Summary: During the red crab season, Sig begins to suffer from horrific nightmares. As the Captain struggles to cope with the additional stress, he wonders if his ominous dreams are a sign that he's losing his sanity or if the nightmares are forewarning him of danger in the future.

Disclaimer: The Deadliest Catch is the property of Original Productions and the Discovery Channel. I adore the Hansens (Sig is my favorite) and the crew of the F/V Northwestern and I mean no disrespect towards them or anyone else who appears on the show by writing this story.

Author's Note: I know that, when written, F/V (Fishing Vessel) is supposed to precede the name of the boat; for convenience sake, I will ignore this rule and will italicize all ship names instead.


Sigurd 'Sig' Hansen, Captain of the 125' Northwestern, strode confidently towards the stern[i] of his boat where Norman, Nick, and Edgar were building the stack of crab cages[ii] on the deck. [iii] Looking up, he saw his youngest brother at the top, 25' in the air. "Edgar!" Sig bellowed, startling a squabble of nearby seagulls into taking flight.

"Just a minute!" Edgar called, yelling to be heard over the mechanical hum of the knuckle crane[iv] and the clattering steel of the crab pots as Norman moved the gear on the dock closer to the boat. The deck boss stooped down, methodically checking and tightening the ties that held the pots together in an unmovable layer; loose, sloppy knots would allow the pots to shift with the rough seas and their unbalanced weight could capsize the boat. Satisfied with his work, Edgar skillfully climbed down to see what Sig wanted. "What's up?"

"Hey," Sig said, speaking at a more reasonable volume, "We're clear to leave port as soon as all our gear's on."

"Matt and Jake are stocking the bait freezer," Edgar explained. "And," he pointed to the dwindling collection of cages that waited on the dock, "Me, Nick, and Norman are gettin' the rest of the pots loaded."

"Okay, good," Sig said, casually crossing his arms. "Radar's showin' a storm's gonna hit Dutch[v] late tomorrow morning and-" he leaned against a crab pot, his left shoulder resting against one of the vertical steel support bars, and abruptly stopped mid-sentence.

"And?" Edgar prompted. "Hello~?" he called, obnoxiously snapping his fingers in the fair-haired Hansen's face. "Northwestern to Sig?"

Sig scowled reproachfully at Edgar and stepped back, breaking contact with the crab cage; he shook his head, attempting to dispel the sudden foreboding he'd felt as soon as he had touched the metal. "And," Sig continued, expertly hiding his unease, "I wanna be halfway to the red[vi] crab grounds by then."

"We'll be ready to throw the lines[vii] before dawn," Edgar answered, deciding to ignore Sig's strange lapse.

"Good," Sig said. "I'm gonna go meet up with the other Captains then." Leaving the deck boss to his work, Sig gracefully climbed onto the dock and glanced around; he watched his rivals, loading and stacking their fishing gear on their respective vessels, and breathed a silent sigh of relief when he experienced no more augural episodes. Sig glanced over his shoulder at the crab pot he'd touched, noting the number seventy-seven buoy bags[viii] stored inside, and shivered as the feeling of foreboding returned twice as strong. "Damn it," he muttered, averting his eyes and turning away. Sig headed towards the parking lot to retrieve his truck, trying to ignore his worsening feelings of apprehension and anxiety. 'Maybe that pot is an omen or somethin'.' Sig scowled, annoyed by the thought. 'Superstition is one thing, but a crab cage is a tool of my trade,' he told himself sternly. 'It's not an omen, ill or otherwise.'


Johnathan 'John' Hillstrand, Co-Captain of the 113' Time Bandit, nudged his younger brother Andy to get his attention. "I'm gonna go have a smoke with Sig," he said, raising his voice to be heard over the clamor of the busy bar.

"Okay," Andy nodded. He held up his fingers in the Boy Scout salute. "And I promise not to drink your beer while you're gone."

"You touch my beer and I'll go Captain on your ass,"[ix] he threatened, playfully slugging his brother in the arm. Andy held up his hands in mock-surrender and John left the Captains' table, pretending not to notice that Andy immediately grabbed the unattended bottle and drained it. Johnathan zipped up his leather USA coat and stepped outside. "Hey, Hansen!" he called, moving to join the Norwegian fisherman in the circle of light created by the overhead streetlight.

"Hey, John," Sig answered, an un-lit cigarette dangling from his lips. "Thought you were inside with the others," he remarked, his breath condensing into a visible cloud in the cold, October[x] air.

"I feel the need for nicotine, man," Johnathan chuckled, reaching into his coat to retrieve his own cigarettes. "You were kinda quiet in there tonight," the eldest Hillstrand observed, exhaling a stream of smoke up into the air. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," Sig said, tucking his unoccupied hand into the pocket of his blue Northwestern jacket to protect it from the bite of the autumn wind. "The guys were stackin' on the last of our gear when I left," he continued, "So we'll be outta here before the storm blows in tomorrow." Sig shivered suddenly, hunching his broad shoulders against a chill that had nothing to do with the cold temperature; unease lingered in the back of his mind and gnawed away at his nerves like a termite nibbling away at a wooden log.

"Looks like you got used to the warmer weather in Seattle, eh Sig?" John remarked, seeing Sig shudder and wanting to tease the shorter[xi] man about his decreased tolerance for the Alaskan climate.

"Maybe," Sig replied distractedly, preoccupied with his efforts to suppress the persistent feelings of anxiety.

Johnathan subtly studied Sig, noticing the deepening frown lines that creased his friend's forehead and framed his mouth. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Sig insisted.

Unconvinced, John shook his head at the stubborn sailor. "Come on, man, spill," he cajoled. "Tell Captain Johnathan all about it."

"I…" Sig hesitated. He had yet to meet a sailor who wasn't superstitious to some extent; the odds of John ridiculing him for taking an ominous feeling so seriously seemed acceptable.[xii] "When I was talkin' to Edgar earlier," Sig began, "I got this feeling that somethin' awful is gonna happen to us out there."

"Oh?" John prompted, concerned and curious.

"I mean," Sig continued, "You've had times when your guys are workin' on deck and you hear this...whisper in the back of your mind, warnin' you that one of 'em's gonna get caught in the bight[xiii] or clobbered by a piece of fallin' ice,[xiv] right?"

"Yeah," John agreed, nodding thoughtfully.

Sig took a final drag off his cigarette, tossed it down onto the gravel, and extinguished it with the toe of his brown work boot. "This was just…" he made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and ran his hand through his thinning hair, struggling to describe how intense the experience had been. "…This was like when you're all dry and warm, you know, and you've had your coffee or whatever and then *splash* you get that wave and it just hits you right in the face and you're soakin' wet.[xv] Or like a sucker punch[xvi] to the gut. This? This wasn't a whisper, it was a scream," Sig explained, frowning. The Norwegian glanced over, meeting Johnathan's gaze.

'Okay, that's a little disconcerting,' the eldest Hillstrand thought, suppressing a shiver of his own. John had always been a little unnerved by Sig's eyes; to him, it felt like Sig could effortlessly see down into his soul…now, Sig's sea-blue eyes practically glowed with some kind of otherworldly awareness.

"It really rattled me, man," Sig confessed, shaking his head and averting his eyes in an unconscious display of embarrassment.

