wave length. When I went below to fetch a drink, I asked Chris if he wanted one. He did and I brought one up with a smile. After he drank several sips, Chris put the engines in gear and stepped the tide (that means he was barely moving forward against the tide).

“Ice up…!” He shouted. “We’re going to pull them.”

Brian and Kevin began to fill the huge tub with two fifty pound bags of ice from the massive cooler. Once filled to the top they grabbed a hose and turned on a pump. The tube began to fill with sea water. They stopped when the tub was three quarters full with the ice peaking over the top. Chris then spoke to me.

“You make sure they all go into the bath and then you’ll sort them. I have several measures on the sorting table. The ‘ones’ go into the yellow crates.” He grinned. “That’s the gold. The twos go into the red. They’re the silver. The threes in the green and the fours in the blue… Those are the bronze.” He chuckled.

“You don’t need to be too concerned with the blue crate. They’re factory meat anyway. The crates will be heavy so ask Brian to move them if you can’t. But…?” Chris lilted. “I have a feeling you’ll surprise me…as usual.” Chris chuckled.

As the process of hauling the pots began, Brian usual the power block simply as a line guide, the pots began to come up. The first two yielded nothing by spider crabs. They’re way disgusting looking to eat and get tossed over the side. The next two yielded nice sized crabs and the rest yielded amazing number ones and twos.

And as Brian dumped and Kevin reset, the bath was rapidly filling. By the end of the pull the ice bath, at least two hundred gallon in size, was topped off. As we steered for the next line, I began to sort the crabs out by size. By the time we reached the second line I’d filled one yellow crate, two red, and half a green.

The same thing occurred at the other three lines. We now had five crates of yellows, six red and four green. Nothing was small enough for the blue crates. And yes…I moved the crates all on my ownsome. The guys’ reaction was nothing compared to that of Chris.

“Faaahhhk…!” He grinned broadly. “Now I know why your grandfather is so hot to get you back onboard. Do you do this for him as well? I mean, this is already a good day and we haven’t even begun.”

‘Thank you Njǫror…’ I thought and smiled.

“Well…?” Now I lilted. “He seems to think I’m some sort of sea goddess or something who’s come to help him. Although I think it’s really his ploy to get me back for the summer.” I snickered. “As if he needed one.”

Chris just laughed and with each haul his laugh grew louder. Nobody aboard had ever seen such a haul of prime crabs. I ran out of yellow crates so we began to use the blue ones for the big ones. We ran out of those so we simply left the remainders in the bath and headed back for the dock.

On the way back all three began to wash down the pots with a separate hose. This one pumped from the fresh water tank. They washed the salt off of everything. They then put ice chips atop each filled crate to keep the crabs alive for the market.

Chris allowed me to dock the boat. With the tide now outgoing and the wind still fair, I was able to simply use the throttles to back her in. The guys were duly impressed. Chris was duly impressed. And I giggled because this was a first for me! I knew I could do it but I never had the chance…before.

We all hauled crates to Chris’s pickup. Soon had the crates stacked high and very full. Since there would be no fishing tomorrow, Chris paid off his guys and locked up the boat. He turned to me and smiled.

“And it’s not even six.” He chuckled. “Call your folks and tell them I’ll be dropping you off.”

“Can I go to the market with you? I’ve never seen that end of things and it should be cool to watch.”

“It’s actually pretty boring. They weigh the catch by size and you get paid with a check.” Chris smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“But I just want to see what a fish market looks like.” I whined. “Pleeeese…?” A truly epic whine…of good vintage…an bouquet…!

Tears would have been better but I didn’t think that would play well with Chris. Anyway…I was never much of a drama queen.

“Look…” He sighed. “Call your folks and ask them. You do have school tomorrow and you have to be exhausted after a day like today.”

Fair enough… I called them and mom told me to come home. Her reasoning was pretty much the same as Chris’s. Meh…! As I turned to tell him, I saw that he was counting out money.

“Here…” Chris held out his hand and there was money in his fist. “Take this. You earned it.”

“I can’t take your money.” I whispered and gazed downward. “And they want me to come home.”

“Okay…” Chris smiled softly. “Let’s get you home. But take the money. It’s important to me.”

So I reluctantly did. After all, it was questionable who did whom the biggest service. Working on his boat was nothing short of a blessing for me. And I could always save the money to get him a set of ‘A’ number one Danish commercial fishing gear like mine. At least now I could afford the bibbed trousers.

It wasn’t until I sat down in the cab of his truck that I suddenly felt totally exhausted…both physically and mentally. I had trouble keeping my eyes opened and the air conditioning was like a cool bath chilling me down from the day. I was barely awake when Chris pulled into the driveway.

“Okay Jools…” He turned toward me. “Go get a big pot and I’ll give you a dozen of the big ones. I’m sure your folks will love them.”

We both got out and, as I ran up the steps and into the house, Chris got up on the rear bumper to retrieve the crabs under the melting ice on top. I returned with two of mom’s largest soup pots and both my mom and dad. After exchanging greetings and handshakes, Chris put twelve really huge and very slow crabs into the pots.

“Jools did well today.” Chris beamed as he hopped down off the truck’s bed. “She may very well be a sea goddess who’s come to help me fish.” He grinned slyly and winked at me. “This is a record crab catch for me.”

“Ja…” Mom laughed. “You see the way it is with her.”

“And I would guess Yuli’s told you about her Farfar.” Dad laughed. “But it is truly his nose…” Dad tapped his nose twice with his finger. “This tells him where to make the catch. Sometimes hundreds…sometimes a thousand miles away... But he knows. It is an instinct.”

“And a really good log book…” I snickered.

“I will put these up to cook now.” Mom began to turn toward the house. “Would you like to stay for some dinner?” She gazed back at Chris.

“Yes Chris…” Dad immediately chimed in. “There is plenty and you are most welcomed in our home.”

“I wish I could.” Chris said sadly. “But I do need to go to the market and then get ready for school tomorrow.” He glanced at me and arched an eye brow with a wry grin. “Remember…? School…?” He turned back toward mom and dad. “But I do appreciate the offer. Thanks very much…”

As mom and dad went up to the house and went in, Chris slowly turned to me.

