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Blake Painter, Larry Hendricks, and Jonathan Hilstrand drinking at Latitudes Bar.

Dutch Harbor,On the rocky Aleutian island of Unalaska, is a harsh place. There is hardly a single tree in sight,thanks to the relentless, scouring wind. Discarded anchors, spools of old rope and muddy tangles of fishing line lie scattered everywhere by the roadside. Sea salt transforms automobiles into curtains of rust, and when the crab fleet is in town the bars are raucous until well past midnight. There are no-high peels of laughter, no tinkling of wine glasses, no female energy at all, just a bunch of hard-bitten boys getting fucked-up.

Don Higgins crab fishing on the F/V Sea Star. Bering Sea, Alaska.

With good reason. In the 1990's the Bering Sea's crab fishing grounds were America's most dangerous workplace, claiming 83 lives during the decade{out of fewer than 2000 total fisherman. 61 men died when their boats capsized, sank or caught fire, and 22 others perished in the ice cold water after they'd had been whacked upside the head by a crab pot or gotten caught in a crab pot line and yanked over board. Indeed so many crab fishermen have died on the job that many fishermen still cleave to arcane superstitions, such as refusing to leave port on friday or forbidding anyone to step onboard with a banana.

 The crew on the Sea Star. Bering Sea, Alaska.

Fishing for King crab{and it's smaller cousin opilio or snow crab} is not something you do off the dock on a warm summer afternoon. The impressive beast, witch can span 3 feet, thrive in the chilly waters of the Bering Sea, several hundred feet down and well offshore, they are caught in mettle pots that resemble the go-go cages found in bad New York night clubs circa 1989. The pot are loaded with smelly bait fish, tossed overboard, and hauled back up about 24 hours later, hopefully filled with squirming crabs. The complicating factor here is that most crabbing is done in late autumn and winter, when the Bering sea isis at it's coldest and stormiest; in really severe weather, one crewman is typically assigned to the job of breaking ice off the railing with a baseball bat so the ship doesn't get top-heavy and capsize.

Andy Hillstrand drinking at the Grand Aluetion, Ducth Harbor, Alaska.F/V Time bandit.

The potential payday for this hard and dangerous work is huge. If they survive the voyage, each boat's crew divides up the profits, though not exactly equally. The lion' share goes to the boat{for expenses}, to the owner, and to the caption. In the heyday of crabbing, says Captain Jonathan Hilllstrand, who co-owns a deadliest catch boat called the Time Bandit, an ordinary deck-hand could make 6 figures. "I was making 120 grand a year then", he told me,"and blowing it all on women and marijuana and cocaine. I always got the presidential suite with a hottub.

Crab fishing boats in Dutch Harbor.

That was the 1980s, when Hillstrand was 17. The King crag catch peaked in 1980 at 12.5 million pounds, then crashed completely, and has been a slow recovery since 1983. Until very recently the crab season was run on "derby-style rules; On opening day, the Alaska department of fish and game essentially fired a starters pistol,designating a time when the boats could drop their pots. Then they fished like mad for days on end, racing one another and going without sleep until the state declared the season "closed", sometimes after as few as three or four days. As more and more boats joined the lucrative fishery, the competition between them intensified.

Crab fishing on the f/v Sea Star. Bering, Alaska.

While derby fishing is a thing of the past, Deadliest Catch has introduced a new kind of competition, and the spoils of instant celebrity. One afternoon I was granted an audience with the biggest star of the Deadliest Catch, Sig Hansen, the 40 year old caption of a boat called the Northwestern and a man who's e-mail box deluged by female fans. When I met him Hansen was pulling the Northwestern out of the harbor for a little voyage concocted simply for a photo shoot purposes. The producers wanted some B-roll, so now a helicopter hovers above us, it's props kick up the black skin of the water.