John nodded solemnly, realizing how difficult it was for Sig to admit something that could be perceived as a weakness. "Hey," he began, "No one could blame you for bein' a little unsettled. Hell," he laughed with a touch of self-deprecation, "I'd be a nervous wreck, man. But, this is a good thing, y'know?" Seeing Sig's skeptical expression, he continued, "You had this flash of forewarning and now you're gonna be extra vigilant because of it."

"Yeah, that's true," Sig agreed. The fair-haired fisherman cleared his throat. "Thanks," he said gruffly.

"Happy to help, man," Johnathan answered, slapping Sig manfully on the back.

The bar door swung open and Phil Harris poked his head outside. "There you are," the Captain of the 128' Cornelia Marie exclaimed. "We were wondering where you two disappeared off to."

"We were just comin' in," John said as he and Sig approached the entrance. "I'm turnin' into a popsicle out here," he griped, the gravel crunching noisily under his feet.

Sig raised a single, taunting eyebrow. "Thought you were accustomed to the arctic climate, Hillstrand," he snarked good-naturedly.

"Shut it, Hansen," John retorted with a wide grin.

"You guys get lost?" Keith Colburn asked as they reclaimed their seats at the Captains' table. 'Maybe they formed an alliance,' the skipper of the 155' Wizard thought, eyeing Sig and John with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. 'Nah,' the balding fisherman thought, dismissing the idea. 'Sig and John are both renown for going their own way. They're not really the type to partner up.'[xvii]

"If you guys couldn't find me and John," Sig joked, "How're you gonna find the crab?"

"Ha freakin' ha, Hansen," Keith retorted, his face reddening with irritation.

"Andy," Johnathan interjected mildly, "Did you drink my beer?"

"I plead the fifth," Andy replied, smiling deviously as he dodged the swat his brother aimed at the back of his head.

Not to be denied his retribution, John leapt up and caught Andy in a headlock. "Told you I'd go Captain on your ass!" he declared, knocking Andy's cap off and vigorously rubbing his knuckles against his younger brother's scalp.

"Let go, man," Andy laughed. He squirmed in John's unfaltering hold, inadvertently making them both stumble sideways into the edge of the table and causing the glassware to rattle ominously.

"All right, that's enough," Phil intervened, chuckling merrily at the siblings' antics. "You two jokers are gonna get us tossed outta here."

Emerging from the scuffle victorious, John adjusted the collar of his trademark leather jacket and offered the younger Hillstrand a wide grin when Andy glowered at him. "Any ideas for the wager for this season?" he asked as Andy scooped his hat off the floor and absently rubbed the top of his head before putting it back on.

Sig's attention drifted as the others debated the parameters for the bet. 'Johnathan was right,' he thought. 'I feel almost sick with apprehension, but I'll endure it if it means I can get my crew home alive and well….' Sig looked up when Phil snapped his fingers next to his ear.

"You gonna get in on the action, Sig?" the Captain of the Cornelia Marie questioned.

"Or are you playin' it safe this season?" Keith added.

"Yeah, count me in," Sig answered as the waitress appeared with a serving tray of the traditional Dutch Harbor duck farts.[xviii] Sig raised his glass. "To good fishing and a safe season."

"Amen, brother," Johnathan replied, offering the fourth generation fisherman a reassuring grin from across the table as the Captains clinked their glasses together.


Fat, heavy raindrops splattered against the wheelhouse windows as the house-forward[xix] fishing vessel sailed through the water at her[xx] maximum speed.[xxi] Nick Mavar checked the Northwestern's heading to make sure they stayed on course and grinned, thinking of how they'd beat most of the other boats to the fishing grounds.[xxii] While the other deckhands used the twenty-four hours[xxiii] of traveling time to stock up on sleep, Nick had offered to spot Sig at the helm so the Captain could catch a quick nap. He yawned, belatedly covering his mouth before raising his arms above his head to stretch; he stopped mid-motion and stared at the monitor near his left knee that displayed the live footage from the camera out on deck.

Nick peered at the small television under the console. "The hell…?" He squinted at the man-shaped shadow on the screen, trying to identify him, but the insufficient light from the fixtures above the bait station[xxiv] wasn't bright enough. Nick engaged the autopilot, rose from the Captain's chair, and clambered down the narrow staircase that led deeper into the boat; he passed Sig's stateroom,[xxv] located just off the small landing, and continued on his way to the galley.[xxvi] Nick lightened his steps as he passed his crewmates' cabins[xxvii] and turned right, silently passing the cabinet that housed the TV, Xbox, and a few movies, then right again into the small hallway; a door at the end of the corridor led to the head[xxviii] and the door to the left led to the entryway.[xxix] In the entryway, the bearded fisherman shrugged into his dark red rain jacket and pulled on his rubber rain boots. 'Let there be light,' Nick thought as he flipped the switches for the deck floods.[xxx]

Nick pulled up his hood, stepped outside, and looked around, startling in surprise when he saw Sig standing between the launcher[xxxi] and the base layer of pots in the towering 30' stack. "Sig!" He rushed to the Captain's side. "Sig, what're you doin' out here?" Nick frowned worriedly when Sig continued to stare eerily out at the ocean. 'He's not even dressed for this weather,' Nick thought, eyeing Sig's dark red, long-sleeved Henley and designer jeans, both of which were drenched with rain and seawater. "Jesus!" he swore, noticing Sig's bare feet, pale against the dark-colored deck planks. Nick took hold of Sig's shoulders and forcefully turned him so they stood face to face. "Sig!"

The Captain blinked as though waking from a dream. "Nick?"

"Come on," Nick said, "Let's get inside before you catch pneumonia." He shepherded the disoriented fisherman towards the safety and warmth of the entryway. "You need to get out of those wet clothes," he said, gesturing at the wet garments that were plastered flat against Sig's body. "Take your stuff off," Nick continued authoritatively, "And I'll go grab you some dry clothes."

Too cold and confused argue, Sig forced his numb, uncooperative fingers to grasp the hem of his Henley. The eldest Hansen pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it down onto the brick-red, rubber matting that covered the floor of the entryway. Sig fought with the button on his jeans for several frustrating moments before finally getting it undone; bracing his forearm against the wall to steady himself, he peeled the waterlogged denim off his long legs. 'The hell was I doin' out there?' Sig wondered, staring dazedly down at the sopping pile of clothes that lay near his bare feet.

"Take off those wet shorts too," Nick advised, startling the boxer-clad blonde as he returned with an armful of the Captain's clothes, a towel, and a blanket. The deckhand unfolded the towel to form a makeshift privacy screen and averted his eyes to preserve Sig's dignity.

"Fuck," Sig cursed as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic waistband of his boxers and pushed them down over his hips. Nick was a good man, a good deckhand, and a good friend,[xxxii] but Sig still felt mortified; he was the Captain of one of the most successful vessels in the fleet and, here he was, standing naked in front of one of his crewmen because he'd wandered out on deck in the middle of the night during a damn rainstorm. "Fuck," he swore again.

"Here," Nick said, carefully keeping his eyes fixed on the colorful collection of raingear as he held out a pair of dry boxers.

"Thanks," Sig replied gruffly as he pulled the underwear on. He accepted the towel and wiped away the lingering water before donning the dry socks, jeans, shirt, and sweatshirt.

"No problem," Nick replied. He settled the blanket over Sig's shoulders like a cape and quickly removed his own raingear. "Let's get some coffee,[xxxiii] huh?" he suggested as he scooped up the untidy pile of Sig's clothes and tossed the dripping bundle into the dryer with a wet 'plop.'

