Asher's Stories

As Read at the 2023 Sigma Tau Delta Convention in Denver, Colorado

I’ve lived on the coast for 30 years. I’ve only been in the ocean once. I’ve been watching. I understand things about the water men aren’t meant to comprehend.

As a boy, I was fascinated with the water. My father passed down a love for fishing and boating. We had an old rowboat we took on the lake by our house, named the Red Herring.

After my dad passed, I loaded up all my belongings, Red Herring included, and moved North. I got into a school up there. Dad always wanted me to get an education, but I never had the gut for it. I figured I would try my hand at business school before I settled down in my own lake house with some blue-collar job. I moved into a cheap and small rental near the Great Lakes. The landlord let me store my boat in her shed. It was full of lawn care shit that also wouldn’t be used until Erie thawed out. But I figured a great lake would make for great fishing, so I had to have her up there.

What I didn’t expect was to find a partner at that school, a business partner. His name was Paul Langly. We worked on everything together, don’t think I would have made it through school without him. When Pennsylvania melted out, I took him on the lake. The son of a bitch had never hung a line before but caught the biggest walleye I’d ever seen in under an hour. The scientists say walleyes top out at 30 pounds, but that sucker he reeled in must’ve been at least 40. I still got that polaroid I took of his first catch somewhere around my shack. Maybe the fish liked him, maybe the water did. Maybe I did to.

But back to that first trip, the walleye. While rowing back to shore, Paul asked how much something we caught would go for. I told him what I thought, and I swear you could’ve seen a star in his eye. Damn near talked my ear off about how fishing could be a business.

By the time we cooked and ate the walleye, gave some to my landlord, thawed and ate what we froze, and let the rest go bad, Paul had a whole plan put together. We’d move to the coast with our cars and whatever fit into them; and find a place together. We’d sell the nicer car and buy a sea-worthy ship with the money. Then we’d fish and sell the catch until we could hire more people and buy new boats. Paul seemed to think 20 years down the line we could have the largest company on the east coast. He showed me figures and charts and sheets that I had trouble understanding, but he seemed so excited I had to dive with him in this plan. He was so sure that I sometimes forgot I’ve never gone sea fishing before.

We took the Red Herring out almost every weekend we could. Almost got caught by the game warden a couple times, but he let us off the hook. After graduation, and a very awkward meeting the parents, we moved east.

Found a nice little shack by the water. It had holes and mildew, but it was cheap. While we moved, Paul had the nerve to suggest we sell my boat. The only value that thing had was sentimental. No way someone would pay more than twenty bucks for it. We did end up selling his Lincoln for a lot more than twenty.

When we bought a boat, we made off like bandits. Old widow wanted to sell her husband’s Luhrs 340. Asked us our budget and took what we had. Seemed to me like she wanted to get rid of the damn thing and head somewhere dry. Maybe she knew better. Back then I loved the water, but this sea felt angry, even before we sailed it.

Paul was beaming, and the Luhrs was beautiful. A tower bridge deck made us feel like kings. I fixed an old spotlight there for night. A big deck gave us plenty of room to run around. We had leftover space below deck to put in a big freezer. We had just enough room for a kitchen, and bedroom.

The boat was named The Magnapinna. but Paul wanted to call her The Odyssey. I told him that was a bad idea. He never painted over the letters, but he occasionally called her the wrong name. We had a couple successful trips. She was a little rusty, and handled like shit if the winds were high, but we made do. I taught Paul how to steer and did my best at making catches in salt water. Sometimes I couldn’t tell what we pulled up. I just couldn’t find the good pockets out there.

Paul taught me how to cook on a budget and manage the charts. He accidentally taught me how tell when he was sea sick. Anytime he got green around the gills I hauled him topside so he wouldn’t mess up the one set of sheets we had.

We spent most of that month living together aboard The Magnapinna. We’d keep the ship on the ocean overnight to save fuel. Just drop anchor and try to sleep while the waves toss you around. One night I couldn’t sleep. I looked at Paul, whose beard grew in orange, compared to mine, black and patchy. I went on the deck and swiveled the spotlight around.

The ocean is scary in the dark. The first time I turned on that spotlight, I noticed how empty the ocean was. This wasn’t a lake, I had no idea what was out here, or where the coast was. I saw no fish, but I saw some trash floating along. I was tired, and didn’t get a net to pull it out. I often find myself wishing I did. Maybe the water would’ve been kinder.