"Sig" said the producer from inside the helicopter, his voice vaguely godlike as it came down from above. "sig can you stick your head out the window and look at the water a bit?"
Caption Sig did as instructed. He was smiling at the cameraman(who were not only above us but beside us, too in a small dingy that rattled and bounced on the waves), and his cool aqua eyes and leonine blond mane made it easy to grasp his heartthrob status. But up close he isn't the scruffy, unshaven hunk we see on TV: Hansen's hair is thinning a bit, his skin is somewhat pasty, and while he isn't exactly fat, it's clear that his exercise regime involve a lot of sitting around the wheel house, smoking camels. He wore a wrinkled hawaiian shirt, the collar open to reveal a gold necklace, and he seemed keenly cognizant that the circling camera crews held the power to shape his celebrity future. "like this?" he asked the voice above. "Is the good?"
"Yeah, good. but Bill," the producer said, meaning me, "can you get out of the shot?"
I dropped to floor. Beside me, also crouching was Lisa Tanzer, another producer, who was dressed with nautical panache in a black watch cap, orange Grundens foul weather pants with suspenders, and a pair of those high dull-green xtratuf deck boots that fishermen wear to keep slime off there toes. Though I had given her some Dramamine, Tanzer had already paid a visit to the Northwestern' small lavatory, which is decorated in a bright medley of photos from High Society magazine. Now she said little
Sig Hansen

Sig Hansen. Skipper of the F/V Northwestern. Dutch Harbor, Alaska.

Sig and Tanszer in the Northwestern wheelhouse. Dutch Harbor, Alaska.

Hasen needed no encouragement keep talking. "I have people stopping me on the street "he said as his boat steered ,on autopilot. "They recognize me just seeing my back. We have a fan base, and yeah there's has been some opportunities."

SIG HANSEN"S BIGGEST RIVAL ON THE DEADLIEST CATCH in none other than Jonathan Hillstrand, of the Time Bandit, which he owns with his brothers. Now 44 years old, Hillstrand is broad boned, with scraggly long hair, a full goatee, and a hooligan's smirk. Hillstrand usually wears a black leather USA jacket in the wheelhouse, with a black baseball cap and turned backwards and white snake skin cowboy boots, he is not shy about expressing his opinions, especially those pertaining to Hasen, who deems "a pretty boy."

"Sig is a dumb-ass," Hillstand told me as he polished off one more shot of Crown Royal after another in a cramped bar called Latitudes. "If I hit him,his grandchildren would be stupid."
AS a captain, Hillstrand enjoys near-Ahablike omnipotence, as well as responsibility. "Being a captain is almost like being above the law." he told me. "I could kill 5 people by fucking up ocean and then just go get five more guys. If you kill five guys on land, with a car, you'd get manslaughter at least."
With vague coherency he began describing the troubles he's had over the years with his help. "I've beat up a few crew members," he said. "It's not good thing, the lawsuits and shit, but one time I beat up some guys guys on my crew. One of them brought so booze onboard, and he was urinating in the state room. Then {after some fist a cuffs} the whole crew tried to mutiny, so I just took-'em to town, and told em, "Well motherfuckers, if you think your gonna sue, shut the fuck up, because I am going to beat your ass." I was pretty fuck-en pissed."

I ordered a beer and Hillstand began admiring our lithe young bartender. " she's smoking" He said , his face alight with an impersh grin, and so he devised a romantic game plan that entailed lofting quarters toward he cleavage. The strategy did not prove affective, and Hillstrand eventually ricocheted toward me and began telling riddles. "Why did Hellen Keller masturbate with only one hand" he asked with out waiting for an answer. "So she could moan with the other one."

He downed one last shot,

then abruptly shifted gears. "Twenty drinks is my limit," Hillstand said. "I'm drunk. I'm am drunker than twenty indians. I'm going home."