"Coffee would be good," Sig agreed. The two fishermen walked into the galley and set the coffee pot to perking. Once the coffee had been brewed and distributed between them, they soundlessly made their way up to the wheelhouse. Blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, Sig claimed his rightful place in the Captain's chair and verified that the boat hadn't drifted off course. "We're makin' good time," Sig commented, glancing back at Nick who was leaning against the archive cabinet.[xxxiv]

"Yeah," Mavar agreed. "In a couple hours we'll be fishin'."

"Knock on wood," Sig remarked, rapping his knuckles twice against the wooden window ledge.

Grinning, Nick copied the Captain's superstitious gesture. His smile twisted into a frown as he remembered Sig's vacant, thousand-yard-stare when he'd found him outside. "Sig?"

"Mmm?" Sig grunted as he took a sip of his coffee, relishing how the liquid warmed his chilled body from the inside out.

"D'you sleepwalk?"

Sig frowned and tugged the blanket closer to his shivering body. "Not that I know of," he answered. "Why?"

"I think that's what you were doing when I found you out on deck," the deckhand explained. "You didn't answer when I talked to you and you were just staring at the water. Hell," Nick huffed out a breathy laugh, "I don't think I saw you blink once. It was kinda creepy."

"Yeah," Sig chuckled self-consciously, "I can believe that."

"You remember what were you dreaming about?" Nick queried curiously.

Sig closed his eyes and pressed his fingers firmly against his right eyebrow as hazy details from his dream began to resurface."I remember…" Sig's feet moved soundlessly across the green carpet towards his youngest brother's bed. "…Goin' to wake Edgar," he began hesitantly. He tugged the blankets away from the engineer and was surprised to see that the deck boss was sleeping his raingear. The hood of Edgar's rain jacket fell back when Sig shook him to wake him, revealing his brother's face: Deathly still and pale. The bed shimmered like a desert mirage and morphed into a mahogany casket with Edgar's corpse, still dressed in his rain suit, inside.

Sig's breathing sped up and his fingers fisted in the blanket, garnering a concerned frown from Nick. "Sig? You okay?"

The cover of the coffin slammed closed with a deafening, metallic crash, the same sound a falling crab pot made. Sig looked around, startled to discover that he was standing on the deck of the Northwestern and that Edgar's coffin had been placed on the pot launcher. Jake approached the casket and carefully set the number seventy-seven buoy bag atop the closed lid, substituting it in place of a traditional floral arrangement. The number burned into Sig's brain like a white-hot brand, leaving him unable to do anything but watch as the coffin containing his brother's body was ejected over the starboard[xxxv] rail and swallowed by the sea.

Sig's sea-blue eyes snapped open and he looked wildly around the wheelhouse. The familiar surroundings blurred and the Captain distantly realized that he'd started to hyperventilate. "Shit!" he gasped breathlessly.

"Easy," Nick coached, moving to the distressed sailor's side. "Just breathe, okay? In, nice and slow, and out." The deckhand exaggerated his own relaxed breathing pattern and smiled encouragingly when Sig slowly regulated his own breathing to match.

Sig combed an unsteady hand through his hair, chuckling humorlessly. "Well," he said, "That's two firsts for me tonight: Sleepwalkin' and a frickin' panic attack."

"Everyone's entitled to one panic attack in their life," Nick declared. He diplomatically decided not to mention the dream that Sig had started to recount, wisely inferring that whatever the Norwegian had remembered had not been pleasant.

"I guess so," Sig reluctantly agreed. The fourth generation fisherman shook his head, mentally shrugging off the ordeal as best as he could. "I should probably grab a shower," Sig said, trying, and failing, to suppress a shiver. "Unthaw a little, y'know?"

"Ah," Nick teased, grinning widely, "Your last shower for the duration of the trip."

Sig scowled, but was inwardly grateful to Nick for trying to lighten the mood. "I shower," he argued. "I know Edgar has this asinine theory that I don't like to shower 'cause it's bad luck,"[xxxvi] Sig scoffed, "But, I get so focused on fishin' that I forget. Showers, sleep, and food are all pretty low on my list of priorities when I get into fishing mode."[xxxvii]

"Do us a favor and write a reminder on a post-it note,"[xxxviii] Nick suggested jovially, pointing to the pad of adhesive-backed, yellow papers on the Captain's console.

"Ack, all you guys over-exaggerate. It's not like a stench cloud follows me wherever I go," Sig grumbled. "Besides," he concluded, "There are worse things to smell."

"Yeah? Like what?" Nick queried, right eyebrow quirked upwards as he took a sip from his coffee cup.

"Like Edgar's breath after he bites the head off the herring."[xxxix]

Nick laughed, nearly snorting coffee out his nose. "You jerk," he spluttered, still chuckling, "You did that on purpose."

"This ain't my first rodeo, brother,"[xl] Sig answered, rasping laughter escaping his smirking lips as he stood up. "I'll take a quick shower and then take the watch," [xli] he said as he headed for the staircase, blanket trailing along in his wake.

"Careful so you don't trip going down those stairs there, Linus,"[xlii] Mavar quipped as he took Sig's place at the wheel.

Sig paused at the top of the stairway and pointed a warning finger at the deckhand. "Hey," he began sternly, "I can't be both Linus and Pigpen.[xliii] You need to make up your mind here." Nick's rumbling laughter drifted down from the wheelhouse as Sig descended the narrow staircase and entered his stateroom.


"And now," Edgar declared, "It's time to honor everyone's favorite Norwegian tradition aboard the Northwestern: Biting the head off the herring!" The deck boss brandished the fish at Matt, who turned slightly green and gagged in response. The youngest Hansen spun in place, the rubber soles of his rain boots squealing as they turned against the deck wet with seawater. "You wanna give it a go?" Edgar asked, dangling the herring millimeters from the tip of Jake's nose and making the younger man go slightly cross-eyed.

"I did it last time for Opies,"[xlv] Jake protested, shaking his head.

The relief skipper whirled to face Nick. "How 'bout it, Mavar?"

"Edgar!" Sig shouted from the upper deck. The sea-eyed sailor leaned against the blue-painted railing, the diamonds in his right hand ring flashing like white fire in the bright sunlight. "Are you gonna dance with it or bite it? We came here to fish, not to see your interpretation of Swan Lake."[xlvi]

"Ah God," Matt moaned theatrically, "Now I've got this mental image of Edgar wearing a leotard…." He shuddered. "Thanks Sig."

"Ha ha," the deck boss deadpanned, frowning first at Matt before scowling up at Sig.

"I think it's funnier that Sig has seen Swan Lake," Nick snickered, amused by the thought of the other fisherman sitting through four acts of ballet.

"Hmph," the Captain huffed, standing up straight and crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Think I've changed my mind about giving Edgar his present."

"Present?" Edgar questioned, regarding his brother with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

"But," Jake wondered aloud, "How would withholding Edgar's gift punish us?"

The fair-haired Hansen reached into the left pocket of his teal-green, button-down shirt, where he normally kept his Camel cigarettes.[xlvii] "Well," Sig chuckled, retrieving a small box, "It's really a present for everyone, but it benefits Edgar the most." He turned the palm-sized package over in his hands. "Ah, what the hell." Sig shrugged, tossing the gift down to his youngest brother. "Don't say I never gave you nothin'," he laughed, leaving the landing to return to the wheelhouse.

