The Evening was small in the shadow of the other boats. When I arrived at the dock, it was well past midnight, and a misty rain was falling'the edge of a storm far out at sea. Mick, the captain, was blunt and salty; not old, but weathered. He led me on board and pointed down the ladder to the hull, where I immediately got into bed and fell asleep. When I woke up, Mick had gone into town, and I began to look around in the mute light of the overcast morning. Our plan that October was to fish for albacore off the coast of Washington State. These would be short trips'four or five days at a time'to train me up for the summer, when I'd join Mick for a real voyage. I'd taken a Coast Guard course at a community college and had my Merchant Mariner certificate, but I'd never worked on a fishing boat before. In the daylight, the Evening looked ramshackle, as if it had survived 80 years in the northern Pacific more by luck than design. I found a few photos of Mick's family, and the Evening's...
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