Hide_&_Seek

Abogged and over worked diesel truck passes by leaving an exhaust trail looks sothick it could stain whatever it comes in contact with. The burnt diesel fillsmy nostrils with a soggy dark smell that no one longs to be around in longduration. It’s an amazing thing that happens when I smell diesel I’m brought toa memory, a memory not so far back, where I found the very thing that wouldchange my life forever. It’sMid-November 2008, in South East Alaska near an island named Wrangell, anot-so-large fishing vessel named The Pacifica is anchored in a cove. A dingyvessel it appears to be, an off white fiberglass outer shell that’s seen yearsof ocean employment, dirt and wear decorates the craft, wood trim sun burnt andrough. Fishermen’s tools lay in their fitting locations, waiting to be used tothe job designed for them to do. It’s nearly three in the morning and the dayis yet to birth, the water the boat lounges in is a calm glassy reflection ofthe snowcapped mountains that surround the body of water. Beauty surrounds theugly rig, as if submerged in an oil canvas that could decorate a mantle in somewarm house. The image all together is hiding something, not something directlynoticeable, whatever it is, is very abstract. And suggestive. Inthe cabin the Captain Howard McVicker; a thin frail old man who looks beyondhis years of life, it’s obvious that his beard is need of a shave. He is reheatinga cup of coffee from yesterday’s remnants of a pot. He is preparing for the dayahead of him. The boat is crouched in the water from the last three day’s catch.Needing to haul in the load before setting off to fulfill the load allotted bythe permit he purchased; he steps down to the hall to the living quarters towake up his young deck hand he just acquired a few months ago. Me. It’sa cubbyhole of a room, more like a slip to lie in. I hear Howard mumblingsomething as he raps on my door, probably a smart-assed retort to a previousargument we had about a buoy left out or whatever old men brood about. I wipethe sleep from my eyes wishing that I never took this damned job, the lack ofsleep plus the demanding workload made the experience arduous at best. Last fewdays I’ve been pondering for a reason other than the check at the end of weekto justify the undertaking I am locked into for several more months. Mythoughts take their course as I search for my green sea stained sweater, thelast few days it has been far too cold to go without layering. Slipping into myExtra-tuff rain boots I lumber to the head, stretching my sore muscles. I canhear in the cabin above, Howard is humming some forgotten jingle; hardly arecognizable tune. “Howsoon do we shove off'” I reluctantly ask Howard as I appear from the livingquarters below. “Soonas you finish that pot of coffee,” As he explains between bites of bran flakes,“and start… a fresh pot.” Howhe is able to eat without his dentures is quite a sight, it’s as if something painfuland disturbing consumes him, eliciting facial cues of some sort. But it’s justhim chewing his food. Afterpouring myself the lame remnants of the coffee I move to the vessel’s maincontrol board and flip on the kill switch to the hydraulics to reel in theanchor. The red indicator light flicks on. With mug in hand I open the woodsliding door exposing the main deck; a wave of damp cold acrid air hits mynostrils, reminding me once again the job I am currently enlisted in. Inavigate to the foredeck, grappling rigging lines, and stepping over mooringcleats. I move cautiously, the last thing I want is going overboard and allowingthis man more of a reason to grumble about something. Reachingthe foredeck I notice the ripples caused by the listing of the boat, ruiningthe near perfect reflection of the conservative crowned mountains. I stop for amoment and glance at the scene around me, hardly noticing the chills thatfreckle my skin I feel a slight vertigo overcome me. I wish I could understandthis feeling in full. It’s like as there is something concealed nearby causinga sixth sense to trigger, not really a panicked reaction it’s more like I’m consideringsomething more than myself. Something grand and serene at the same time, for amoment I find this thought so… “Thereis no use in you standin’ there with your thumb up yo’ ass boy!” Howard hollersout, “We gonna weigh anchor sometime before I die'!” Icringe when I hear his airy voice. “If only that’d happen soon” I nearly yellknowing full well Howard is nearly deaf from the years working around the loudengines. I flip my hand up in recognition so he knows I heard him. * * * Asthe engines hummed in chorus the boat was making decent time, the destination isa processing boat or a cannery; whichever one we see first to offload thecatch. With Howard navigating, I was aft, knife in hand gutting salmon. Focusedon the task at hand; working mechanically: cut, cut, scoop and toss. Backhanding the guts over board I nearly missed what had been going on around me ifit wasn’t for the chills that came over me like this morning. The feeling ofsomething nearby tickled my senses again. I glance portside only to sea landabout 20 fathoms away (a fathom is aboutsix feet), turning to starboard I nearly fall over board because of the sight Isee in the water. Several triangular dorsal fins breach the surface at equalspeed of the boat. At first glance it appeared that there were several sharksfollowing close, but at the second take I’m eased to know that it was only apod of porpoises eyeing me for the fish innards I was heedlessly tossingoverboard. I’m leaning over the rail for several minutes studying the greyishseven foot wise beasts; one mirrored my curiosity and paralleled the vessel. Itswam at an angle so it could look me up down, at that moment I’m memorized; I’vebeen hit with a wave of feeling like before when I was marveling the scenerythat morning. Theporpoise energized the lost thought to flicker back into my mind; there was anaura about this animal. There was aura about the chop in the sea around me. Therewas an aura in the mountains above. The aura was everywhere. As if tickling an epiphany,I still couldn’t grasp the situation and what I just realized. I’m in themiddle of nowhere and just got sideswiped mentally by semi-truck. Ireluctantly fall back to my routine: cut, cut, scoop and toss. With my handsmoving mechanically my thoughts churn with the same precise movement. Reviewingthe day’s events I begin to get frustrated. “God!Why am I tripping about nothing'!” I bark blankly. Waita second. God' I glance around with an awed looked on my face, at the snow toppedmountains, at the chopped surface of the ocean, and at the pod porpoises thatstill followed. It dawned on me at that moment. God was playing hide and seek withme, and I found him in all that was around me. The gargantuan mountains showedhis permanence, the ocean his strength and power, and through the porpoisewisdom. He composed this world my life’s navigating and He just smiled at me. Andyet again He has again awoken my curiosity for Him.