After the coasties left, the Hillstands conferred about the medical kit. "There's no-sense in buying a bunch of expensive fucking drugs," says Andy, who trades caption duties with Jonathan. "If my hand is cut off I want a Goddamn tranquilizer," Jonathan said "That and a bottle of whiskey" crowed Neal. "were old school red-necks." I had a new medical kit once," Jonathan said now reminiscing. "and I took one of those expired tranquilizers. Those thing will put you down." "Will get you a tranquilizer," said Andy. "It's called a 12 pound sledgehammer."Senator Stevens's rationalized plan has created a new sea creature: the rich, shore-hugging crabman. To make money know, a boat owner no longer needs to bother with hiring a crew and starting his engine: instead he can rent is quota, which he effectively owns, to another boat owner, who will then fish for the crab. One such "crab lord" is former captain Larry Hendricks, who now works as a consultant for Deadliest Catch. "I just pay another boat a dollar a pound to catch my crab," he said Hendricks then sells the crab to processors like Trident Seafood's(whose excec are major Stevens campaign donors) for 3.50-5.00 a pound and pockets the difference. The Captains and crewmen who actually do the fishing will run the risk for their buck a pound. "I will make about 300,000$ this season," Hendricks guessed" Just sitting on the beach."

For Sig Hansen, sitting on the beach is not an option. His great-greatgranfather fished herring off the Norwegian isle of Karmoy, as did his great grandfather and father: When Sig was in high school he traveled to Karmoy in the summer and fished there himself. He speaks fluent Norwegian and reveres his God fearing, seafaring ancestors. Every season before he head out to the Bering Sea, with his younger brothers Norman and Edgar, he gets his boat blessed by an island priest. In the Nortwesterns galley- right beside an autographed bicker-chick calender-Hansen mother has hung a reproduction oil painting of an old white bearded man, his head bowed in prayer over a rough-hewn loaf of bread.

Hansen is not exactly popular among his fish colleagues, perhaps because the Northwestern won a 250,000 bonus for top producing boat on deadliest catch. Keith Colburn,owner/captain of a boat called the Wizard, fumed that Hansen has become arrogant and selfish. " One year I set him on a hotspot and I gave him chart for the area," Colburn told me. "I help him out. I basically dialed him in 100 percent, but he never reciprocated."

Hansen also guards his celebrity status. "When he found out I was made a consultant for Deadliest Catch, he went ape-shit," Hendricks told me. "He did not want me shaping the show. He feared that I could bring his world crumbling down, and he want's his name listed on the credits above mine." Hansen is the only active captain whom the Deadliest Catch recognize as a consultant.

Keith Colburn Skipper of the F/V Wizard. Dutch Harbor, Alaska.

For Sig Hansen, sitting on the beach is not an option. His great-greatgranfather fished herring off the Norwegian isle of Kamoy, as did his great grandfather and father: When Sig was in high school he traveled to karmoy in the summer and fished there himself. He speaks fluent Norwegian and reveres his God fearing, seafaring ancestors. Every season before he head out to the Bering Sea, with his younger brothers Norman and Edgar, he gets his boat blessed by an island priest. In the Nortwesterns galley- right beside an autographed bicker-chick calender-Hansen mother has hung a reproduction oil painting of an old white bearded man, his head bowed in prayer over a rough-hewn loaf of bread.

F/V Northwestern. Dutch Harbor, Alaska

Hansen is not exactly popular among his fish colleagues, perhaps because the Northwestern won a 250,000 bonus for top producing boat on deadliest catch. Keith Colburn,owner/captain of a boat called the Wizard, fumed that Hansen has become arrogant and selfish. " One year I set him on a hotspot and I gave him chart for the area," Colburn told me. "I help him out. I basically dialed him in 100 percent, but he never reciprocated."

Hansen also guards his celebrity status. "When he found out I was made a consultant for Deadliest Catch, he went ape-shit," Hendricks told me. "He did not want me shaping the show. He feared that I could bring his world crumbling down, and he want's his name listed on the credits above mine." Hansen is the only active captain whom the Deadliest Catch recognize as a consultant.