“If your folks are alright with it…and depending on what we’re fishing for…maybe you’d like to come out again next Sunday?”

Making more of a statement than a question...? But whatever…! I leapt toward him, hugged him, and placed my cheek against his chest. He was rich with the scent of the sea and the day’s labors.

My actions totally caught him by surprise and he hesitantly, and delicately, placed his arms around me briefly. Then Chris took me by my shoulders and pushed me gently off to arm’s length. He chuckled…nervously…and he shook his head with a smile.

“Just fishing…” He admonished with a faux scowl. “And only fishing…”

Watching as Chris drove off, I felt a pang…of loneliness…or emptiness? I knew I was crushing and burning but I didn’t care. Chris’s arms felt so totally good, so totally right, and so totally perfect as he embraced me. And the memory of his scent, so very rich from the day, would now always and forever be imprinted in my mind.

Of course the entire day’s events had to be told during dinner. I did so with only half a mind. The other half was still out crabbing with Chris. The room swayed slightly like the gentle pitch and roll of the boat. That is how it is after the first day on the sea.

And later in bed, and after an epic shower with me, my bib trousers and boots, I could really feel the sway. It rocked me to sleep as when I was but a baby at sea surrounded by life jackets on the captain’s day bed. And it would do the same tonight. There would be no foul surprises as I dreamt of being the captain of my own ship.

But my ship hit a reef when my alarm sounded. As I sat up on the edge of my bed, my arms felt as though they’d been punched all night. And my legs…my thighs…my back…felt even worse. My shoulders and butt ached as well. My entire body felt like lead. It hurt to move anyway so I relished the weight of my arms and legs pinning me to where I sat.

Finally conceding the day to my pain, and without much inner conflict at all I should add, I got back into bed and stared at the ceiling. My mom finally came up and opened my bedroom door. She gazed at me and shook her head with that amazing motherly smile. Mom then spoke in Dansk.

“So this is how it is for you today?” Mom snickered. “One day out and you are finished? What would your grandfather say about this?”

I replied in kind as best I could…

“Meh…” No translation necessary… “I hurt all over. And I am still very tired.” I moaned.

“And you want to fish…? This is how it is when you fish.” Mom smiled wryly as she crossed her arms. “If you would like…I will call the school.”

“That would be good.” I moaned…and without overplaying how I felt.

“You should rest. And take a good hot shower.” Mom again smiled wryly. “And…” She gazed off for a moment. “You should stay at home all day and rest. The beach in the back is as far as you go today.”

Mom let me digest that for a moment. Then I realized what she was truly saying. No beach...no Chris…!

“But Mor…” I whined.

“That is how it is for you today.” She grinned. “Or…? You can shower and I will drive you to school.”

Some choice…! What choice…? School…! And then Chris…!

Rolling back out of bed and grimacing the entire time, I went to my bathroom. Mom grinned and nodded. The hot water did help my pains for sure. And I took something for the aching. Mom did help me get dressed and readied. My breakfast, a warm bun with butter and coffee, brought even more life back into my body.

Though I physically had to drag my way along, school was an entirely new experience that day. Some of the guys, especially the ones who fished, nodded and smiled at me. I nodded and demurely smiled back. They were the ‘bad boys’. They were the ones that the girls ran after? Kevin even stopped me in the hallway.

“I never seen a girl toss full bins like that.” He laughed. “In fact there aren’t many guys who can do that.”

“I don’t know.” I smiled, blushed, and shrugged my shoulders. “I guess it kind of runs in the family? I just really get into it.”
“You going to fish with Chris this summer?”

This was way too good to pass up. It would make up for a small…a very tiny…part of the abuse I’ve had to suffer for not being a native islander.

“No…” Majorly faux sadness… “I’m shipping out with my grandfather. He captain’s an eighty meter fishing vessel.”

“Oh…” Kevin managed with a shocked expression. “So this must be like…amateur hour for you.”

There was no malice in his voice. And his expression was one of innocence…almost? I couldn’t help but smile warmly.

“It doesn’t matter. Whether it’s eight feet, eighteen feet, or eighty meters, as long as it’s on the water, I’m at home. After all, fishing is fishing no matter where or how big the vessel is.”

Kevin smiled. And two other guys I knew fished joined us and were now listening. I gazed at them and smiled. They seemed almost captivated by what I was saying. One guy even nodded at the being ‘at home’ thingy.

“Out there…?” I motioned my chin seaward. “I’m free…” I waved my free arm around me. “…from all this crap.”

The guys all nodded. They understood. There were too many rules on land. Too many people ready to tell you what they think you should think and do. On a ship there are the two rules. Do whatever the captain says and do your job. So they get on their boats and go to fish and feel life as it really should be felt.

“Are you gay or something?” A female voice spewed. “I know! You must be one of those tranny freaks. You think you’re a man or something!”

What could I say or do? Her tone said it all. She wasn’t clocking me. She was just being nasty.

“Shut the fuck up slut!” Kevin growled and he turned toward me again. “She’s pissed off that you’re probably the only one on this rock she hasn’t fucked…yet.” He spoke in a not to soft voice as he glanced at her again. “At least she works for a living. And not on her back either!”

The girl was so shocked and embarrassed that she simply melted away into the group that had gathered. I knew her by sight but not her name. She was an islander and always had a pack of guys around her. Maybe Kevin was right…about the slut thingy? After all, there really wasn’t much to do around here at night.

And who cares who she chooses to have sex with? Or with how many…? I shudder to think about what they might do to me if my truth became known. At least Kevin shut her up.

Anyway…what an amazing day! This was the very first time I ever left school feeling good about being at school. When I told my mother what had happened, she simply smiled and nodded. Mom knew I was very unhappy being at the school. But with only one year left, there was no sense in changing.

This day did bring an entirely new perspective to my humble life. I couldn’t wait to share my joy with Chris. Shedding my school attire, I quickly jumped into ‘beach’. Slathered, watered, and bedecked with my bag and hat, I ran…make that walked quickly because I still ached…from the house, to the car, and then to ‘our’ beach.

