Tele Aadsen

writer - fisherman - listener

The ocean got Hal­cy­on on Open­ing Day. 

July 1, we had our gear in the water by 3:30. Five miles off­shore, it was windy that morn­ing. Chop­py seas, wet air, vis­i­bil­i­ty less than a mile, every­thing steely gray. When the first fish of the sea­son hit the deck, Hal was ready. He pranced across the deck, tail straight up hap­py, & sat under the fish table in expec­ta­tion. I tossed him some head cut nub­bins; he yummed them right up. He looked so pleased with him­self, jump­ing back into his bas­ket on top of the deck freezer.

It was 5:20 when we put the first fish down. I climbed down into the hold, giv­ing Hal a reas­sur­ing smile. See­ing his mon­keys dis­ap­pear into the freez­er always freaked him out. Joel hand­ed the fish down to me. He went back into the cab­in. I glanced around the hold, decid­ed it was too cold to do any­thing else down there. I came back up & hosed off the fish table. The sim­plest series of events that took less than a minute, before I glanced for­ward & real­ized Hal wasn’t in his bas­ket anymore. 

This wasn’t the first time we’d had to look for Hal. I spent his pre­vi­ous two sea­sons con­stant­ly mon­i­tor­ing his where­abouts, leap­ing up from every cof­fee break to clar­i­fy where the cat was. He was always there, some­where. So we start­ed by check­ing all his usu­al spots on deck. The bow & roof where he’s not sup­posed to be. The cab­in, the foc’s’le, under our bunk. He wasn’t anywhere. 

We didn’t see him go over. We didn’t hear any­thing. By the time we real­ized he was gone & got turned around, how long had our boy already been in 54 degree water? 

Too long.

Joel drove us back down our tack. I stood on the bow with binoc­u­lars & scanned the chop. How do you find a small cat in a big, unruly ocean? It seemed so impos­si­bly unlike­ly… But we kept look­ing. And look­ing. Until, off the star­board, I caught the briefest glimpse of some­thing oth­er than gray between the swells.

Joel cranked the wheel hard over. I grabbed the dip net & ran to the mid-ship rail, just in time to see that life­less orange body in blue adven­ture coat float past, 20 feet beyond my reach. 

We turned around to make anoth­er pass. We didn’t find him again. 

We pulled our gear a few hours lat­er, use­less with dis­be­lief & grief. We spent the rest of Open­ing Day run­ning – not to any hot bite, just away, away from the scene of loss & the dread­ful fear of see­ing his body drift past in the waves. 

This opening’s kings will be salty. We sobbed through the fol­low­ing days, going through the motions of our work, tears falling into salmon bellies. 

It’s just a cat.” Some folks aren’t pet peo­ple, I get that. And I know some of you, fish­er-friends, are haunt­ed by the crew­mates who slipped through your fin­gers. But this cat was our boy, & there’s no grief with­out guilt. Why didn’t I shoo him into the cab­in as we hand­ed the fish down? How did we not see him go over? Why didn’t we turn around soon­er? How could we leave him out there? I hate think­ing of our fleet­mates encoun­ter­ing his body, as if he’d been care­less­ly dis­card­ed, unloved.

Every spring, stock­ing the Ner­ka for the com­ing sea­son, I con­sid­er my attach­ments. Don’t take any­thing to sea that you’re not will­ing to lose. Pic­tur­ing the wave that toss­es the dish rack across the cab­in, I leave a favorite cof­fee cup on land. Then we untie the lines, head­ing out with our most dear­ly beloveds. What am I will­ing to lose? 

One of Hal’s friends, a vet­eri­nar­i­an who is also a fish­er­man, offered this grace: “I tru­ly believe he had a more incred­i­ble kit­ty life with you guys, doing his adven­tures, than the aver­age cat.” True fact: Hal was relent­less in his quest for adven­tures. With time, I can most­ly accept our friend’s offer­ing. I just can’t get past how brief his life was, or how fuck­ing ter­ri­ble of a death. It was our job to keep him safe. 

Hard as his death is, it’s just as painful recall­ing the final months of Hal’s life. We spent too much time com­plain­ing that he wasn’t a cud­dler, fail­ing to appre­ci­ate who he was, exact­ly as he was. 

This is who Hal­cy­on was: 

Born in Taco­ma on August 18, 2018, Hal joined Team Ner­ka when he was 10 weeks old. 2018 was a rough time. Gaz­ing at that blaz­ing ball of orange fluff in Joel’s palms, we saw our hal­cy­on, the myth­i­cal crea­ture bring­ing hope to mariners. For too short of a time, he did just that. 

Sum­mit­ing our legs & exten­sion lad­ders, Hal was a climber, always want­i­ng to go high­er, see more. It was impos­si­ble to keep him off the coun­ters; we gave up try­ing. He was indif­fer­ent to humans (“Not real into peo­ple, is he?” a vet observed last win­ter) but had admir­ers every­where he went. And he did go every­where: packed into the car for road trips near & far, Hal loved car rides, being in motion. He went to Fish­er­Po­ets & on ski trips. We couldn’t take him on enough walks. (Why didn’t we take him on more walks?) Hear­ing the mag­ic words – Hang on, got­ta put your adven­ture coat on – he’d stand patient­ly to get buck­led into his har­ness, leash snapped on. Then we’d go explor­ing. His tail was nev­er high­er than when he got to lead the way. He’d march through snow until he shiv­ered & we inter­vened, That’s enough, time to go back inside. He had a near-shock­ing­ly poor sense of self-preser­va­tion. He was a look­er, the most pho­to­genic of all of us. Such a pret­ty boy, yet smart enough to unscrew the treat jar & under­stand how doors worked. (He tried des­per­ate­ly to let him­self out, hang­ing from the han­dles. If they weren’t inward open­ing, he could’ve got­ten there.) He hat­ed shuf­fled foot­steps. He loved play­ing with dogs, play­ing hide & seek, & would chase a laser beam until his sides heaved. He had a bizarre fetish for a par­tic­u­lar bam­boo kitchen spoon. He loved the boat: unfazed by weath­er, curi­ous about every­thing, a fiend for salmon blood pud­dle. Nev­er a lap cat, he always want­ed to be near us, flop­ping in a per­fect tri­an­gle to keep both of his mon­keys in sight. He tol­er­at­ed our kiss­es, & more often than not, gave some back, rough licks of our fore­heads & noses. If we caught him at just the right time, at his sleepi­est, he’d let us cra­dle him, nuz­zled into our necks.

Hal was our lit­tle goof­ball, our Din­gus Khan. He was an adven­ture cat, my con­stant road com­pan­ion. He was Hal­cy­on the Destroy­er, our sweet boy, part of the love pack, & he deserved so much more.