My parents John and Marsha owned and operated a commercial fishing boat named The Wanderer out of a West Coast port. My father was the skipper, my mother the cook, my brother Frank the mate, and my other three brothers Ron, Marty, and Jack were deck hands. My father had an uncanny ability to find the big tuna that brought a hefty price at the fish auction. The Wanderer went to sea and didn't return until the icy hold was filled with fish. I was left on my own during the four or five days that my family was at sea. I cooked my own meals, washed my own clothes, went to school every day, and did my homework. Consequently, I became very self-reliant, a quality that has served me well.
When I graduated from high school, my parents insisted that I attend college. None of my brothers had been to college, and they wanted at least one of their sons to have a degree. I had had enough of classrooms and wanted to join the family business. The life of a fisherman seemed romantic to me. If I had known what hard, dangerous work it was maybe they would have had their way, but I persisted until they gave in.
My first fishing trip was a great adventure. We got underway on a Monday morning and left port by the light of the moon. My father set course for his favorite spot and we made good time - fifteen knots - across the glassy sea. We kept ourselves busy checking and rechecking our lines and equipment. It takes more than luck to be successful as a fisherman; it takes well-maintained equipment.
Mom came out on deck and sipped a cup of coffee as she watched the sun rise out of the blue sea. Her shirt was so tight across her big tits that I could see her nipples sticking through. I had been physically attracted to her since puberty, but now, with my hormones raging, my interest in her became an obsession. Two or three times a day I went to the head and jacked off to fantasies of fucking her.
Some men would probably have considered my mother pretty while others would have thought her beautiful. Tastes differ. To me, she was always beautiful. She had full, round tits that she showed off with low-cut dresses or half-buttoned shirts. A perfectionist might have criticized her for her slightly rounded belly, but I thought it made her even sexier. Her long legs were flawless.
We reached our destination and ran out our long lines equipped with hundreds of baited hooks. After the lines had been in the water for awhile, we pulled them in and removed the fish from the hooks. They were packed in wooden crates and placed on a bed of dry ice in the hold. It was hard work, and I was so exhausted that when I fell into my bunk for an hour or two of rest, I fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.
Disaster struck on our third night out. I was asleep in my bunk when the boat suddenly lurched to port, throwing me to the deck. The Wanderer was pitching and rolling so violently that I had great difficulty making my way to the pilot house. A violent storm had come out of nowhere. I had never imagined anything like it. Dad was at the wheel and my brother Frank was frantically trying to raise the Coast Guard on the radio. Dad told me to go back and close the engine-room door before we took on water. As I struggled to close the door against the howling wind, a wave knocked me to the deck. Water rushed into the engine room and flooded the generator, leaving us dead in the water with no electricity. As long as we had power we had a fighting chance if we could keep the bow into the twenty-foot waves. Without power, our situation was desperate.
When it became clear that we were probably going to die, we vowed to go down fighting. Using superhuman effort, we managed to batten down the hatches. Caught in a trough, the boat rolled violently a full ninety degrees. We clung to whatever solid thing was at hand and prayed that she would come back. Our faithful vessel slowly righted herself. At that point, my father made the decision not to abandon ship. He felt that we had a better chance by staying with the boat. Launching our rubber life rafts would have been impossible.
We rode out the storm for more than an hour. Suddenly, there was a screaming sound and the boat came to an abrupt stop, throwing us to the deck. We braved the elements and went out on deck. Our flashlights revealed a reef underneath our hull. We were high and dry! We couldn't do anything until daybreak so we went back inside and tried to sleep for a few hours.
The storm subsided by morning. We discovered that we were stuck on a reef a few hundred yards from a verdant island. My heart sank when I saw the damage. The hull had been ripped to shreds. We weren't going anyplace. The generator had also been damaged beyond repair, and without it, we couldn't radio for help.
The first order of business was to search for food and water. We soon discovered that fish were plentiful and easy to catch. Tasty clams could be dug from the sand. Iguanas and some sort of large rodent provided very tasty meat. Fruit and berries were plentiful. Our well-stocked shipwreck kit even contained packets of seeds for growing vegetables. Several crystal-clear springs provided a source of fresh water. We breathed a little easier. At least we wouldn't die of starvation or thirst.