Being a bundle of energy, and not being able to resist, I ran up to where Chris sat. I dropped to my knees and hugged him. Without thinking I kissed him…on the lips no less! He pushed me off and stared at me.

“What was that?” He demanded with a shocked expression.

In non-stop fashion I related what had happened at school; complete with that girl being nasty. I did so kneeling in front of him and my eyes never leaving his.

“Well…?” He kind of drawled. “I have some good news and some bad news.”

My smiled quickly faded. I wasn’t feeling good energy from him.

“The good news is that you’ve been accepted as a ‘bubba’.” No smile… “The bad news is that you can never…not ever…do that again. You’re only sixteen and that’s a possible chomo charge at best, and sexual assault or rape on top of that worst. You’re walking jail bait.”

“But back home…” I protested.

“You’re not back home. This is the state of Florida and in Florida…being with you that way is very bad news…for both of us.” Chris’s face reddened.

“But I would never…” I began to whine…another vintage year no less.

“You don’t have to. If somebody…anybody…like that girl at school…? If anybody decided to file some sort of complaint…I would be finished for life. Do you understand? You can’t be copping feelings about me. It just won’t work.”

“But…” I stuttered.

“Look Jools…” Chris sighed and patted the sand next to him. “You impressed the shit out of me yesterday. You weren’t just some little girl faking it. You knew what you were doing and you put yourself into it like an real adult.” He gazed warmly at me. “And for sure I know you’re…”
He turned his face away for a moment. “You have this…this crush on me.”

Nodding, I clasped my knees with my arms and hung my head.

“We might go long lining and if you still want to come. And you’ll really need to be focused.” Chris said solemnly. “You can’t be thinking about anything other than what you’re doing. And you especially can’t be thinking about me. I know this might hurt but it doesn’t compare to the hurt we both could get.”

Hard concentrating…? That doesn’t begin to describe it! My heart was sinking but the pumps were still bailing. So…tears did begin to form but I wouldn’t allow them to drop.

“You’re going to be at the wheel. So you can either go crushing…” Chris smiled gently. “Or you can go fishing. The choice is yours.”

Sighing, I took a moment to think of what to say. Knowing and saying are definitely different. I gently wiped at my eyes, put my knees down, and inhaled the scent of the sea. A day at sea and hours of freedom were worth two pounds of flesh. Looking at Chris, I could see he already knew my answer.

“Let’s go fishing.” I simply said.

With a warm smile, Chris began to describe the ‘art’ of long lining. Though I already knew how to do it, I’d never seen it done on a small vessel. I listened to him totally enrapt. It’s like the passion of a person speaking about that which causes said passion, and their energy jumps over to you?

“Listen… I can also bait and sort if you’d like. I’ve done baiting before.” I said as solemnly. Then I really perked up. “I even have steel mesh gloves.” I giggled but then spoke softly. “Is it me? I mean you’re just not into me?”

Chris shook his head, took a swig of his ever present beer, turned his head away and laughed.

“Yuli…?” That got my attention. “In the event you never noticed, you are totally jail bait. You’re a cherry bomb. Didn’t you notice the way that idiot Brian and that other idiot Kevin looked at you?” Chris’s smile lessened and then he spoke softly. “I just can’t do that with you.”

Not understanding my own feelings, I had to let it go…for the moment. I couldn’t let what I was feeling taint ‘us’ any longer. So I sighed…faking relief…I hoped…smiled and turned the talk back to fishing. The burning had become a roaring fire.

Later that night, up in my bedroom, I surfed the net for the style of fishing we were going to do; small boat long lining. But my mind was truly elsewhere. Just what did ‘I just can’t do that with you’ mean? But then again, if he didn’t want me around he never would have given me that option.

I felt his energy and I’m sure he felt mine. Chris knew exactly how I felt about him. And we always seemed to connect when we talked. It was kind of weird. You could look at it as me being just another deck hand that was better than the crew he already had. But we both knew I was, and could be, so much more.

But then again the first invite was from him after we had spoken a few times. And now the invite was because of what I could do. That in itself was an amazing feeling. What Chris was doing was so much closer to the roots of who we once were. It’s totally hands on. These thoughts kept swirling around in my head.

Finally…when I realized that my mind had gone blank…it was time for bed. I was exhausted. A nice hot shower eased my still slightly aching body. I sent an e-mail to my grandfather simply stating Chris was good. A longer one would need to wait for the next day.

School once again had proved to be amazing. I received knowing nods, a few smiles, and even three ‘hiya’ greetings. This one guy even came up to me and asked where we’d gone crabbing but it wasn’t my place to say. And I knew he would have asked either Brian or Kevin and got no answer.

So I just told him that Chris put in the numbers and I just followed the course. There are so many patches. And who remembers numbers? He scowled but he bought that excuse. After all, I wasn’t an islander and I didn’t know the waters. And I was only some girl. Like...what did I know? Just the vibe I felt you know…

Mom offered an invite to Chris for dinner Wednesday evening. She even said she would make her epic killer seafood chowder. I was terrified. I was afraid he’d say no and afraid he would say yes. I was even terrified to ask him. But mom said it would bring good luck. Hmmm…

After a fitful night of sleep, I woke up to the same anxiety I went to bed with. Even with my new reception at school, I was hesitant to go. This whole ‘Chris for dinner’ thingy was wearing me very thin. So during my second study period…I was far ahead enough that they had trouble finding classes for me to take…I did my nails.

It was mindless work and I enjoyed putting another top coat on the polish. I didn’t intend to do this but the bottle was in my book bag and my work was basically done anyway. I usually read ahead at this time but I chucked it for something far more relaxing. A random girl walked up to where I sat in the courtyard and stared at me.

“Why do you want to be a fisherwoman?” She asked ever so innocently.

Now I must state that my egalitarianism only goes so far. The proper pronouns are enough. Whether I’m called fisherman or fisherwoman is of absolutely no consequence to me. After all, the ultimate goal was to be called ‘Captain’. And I guess she didn’t get the memo about the discussion in the hallway yesterday.

“It runs in the family.” I said softly with a smile.

“But you’re not from here.” She offered.

“Back home…” I couldn’t resist. “…we were fishing before there even was a here.” Very true that…!

