Dead Man's Bay

By A F Johnson

Shipwrecked at the beginning of winter on an uncharted Kodiak island, Bryan Weaver must not only save his son and his partner and return to civilization, but also kill the bear that is hunting them.

Ken Sturgis of Epicenter Press says Dead Man's Bay is "lively and fast paced and well written."

• Language: English
• Publisher: A F Johnson
• Release date: Jun 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476180946

A F Johnson

A. F. Johnson grew up in the Boston Area. He served in the U. S. Army during the Korean conflict. He received his B.A. in Business Administration from Northeastern University. He and his wife and 5 children moved to Alaska where he became a commercial fisherman, bush pilot, renowned hunter and entrepreneur. After the passing of his wife, he turned down the nomination for Governor of Alaska to pursue a career in writing in Oregon.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I could sense his uncertainty as my fourteen-year-old son, Robb, put one foot on the rail, ready to board the boat. We stowed our gear and I heard the bilge pump kick in. Although Sven kept the boat in excellent condition, I wondered if the old salmon seiner had another trip in her. Sven Larsen commanded the Ermine, a 42-foot wood boat. It sported a coat of new white paint and black trim, just like ermine when they wear their winter coats.

Glancing at my old Norwegian friend in the wheelhouse, I saw him make the sign of the cross before he started the engine. Sven had been at sea all of his life. He long lined cod along with his father in the old days. That’s how he happened to be in Kodiak. I had taken many trips with Sven before and I had no fears about his abilities.

The seiner began its steady roll as she headed out of the Kodiak boat harbor to open sea. I secured my gear and looked around for Robb and not seeing him, I made my way to the cabin forward. There he was, asleep in a bunk. Kids. If they weren’t sleeping, they were eating. I watched him a few minutes. So at peace. So lovable. He had the raven hair and olive skin of his mother. I decided to let him sleep while he could. When, and if, we got into rough water, I’d wake him.

Standing on deck drinking in the scenery, I smelled the salt of the sea and watched wakes of passing boats washing up on rocky shores. Tall Sitka spruce dotted the hills and snow capped mountains where the tree line ended. An occasional bald eagle, its pure white head in contrast to the deep blue of the northern sky swooped down to pick up an unwary salmon. A lump came to my throat as I stood alone with God and nature, and watched the town disappear. Shivering against the fall ocean breeze, I pulled on a jacket and headed for the wheelhouse. Sidling up to Sven, I cupped my hands and shouted to be heard over the noise of the ancient diesel. You sure this boat’s seaworthy?

He took a pipe out of his mouth and jabbed me once in the sternum. I tole ya a hunnert times, the Coast Guard woodena given me a sticker if the boat did’n pass inspection.

Out of the channel, we made a turn around buoy four and headed in a westerly direction through the channel that separated Spruce Island from Kodiak Island. The wind had freshened and waves began breaking over the bow. Robb woke after a four-hour nap. He followed as I pointed out a formation of islands ahead of us. That’s Whale Pass, I said. "The entrance is only two feet deep at low tide, so we have to be careful to approach it only at high tide, or near high tide. The Ermine draws nearly three feet, so you can imagine what would happen if we went in at low tide."

He looked at the boiling water as we entered the pass. Why do they call it Whale Pass?

At high tide, migrating whales make a run through the pass. The tide here is thirty-two feet, so there’s plenty of water for them to get through.

Rock walls rose above us as the tide boiled around the boat. Sven pushed the throttle higher to buck the incoming tide. Perspiration beaded on his forehead as he negotiated the tricky narrows. Finally, we broke out of the pass and Sven throttled down the engine.

I pointed. That’s Viekoda bay on our left. You’ve never seen it from out here, only from the air. That’s where Sven’s fish camp is.

What’s the name of the place where we’re going to hunt, Dad? Robb asked.

Dead Man’s Bay.

We had been in open seas for several hours after leaving Whale Pass and the wind steadily increased. Clouds scudded across the sky when the storm came out of nowhere. Blue sky with its highflying white clouds was now a nasty gray and the sea had turned cold black topped off by white, wind driven foam. Sven had a death grip on the wheel as Ermine crested a thirty-foot wave. Robb crowded against me in the wheelhouse. I held onto him, not wanting to lose him overboard.

Throttling back the engine, the salmon seiner started her downward slide. I sucked in a lung full of salt air and held it as the boat hung on the crest of a wave and then began another run into the trough. The wall of water threatened to roll over us. Sven gave the boat full throttle to crawl up the next giant wave, and for a moment we were a submarine. Then Ermine popped upright and slowly climbed a wall of water. We were at the mercy of one of the most dangerous pieces of water in the Gulf of Alaska.

I looked at the chart trying to find landmarks as I slipped into a life jacket. Robb already had one on and was tightening straps. He held a life vest out for Sven as he peered intently at the water, trying to read it. His hands tightened around the wheel and he became one with the boat.

