"You can't mess with fate."
It was a cold day in Dutch Harbor, Alaska, as Phil Harris and Murray Gamrath walked up the gravel road away from the docks. November in the far north always brought with it freezing cold temperatures, sometimes snow and ice, and today was no exception. Phil's breath created a fog in front of him as he trudged down the side of the road, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his worn leather jacket. Eyeing the weathered blue building further down the road, he walked a little faster in anticipation of getting in out of the cold. Murray matched Phil's lengthened stride. Neither man spoke as their boots crunched over the snow and gravel.
The men were about to ship out again for yet another season's crab fishing – this time going after the elusive red king crab. Last year's season, both for king crab and for opilio, had been long and hard. For the first time he could remember, Phil had had hardly any luck finding the crab. He'd guided his boat, the Cornelia Marie, back and forth across the Bering Sea, searching for the spots crab usually gravitated towards – muddy ocean bottoms with ample food sources. The king crab season had been drawn out much longer than usual because of this – being a large and historically well-producing boat, the Cornelia Marie had a huge quota to fill, and in better years had filled the pockets of the captain and deckhands in short order. Last year, however, was filled with weeks and weeks of backbreaking work on little sleep, and problems with the Cornelia Marie's engines and props didn't help matters. Phil ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair as he thought about the stress of that season; it had certainly given him a few more grey hairs and raised his blood pressure more than a few points. The opilio season had brought even more bad luck for the Cornelia Marie and her crew. They started off promisingly, pulling good numbers in the pots, but Phil's health had deteriorated quickly. After being thrown from his bunk into a dresser when the boat took a rogue wave, Phil had cracked three ribs and punctured a lung. Determined to keep fishing, he told only Murray Gamrath, his relief captain, and made him promise not to tell his sons. He didn't want Jake and Josh worrying about something like his health when they were out on deck pulling pots. The rough conditions and Phil's effective refusal to attend to his own health brought on a pulmonary aneurysm, forcing him to drive the boat to Dutch and go into the hospital, and leaving Murray to finish the season as captain.
Just thinking about it made Phil angry with himself. God, it had killed him to leave the Cornelia Marie and his sons and crew out there in the middle of opie season. He shook his head.
Murray noticed his old friend's inner turmoil. He knew Phil was still beating himself up over last season.
"Just get back out there for king crab this season, alright man? We need you and the boat – you're a package deal for us, okay?"
Phil looked at Murray, startled. His clear blue eyes shone in the bright sun glinting off of the snow-dusted ground. His expression softened somewhat; he couldn't hide anything from Murray. Murray was the one who had insisted Phil get medical attention last season.
"Let's just get inside and get a drink first, eh?" Phil finally said. Murray nodded in agreement.
They finally reached the dirty blue building. The Elbow Room bar had been pummeled by the cold winds coming off of the Bering Sea for years and definitely looked worse for wear on the outside. Inside, however, the bar was comfortable and warm, the tables and stools worn by the years of Bering Sea fishermen coming in for just one more drink before they left for a trip or their first celebratory toast after arriving in port and offloading their catch. Phil and Murray sidled up to the bar, unwrapping their layers of clothing as they pulled out two stools. The bar's owner and bartender recognized the two men and walked cheerily over to them.
"Well, well, if it isn't my two favorite boys!" Ashleigh Olmstead beamed as she squeezed both Phil's and Murray's hands. "Missed you guys this summer."
"I'm sure you couldn't have missed us too much, what with your new husband being home with you," Phil grinned. "I guess we're going to have to stop dating each other now, aren't we Ashleigh?"
Ashleigh's bright eyes sparkled as she winked at Phil. She was young, maybe in her late twenties, and she had just married captain Lars Olmstead of the Alaskan Lady, one of Phil's partner boats.
"Maybe so, Phil. I think I might make it my project to find you a new lady though, now that you're trying to clean up your health and all." She playfully swatted him with her bar towel.
"Now, who told you that?" Phil looked at Murray and made the connection when Murray made a show of averting his gaze. "Gee, thanks a lot man! Now everyone's going to think I've gone soft!" he said, with mock annoyance.
"What can I get for you guys then?" Ashleigh pulled two short glasses from behind the bar, anticipating their usual double scotches.
Murray smiled. "It looks like you already got us covered."
"Mm hm." Ashleigh expertly poured their drinks. "First drink of the season's on the house."