“Where are you from?” Again…such innocence…or ignorance…

“Denmark… We do fish there.” A bit of sarcasm…?

“Like the Vikings…?”

Really…? ‘Vikings…’? Seriously…?

“I do have their genes.” I grinned. “Although I must admit I haven’t raped, plundered or looted in some time now.” I had to giggle. “And the blood sacrifices are seriously barfo…”

“My name is Toni.” She held her hand out.

Taking her hand, I told her my name was Jools and we just began to talk. Yet another first in my otherwise dreary life…someone my own age and gender to talk with… As we talked, the topic turned to guys. She had the swampies for Brian. Upon revealing this, I understood what was happening. She was checking me out to see if I had them for that derp as well.

As if…! The swampies…? For Brian…? That would be a derp!

“He’s a nice guy and a good crewman. But he’s not my type.” I smiled softly.

One could see a wave of relief wash over her.

“Kevin…?” She asked arching her brows.

“Nopers… I kind of like Chris?”

I had no idea what caused me to blurt that out.

“Well good luck with that.” Toni snickered. “No wife… No girlfriend… And no boyfriend for that matter… Unless he’s seeing someone on the mainland…?”

Now that was interesting! Maybe he just wasn’t into anybody in that fashion. Though we spoke until the bell signaled the end of the period, I felt…relief…and maybe even a little bold? Perhaps even bold enough to ask Chris over for dinner.

And so I did, telling him my mom said it would bring good luck. After a bit of deliberation, he said yes. My relief was so totally deep that I felt fatigued when I finally returned home with the good news. And of course when the big evening came, Chris loosened up quickly and he sort of fit right in.

When I arrived at the pier on Sunday morning, Chris was in a foul mood. Thursday’s catch was okay. But on Friday and Saturday he came in early and was skunked (that’s fishing talk for not much of a catch…if any). One hundred pounds of cobia and jacks didn’t quite make it. And he still had to pay Brian and Kevin…and all the other expenses!

Chris let me take the boat out again. We were heading to a ground about twelve miles offshore. The water was about three hundred feet deep but the bottom came up to a depth of fifty feet. The ground was locally known as ‘the hump’. It was an ideal place to fish for yellowtail and grouper.

The seas were fair with wave heights between three to five feet. I enjoyed the pitching as we went over the waves; gently up, down, and then back up. The boat handled quite well. When we were about ten miles out, land was gone.

I suddenly saw a flock of sea birds diving and working the surface. They were feeding on something which meant that something bigger was feeding on something smaller. Veering off course, I slowed as we approached. Putting the engines in neutral, I grabbed the glasses (a buzz word for binoculars) and left the helm for a better view.

“What’s wrong?” Chris looked up from his place baiting the hooks.

“Birds working…!” I exclaimed and excitedly pointed. “And a big weed line!”

I held the glasses out toward Chris and pointed. Working birds are a fisherman’s dream…or should I say payday. There were weed patches all around us as we drifted to a dead stop. Chris stood frozen with the glasses glues to his eyes.

“Mahi…!” He suddenly shouted. “Get the lines ready.”

Brian and Kevin finished the baiting and they moved two large stainless drums to the gunnels. Two baited long lines were wrapped around each drum. Chris gave me directions for how he wanted to lay the lines. In short order we laid two one hundred yard lines that were weighted and buoyed to rest about fifteen feet down.

The hooks were large enough to keep the small fish off and the larger ones on. It didn’t take long for the buoys to begin dipping at the ends of both lines. Fish on…! Chris took the helm and with the first line around the power block, Kevin began to haul. I stayed off to the side as the fish began to come up.

“Tuna…!” Kevin shouted excitedly. “Black fin…!”

“Mahi…! Seven to ten pounds pounds…!” Brian added equally as excited.

Taking the bait bin, I began to re-bait the hooks as the fish came off. Brian fed it back out on the other side of the boat so we caught and reset in one pass. The hooks were barbless so the fish practical fell off as they came aboard. After the second line came up and went out, we scrambled to sort the fish into separate tubs.

Chris spoke on the radio to another captain and we were soon joined in the ‘fish fest’. By two in the afternoon we were out of bait! After the last haul we simply stood near the helm and took in the sight. We had taken so many fish that we simply stopped the sorting and Chris ran the salt water pump to keep the fish on deck fresh.

Chris and the other two began to place the lines carefully around their respective drums as I ran us back to the harbor. The tide had turned and the wind picked up making for a sloppy return. But I ran the inlet as if I owned it. Chris was duly impressed.

When we docked and secured the boat, several captains who had taken the day off…(‘too many amateurs out on the weekends’ they’d say)…came to admire the huge catch. One ran off to fetch his own tubs and the other said he’d get his truck. Both had bigger boats so they needed the bigger equipment.

The captain with the bins brought them over using his truck mounted hoist. The other came with his large refrigerated truck. So as Brian, Kevin and I sorted, Chris attached the cable from the hoist to the bins and the other captain placed them in his truck. Both captains actually lend a hand! This is the way it is back home as well.

As it turned out, one’s family name was Larson and the other Henderson. Go and figure! Captain Larson told Chris he’d bring the fish to market and drop the check at his home. The other remarked that Chris had the only female crew member in the harbor.

“She brought us to the fish.” He said whilst catching his breath. “She also took us out and brought us in.”

“I’ll be damned!” He exclaimed and laughed.

“She can navigate and she ran the inlet on her second trip like it was nothing. She baits, sorts, and can clean.” Chris chuckled as the captain looked at me with amazement. “And she spends her summers running on an eighty meter vessel out of Denmark.”

“You have a sister?” He asked me with a grin. Then he turned to Chris. “You want to loan her out?”

“And watch my season disappear?” Chris laughed. “Not a chance…” He put his hand on my shoulder. “This one is with me until she’s out of school.”

“What happens then?” He asked.

“Well…?” I blushed, smiled coyly, and giggled. “I begin on working for my own eighty meter vessel.”

They both got a good laugh out of that. As Chris and the captain spoke, I got back to the matters at hand. The lines needed to be washed in fresh water. The boat was a general mess and needed a good scrub down. And since we were in early, I lent a hand. The men didn’t fail to notice either.