A change in the rhythm of the engine caught my attention. A shudder ran through the boat and lasted only a moment. By the concern on Sven’s face, I knew he felt it too. In my mind I tried to envision our course, but couldn’t. Sven knew these waters like his own backyard, but not today—something was wrong besides the freak storm.

Look for a buoy, Sven shouted above the howl of the ocean.

I listened for the whistle buoy that belonged on our port side but heard only the hiss of the sea as it slipped along the hull. I chanced a glance to my left, hoping to see the big red can, or at least its lamp. Nothing. The boat sluiced to port. Fear shown in Robb’s eyes.

Through cupped hands I shouted to Sven, Are we lost?

Never seen a storm come up so fast, he yelled. The weather forecast was for three-foot seas, and ten-knot winds. Supposed to be a cakewalk.

Maybe we should try the radio.

Maybe you should shut up. I got all I can do to keep us afloat.

He ignored me as we started another heart stopping slide into the black sea. Sven pointed to something on our left. I crowded the wheelhouse to look at gray pinnacle rocks, streaked with foam, rising out of the water like Neptune’s Trident.

The engine revved up to a high-pitched scream. Sven motioned for me to come closer to him. He cupped his hand to my ear. I’ve lost power. The prop must have come off or the shaft broke. He told me to pull off the hatch cover and look. What I found was a neatly severed drive shaft, just behind where it connected to the engine. I dropped the cover and reported to Sven.

We’ve had it now. Get ready to jump into the skiff, he ordered.

I grabbed a wood handhold on the bulkhead as the boat wallowed in the sea, sideways now to oncoming waves. My feet were planted firmly, gripping the deck as I stared at the black sea and listened to its roar. Sven had his hand on my arm, shaking me. Robb was standing white faced, near the ladder that led out of the wheelhouse. Before I could react, the boat shuddered to a stop and stood on its nose, a pinnacle rock piercing the after deck; the sea swallowing us.

The wave hesitated for a second before it broke through the windows, as if it were relishing the damage it was about to commit. We were tossed like dolls against the bulkhead, and then it splintered. I remember seeing Robb being tossed over the side, then only white bubbles swirling around my head. A rushing roar invaded my ears as I went deeper into the frigid water. My chest burned. I wondered if I would ever take another breath.

Chapter 2

Someone called my name from far away over and over. I tried to swim, but I couldn’t make headway. The cold paralyzed me; my arms and legs were useless. Robb’s face appeared next to me. He shouted something, but I couldn’t hear above the shriek of the wind.

Trying to speak, I swallowed seawater. I decided to keep my mouth closed and relax. I knew I was in deep trouble as the cold of Prince William Sound seeped into my body. In these waters, life expectancy was only twenty minutes.

Robb was ten yards in front of me, heading toward shore. I kicked out in his direction and hollered his name against the wind. I couldn’t see Sven. I know he got off the boat. He had to be nearby. I shouted for him.

We bobbed over the waves like we were on a roller coaster. It felt like hours before I heard it—the unmistakable crash of waves against the shore. My butt bumped against something. A distant voice kept telling me to stand up. I kicked out my feet, trying to get a purchase on the sea floor. Finally my feet hit something solid and I stood for a moment before the incoming tide knocked me into the surf again. I stood up, vomiting. Robb had an arm around me, pulling so my feet had to follow his lead. He laid down on the gravel coughing up seawater.

Calling for Sven, I slogged up and down the beach, stopping once to sit down and rub my feet. Where was he? A chill as if from an icy hand squeezed my heart. Would I find Sven’s body in the morning?

I didn’t feel the pain of the rocks cutting through my socks. Not until that moment did I realize I had lost my deck slippers. Suddenly, I stopped shivering as I remembered. I reached into my shirt pocket. Empty. Frantically, I searched my other pockets, the coat, even my front pants pockets—it was gone—I had lost my container of waterproof matches.

I followed my tracks back to Robb and stopped to look at where we had wrecked. I squinted, the salt spray burning my eyes as I watched the sea continuously rolling up on the shore, the steady boom filling my ears. Then the numbness set in.

Sven stood over Robb who had a grimace of pain screwed up on his face. Sven looked older than his sixty years.

Robb stood holding his arm close to his body as blood ran over his hand and mixed with the water near his feet. Seeing my son alive brought the greatest of joy to me, like the first time I saw him when he was born. I rushed up to him and wrapped my arms around him. He cried out in pain.

What’s wrong with your arm?

Broken, I think, Robb said.

I put my arm around his waist and tried to lead him toward a stand of spruce away from the beach. Help me, Sven, I said. We’ve got to get shelter, and a fire, and stop that bleeding.

They can’t find us if we leave the beach, Sven said.

He's right, Dad, Robb said. I learned that in boy scouts.

We’ve got to get out of this wind. They won’t be looking for us so soon anyway.