"What is it?" Norman asked as he, Nick, Matt, and Jake all gathered around Edgar.

"Cigarettes?" Jake suggested, eyeing the newspaper-wrapped package.

"The box is the wrong size," Nick disagreed.

"Here, hold this a minute," Edgar said, transferring the herring into Matt's hands, much to the deckhand's dismay. He eagerly tore the paper off the small package and gazed at the container of breath mints with a perplexed expression. "The hell…?"

Sig's rasping laughter echoed over the loudhailer.[xlviii]"For after you bite the herring."

"Can I have one?" Jake asked.

"Yeah, Fish Breath," Matt sniggered, "Share."

"Hey!" Edgar exclaimed with mock-outrage. "I do my sacred duty to ensure a good catch and this is the thanks I get?" He snatched the herring from Matt's hand and viciously bit its head off. Edgar turned, spitting the severed fish head onto the deck near Jake's booted feet. "Next year we're going back to drawin' straws!"[xlix] he declared, opening the small container and popping multiple peppermint-flavored mints into his mouth.

"All right," Sig's voice emerged from the speaker, "Set it when you're ready. Let's get some."[l]

"Roger," Matt, Jake, Norman, and Edgar readily replied.

"Roger," Nick wheezed, clutching his laugh-sore sides and wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.


Edgar momentarily retreated to the entryway as Norman used the knuckle crane to lower the next pot down from the top of the stack. The deck boss slid a cigarette out of the pack, used a convenient blowtorch to light it, and stepped back outside into the bright sunlight. Smoldering cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, he helped guide the eight hundred pound, steel crab cage onto the launcher. Edgar and Matt unknotted the ties on the horizontal door and swung it open so Jake could climb inside to hang the bait.[li]

"Done," Jake announced as he scooted out and returned to the bait station to prepare the bait for the next pot.

Edgar wiped a mix of sweat and seawater off his forehead before retying the pot ties that held the door securely shut. Norman stood ready at the hydraulic controls, Matt prepared to throw the shots[lii] of white and yellow line, and Edgar grabbed the buoy bags.

Up in the wheelhouse, Sig studied the GPS plotter[liii] to ensure that the pots were evenly spaced[liv] throughout the string, finger was poised over the buzzer[lv] button. He tapped the dime-sized, silver button to signal to his crew that they should deploy the pot.

"Pot number seventy-seven's goin' over!" Edgar called, tossing the neon-orange diver bag overboard and then casually throwing the trailer bag after it.

'Number seventy-seven,' Sig thought, frowning. He entered the information into the plotter and shook his head, dismissing his sudden unease as a result of déjà vu.


Fifteen hours after they'd started, the last of the Northwestern's two hundred pots splashed over the rail.[lvi] "C'mon in, guys," Sig said over the loudhailer. The blonde left the wheelhouse and met the weary deckhands in the entryway as they stripped off their waterlogged rain gear. "I've got us on a course for the top of our first string," he explained. "By the time we get up there, we'll have a good nineteen-hour soak on 'em."

"Sounds good," Norman responded.

"It's a good four hour run," Edgar remarked. "You want us to take watches or what?"

"Nah," Sig answered, shaking his head, "There's no one around for miles and the weather is supposed to stay pretty decent, so I don't think it's necessary."

"Sweet." "Cool." "Nice." Matt, Jake, and Nick responded simultaneously.

"I'm gonna finish a few things upstairs," Sig said as he led his crew into the galley, "And then I'm gonna grab a nap myself." The eldest Hansen climbed the first two steps of the staircase that led up to the wheelhouse and paused. "Don't waste your downtime playin' with that damn Xbox,"[lvii] he advised.

"Yeah, I don't know about the rest of you," Norman commented, "But I'm gonna get somethin' to eat and then catch some z's."

"Sleep sounds good," Matt agreed.

"I'll wake you guys when we're on the gear," the Captain declared over his shoulder as he ascended the staircase.


Sig turned around in his chair and looked out the wheelhouse door as Nick scrambled up to the top of the 30' stack. "Be careful out there, guys," he cautioned over the loudhailer, frowning as a foaming wave sloshed over the starboard rail. "It's startin' to get a little sloppy on us, so take your time and be safe."[lviii]

Roger," Norman, Jake, Matt, and Edgar answered while Nick made a 'thumbs up' gesture to show that he'd heard.

A knot of unease formed in Sig's stomach. He tried to ignore it, but the feeling of foreboding didn't dissipate. 'I'll feel better if I get a breath of fresh air,' Sig reasoned. He pulled the throttle back, slowing the Northwestern's speed, and engaged the autopilot. Sig stood up, opened the door, and walked down the small staircase to reach the upper deck. He took a deep breath of the sea air and moved to stand by the blue-painted rail so he could watch his crew at work.

Nick finished attaching one of the uppermost pots to the crane hook. "Ready," he called, motioning to indicate that it was okay to lower the pot down from the stack.

"Right," Norman nodded back as the knuckle crane hummed to life.

Sig caught a brief glimpse of the number seventy-seven buoys inside the pot and he gasped, suddenly struck with the certainty that something bad was about to happen. Seconds later, the knot on the crane hook broke loose and the eight hundred pound pot plummeted down towards the vulnerable deckhands.[lix]

"Watch out!" Edgar cried, catching sight of the free-falling pot. The deck boss courageously shoved Jake out of the pot's path, leaving himself no time to get out the way. He wrapped his arms around his head, instinctively trying to protect himself as the pot landed on top of him with an echoing, metallic crash that reverberated through Sig's ears like a rifle retort. The pot struck Edgar and punched a hole in the deck two feet deep; the cage's momentum propelled it up and over the starboard rail where it splashed into the tumultuous waters of the Bering Sea. [lx]

"Edgar!" Sig yelled as he raced to the younger man's aid. He reached the edge of the yawning hole and stared down at the blood-splattered, broken body: Edgar's skull had been completely crushed and his familiar features were almost unrecognizable under all the gore. Clinging to the futile hope that Edgar was still alive, Sig stepped forward, ready to jump into the hole, but strong hands wrapped around his upper arms and held him back. "Let me go!" Sig shouted, struggling furiously against the hands that restrained him.

"He's gone, Sig," Matt sobbed, tears falling freely as he tried to pull the older man away.

"There's nothing we can do for him," Norman said, chin quivering as he struggled not to give into his own grief.

"No!" Sig raged, fighting even harder to escape and return to Edgar's side. "Let me go!" The Captain's voice cracked and the tears that had pooled in the corners of his eyes spilled over, trickling down over his face. "Let go, damn it!"


"Let go, damn it!" Sig shouted. He kicked at the tangled blankets that immobilized his legs and feet like an octopus, nearly falling out of his bunk as he struggled to free himself. Breathing raggedly and disoriented by the dream, the fair-haired Hansen pressed his palm against his chest, where his pounding heart threatened to punch a hole through his ribcage. Long minutes passed before the shaken sailor's pulse and breathing calmed to their regular tempos. Sig rubbed his eyes and was stunned to discover the wetness of tears on his fingertips. "Crap," he muttered, furiously drying his tear-dampened cheeks with the sleeve of his navy-blue sleep shirt.

The fourth generation fisherman swung his legs over the side of his bunk and stood up. "Shit," Sig swore, instinctively reaching out with his right hand and using the wall to steady himself when a sudden bout of lightheadedness threatened to send him sprawling back onto his mattress. He closed his eyes and waited for the dizziness to subside. 'Should've eaten somethin' before goin' to bed,' Sig thought, dismissing the dizzy spell. He walked to his private bathroom, pulling his sleep shirt off.

