T
he Captain’s crew is in Garibaldi, Oregon, on the US Pacific Northwest coast. Huge mountain ranges covered in tall timber peer over the rugged coastline. Icy rivers meander out to bays where creaking timber trawlers and newer steel ones are docked sideby-side like old draught horses, taking respite before their next offshore stint hauling tuna and crab from the Pacific. The two major industries are timber milling and fishing, but bounty hunters also come to these parts in search of the legendary Bigfoot, rumoured to live deep in the lush fir forests. However, it’s the fishing we’ve come to investigate. The salmon run is on and recreational fishermen are milling about the bay in open tinnies, many of them tiller-steer. They’re also pulling crab pots and nuzzling into the shores to collect clams. We reckon it’s the perfect habitat for wheelhouse game boats, suitable for bay fishing, but with the capability of mingling with the commercial fishing fleet hunting albacore. Kiwi boat builder Stabicraft thinks so, too. They’ve been making a huge dent in the Pacific Northwest boat market since launching here more than 20 years ago. We’d called our man at Stabicraft to see if he could organise us a local ride. He’d given us the numbers of three Stabicraft owners — John Files, Scott Sayer and David Larson. All we had to do was convince these guys it was a good idea to let some Australian blokes they’d never met jump aboard their boats and catch their fish. Oh, and we’d need some comfortable beds. It went a bit like this:
“Er, g’day mate, this is The Captain from Australia. Can you take us fishing?” we mumble down the phone. “Hello? No, I’m sorry, we’re not looking to change internet providers at the moment. Thanks for your call,” comes the response. Several confused phone calls and emails later, we finally persuade the three Americans to show us a slice of Oregon — and give us a ride aboard their Stabicrafts.
GOOD OL’ AMERICAN HOSPITALITY
It’s a long and sweaty slog across the Pacific before we touch down at Portland International at 10pm. The plan is to meet John Files’ wife, Julie, at a little farm they own near the airport. By the time we arrive, it’s well past midnight, but Julie opens the door with a welcoming smile. After making us tea, she ushers us to our rooms, saying, “You boys need anything, y’all don’t hesitate to ask, OK?” Now, we’ve stayed in some interesting places during our travels, but the jet lag mixed with shag pile carpet, embroidered pillows and crocheted doonas makes us wonder if we’ve travelled back in time. It doesn’t matter — we’re snoring in less than a minute. We’d planned a lay day to recover from the flight and check out some of the cool cafe culture Portland is famous for. The region is one of the most progressive in the US, with legalised same-sex marriage and pot smoking par for the course. But Julie isn’t having a bar of it. At 8am, she charges in to our room, “Wakey, wakey boys! Time to get moving.” Before we can prise the sleep from our eyes, she’s made breakfast and handed us printed instructions on how to get to the fishing shack. “Let’s get moving, got to beat the traffic!” The Captain’s breakfast reefer will have to wait.
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