In Dutch, Hasen seem s to trail a dark aura behind wherever he went. Once I saw him step into the bar, his blond hair perfect coifed and I was reminded of Harry Potter's arch nemesis Draco Malfoy. "Mr movie Star," I heard one of the crabbers snort in disdain. "I think the fame has gone to his head," said Ragnhild Moncrief, one of the three females working aboard a Deadliest Catch boat this season. "I went to his christmas party last year and he doesn't even say hi to me. I guess he doesn't like Norwegian women anymore."

One Friday night I saw Hansen Stooped all alone on his bar stool at the Grand Aleutian hotel, As his brother hovered nearby. Hasen had his drinking money, a few twenties, laid out on the bar before him, and he was already yelling. " My head fucking hurts." he complained to the bartender. "Give me some drugs.'"
Soon Hasen had eight tablets of ibuprofen in his palm, gulping a chaser of vodka, and then turned to me. Snatching my notebook out of my hand, he began battering me on the nose with it, cooing me in a singsongy taunt, "Your trying to be a professional," He said, "But your not. You're silly, You're silly." He leaned in towards me, alarming close, and clenched his arm around my shoulder. Then he breathed hotly into my ear and rained kisses onto my neck. When I pried him off me, protesting, his brother Norman just laughed. "You haven't been around Sig when he is drinking." he said.
Later, another crabber gave me photo of Sig Hasen kissing the lips of a man with a beard. The man, I'd learned, was a Deadliest Catch staffer who was also apparently assailed out of the blue.
"Sig does that to bully people," the crabber told me "He's mean."

 
Sig Hansen

The King crab season officially began on Sunday, October 15, but most the fleet stayed put. The wind kicked up in Dutch, gusting to more than 43 knots, and a cold rain pelted town, transforming parking lots into muddy brown ponds. Everyone kept drinking. That night I found myself again at the bar at the Grand, trowing back ales. In time Jothanthan Hilstand, his brothers, and two Time Bandit deck-hand showed up wearing long garish wigs and spraying one another with silly string. "It's my boat's Halloween," Jothanthan exclaimed. "We'll be out on the water for real Halloween, so were celebrating now."

Which pretty much summed up the crabbers' ethos, at least as it pertains to the bars in Dutch Harbor: Might as well celebrate now, because who knows for sure what might happen at sea?

Ex fisherman Joe cole.

I ended up standing next to alongside a hulking, laconic guy named Joe Cole. He was just 38, but he'd already weathered myriad storms as a fisherman. In 1988 he was on a pollock boat that sank. Cole was left floating in the water, alone for nearly an hour, as a swarm of birds-Storm petrels, seagulls, and turns circled above him. He felt like "a piece of meat," he says "After I got rescued, I started crying, and for six or eight year after that I got a panic attack whenever I talked about it." Over the next several years, as he fished crab, Cole accrued a handful of assault charges, which he attributes to "boozing and fighting. That's Dutch Harbor. "He gave up on fishing in the Bering Sea and now repairs nets for a living. "I'm too old," he kept saying in the bar. "I'm too old, crab fishing is animal."

The room swirled around us, awash in men getting shit-faced; All the boats were ready to go, so nobody would be working the next day. A man bumped past us, culling three pints, and I though of a line that line that recurs, rhythmically,in the seafaring tales of Joseph Conrad; "Pass the bottle. "I realized then that I was in the presence of something time honored and deep. For thousands of years-Since the days of the ancient Greeks, at least-fishermen had been gathering in dimly lit bars getting trashed before heading out on the ocean with a thirst for danger and a hunger to wrest a living from the sea, not knowing if they would ever com back.

Joe Cole gestured at the human maelstrom at the bar. Even as the politicians and the TV producers pick away at it like so many seagulls, we both knew the burley soul of crab fishing is still alive.
"Now this." Cole said, "is crabbin."

Dutch Harbor, Unalaska Island, Alaska.