When the work was finally done, I took off my mesh gloves. We’d been so busy that I failed to remove them earlier. At least with all the soap and fresh water they wouldn’t need their own wash down. Nor would my other gear for that matter… We did hold back two fish for each of us.
I cut out our yellowfin but kept the heads and skeletons. They’d make a great base for a fish broth. And the filets would be amazing cut into slices and braised. I did the same for the mahi.

After paying the guys…they seem very happy so there must have been some extra money…Chris insisted upon driving me home. Of course I called and told my folks and they extended another invitation for dinner. Chris smiled and shook his head.

“I’m beat and I’ve got school tomorrow.” He sighed.

He asked me to thank mom and as we drove along the road, he handed me money. It was a lot. Much more money than the crabbing trip…!
“Chris…?” I asked with surprise. “This is a lot of money.”

“Today was all yours.” He said…no grin. “I made enough to cover my bills and to squirrel a nice chunk away. It’s a custom to give the one who spots the fish something extra.” He smiled. “If you want to fish next Saturday and Sunday…?”

“Yes…! Totally…!” I nearly hopped out of my seat. Saturday too…!

“I’ll need to hear that from your folks.” He grinned.

What great luck…! Two days of freedom from the oh so very ordinary…! And doing what I loved no less…! When he dropped me off, I grabbed my bag and hopped out. He got out and came around to me. Putting his hands upon my cheeks, he smiled and gazed deeply into my eyes.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “You may actually have a gift.”

Then he got back into his pickup and waited until I was in the house. I would have watched him drive off but I was afraid of being so tired that I’d stop and sit on the first step. Even as I changed, showered, and changed, I could still feel the touch of his hands. Rough, coarse palms and fingers, but oh so warm…and gentle…

And that is how it was. My folks couldn’t say no. They wouldn’t. They knew where I truly belonged since I was a baby and they couldn’t deny this. And they fully trusted Chris so see to my welfare onboard. So for the next few weeks I went out every Saturday and Sunday. And during the week I used my library period to work out in the gym. I needed more strength and endurance.

Our catches during those two days were becoming nearly epic…almost worthy of a true saga. It didn’t seem to matter how we fished or what we fished for. Grouper, mahi, yellowfin and blackfin tuna, cobia and pompano… They all came aboard in great abundance.

Chris sort of became a fixture; a part of our family. On Wednesday evenings we’d all have dinner with an open invite extended at any time although Chris didn’t take advantage. And my status at school grew with tales of each catch.

My grandfather was apprised of every trip; what we caught and what the weight was (that’s how it is on a fishing vessel…weight). And I wrote him of how Chris worked the boat and treated his sort of dumbass crew well…almost too well. My grandfather rarely smiled and never at sea. He would always scowl. But I could feel him smile at my e-mails; especially this days.

His scowl and a nod meant ‘really good’ and a scowl with a shake from his silver topped and bearded mane was ‘severely not good’. And simply doing your job was expected. He usually smiled when he saw me but that was either on land or in his cabin. He’s a serious man but full of love for his life and that of all others who chose to roam the seas.

Then one evening, two weeks before graduation, I get this e-mail from him. It was weird because I write him and he replies always. But he never writes first. I shook for fear something terrible befalling him. I sighed and opened the e-mail. My heart stopped and I began to tremble. On the screen, in Danish…of course…he wrote one simple sentence.

“Jeg kan bruge nogen i maskinrummet.”

Tears came to my eyes as the implications suddenly hit me. My grandfather had written: ‘I can use someone in the engine room.’ I could almost see that silvery mane nod and the deepest of scowls appear. The invite, and his approval, was tacet. I immediately wrote him back saying I would see how it is with Chris. How weird can life be? Just how weird can it get?

Chris was at his spot the next day; beer in hand as usual. I walked over and planted my butt in the usual fashion. Only this time my arms were wrapped around my knees and my chin rested atop them. I stared out to sea and was silent.

“What’s up with you today?” Chris asked softly.

Having planned this out in my mind...kind of...I simply shook my head. Chris stayed silent for a few moments.

“Look...” Chris turned to face me and put his hand upon my shoulder. “You can tell me anything you know. We’re like...shipmates. And you know I don’t talk to anybody else anyway.”

Turning to face him, I looked into Chris’s eyes.

“There are no secrets aboard a ship you know.” I stated and Chris nodded. “Then let me ask you two questions.” He nodded again. “No wife... No girlfriend... No...” I sighed and paused for a moment. ”No...boyfriend... Just what is your story?”

Chris’s eyes turned cold and his smile rapidly faded. He turned away from me to stare out at the sea and then at the sand. He was silent and I felt a vibe of pain. His pain... We sat for a few minutes with neither of us speaking. Suddenly Chris removed his tee shirt...a first for sure! He turned toward me and got up on his knees.

Stunned didn’t begin to describe what I saw...and felt. This was the first time ever Chris wasn’t wearing a shirt. He was very well developed indeed with bulging muscles. But just below each pectoral muscle was a long curved scar. I looked up into his eyes and saw sadness. Chris said nothing.

“Kraftedeme...!” Okay… Kind of a profanity…Danish style…? “What are those scars from?”

Chris sadly shook his head and I could tell he was holding back tears.

”I’m transgendered Jools.” His voice was almost a whisper. “I was born into a woman’s body. Nobody else here knows and I really don’t want them to know.”

Speech…less...!!! Did I actually hear him correctly?

“Wait... What...!”

“I’m sorry if I shocked you but there’s no other way to say it.”

In spite of his deep sadness and pain, I began to laugh...but with relief! Chris grabbed his tee shirt and quickly stood up. He began to leave when I grabbed his wrist.

“I’ve been laughed at my whole fucking life!” His words spat out like acid. “I don’t need this from you.”

“I’m not laughing at you Chris. Please...” I spoke softly and smiled...between giggles. “Please sit down.” And then more calmly... “Please... Sit down.”

Chris reluctantly sat down. I took his hand in mine as my own tears welled up. Now it would be my turn.

“First of all... I thought it was something...serious? Like maybe life threatening...? Like you were going to die or something...? So when you told me, I had laughed with relief. Secondly… It doesn’t bother me. Not…at…all…” Not one bit…!