Sig hung his shirt on the hook attached to the back of the bathroom door and started the shower, stripping off his pajama pants and hanging them up as he waited for the water to warm. The eldest Hansen stepped into the small shower stall and tilted his face up towards the steaming spray. Sig reached blindly for the soap and thoroughly washed his face to remove any traces of the tears he'd shed in his sleep. 'Hope that'll be the end of the nightmares,' the blonde thought as he set the bar soap aside and reached for the bottle of Head & Shoulders.[lxi]

The Captain finished his shower and wrapped his tan[lxii] bath towel around his waist. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror above the sink and rubbed his chin as he contemplated shaving. 'Nah,' Sig thought, deciding the stubble didn't look scruffy enough to warrant it. After brushing his teeth and combing his hair, Sig left the bathroom and walked over to where he'd left his sea bag[lxiii] in the far corner of his stateroom. The Norwegian selected a clean pair of light-wash denim jeans, a light-blue button-down shirt, socks, and a pair of boxers before he discarded the towel, carelessly tossing it towards the bathroom where it landed half-in, half-out of the doorway.

Once dressed, Sig left his stateroom and climbed the narrow staircase that led up to the wheelhouse. He leaned over the console, glancing at each of the screens and effortlessly interpreting the information. 'I'm gonna wake the guys and spot-check[lxiv] some of this gear on the way back to the first string,' Sig decided, unwilling to deny his growing curiosity. He altered the Northwestern's course to intercept a nearby pot and re-engaged the autopilot.

The sea-eyed sailor descended the two flights of stairs and rapped on the first cabin door. "Edgar, Norm," Sig called, opening the door and stepping into the room his two younger brothers shared.[lxv] "Light's comin' on," he warned, flipping the switch to turn on the fluorescent ceiling fixture.

"The hell, Sig?" Edgar grumbled, glowering at Sig from under his blanket.

"I wanna spot-check some of the pots," Sig answered unapologetically as Edgar and Norman reluctantly left the warmth and comfort of their beds.

"Did you sleep at all?" Norman asked around a yawn.

The image of Edgar's unmoving body returned in a split-second flashback and Sig cleared his throat as he shook off the memory. "I can't sleep 'cause I wanna know what's in these pots," he said, "And it's driving me nuts."[lxvi] The Captain turned and left to go wake Nick, Matt, and Jake.

"Just because he can't sleep…" Edgar griped, his voice slightly muffled as he pulled a clean shirt over his head.

"C'mon, you'll feel better once you have some coffee," Norman remarked, patting Edgar sympathetically on the shoulder on his way out.

Having roused his crew, Sig set the coffee machine to brew a fresh pot of coffee. He was retrieving some toast from the four-slice toaster when Norman walked into the galley. The others emerged from their cabins, all in various states of wakefulness, as the skipper haphazardly slathered some butter and some blackberry jam onto the toasted bread. "If you didn't grab somethin' before, you'd better get somethin' quick now," Sig advised, gesturing to the deckhands with the dirtied end of the butter knife. He stacked the toast into a small tower on a plate, grabbed his white coffee mug from where he'd left it on the countertop, and ascended the stairs.

"I thought he said four hours," Jake yawned, glowering at the clock on the galley wall.

"I'm just glad we got two," Nick commented, blearily rubbing his eyes.

Matt took a huge bite of a blueberry Pop-tart that he'd retrieved from the pantry cupboard. Crumbs tumbled messily from the deckhand's lips and lodged in his beard as he remarked, "I think that two hour nap actually made me more tired." He chewed briefly and then washed the pastry down with a slurp of coffee.

"Don't let Sig hear you say that," Norman cautioned as he poured a large portion of Honey Nut Cheerios into a bowl, "Or he'll have us pulling all-nighters."

"That'd suck," Jake sighed as he swiped one of the Pop-tarts from the package Matt had opened.

"Hey," Matt exclaimed, "Get your own, Scavenger!"

The youngest deckhand took a big bite and then held the half-eaten toaster pastry out to the older fisherman. "You still want it?" Jake asked, cheeks bulging as he chewed.

"Mine!" Matt declared, opening his mouth wide and biting into the remaining half in Jake's hand.

"Ugh, dude!" Jake exclaimed, relinquishing possession of the pastry.

"What?" Matt questioned, swallowing his mouthful. "You offered it to me."

"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd want it after I ate off of it," Jake replied.

"You have seen the state of Matt's coffee mug, right?"[lxvii] Nick asked. "I don't think he's particularly concerned about germs."

"That thing is pretty vile," Edgar said as he filled his cup to the brim with steaming coffee. "And that's comin' from a guy who bites the head off a herring at the start of every season." The deck boss took a drink from his mug, wincing when the beverage burned his tongue and the roof of his mouth. "Hot!" he hissed.

"Hmph," Matt huffed in mock-offense, "My mug is perfectly clean."

"Dude," Edgar laughed, "That thing's like a Petri dish."

"It's like a cast iron skillet," Matt retorted haughtily. "You'll lose all the seasoning if you wash it."

"If you say so," Norman chuckled, carrying his empty cereal bowl to the sink.

"Ten minute warning," Sig called from upstairs.

"All right," Edgar said, "Let's hustle through these spot-checks. Maybe Sig'll let us grab a few more hours of rack time[lxviii] if we satisfy his curiosity." The deck boss shooed his underlings towards the entryway. "Go get your rain gear on."

"We're goin', we're goin'," Matt remarked.

Edgar considered the liquid in his coffee mug, wondering if it had cooled enough for him to drink. 'Here goes nothin',' he thought with a shrug, gulping down a mouthful of the bitter brew and wincing when the still-steaming beverage hit his heat-tender tongue. "Ow, hot," the youngest Hansen complained as he went to join the other fishermen.


Sig stood by the knuckle crane controls on the upper deck as the first pot of the season cleared the starboard rail. "Ouch," he commented, frowning in disappointment when he saw that the pot contained only five King crabs and two codfish.

"Maybe the next one'll be better," Edgar remarked as he and Nick opened the cage's horizontal door.

'It's nice you think happy thoughts, Edgar,'[lxix] Sig thought, shaking his head as he returned to his place at the helm.

"I sure hope so," Jake remarked as their meager catch plopped out onto the sorting table.[lxx]

"Maybe someone should bite the head off another herring," Matt suggested as he tossed the flopping codfish into the bait bin while Jake quickly sorted and discarded all but two of the five crabs.

"That mean you're volunteering?" the deck boss asked.

"Uh, no, no thanks," Matt replied. "Remember that rule for soldiers and sailors? 'Never volunteer for anything,'"[lxxi] he recited.

"I'd do it, Boss," Jake said, "If you've got any more of those breath mints."

"Sorry, Junior,"[lxxii] Edgar chuckled. "Somebody," he eyed Matt pointedly, "Kept helping themselves and now there aren't any left."[lxxiii]

"Next pot's comin' up here," Sig called over the loudhailer as Nick attached the crane hook to the pot and ushered it back to the farthest corner of the deck as Norman used the knuckle crane to move it off the launcher.