Both men thanked her as they clinked their glasses and took a sip. Phil pulled out his cigarettes and offered one to Murray.
"I don't know, man. I'm a bit more worried than usual about going out there this year." Phil blew out a stream of smoke over the bar. "With what happened last year, you know. I'm not looking to be a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest again with the numbers in these pots, either."
Murray glanced sideways at Phil. The captain looked more anxious than he typically did before going out on a fishing trip.
"I think you just need to make sure you can relax on board. I know this is going to be damn near impossible for you, but you should really try to relax about the numbers thing." Murray knew that most of Phil's stress came from being not only captain of the Cornelia Marie, but also part owner, and he was feeling the pressure to perform. Phil sighed and took another long drag on his cigarette.
Murray decided to try another tack.
"You know, what might make things easier on you – and all the guys really – would be having another deckhand on board who is also a cook. God knows none of us eats good food like we need to when we're fishing, and you especially need somebody to make sure you're getting healthy meals out there." Murray didn't elaborate, but privately he thought a cook on board could also keep an eye on Phil and make sure nothing bad was going on with his health. After kicking himself all summer about leaving his crew during opies last year, Murray didn't trust Phil to monitor himself with an impartial eye.
Phil thought a moment. "You know, that's not such a bad idea. I've been thinking about getting another hand on board anyways, maybe make things a little easier on the guys what with Dave's ankle still being tender and all. Problem now is, we're leaving port in two days – I don't think I'm going to have much luck finding a guy at this late date." He took another slow sip of scotch.
"I guess we're in the best place to find somebody without a gig for this season." Murray glanced around at the bar, which was beginning to fill up with men. The start of the season tomorrow meant one more time to party on land tonight, and the younger fishermen were definitely starting to take advantage of that. With laughing eyes, he watched a pair of boys from the Wizard tentatively approach a couple of local girls on the other side of the room.
"So get this – the other day my doctor told me I should look into getting a professional massage," Phil interrupted Murray's people-watching. Murray turned towards him with a confused look on his face.
"What?"
"Yeah. I don't know what to think of that. I've never been to a masseuse – I guess the correct term is massage therapist – before. After that clot problem I had last year, the doc said that getting regular massages would help my circulation."
Murray rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. "I heard that ol' Corky over on the Aleutian Ballad hired a deckhand who was also a massage therapist. I think he might also have been a cook – I guess it makes sense, if you think about it. Doing this job is like running a marathon every day, right?"
Phil nodded.
Murray continued, "well, I guess Corky had his 'hand doing some deck work with the rest of them, then he'd cook whenever and do massages for the guys after the shift was over. Corky's been doing it for a few seasons now, and his boat's sure been producing a lot of crab. He said his men seem really ready to get working when they go out on deck now – I guess the massage helps them relax so they can sleep better, and he hasn't had any injuries since that started either."
Both men knocked on the wooden railing of the bar. No sense bringing bad juju on one of their fellow captains. Phil scratched his chin thoughtfully. Maybe this was really something to look into. He could probably get used to getting a massage every once in awhile.
A gust of cold air swept into the bar as someone entered from the road. The wind was picking up as the night came on, and at this time of year, Dutch Harbor only got a few hours of sun during the day. It would get even closer to polar night as the season wore on into opilio crab in January. Someone stepped up to the bar behind Murray and Ashleigh bustled over.
"How you doing sweetie? Haven't seen you in awhile!"
"Yeah, I know – Corky's been docking in Aquitaine the last couple of trips. I'm happy to be back in Dutch again, even though I apparently just lost my job."
Phil and Murray both looked over when they heard the woman's voice in reply. Phil drew in his breath at the sight of her – she was young, probably mid to late twenties, with a shock of wavy auburn hair flowing over the shoulders of her dark green parka. She pulled her scarf from around her neck and slid her coat off, revealing an intricately detailed sleeve tattoo down her entire left arm. The woman looked vaguely familiar, Phil thought.
Ashleigh's face was shocked. "What happened, babe?"
The woman shook her head sadly. "The Aleutian Ballad's owner decided at the last minute to lease out his king crab quota this year. I don't know what the hell that guy's problem is, because Corky's been making him a ton of money in the last couple of seasons." She pulled her long hair behind her and deftly tied it in a knot at the base of her neck.
