Wow... just wow . Dude , what a story .This one time, back in better fishing days..
I took some buddies fishing... It was a gamble that day, tuna or salmon. We heard the bite was good about 20 miles NW, but it was also predicted to be pretty flat water that day. Either way, there was a BBQ at the Walser's place later; I don't remember exactly why. At this point, I knew far less of you than I do know.
Someplace along the way, we decided to do the salmon thing. With that, My buddy Mark and I ended up staying at the Chateau Westport. He referred to it as the place like Hotel California. Pretty sure he never looked up the intent/meaning of that song, but no matter.. Other Buddy Tim, stayed at one of Westport's finest little holes. Chateau Westport is creepy and weird! Save that for another story!!!
I had launched the night before, which is a rarity for me. Something always goes wrong. Sure as shit, on of my downriggers refuses to operate the next morning. Plug issue, simple fix, off we go.
I was in contact with a buddy boat, and as per plans the night before, I followed him out and across the bar.. Well.. He runs a 28' Grady, and I was in my POS little 22' Sea Ray. We crossed at or near to max ebb.
It was like 4-5' that day, @ about 10 seconds, so I really didn't give it much thought. Holy shit, new lesson learned. Do not go toward the North Jetty, at max ebb, in a tiny boat, ever!! I white knuckled it over several 8', just barely cresting waves, over and over. Throttle hard up, kill it at the crest!! It only lasted for less than 100', but scared the shit out of me anyway!! As soon as we made it around the tip of the north jetty, it totally laid down, as it does every time, when the ocean allows. So off we went. My stomach was fucked from the bar crossing, and I stopped several times to shake off how tense/scared I was. Mark didn't seem bothered one way or the other; Tim sat at the back and slept for the next hour or so that we ran out.
We hit the fleet earlier than most (see stupid people only cross at max ebb!!) and did ok catching /releasing fish looking for the right ones. Tim was not OK. Tim was seasick. I had to do another DR repair with 300' of cable out. Fuck electronics and salt!!
Tim ed again, and again. Tim dry-heaved again, then laid down. We were quite a ways out, and it it what it is! Come fishing, deal with it!
I'd fished with Tim more than once. We all get seasick, and sometimes it's worse than others. It get's me when I sleep poorly the night before fishing. I'd invited Tim along as I would anyone I thought could manage the trip. This was not his day!! Not at all.
Tim was as green as I've ever seen someone. Like actually green. I didn't know that was really a thing!!?? It was as ugly as you could imagine. Sit up. Heave. Sip water. Heave. Smoke (WTF Why??) Heave.
We ended up with three Nice Chinook that day and two decent clipped Coho. After the second Coho, Mark and I called mercy and headed in. Of course, Tim had sat up long enough to catch the biggest salmon of the day. Of course he did, or this wouldn't be much of story!!
Tim didn't make it to Paul's place later that day but was ok in the next few days, despite puking up blood that night. I made it there, and introduced myself to alot of guys I call friends now.
I never knew puking blood that was a thing, but I have seen it since! yowza!!
Tim passed of a massive heart attack at home last November, 2019.
He had moved with his wife Michelle back to his native area of Boston, and was continuing what he did here, rescue / tow boat captain for towboat US.
This was the last time I fished with Capt' Tim, as things worked out.
RIP Tim Tucker.
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