"Come on, King crab!" Edgar exclaimed as he flung the grappling hook at the buoy line. In one practiced move, he fed the line into the block,[lxxiv] casually tossing the buoy bags aside when they came near the turning machine, and ran the line up and over the tire that pushed the rope into the automatic coiler.[lxxv] Edgar returned to the rail as Matt moved to coil the shots of line and leaned over to attach the picking hook[lxxvi] to the bridle[lxxvii] so Norman could lift the pot up with the hydraulic picking crane.[lxxviii]

"Awe, damn it," Nick murmured as the blank[lxxix] pot was hoisted up even with the rail.

"Shit," Sig swore up in the wheelhouse. The fair-haired Hansen sighed and grabbed the loudhailer from where it hung beside the other electronics in a neat row. "Stack it!"[lxxx]

"Roger," the deckhands replied unenthusiastically.

"We'll keep workin' our way up to the top of our first string and do some more spot-checks along the way," Sig continued. 'And hopefully find some crab,' he thought as he pushed the throttle ahead to increase the Northwestern's speed.


"Seven, zero, zero, two, eight, zero, one, four…" Sig scowled as he read the crab count numbers aloud. "God damn it!" the sea-eyed sailor snarled, slamming his fist down on the notebook. He slumped back in his chair and agitatedly combed his fingers through his hair. 'I should've gone with my gut instinct. Screw what the frickin' survey said,'[lxxxi] he thought irritably. 'There's no sense in grinding[lxxxii] on single digits,' Sig thought, huffing out a frustrated sigh. They'd stacked their third and fourth strings and were in the process of stacking the second string, having seen nothing more substantial than single digit crab counts in any of the pots; it was painfully obvious that there was no King crab to be caught where they were fishing.

Sig absently reached for his Northwestern coffee mug and grimaced in distaste when the hours-old liquid touched his tongue. 'We'll just have to move the gear to new grounds,' the Captain thought resignedly. Sig set his mug back on the wooden window ledge and plucked a cigarette from the pack he'd left beside the throttle; he stood up, lighting his cigarette as he moved towards the archive cabinet. 'Maybe I'll be inspired if I look through the old records,' Sig thought, exhaling a stream of smoke into the air as he opened the drawer.

Smoldering cigarette clamped between his lips, Sig sifted through the cabinet's contents. 'Let's see here…' he mused as he pulled a chart out of the drawer, gentling his touch when the aged map threatened to tear in his grasp. Sig unfolded the delicate chart and spread it out on top of the cabinet, carefully running his fingertips over the folds to remove the creases in the time-yellowed paper. He squinted at the faded ink before shaking his head in defeat and retracing his steps towards the Captain's chair; Sig tapped the accumulated cigarette ashes into the ashtray and snatched his reading glasses from where he'd abandoned them next to the jog stick.[lxxxiii] Sig returned to the archive cabinet and slid the frameless, rectangular glasses on, bringing the words into crisp focus.

"Hmm," Sig hummed, thoughtfully rubbing his stubble-covered chin as he intently studied the map. "I wonder…" The eldest Hansen re-opened the drawer and selected another chart and an old logbook from when he'd first assumed captaincy of the Northwestern over two decades ago. Sig laid his map beside the one his father, Sverre Hansen, had used, his eyes narrowing as he compared them; wanting to confirm his theory, he paged through the dog-eared logbook. A satisfied smile spread across his face as he re-discovered a fishing spot that had yielded record numbers of King crab in the past. "Perfect," Sig chuckled as he carefully returned the records to the archive cabinet.

'I just hope nobody else has already started fishing there,' Sig thought as he reclaimed his seat. He took a final puff off his cigarette and flicked it out the open starboard window into the Bering Sea. Sig turned in his chair, glancing out the wheelhouse door to make sure his men were away from the rail,[lxxxiv] before he pushed the throttle ahead. 'Let's go catch some crab,' Sig thought, anxious to get his gear picked up, moved, and re-set on the new grounds.


Reference & Glossary of Terms:

[i] Stern: Back of a boat or ship.

[ii] Crab "cages" or "pots" are used to catch crab; the ones Sig uses are larger than pots used by other fishermen. The pots are 7' wide on the door x 8' long on the 'tunnel' and weigh 967 pounds. (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.3-1) A pot costs approximately $1,000.

[iii] Deck: The main outdoor area of the boat where the fishing takes place; the workers are called deckhands and are led by the deck boss.

[iv] Knuckle crane: The hydraulic crane situated on the port side of the boat; it has five control levers and is called a "knuckle" crane because the crane arm bends in the middle like the knuckle of one's finger.

[v] Dutch Harbor, Alaska: Located 1,700 miles north of Seattle. Dutch Harbor is the number one port in the U.S. for receiving, processing, and transporting seafood around the world. (Deadliest Catch S.1-1)

[vi] "Red crab" is a species of King crab that is also known simply as Alaskan King crab; red crab and Opilio crab have always been featured on Deadliest Catch, whereas the fisheries for the other species of King crab (Blue and Bairdi) have been included in the show in more recent years.

[vii] To "throw the lines": The act of disconnecting the mooring lines that anchor a vessel to the dock.

[viii] There are two buoy "bags" in a set: A "diver bag" and a "trailer bag." (Deadliest Catch S.3-7) The buoy bags are used to mark the location of each pot and each set weighs 14 pounds. (Deadliest Catch S.4-2)

[ix] Andy recounts a story about how Captain Johnathan called him on the phone to tell him that he went "Captain on somebody's ass." (Deadliest Catch S.4-20) After neglecting to appoint someone to take weights during an offload at the processor, Andy makes two signs; one reads, "Don't make me go Captain on your ass," while the other reads, "You have five minutes to fix the problem or I'll go Captain on your ass." (Deadliest Catch S.5-10)

[x] Red King crab season starts on the same date each year: October 15.

[xi] Sig is 5'8" tall. Johnathan is 6'1" tall.

[xii] The Hillstrands' mother has made predictions based on dreams she's experienced. (Deadliest Catch S.4-1)

[xiii] Bight: In nautical terms, the word bight refers to 'loops' in the line (such as when the rope is coiled) as well as the 'middle or slack part of an extended rope.' ( bight) Sailors should always stay out of the bight of the line, because anything or anyone in its path is vulnerable to damage or serious injury, which could include being pulled overboard. ( /cruising/usa/Keep-Clear-of-the-Bight-Line-for-Sailing-Safety!/109829)

[xiv] Edgar recalls that a piece of ice fell from the mast and it drove him "straight to the deck." (Deadliest Catch S. 4-14)

[xv] "You're all dry and warm, you know, and you've had your coffee or whatever and then *splash* you get that wave and it just hits you right in the face and you're soakin' wet." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.5-12)

[xvi] Keith Colburn called John "Sucker Punch Hillstrand" during an argument. (Deadliest Catch S.6-1)

[xvii] Sig and John actually did partner up for the end of the red crab season in 2014. The season was cut short because of the government shutdown and Sig didn't want all the other boats to take over his awesome fishing spot, so he called Johnathan and formed an alliance to "checkerboard" the grounds; unlike partnerships viewers of the show have seen between other Captains, Hansen and Hillstrand respected each other and were able to maintain their friendship. (Deadliest Catch S.10-4)

[xviii] The Captains seal their commitment to the wager for the season with a 'Dutch Harbor duck fart,' which contains a mixture of Bailey's & Crown Royale. (Deadliest Catch S.5-1)

[xix] There are two styles of commercial fishing boats: Wheelhouse-forward and wheelhouse-aft. The F/V Northwestern is a house-forward style. House-forward vessels have better visibility and provide better protection from waves and weather for the crew on deck; however, it is more difficult to see the deckhands directly and the wheelhouse windows are more likely to break because the wheelhouse takes the brunt of the weather. House-aft vessels have worse navigational visibility and provide less weather protection for the crew, but the wheelhouse itself is less vulnerable and it is very easy to watch the crew and deck activity.