I was still thinking about the trash when I woke up. I could hear Paul on deck, talking about the beautiful sunrise. When I got above deck, I saw no waves, and a red sky. Now, I didn’t know much about sea fishing, but I knew if the sky were red in the morning, it was a problem.

We’d been at sea a bit longer than we had planned, but this caught me off-guard. I told Paul we ought to head back. He ran the numbers and came back with bad news. He thought that unless we had another two good days of catches, we’d lose money. I tried to tell him something bad was coming, but he didn’t care. I wish I fought harder. Red sky, almost like the ocean were giving me a warning. A chance.

That day I watched the clouds appear, turn grey, turn black. Winds started picking up. I had planned to just move us to shore without telling Paul, but I taught him too well. He could tell what I was doing and told me to stop. Desperately, I used an old radio to try and page for someone to talk some sense into us. But all the other fishermen out here had sense. They left, long before the storm came.

As night fell, a small part of me held onto hope that the storm would pass. Maybe we could hide in the eye. But it was too late. The storm came down like the ocean herself wanted to teach us a lesson. Couldn’t see more than a couple feet past your hand.

What started as a drizzle became sheets of rain. Wind tried to pull me off the tower. Thunder cracked overhead, arcing towards our boat, but smashing into a wave before it could just put us down. Waves steered that boat more than me. If they weren’t pushing us around, I was trying to skirt between 30-foot towers of water.

Our only hope was to find a place to hide. Park the ship or run it aground somewhere. So long as we were on the open water it was a fight for our life. I heard the supply bin smash open on the deck, the line bouncing around.

While Paul was inside fighting with the compass, I was fighting for my life. The wind and rain stole my vigor. As a boy I could’ve done that all day. As a man, I knew how bad it was. My vision was fading. My whole body felt cold. I went limp, and I fell. By all the wisdom I had, I should’ve fallen into a wave and drowned. Our boat was almost sideways at times. But all I did was smack onto the deck. I felt soft calloused hands on grab me.

Paul shook me awake in the cabin. When he saw I was alive he ran outside to grab the wheel. I knew he couldn’t. Not with water like this. Not with water that hates us. I was strong, I wouldn’t let a sea filled with trash and oil take me. But Paul, sweet Paul wouldn’t know how to fight. I ran out and grabbed him. Told him to get back inside and navigate. He slapped me and told me to get inside. I gave him a shove and told him to get inside as I climbed the ladder to the wheel.

If I’d have known that were the last time I touched him, I would’ve made it a hug. With the wheel in my hands, I saw a channel between two big waves. I knew if I could get in between them we’d have a chance. I took a deep breath. Rain and seawater splashed into my mouth as I did. The Magnipinna slid around, only half responding to the prayer I made with the wheel. Against all odds I put us between the waves. Then, a rogue splash hit the tower. It spun the spotlight behind me. The ocean wanted me to see what it was going to do.

I never noticed that Paul came back on deck. His hands were cupped, he was yelling. But I couldn’t make it out. The roar blocked out my Paul’s voice. I saw something he didn’t. Fishing line wrapped around his ankle. I saw it stretch all the way to the box of supplies near the edge. I had a knife. I could jump off the bridge deck and cut the line before it was too late. But I froze when I saw the water. Surrounded on two sides by waves, at least 30 feet high. Another wave formed behind the ship. Bigger, wider, and higher than the ones to the side.

The water gave me a choice. Every night I question if I made the right decision.

I stood still, watching the waves approach. I braced myself against the tower. Paul never saw it coming. As the wave crashed down, it knocked the supply box off. Paul followed swiftly after, the line dragging him into the deep. Braced against the tower, the waves pushed my ship hundreds of feet ahead, hundreds of feet from where Paul sank.

I woke up run aground a hundred miles north, covered in drying vomit and saltwater. That storm was the last time I touched the ocean. The police came, of course. If they ever asked if I was responsible for Paul’s death I would’ve said yes. I would’ve said yes right away. But they didn’t. Chocked his death up to an accident. Sometimes I wish Paul’s body washed ashore. But it never did. Police went up and down the beach every day for a while. I still look for him daily.

The ocean took my Paul. I’m waiting for it to take me. Watching the waters crawl further up the beach every year, I’m convinced it’ll take all of us someday.