“Then why the tears?” He asked calmly. “And clearly you’re not running to your car.”

“I have something to show you.”

My words quavered as did my hands as I stood up. I slowly pulled down my shorts and stood in just my bathing suit with my arms outstretched. Chris just stared at me.

“What...?” He shrugged. “I just see your body.”

As I glanced down I realized that...that weird thing interloping between my legs was truly asleep. I turned away and quickly adjusted myself and then turned back. There could be no mistaking what was outlined now. Chris stared for the longest moment.

”You have got to be fucking kidding me!”

Chris nearly bellowed his words. He fell back onto the sand with his arms splayed out and stared at the sky. After several long moments he sat back up and looked at me. I was kneeling on my towel with my hands between my legs hiding Mister Sleepy. I looked at Chris anxiously.

“What would have happened if I wasn’t the right one to come out to? You could have gotten beaten up...or worse.” He really looked concerned and then he snickered. “You have what I want and I have what you want. That...is fucking cruel.” He laughed.

This time Chris took my hand in his.

“I use to bind my tits…”

Hating that word, I scrunched up my face.

“Okay… Boobs…?” He queried.

“Anyway… When I started growing boobs…” Chris paused for a moment and looked at me. “I was afraid I would grow them like my mother. Huge…! So I would bind up what little I had with elastic bandages. In the keys…? The only thing that’s illegal is legality. So I took what money I earned and bought testosterone pills.”

This was very tough for Chris. I don’t think he ever told anyone about any of this. As he glanced out at the sea for a moment or two, I could see the pain that I felt. It was already etched upon his face. Then he gazed at me again and smiled.

“School was an impending nightmare of course. So I’d show up for assignments and exams.” He paused. “My aunt and uncle weren’t thrilled with what I was doing but I was useful and helpful and brought it more money. So they kind of looked the other way and let me go with my program.”

Chris’s pain was enormous. I could feel it in massive waves and I truly felt for him.

“And it’s not like I haven’t been with anyone. Men and women…sometimes both… And even though it was pleasurable for me, I could not achieve that ultimate rush. You know? So I just stopped trying. People are annoying anyway.”

I am not getting into my own personal relaxation exercises! So forget about that right now! But I will say that I knew exactly what Chris meant by ‘that ultimate rush’. I didn’t need to say anything. He knew what I felt and I could see it in his face. I nodded anyway.

“So I figured that maybe it’s not me. Maybe…just maybe…it was them. I just wasn’t into them as people.” He gazed down at our interlocked hands. “The very moment I saw you I felt this…this tingling.” Chris looked up into my eyes and they locked. “But when we began to speak…? It was all over. And from that moment on I couldn’t think of anything but fishing and you.”

Tears were now running freely down my cheeks. I had to blot them with my tee shirt. I didn’t want to let go of Chris’s hand. I badly wanted to say something but I couldn’t compose myself. Almost as one, we both leaned in toward one another and we hugged until I could finally sit up again.

“I finish school in two weeks and then I leave for home.” I sniffled. “And every year I’m tempted not to come back here. This is not where I belong. I want to be with my people...the ones who fish the sea. This is who I am.”

Chris noticably understood. I could see it in his eyes...and on his face. It was the sadness. I had to ask him now...or never.

“The F/V (that’s official talk for fishing vessel) I’ll sail on has a place in the engineering section. Would you like to come fishing with me…for a change?” Hope was written across my face.

It took a few moments for the offer to sink in. When it did, Chris’s eyes brightened and I could see him thinking. He was silent but I knew.

“Hell yeah…! I can do it.” Chris said as he grabbed my other hand. “I’ll just give the boat to the dockmaster and pay him for two months of storage. And if I don’t come back, I’ll tell him to sell it and give me what he thinks is fair.” Chris snickered. “I finish school next week and I’ll have my certificate...for what it’s worth.”

Chris smiled and then I smiled. The warm fuzzies overcame me even though there was one more question to be asked.

“And being back home...I’ll be perfectly legal.” I reminded him...for better or worse. I can take rejection as poorly as anybody! “So...my only other question is...do you want to share a cabin?”

Arching one brow and grinning wickedly...or as wickedly as I could...I remained silent. But in my heart I was saying a prayer to Njǫror. Chris slowly and deliberately got to his knees. His eyes never left mine. He put his arms around me and hugged me firmly and gently. Then he whispered in my ear.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And then he kissed my ear and forehead. I leaned back and stared deeply into his eyes. Then I kissed him on his lips with all the energy that was in me. The kiss didn’t last all that long. But it was one of those kisses where you try to suck up some of the other’s soul and replace it with a piece of your own.

When our lips did part, we stared at one another with amazement. What I said next just tumbled out without any thought at all.

“And if you need to ask what that was…you’ll need to find a different cabin.”

Epilogue…

Getting Chris a passport proved the hardest task of all. He had to gather all his documents which all now read ‘male’ at great legal expense. My grandfather e-mailed the job offer to explain the urgency. And then there were the photos and the fees. But he got his passport two days later making the entire day’s efforts worthwhile.

And my biggest task was telling my folks what was going to happen. Chris felt he needed to be there for our disclosure. I didn’t expect anything less from my Chris. They weren’t totally pleased. But they weren’t totally displeased either.

Going home with Chris was not without concerns for mom and dad. Their biggest one being whether I’d return to finish my schooling and they knew better than to ask. Their second main concern was how Chris would take to my…extra parts? I told them take Chris knew and it didn’t matter. After all, I was an adult and they knew that finishing my last year of upper school just wasn’t one of my priorities. But fishing and being with Chris was.

After one final mani-ped…who knew when the next one would be…and one more excellent home cooked meal, my folks saw us off at Jacksonville airport and our trek…our adventure…began.

First we flew to New York. From there we flew SAS Airlines to Copenhagen. I spoke to the stewardess in Svenska (that’s Swedish) and told her where we were going. She smiled and nodded knowingly. She said that Chris looked like a fisherman. We got free drinks and two excellent meals…each. Speaking the language does have its advantages.

