BOOTS UP!
Life saving non-fiction by Russell Newberry

It's 3 am. Rick's Place in downtown King Cove. It can be any year because the weather and activity is always the same in the Cove. It is time for king crab, the most lucrative fishing in Alaska. King Cove is located on the Alaska Peninsula which is the beginning of the Aluetian Chain. Theoretically you can walk from King Cove to Anchorage. I would not recommend it. I would suggest an airplane or a boat. It's a fifteen minute flight from Cold Bay to King Cove, flying over what is known as the camel humps. The name speaks for itself. Two rock formations resembling camel humps. The wind whistles through them constantly so hang on, or you can take a boat. Now you have to navigate the waters of the Gulf of Alaska, Shelikof Strait and the Barren Islands. Shelikof was a badass Russian sailor from the 1700's. I have always cursed the day he discovered this stretch of water.

The Barren Islands are located where Cook Inlet, the north end of Shelikof and the Gulf of Alaska come together. This is a tough stretch of water because of the wind and the tides. It is the second largest tidal current on the planet behind Newfoundland in Canada. The current runs 6-8 knots south, then reverses itself every six hours. This, coupled with it being one of the windiest places on earth, and the seas can reach heights up to 30, 40, even 50 feet, stacked real close. The recovery rate between waves is slim. You see, waves usually come in sets of three. The first one hits you, the second knocks you a bit off course, and the third hammers you. Sailors from all over the world claim that these are the roughest waters anywhere.

Back in King Cove, Coastie Bob, Duane and myself are preparing for the walk back to our boats. The three of us are putting on our insulated bib Carharts, hooded sweatshirts, fleece jackets, cotton gloves, and of course we are wearing Xtratuf rubber boots and Bob's are brand new. Bob did a stint in the Coast Guard hence the nickname, Coastie Bob.

We walk out the front door met by a northerly wind and rain that hits you in the face (the only part of us that is exposed) like thousands of needles. We are now "bucking" the wind which means we are walking into it. We have approximately one mile to go to where our boats are docked. I'm on the crabber Diamond Head, Duane and Coastie are aboard the Western Star. Our boats are close so we are headed the same way. Halfway there, Duane stops to smoke a cigarette. I stop with him and Coastie Bob keeps on walking head down, weaving, but still going the right direction. Duane smokes. We talk about the events of the night and of how loud I can sing "The cannons don't thunder, there's nothing to plunder, I'm an over forty victim of fate, arriving to late." Does anybody know this song? I'll reveal the answer at a later date.

Duane and I start walking again. We can see Coastie Bob in the distance a few hundred yards in front of us. We see Bob go down the ramp into the harbor. We are slowly catching him as he is walking more sideways than forward. The King Cove Harbor is made up of four or five fingers of piers reaching out into the water with smaller perpendicular docks or "slips" where the boats actually tie up. We see Coastie Bob make the turn at the Western Star's slip. Duane and I lose sight of him and think nothing of it. He has made it back to his boat. Twenty or thirty seconds later, Duane and I arrive at the Western Star. Duane prepares to make the transition from dock to boat, when I look down and see the bottoms of two brand new Xtratufs draped over the 8 by 8 that serves as a tie up for the Western Star. As I reach for them, I say to to Duane, "What are these Xtratufs doing here?"

And then I grab the boot.

I scream out, "There's a foot in this boot!"

Duane exclaims, "Oh my God, it's Coastie Bob!!"

Now Coastie Bob is hanging upside down like a bat in a cave with his toes hooked over the 8 by 8 between the dock and the Western Star. Duane and I each grab a boot and frantically try pulling him out of the water and onto the dock. Duane and I are pulling with all our might and just when it seems hopeless, a native Aleut from King Cove walks by. Duane yells at him to help and we are then able to pull Bob from the water. Coastie Bob is not breathing and Duane and I go into panic mode. We both know that even though he is on the dock he can still drown because his lungs are full of water. Duane drops down on Bob and starts to beat on his chest. After what seems like an eternity, Bob starts puking and spitting out water. He opens his eyes, looks at Duane and says, "Why are you hitting me? And why am I all wet?" Duane and I jump for joy and hug each other in front of a bewildered Bob. Then we lash out at him telling him what happened and coined his new nickname that has stuck even to this day day, Boots Up.

I saw Boots Up just a few weeks ago. He is a good friend. I can still say to him, "Boots Up, I saved your life, buy me another beer!" And he always says, "Gladly Russ!"

That was fifteen years ago...