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96 Bowline Bill EARLY IN AUGUST OF 1963, our first year as fishermen, Dick and I were on a drift a few miles out from Clam Gulch tower, not catching a thing and wondering if we should “bunch it.” The fishermen from the Columbia River and Puget Sound had already bunched it a week before—bunched their nets together to be lifted off the boat. That was the first step in the process of ending their season, winterizing their boats, and flying out in order to get ready for other short seasons at Astoria or in the Sound. We’d hear guys talking on the radio and one would say, “Well, that’s it for us. Had ten on that two-hour drift, mostly dogs and a few silvers. We’re bunchin’ it. See ya in the river.” We had no other fishery to think about and didn’t want to quit too early in our first year. It seemed best to follow the lead of the local fishermen who knew that the run was over—most of the fish had gone up the river—but were content to keep at it for a while longer. Scratch fishing—there wouldn’t be any more big catches, but “you might be able to scratch out a few.” We’d caught enough to pay for Margaret and this first year’s expenses. Now we were edging a little into the black, and that felt pretty good. Still, when it looks like the fish are gone, and when you’re the only ones out there, you can’t help wondering if it’s worth it. We hadn’t seen any other boats and assumed that we were the only ones out there that day. We had ten or fifteen fish for the day, dogs (chum salmon) mainly, which added up to about seven dollars and fifty cents, but it was a beautiful day. Sunny and flat calm. So, largely because we didn’t know what else to do, we just left the net in the water and waited for the flood to push us up a little closer to Kenai. It wasn’t costing us anything, though it sure would have been nice to see a hit. We heard an engine someplace in the distance and began to look around. There was some smoke on the horizon out toward the middle and we finally saw a speck of a boat. It gradually drew a little closer and we guessed that it must be heading in above us, toward Kenai or Kasilof. Bowline Bill 97 We returned to watching our net, hoping to see a hit or at least a bobbing float. Anything to avoid picking it up. Nothing. It was surprising how far away you could hear that engine. Margaret’s little four-cylinder Willys hardly made a whisper by comparison, and we guessed from the sound and the smoke that it was a diesel. It was still a few miles away but now it changed course slightly and was pointed towards us. “Looks like we’re about to have company,” Dick said. That was normal. If you’re looking for fish and see another boat on a drift, it’s worthwhile to check it out. Especially if the boat’s been there for a while, all by itself, you think they might be on some fish. You might see fresh hits in their net, and if not you can keep on, run along their net, and look down to see whether they’ve already caught some that are still hanging in the gear. Sometimes it pays off. On the other hand, if you’re the only boat around, and another one appears on the horizon and then turns to come toward you, it could be a friend or maybe someone who’s either in trouble himself or about to bring some to you. This one began to make us wonder, not just because of the noise it was making, and the black smoke it was putting out, but because it had a definite list. Dick reached for the binoculars, and in a second he said, “You know, I think that’s Martha K. We’re gonna have a visit from Bowline Bill.” We had seen Bill and his boat at the cannery, when someone pointed him out, but we’d heard of him even before that. We finally we met him at mug-up, where we learned his name was Bill Thies...

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