[xx] Boats are always referred to with the feminine pronoun. In the English language, boats are among the only inanimate objects that take a gendered pronoun, whereas most others are called it; countries and cars are also called she. The theories for doing this vary; one is because boats are traditionally given female names, typically the name of an important woman in the life of the boat's owner, such as his mother. Another theory is that ships were once dedicated to goddesses, and later to important mortal women when belief in goddesses waned. Interestingly, although male captains and sailors historically attributed the spirit of a benevolent female figure to their ships, actual women were considered very bad luck at sea.

[xxi] According to the official F/V Northwestern press release, the maximum speed that the F/V Northwestern can achieve is 12 knots. ( /northwestern/marco-press-release-1977/) 12 knots is approximately 14 miles per hour.

[xxii] "We're a pretty speedy boat; we got the jump on most guys." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.1-8) "One of the fastest boats in the fleet, the Northwestern covers the 42 miles from St. Paul to the [Opilio crab] grounds in just under 4 hours." (Mike Rowe - Narrator, Deadliest Catch S.4-14)

[xxiii] It takes 24 hours to reach the red King crab grounds. (Deadliest Catch S.4-1)

[xxiv] Bait station: Area where the bait is prepared.

[xxv] Stateroom: A private cabin on a boat; it is usually larger in size than a regular cabin. Sig's stateroom is located at the base of the staircase that leads down from the wheelhouse. ( photos/bkraai/with/2723778949)

[xxvi] Galley: Kitchen aboard a ship.

[xxvii] Cabin: A small room on a ship or boat where people sleep; Edgar called the crew cabins "staterooms" during an exclusive tour of the F/V Northwestern for the SeattleInsider back in 2008, but to avoid confusion, I will only use the term "stateroom" to refer to Sig's private quarters. ( news/entertainment/video-tour-northwestern-and-wizard-deadliest-catch/nbPWC/)

[xxviii] Head: Bathroom aboard a ship.

[xxix] Entryway: The room just off the deck where the crew keeps their raingear; it is also used for temporary tool storage and the laundry machines are located here. The floor is also covered with rubber matting, both to protect the floor and to prevent falls. On the F/V Northwestern, if entering from the deck, the door straight ahead leads into the galley while a door on the left leads below to the engine room.

[xxx] "Deck floods" or "sodiums " are sodium vapor lights comparable to the lights of a football stadium; on the F/V Northwestern, two point back towards the deck while four others, situated at the top of the 35' mast, are pointed forward so the Captain can see the see ahead. The light switches that control the deck floods are located in the entryway where the rain gear is kept.

[xxxi] The "launcher" is a hydraulic-powered metal platform that is used to "set" or "splash" the crab pots into the ocean. The launcher is also used when retrieving a pot; once the pot has been hauled aboard, it is set on the launcher and metal hooks called "dogs" clamp down on the steel frame of the pot to keep it secured in place when the launcher is raised up to it's highest position; the pot is held vertically and shaken (via manipulation of the hydraulic controls) to dump the crab out of the cage onto the sorting table.

[xxxii] "He's [Nick] always been the go-to guy for me […]." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.7-11)

[xxxiii] Sig created his own blend of coffee called: Northwestern Grind. He writes a personalized letter to potential customers: "When you're fishing the Bering Sea, coffee isn't a luxury, it's a necessity. Staying alert and awake isn't about productivity, it's about survival. It's not uncommon that our crew works 30 or more hours in a row—baiting pots, setting pots, pulling pots, sorting crab, and all the while floating around some of the most dangerous waters in the world. Fittingly, our crew consumes a metric shit-ton of caffeine—which is why I created Northwestern Grind. Like our crab, Northwestern Grind is the highest quality coffee nature can provide, so when you absolutely have to have a great cup of joe, leave nothing to chance and grab a cup of ours. Enjoy, Sig."

[xxxiv] Archive Cabinet: Cabinet in the wheelhouse that contains all the old logbooks and the Hansen family charts.

[xxxv] Starboard: The right side of the boat when facing forward.

[xxxvi] Sig reads through the suggestion box and someone, presumably Edgar, requested that the "Skipper takes more than one shower a month." (Deadliest Catch S.2-12) During a video tour of the boat, Edgar also comments that Sig thinks it's "bad luck to shower." ( news/entertainment/video-tour-northwestern-and-wizard-deadliest-catch/nbPWC/)

[xxxvii] Sig describes his priorities in descending order of importance: "Crab, weather, food… [laughs]…it's good. Oh yeah, then there's sleep; I forgot about that. That's on the bottom somewhere. I'd rather just work until my eyes pop outta my head and then sleep. You know, quite honestly, the longer you work the better I feel." (Deadliest Catch S.4-4)

[xxxviii] One of Sig's 'must have' items before going fishing is yellow post-it notes. ( /web/deadliestcatch/theboats/northwestern/)

[xxxix] According to Norwegian superstition, biting the head off a herring at the beginning of a fishing season brings good luck.

[xl] When Matt delays relieving Sig at the helm to take a shower instead, Sig deviously shuts off the fresh water pump; "This ain't my first rodeo, brother." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.2-7)

[xli] Each man aboard is expected to take his turn on "wheel watch" to ensure the boat stays on course while the Captain and/or other crewmembers are resting.

[xlii] Linus: Character from the "Peanuts" comic strip that always carried a blanket around.

[xliii] Pigpen: Character from the "Peanuts" comic strip that walked around in his own personal dust cloud. Some sailors consider saying the word "pig" to be bad luck; however, I believe this only applies when referring to the animal, not when referencing a fictional character (with that word in his name) or when speaking to someone with "pig" as part of his nickname. (Deadliest Catch S.4-21)

[xlv] Opilio crab, more commonly known as "Opies" or "snow crab," is a different species of crab featured on Deadliest Catch; the season for this fishery opens in January.

[xlvi] Edgar once likened working on deck to a ballet. (Deadliest Catch S.4-20)

[xlvii] Sig was photographed by Paul Gallegos from PR Photos at RT's Longboard Bar and Grill in San Diego, CA on June 9, 2009. In the photos, you can clearly see a pack of Camel brand cigarettes on the table in front of him. ( .in/sig-hansen-discover-channels-deadliest-catch-after-catch-filming-san-diego-june-9-2009-2192124)

[xlviii] Loudhailer: The loudspeaker that allows a Captain to address the men working on deck.

[xlix] The crew of the Northwestern drew straws, or rather zip ties, at the beginning of the 2008 King crab season; Sig, much to his chagrin, got the short one and had the bite the head off the herring. (Deadliest Catch S.5-1)

[l] "Set it [the crab pot] when you're ready. Let's get some." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.3-9)

[li] Each bait set-up consists of a plastic container called a "bait jar," which has holes drilled in the sides; the ground bait is put into the bait jars, while whole fish (cut down the middle so as to attract more crab) are put on a hook (usually the hook is put through the fish's eye socket); each bait set-up can weigh as much as 30 pounds. (Deadliest Catch S.3-9)

[lii] Shot: A shot is a length of rope or "line." Each shot is 100 feet long and weighs 120 pounds. (Deadliest Catch S.3-7)

[liii] GPS Plotter: A device that records the overall layout of a string of pots as well as the coordinates for each individual pot.