Phil was mesmerized. Apparently this woman was a crabber as well. Murray kicked Phil under the bar and Phil jumped.
Ashleigh looked at him in amusement. "Have you three met?" she asked, looking between the three crabbers at the bar. Murray and Phil turned toward the woman as if noticing her for the first time, but Ashleigh wasn't fooled by their nonchalance.
"I don't think so," replied the woman, extending her hand first to Murray. "I'm Dagmar Larsen – I guess formerly of the Aleutian Ballad."
"Murray Gamrath," he returned, gripping her hand. "This is Phil Harris, captain of the Cornelia Marie." Murray gestured towards Phil.
Phil reached out to shake Dagmar's hand, still at a bit of a loss for words. He had seen a look of recognition cross her face at the mention of his boat.
"Nice to meet you," he finally choked out, his voice sounding even more gravelly than normal. He cleared his throat.
"You too," Dagmar said easily. "I've heard of your boat, of course – you guys had that monster opie season a couple of years back, right?"
"Yeah, yeah we did." Phil had almost forgotten about that year – the Cornelia Marie had had a season for the books – they'd pulled about a thousand average per pot, which was pretty huge.
"Sorry to hear about the Ballad," Murray diverted the conversation. He'd had enough of Phil's awkward replies. "Were you a deckhand on board, or…" He didn't want to insult her by implying that she was only a cook or some other kind of housecat. He'd only met a few actual Bering Sea fisherwomen in his time, but they'd all been fierce as hell, and he wasn't trying to upset anyone.
Dagmar smiled at his carefully worded question. Finding a sensitive fisherman anywhere was pretty rare.
"Well, I was kind of a jack of all trades on the Aleutian Ballad. I started off as a deckhand on another boat maybe ten years back or so. I had to take some time off because of an injury and went to get certified as a massage therapist. By the time I came back, my old boat had gotten a replacement for me, and I was lucky to get on with Corky. He'd been looking for another 'hand, and my being a massage therapist helped him decide to hire me, I think. I cooked for the guys, too, so I'd like to think I kept him and his crew pretty healthy."
So this was the massage therapist from Corky's boat. Phil was doing his best to look nonchalant, but he was enthralled by this girl sitting at the bar with them. Dagmar's voice was low and melodious, and her rich reddish-brown hair was offset by the healthy glow of her lightly tanned skin. Her bright blue eyes were framed by long russet lashes, and she looked comfortably cheerful, as if she laughed often. Phil could see where she would develop laugh lines around her eyes as she got older – something he found irresistible. Her arms were smooth but well muscled, and her short stature belied her obvious strength – Dagmar was built like a thoroughbred, lean but solid, and Phil could see how she'd be strong doing deck work. Murray elbowed him out of his reverie.
"Sounds like you know your way around a crab boat," Murray quipped, giving Phil some time to get it together.
Ashleigh nodded agreeably. "Dagmar's an awesome girl to have on a boat. She's stronger than most guys. And smarter, obviously!" She elbowed Dagmar playfully and the two girls shared a laugh.
Phil's impulse was to ask her to join them on the Cornelia Marie right away, but he wasn't used to making such split-second decisions about crewmembers – especially since he'd never had to worry about finding one of his crew so attractive. Although, he reasoned, Dagmar's meeting them like this may very well have been preordained. This was too much of a coincidence to ignore. Phil nudged Murray and looked at him with questioning eyes. Without even having to ask, Murray nodded his approval. Phil took a deep breath.
"Well, I don't know if you're willing to go out so soon, but we're actually looking for another deckhand and cook on the Cornelia Marie," Phil said hopefully. "We're heading out in two days, though."
At his words, Dagmar looked up brightly.
"Seriously? I'd love to. I've been living on a boat for the past three years, so moving in short order isn't a big deal to me. I live out of a duffel bag."
Phil broke into a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He extended his hand to shake hers again.
"It's a deal then. This is pretty crazy, but I was just talking to Murray here not five minutes before you came in about how my doc's been telling me to see a massage therapist. I kind of had some pretty bad circulation problems last season, and he suggested I look into that. I don't know if you're interested in that job also. For me and the rest of the crew, I mean." Phil felt kind of funny suggesting it, but Dagmar looked delighted.
"That would be great!" she exclaimed. "Man, I guess it's kind of prophetic that I happened to come in here just now. You can't mess with fate."