We spent our first night together…and in the same bed…in Copenhagen. The hotel was next to the airport so we could make the first flight out the next day to Aalborg. I was totally exhausted and had to fight my weariness to even shower. Glancing at his hormones resting next to mine caused me to smile.

Chris had already showered and was resting on the huge bed in clean boxer shorts. When I came out of the bathroom and I saw him resting as he was, arms outstretched, eyes closed, and a silly grin on his face, I shed my sleeping tee and wore just a clean panty. Getting onto the bed, I nestled up to his side and Chris wrapped his arms around me.

“Why are you grinning?” I asked softly.

He just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. Not a word was uttered. But a moan of pleasure slipped out of him. So I slowly and gently ran my figure tips over his muscular tummy and chest. It felt so amazing…so wonderful…so very normal and natural. I could feel his head turn. Chris gazed into my eyes as I looked up at him.

“Maybe I’m just really tired and being on my back feels so good. Or…maybe being on my back with you feels so good.” He paused for a moment. “I’ve never shared a bed with anyone I really cared for before.” He kissed my forehead. “Or…maybe I’m truly happy doing what I’m doing with you. It’s like…” Chris paused and sighed. “It’s like the perfect life after so many years of stacked up shit.”

His words brought tears to my eyes and I hugged him even closer. Chris reached over and took a tissue from a travel packet. He turned me onto my back and blotted my tears. In that moment I felt us sharing one another’s energy…fully…as he blotted my tears.

To be sharing this adventure…and it truly would be an adventure…was amazing. This was my wildest dream! I felt so unbelievably grateful to the gods that brought us together. We fell asleep with our arms around each other. We were in no rush. It would happen when we were ready.

In the morning we caught the first flight to Aalborg. Then from Aalborg we rode the train to Skagen. As you might have guessed, Skagen was at the northern most tip of the Danish peninsula and aside from being the largest fishing seaport, it was a favored summer resort.

The very moment we stepped off the train in Skagen, the scent of the sea hit us. And as we walked through the town, I was so tempted to take the day and show Chris where I truly called home. The town is beautiful with museums and parks and the aire of a place where our people went to sea.

My grandfather’s home was just past the northern most part of the port. It was a just off the beach with an unobstructed view of the havn (harbor) and the North Sea. The house was quite grand and filled with his life at sea. And pictures of my grandmother and six generations of fisherman filled the walls. A picture of the both of us rested near his favorite chair.

But we would be putting out to sea in less than three days and there was much to do. The very first marine chandlery we passed by saw Chris getting a full set of Grundéns. The wear in Florida was way different from that we used; much lighter and more subject to wear and tear. So now Chris at least could appear to be one who fished the North Sea. He allowed me to pay for it only after a very animated discussion; our first!

Unaccustomed to seventy degree temperatures in the summer, Chris wore his new jacket. As we turned a corner onto Fiskehuskajen, the main road that linked the entire havn, the port spread out before us. Chris stopped, dropped his bags, and simply stared.

“Fuck…” He said softly.

The smallest craft was way larger than anything that sailed out from the island. My grandfather wrote me to look for the largest vessel in the port. He would be on the bridge…as usual. When I spied his ship, I pointed it out to Chris. I knew from just gazing at it exactly what it was.

“Fuck…” He said not so softly.

“That’s a long lining factory ship. I guess I’m going to be spending a lot of time below deck.” I giggled.

“That’s a fucking ocean liner!” Chris exclaimed. “The mechanical spaces must be amazing!”

“Come on…” I snickered. “Let’s get onboard and see!”

Walking toward the pier, we passed several of the processing houses. Though one could smell the waste from canning or pickling or whatever the catch needed to be marketed, nothing went to waste. What wasn’t directly used was sold as silage or fertilizer to farmers. Being wasteful was not in our genome.

As we reached the main gate to the wharf his ship was docked at, I texted my grandfather. In a few minutes an electric cart arrived to take us to the ship. As we passed other vessels either off loading or on loading, the scale of my grandfather’s ship only grew larger.

“Oh my…!” I turned to Chris. “It’s got to be a hundred meters! It’s huge!”

But all poor Chris could do was stare open mouthed at the ship. And I felt for him. At least I had a good idea of what we were getting into.
The entire way to the ship, Chris’s word of the day was ‘Fuck’. And when we came to the gangway, he simply gazed up at the main deck, number three deck above the water line. A huge smile crossed my face as I recognized Viggo Gunderssen, the first officer. I waved as I hurried up the gangway. He met me with a broad smile and a huge bear hug. After all, he was a bear of a man.

“Our Rán has arrived and we shall all feast on this trip.” He said as he hugged me. “And this is your Njǫror?” He grinned.

Making the formal introductions, I explained to Chris that Rán is the sea Goddess and Njǫror the sea God. They weren’t married to each other but they may have fooled around? The Gods were kind of like that. But then again, so were their subjects!

“We have several other couples aboard.” He turned to Chris. “Some of our women still take to the sea.” He chuckled. “Your berthing is forward on the main deck. I have put the ship’s layout on the desk as well as your working schedules.” Patting my shoulder, he continued. “I hope that your knife is sharp.” He chuckled. “And our Captain waits for you on the bridge.”

On board any good working vessel, we always addressed the officers as ‘Mister’. And the only name the captain has is…‘Captain’. That changes once we’re on land…except for the Captain. We do have our traditions. But I can call him Farfar in his cabin…if we’re alone…or on land.

We were aboard a new factory line hauler which meant we would long line and our catch would be semi-processed…or fully cut out depending on the orders. And the waste would be processed into ‘fish chips’; a fertilizer. This was one of only three vessels in its class…so far. Only the Russians and Chinese had anything larger.

“Your friend will work under Mister Knudsen, our engineering officer. Now go and make your place and then see the Captain.” He grinned. “And both your names are on the cabin door.”

Grabbing Chris’s arm, he was already drifting toward the stern towers on either side of the ship. I pulled him along to the main super structure. Status onboard is dictated by berthing levels. Being on the main deck gave us status as crew. Mates and section heads were on the second level and the third up, or five decks above the water line, housed the officers. Directly above that was the bridge.