[liv] Keeping pots evenly spaced throughout a string makes it easier to retrieve them later. "After 36 hours without sleep […], Sig gives up his chair [to Edgar]." (Mike Rowe - Narrator, Deadliest Catch S.5-3) Edgar sets pots while Sig is sleeping and when they go to pull those pots Sig says, "Let's see how evenly spaced these things are now." (Deadliest Catch S.5-3)

[lv] Buzzer: A small, dime-sized button located on the Captain's work console; it emits a buzzing alarm whenever it is pushed. It is sounded whenever a pot is supposed to be launched, to encourage the deckhands to work faster/harder, and to wordlessly express a Captain's displeasure.

[lvi] The F/V Northwestern's SWL (Safe Working Load) is 200 crab pots at a time. (Deadliest Catch S.3-1) It takes almost 15 hours to drop all 200 pots. (Deadliest Catch S.1-2) Beginning in 2006, Sig started fishing 300 pots, which no one had ever tried before; this required him to take 152 pots on the first trip and then detour to an underwater storage area to retrieve the other 148 pots. (Deadliest Catch S.3-1)

[lvii] During an exclusive video tour of the F/V Northwestern, Sig says that his crew is "playin' Xbox all the time." ( news/entertainment/video-tour-northwestern-and-wizard-deadliest-catch/nbPWC/)

[lviii] "Take your time and be safe." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.6-1)

[lix] This scenario actually happened on the F/V Kodiak; luckily, no one was injured. (Deadliest Catch S.6-1) There was also a similar incident on the F/V Seabrooke. (Deadliest Catch S.8-11)

[lx] In an interview with the Huffington Post, Sig describes a situation where the line snapped while the crane was moving the pot it was attached to; I have taken elements from his story and used them in my fictional scenario. The full interview can be found at the following website: 2012/07/09/deadliest-catch-captain-sig_n_

[lxi] During a video tour of the F/V Northwestern, a bottle of Head & Shoulders shampoo can be seen in Sig's private washroom. ( news/entertainment/video-tour-northwestern-and-wizard-deadliest-catch/nbPWC/)

[lxii] During the video tour of the F/V Northwestern, you can see that a tan towel is hung up on the towel bar in Sig's private washroom. ( news/entertainment/video-tour-northwestern-and-wizard-deadliest-catch/nbPWC/)

[lxiii] During a TV special called "Luckiest Catch" with Mike Ferreri from KOMO TV Sig says, "Suitcases on this boat is a definite no-no. That's like voodoo number one for me, always has been. I think that just came because as a kid, you know, my grandfather kinda embedded that into my head, and, you know, you're a sailor, you have a sea bag. You don't bring a suitcase on a boat; save it for an airplane." ( watch?v=Ytgbu03OhIg) It's bad luck to bring a suitcase on board.

[lxiv] "Spot-check is so you can cry or go fuck yeah!" (Andy Hillstrand, Deadliest Catch S.5-2)

[lxv] According to Edgar, there are two cabins for the deckhands; one sleeps two and the other sleeps four. It is my theory that Edgar and Norman share one cabin while Jake, Matt, and Nick share the other.

[lxvi] "I can't sleep 'cause I wanna know what's in these pots and it's driving me nuts…and that's the truth." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.4-4) "I can't sleep because I wanna know what's in these pots." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.4-8)

[lxvii] In one of the earlier seasons of Deadliest Catch, Matt showcases his coffee mug that has "fish scales" and other miscellaneous substances on it since he doesn't wash it.

[lxviii] Rack Time: Time for sleep in one's 'rack' or bunk.

[lxix] "It's nice you think happy thoughts, Edgar." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.1-8)

[lxx] Sorting Table: A large metal table that can be moved towards and away from the launcher via hydraulics; this is where the crab from the pots is sorted; "legal" crab (adult males that measure 6.5" across at the widest point) go into the holding tanks, but females and juveniles are dumped overboard via the "bycatch chute." (Deadliest Catch S.4-10)

[lxxi] "On a crab boat, never volunteer for anything." (Mike Rowe - Narrator, Deadliest Catch S.2-2)

[lxxii] Sig gave Jake the "Junior" nickname. (Deadliest Catch S.4-1) (Deadliest Catch S.5-14) It stands to reason that it would also be used by other members of the crew.

[lxxiii] "Edgar and Matt have been friends since they were 12 years old." (Mike Rowe - Narrator, Deadliest Catch S.7-8) It seems plausible that, despite technically being boss and subordinate on the boat, Matt would take certain liberties with Edgar's mints since they've been such close friends for so many years.

[lxxiv] Block: A hydraulically operated machine that hauls the pot up from the ocean floor. The block is suspended from a boom, which swings in (towards the deck of the boat) and out (over the starboard rail where it hangs over the water); it can also be raised or lowered. A deckhand puts the line into this device so the rope gets pinched by the two metal "shims," and, as the machine turns, the line is pulled up and over until it is kicked out by the "knife" where it goes under a small wheel that spins like a pulley. From there, the line is led over to another machine, where it passes up and over a rubber tire that forces the line into the automatic coiler.

[lxxv] Automatic Coiler: A machine that looks similar to a metal barrel or an oil drum. The line from the block passes up and over a rubber tire, which forces the rope into the coiler; a deckhand stands beside the coiler and coils the line, using the circular walls to keep the shots neat. After the coiling process is complete, the deckhand opens the coiler door and removes the shots.

[lxxvi] Picking Hook: The hook on the end of a rope that is attached to the "picking crane." The picking hook weighs 12 pounds. (Deadliest Catch S.4-8)

[lxxvii] Bridle: The rope that connects the pot to the buoy bags.

[lxxviii] Picking crane: The picking crane, otherwise known as the hydraulic winch, is used to haul pots over the rail. (Deadliest Catch S.4-8)

[lxxix] "Blanks" are pots that contain no crab.

[lxxx] "Stack it [the string]!" (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.4-2)

[lxxxi] An interviewer asked, "What do you look for in an area that would make it a spot you would set pots?" Sig answered, "I determine where I'm going to fish for the next year as soon as my season is finished. So in other words, I'm pre-planning my season from what I saw the season prior, and I think about it all year. There are scientific surveys that are done in the summertime. They help in deciding where you may like to start. But for the most part, it's your gut instinct and if you stick to it, seems to me you always come up a winner." ( /web/deadliestcatch/interviews/sighansen/)

[lxxxii] "If you can't find 'em, grind 'em," is a phrase that appears on officially licensed F/V Northwestern merchandise. ( nw1.440338271) "Grinding" consists of hard, monotonous work, which often means the crew must set, haul, and re-set the pots to catch below average or even single digit numbers of crab.

[lxxxiii] Jog stick: A device located on the Captain's console that is used to control the rudder to steer the boat.

[lxxxiv] While letting Edgar log some hours at the helm, Sig says, "Now you could just blast on it [the throttle] if you wanted to. As soon as you see 'em get off the rail, you can do anything." (Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch S.6-6)


So that's chapter one. Hope you've enjoyed my story so far. Please review!

The Swordsman

(This story is cross-posted on my Archive of Our Own profile.)