Alena
Deewater

Ann
Helsel

Charles
Furey

Donald
Shephard

Doug
Fortier

Gloria
Jorgensen

Henri
Bensussen

Holly
Tannen

Jan
Edwards

Jewels
Marcus

Maureen
Eppstein

Motherbear
Scott

Nancy
McLelland

Nona
Smith

Norma
Watkins

Sharon
Gilligan

Susan
Fisher

Ty
Moore

D o u g  F o r t i e r  &  D e b r a  B e c k  L e n n o x 

Toward the Light

A little before 6 A.M., my running lights twinkle in the water around me as I chug from Noyo Harbor toward dark clouds in the west. Until I make two months of back payments, engine maintenance on my salmon boat will wait. All I need today is luck.

Seven miles south, at the coordinates of my last big catch, I slump in the wheelhouse after three hours and no fish. I don’t want to burn diesel bought with my last sixty dollars, but move a couple miles closer to Point Cabrillo.

Rigged with the two rods I haven’t sold to pay bills, I drift along with lines in the water for an hour, then break out a PB&J with coffee for my lunch. Before it’s gone, I’m wrestling silver scaled salmon over the transom and take what each is worth from my outstanding bills: $120 here, $160 there. I bleed and gut each one before I pack them in ice. An hour later my muscles are warm despite the cool winds. A routine of feeling the tug on the line and pulling fish into the boat keeps pace for another hour, then I drift and mooch until the middle of the afternoon. I doze along, lulled by the motion of the ocean, when both reels sing as lines go out. $130, $150, I pull and crank salmon while the late afternoon light fades; I’m on a roll and I test my body’s limits.

The salmon stop feeding and the reels go silent. While stowing my gear, my wobbly legs fail me when a big wave drives me into the deck and I hit my head.

Mother’s voice wades into my dream, “It’s time for bed, Davey.” Too drowsy to make sense of what she said, my dreams jump to a scene where I’m swinging my arms, throwing salmon into the water, giving them life until salt water sprays my face and I wake to night on the unlit boat. My head has a lump and I smear blood into my eyes as I stumble backward to the wheelhouse where Point Cabrillo’s light scans me every ten seconds.

With my eyes on the darkness surrounding the brilliance, I find the starter key, but turn it the wrong way the first time. Everything is backward, yet my confusion becomes resolve as I throttle hard toward the welcoming beacon.

Point Cabrillo Lighthouse