The adrenalin kicked in and Sven and I manhandled Robb up to the trees. Huddled together bucking the storm, we collapsed on wet sod under the protection of the forest. The rain still soaked us but at least we were out of the direct blast of the wind.

I looked around for something to build a fire with. I don’t have a knife. Must have lost it overboard.

Here, use mine. Sven reached around to his belt and came up with an empty scabbard as well. "Oh, shit.

What’s the matter?

My knife’s gone too. Must have lost it when we wrecked.

All my stuff was in my duffle on the boat, Robb said.

I stripped off Robb’s jacket, gently removing it from the injured arm. He shivered uncontrollably. I unbuttoned his shirtsleeve and tore at the cloth exposing his thin arm to the shoulder. It was twisted like a licorice stick; the hand facing me at an unnatural angle. There was a gash on his shoulder and contusions all the length of the arm. My stomach tried to turn inside out. It’s bad, Robb. I’ve got to set it.

Ever set an arm before? Sven asked.

I remembered back to my Boy Scout training. Pictures of pine boards neatly displayed with rolls of smartly stacked cotton bandages standing guard nearby. No, but I’ve read about it.

Sven sighed and took a deep breath. Well, I have. I’ll guide you, unless I pass out, that is. First thing, get something for splints.

Robb looked around the brush and found some thick chunks of bark. I broke them into what I thought was about the right size to cover the wound. Brushing off dirt and spruce needles, we set these by Robb’s side. Sven nodded his approval.

"You need something for a bandage to put over the wound, and something to tie the splints on with. Sven felt in his back pocket and came up with a clean handkerchief.

He fished it out and pressed the soggy wad over the cut. I looked all around us to find something to tie the splints with, and then decided I would have to use my t-shirt. I stripped and let the rain pelt my naked back while tearing up strips of cloth. Using one to tie on the makeshift bandage, I tucked the rest into my coat pocket, then scrambled into my shirt and coat again. Any heat I had in my body was surely gone now. I began to shake uncontrollably.

They say wool will keep you warm, even when it’s wet, I said, trying for a smile. It didn’t work.

Dad, it’s beginning to hurt.

My teeth started an involuntary clacking. Can you straighten your arm?

Robb closed his eyes against the pain. Nope.

Sven said, You’re going to have to do that. Just grab his wrist with one hand. Put your foot under the armpit and pull—don’t stop, even if he blubbers.

Robb opened his eyes and focused on me.

Sven put a hand on my shoulder. Just keep a steady pull, like you would on an anchor line, until you see it pop back into place. Then wrap it with his shirt sleeve, and put on the splints. Make ‘em tight, but don’t cut off the circulation.

Robb shoved the sleeve of his wool coat into his mouth and took a big bite.

I pulled. Robb screwed up his face and broke into a sweat. I looked him in the eye. He just nodded. The kid just wouldn’t give up. I gave a final pull and I heard the bones click together. He was out cold. My hands were shaking and I felt weak all over. With Sven’s help, I wrapped the arm and bound it with splints before Robb came to. I had no idea if my first aid would work or not. What if I made it worse?

The rain changed to a heavy mist that worked its way into my bones. I never believed that I could be so cold.

My left hip began to throb. I never noticed it and the small limp I had until it got really cold. Compliments of an enemy grenade in Viet Nam. It brought back memories of when I joined the Army, fresh out of college. I was going to be drafted anyway, so I opted for enlistment and an officers commission.

Sven began searching for firewood. We had no matches or any other survival gear. I dug deep into my memory—the first classes in rock identification. I found some quartzite, easily identifiable by the many crescent-shaped fractures on the surface.

Sven berated me for not having a fire started. I told him everything was wet and how the hell could I build a fire? He told me to dig away at some loose cottonwood bark from a downed tree. Then he pointed to some lichen on a rock nearby. We added it to the pile. He told me to make a bundle about the size of a softball, and then gather some twigs from dead limbs.

I took out the quartzite and dropped it against a round rock washed up from the beach. It splintered and left small pieces that I could use as flint against the small boulder. Sven made a teepee of the twigs over the ball of lichen and shavings. I struck the quartz against the rock. A small spark flew off. I tried again and again until a wisp of smoke curled up from the teepee. Sven dropped to his knees and blew at the base. A small flame erupted and engulfed the bundle of twigs. I added larger pieces of wood to the teepee, hoping the heat would dry them out before they dropped down and extinguished the small blaze.

Well, it’s about time, said Sven.

I stretched and looked up at the sky. It’s getting dark. We’ll try to build us a shelter. Think you can nurse the fire while I look around?

Of course I can. Don’t worry, that fire will never go out on my watch.

I eyed the spruce that Robb was leaning against and began stripping some of the lower branches. Sven found a small pole that I stuck horizontally on thick branches between that and another tree about four feet away. We found other sticks and laid these vertically against the pole. Soon, a wall was started that would block the wind. Sven and I piled as much brush as we could find against the outside of the wall. Even through the misery and the cold,