Our ‘berthing’ was a cabin with its very own head, basin, and shower! The bed was queen sized. We even had a desk and small refrigerator. This was truly luxury aboard a fishing vessel! We stowed our gear and what clothing we brought and made for the bridge.

Six decks above the water line is the ‘throne room’. We call it the bridge and sometimes the ‘wheel house’ or ‘pilot house’. The second officer was on deck checking the electronics. He smiled and nodded. My grandfather was in his day cabin as usual so I knocked on the closed door.

“Kom…” He growled in his deep voice and I opened the door. “Ah... Min søndatter…!”

“Farfar…!”

I rushed into his outstretched arms with tears in my eyes and a smile on my face. I spoke to him in Danish.

“I am so happy to be here with you again Famor. I missed you so much. And I missed this so much.” True that…!

“You have my blood.” He chuckled. “And your friend…?”

“I left him on the bridge. First I wanted to see my Farfar. Only then he may see our Captain.” I giggled.

We had this connection between us that I didn’t quite have with my parents. But they were good parents and never interfered with that connection even though they weren’t thrilled with what I was planning. But this is how it is for me and they realized it.

“Kom mit barn af havet…” Famor growled. “Let us meet this man of yours.” He said in English.

‘…child of the sea…’ I liked that. He led me out onto the bridge where Chris was busy gawking at all the instrumentation and speaking with the second officer.

“Why does this man stand on my bridge doing nothing?” Grandfather growled quite loudly and scowled quite deeply.

Chris nearly jumped out of his skin. He stood frozen with the most amazing startled look ever!

“He belongs below in the engineering station with Mister Knudsen.” Grandfather growled at me.

“Yes Captain…” I tried to contain myself. “I’ll show him to his station.”

“And you must be prepared to take us out.” He snarled at me. “It’s about time you earn your keep. You will see Mister Gunderssen for your duties until we leave the havn.”

I couldn’t keep my composure once my grandfather returned to his cabin. My excitement and joy simply burst free with a yelp. This would be the first time I took any ship of size out of port; especially one this big and this new!

“I don’t think he likes me.” Chris announced sadly as we descended down to the main deck and then below to the machinery spaces.
Knowing my grandfather well, I had to giggle.

“Trust me. If he didn’t like you we wouldn’t be making this walk.”

After introducing Chris to Ivar Knudsen, grandfather’s engineering officer, I set off looking for Mister Gunderssen. On my way to the after deck, I picked up the deck plans not knowing where he would assign me.

For the next two days we set about our duties. Chris received a tour of all the machinery spaces. He was then weighed down with two arm fills of protocols and manuals to study. He would be lighting up the two massive diesels that powered the electric propeller systems. We were still on shore power so the four auxiliary diesels would also need starting.

Mister Gunderssen had me check the supply inventory. All the baits, hooks, lines, and buoys had to be accounted for. Then there were the food supplies. The blue, grey, and black water tanks needed to be topped off. The crewmembers did the counting and set up whilst I watched checked each task off the list given me.

So for two days we were busier than we’d ever been. We would meet in the mess for our meals and once again in our cabin in the evening. We’d yet to be physically intimate but I appreciated Chris not pushing. We were too tired at the day’s end anyway. Thankfully we had a few hours ashore to get toiletries and a major supply of lip balm.

I’d watched and listened carefully when my grandfather supervised Mister Gunderssen taking us out over the years. Famor did the same with me. I wore the headset and stood out on the bridge wing as I spoke the commands. It was an almost automatic action on my part.

Beginning with ‘single up lines’, to powering up the starboard bow thruster, I followed the order from memory. With each new command I gazed quickly at my grandfather who simply nodded and scowled. Whenever I looked down over the sides he did the same. When we were a respectable distance from the wharf and in the channel, I gave the ‘ahead slow’ order to our pilot and we cleared the harbor.

Returning to the ‘wheel’, I relieved Mister Gunderssen and I took us out. He grinned broadly and nodded his approval as I approached his station. With my grandfather in the port chair and Mister Gunderssen in the starboard chair, they watched carefully as I ported around the shoals and took us out into the North Sea.

Being relieved after two hours, my grandfather invited Chris and me to his cabin for dinner. I was accustomed to this from prior sailings. Usually either Mister Gunderssen or Mister Knudsen would join us. Inviting Chris was a special honor indeed.

The Captain’s cabin was the largest onboard. He had a long table for the executive officers’ and section heads’ meetings as well as a large desk, bed, and a head, a large basin and mirror, and a roomy shower…for a commercial vessel that is. After showering and putting on fresh clothing, Chris and I went to my Famor’s cabin.

The long table was finely set and the master chef brought up an amazing meal. It was just for the three of us and even included beer. There were only three places set with my Famor sitting at the head; Chris and I sat on either side of him. It is the custom to wait for the Captain to begin the meal…unless he says otherwise.

“I am told it is the custom for Chris, you, your mother and your father to break bread and have drink before going to fish.” He said.

We both were a bit confused until I remembered it was Wednesday evening; when Chris ate with us!

“In the old days…whole families took to the seas in search of wealth and new lands.” Famor paused and folded his hands as if in prayer. “The children, if they were sturdy enough, went as well. Our wives with babes in arms would come along. This was how it was.” He paused in thought…but only for a moment. “And to think I bring my family to sea in these days…?” Famor took Chris’s hand and mine. “It is truly a blessing.”

And then his scowl became a broad smile and his sea blue eyes twinkled with joy.

Lest We Forget…

This tale is dedicated to all who sail the very unforgiving seas so that we might enjoy their catch.

Jools...The Sailing

Author:

Kelly Blake

Caution:

CAUTION: Rape / Sexual Assault

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Transgender

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

Romantic

TG Elements:

Long Fingernails / Manicures

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Jools 0169.jpg

Jools…The Sailing

By Kelly Blake

Massive waves broke over our bow depositing sea water atop deck seven. The North Sea winter storm was epic as we plowed through eighty foot swells. Blinding snow turned to ice immediately as it struck the freezing metal surfaces. I was having trouble keeping the bow into the swells and we were making way at only four knots against the sea and the howling wind.

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…”

And this is how it is for us. This is who we are.