“Mr. Tsurifune says: ‘It’s very good that America has finally decided to share its sea wealth because oceans belong to anyone in the world uh . . . efficient enough to catch fish in them.’” Jones watched the Surifooly Jap grow confident as he spoke. Despite his fancy clothes, the man wore no shoes, only socks, but he stood straight and looked directly at the Americans as if he were addressing equals.
“Might ask him how many fishing boats have now come here from Japan,” said the younger of the Coast Guard officers. “It’s our job to monitor you.” The gold stripe and a half on his sleeve showed that his rank was lieutenant junior grade. Jones regarded him with the detachment of an enlisted man. Junior officer who needed to watch his ass. And the captain of the Coast Guard ship, with two full stripes, was only a full lieutenant. If they were climbing a career ladder in the shadow of a military base as large as Adak they still had a long way to go without screwing up.
The Japanese began to talk again, and again after a few sentences, Kobayashi held up his hand. “Okay, I’ll translate further. I’m afraid he didn’t answer your question directly, even though I asked it twice. But he says: ‘Don’t worry. The wealth of the sea is bottomless. We’ll place our nets efficiently in the agreed areas so that we’ll miss nothing for our efforts. You will be able to observe how we keep order in the fishery. And in a few weeks, new fish will have come to take the place of those we have caught.’”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” said Jones. “Ask for the number again. I’d like to know how many of their boats have just come over here and might be bumping against mine.”
“Sir,” said the Coast Guard captain. “Whatever the number, it’s classified. I’m not sure what your status is to ask.”
“Except that it’s my water, not theirs.”
“International waters, sir.”
“I don’t need to look very far north from here to see Alaskan mountains.”
“But the United States can claim control of only three miles from shore at low tide, just as with any other nation.”
Jones snorted. “Then we’d better shag ass to change that.”
“I’ve read that some in Congress want something like a twelve-mile jurisdiction,” said the Coast Guard executive officer. “Not that any law’s been passed.”
“Don’t wish that, Mr. Sawyer,” the Coast Guard captain replied. “We’ve got enough on our hands to patrol and enforce in the three miles that are allowed.”
The Jap spokesman started speaking again. John Kobayashi bent to listen closely, then said “Goes like this. ‘America has no use for the great sea resource off Alaska. I’ve seen no facility here to catch it in the quantities the sea produces. Millions of food creatures here have lived and died without benefit to anyone. Therefore it makes good sense to allow others in the world in need of food to harvest here whatever we can. Don’t worry. We will proudly set you an example of efficiency that you may wish to follow. With the sea’s infinite resources, on continental shelves such as America has in abundance, there’s enough to share for all the world.’”
The Coast Guard captain nodded. “Well. Our people aren’t taking it all, that’s obvious.”
“Excuse me, captain,” said his exec, who was younger and more intense. “Nothing’s infinite. With too many ships fishing out here—”
“I think our people in DC know what they’re doing better than we do, Mr. Sawyer.”
John Kobayashi tilted his head toward the Americans and suddenly his manner changed. “Slick case he makes. Take it or leave it, gentlemen. I’m only translating.”
The Japanese captain signaled to a steward. The meal aboard the factory ship continued with fried squid, then tough beefsteak, which the Japanese cut into with gusto.
“This is special meat for guests,” John Kobayashi translated for the captain. “On most days, everyone on the ship will eat what they catch from the sea.” He grinned, and his official veneer changed altogether. “Personally I’d take the salmon if this is the best they can do on meat. I could get it better at any corner grocery in the States.”
“Remember, we’re guests here,” said the Coast Guard captain mildly.
The exec studied Kobayashi. “You seem more American than Japanese, despite your face.”
“American citizen, but interned with my parents when the war started because of my face. Finally served in the United States Army, although my parents remained interned. At home in Seattle we did speak Japanese, but not with these northern accents. It’s a struggle to understand everything they say.”
“Kind of divided, aren’t you? Must be pretty rough.”
“Finding my way through it. I’m an American citizen, although some in my country America still treat me as the enemy.”
“Yeah. Well,” said the Coast Guard captain. “We’ve got another problem.” He turned to Jones. “You the boat that trailed us here?”
“Might say that.”
“Like to ask what your purpose is?”
“Interest in what’s happening. My being American.”
“I’ve got to inform you that you’re observing a mission that our government has classified ‘Secret’. A matter of national security, you might say.”
“I don’t see no guns.”
The Coast Guard exec leaned forward. “We have the authority to impound you and your boat for a while.”
Swede turned to him, shocked. “This would be terrible. I’m the one who brought Jones here with his boat. Are you going to arrest me also? Here in America?”
“National security, sir.”
The Coast Guard captain turned to his junior. “I think if we got their word they wouldn’t radio anything about this, Steve . . .”
The man paused. “Your call, Captain. But in light of the classification level DC’s given this mission, I suggest it’s our duty to report it before this man’s boat is released from our control. Right now he can’t go too far without refueling with us back at the base.”
The exchange had probably not been understood by any of the Japanese, although possibly they noticed the tension. Little more was said by anyone.
38
INUNDATION
Japanese fishing ships did indeed return to the grounds off Alaska where they had fished unchallenged in the 1920s and early 1930s. The Truman Administration opened the way cautiously in mid-1952. He did it for pragmatic reasons that were justifiable given the post-war climate in China and Korea, but he did so in secret. National presidential elections were just a few months away. (Nevertheless, Republican Dwight Eisenhower won over Truman’s Democrat successor Adlai Stevenson in the November election.)
Priorities in Asia had shifted since the Allied defeat of Japan in mid-1945. China went Communist in 1949, and Communist North Korea invaded South Korea in 1950. Suddenly it had become the United States’s best interest to have a strong, economically stable Japan instead of one still vulnerable and recovering from chaos. Yet anti-Japanese sentiment remained understandably strong among American veterans who had fought the Japanese just a half dozen years before.
At the time (at least for those not in the marine biology business), the great seafood resources off both the Pacific and the Atlantic coasts of North America appeared endlessly sustainable. Teeming on these vast continental shelves was natural protein for the taking. Indeed, there was more than American or Canadian fishermen had ever been able to harvest. In retrospect, this was because up until that time, the waters had been fished solely by boats with only limited technology. It did not take into account any catching done by factory fleets, which used huge nets guided by such electronic wonders developed during World War II as radar, loran, depth sounders, and electronic trackers. Nor did they account for the development of power machinery to haul in bigger nets made of stronger materials than ever before.
The first fishing nation allowed in post-war Alaskan waters was Japan. The Soviet Union followed on all North American Pacific coasts. Then came Taiwan and South Korea. In the Atlantic, the Soviets and West
Germans were the first to seize the opportunity. They were soon followed by Spain, East Germany, and Poland, along with a host of others.
The author was a junior officer aboard the Coast Guard ship that formally welcomed the Japanese back into the waters off Alaska on 1 June 1952. I stood on my ship’s boat deck, ensuring against photographs from any cameras on board. Only our two most senior officers went by smallboat to make the greeting. They escorted a Japanese-American marine biologist, whom we had picked up at the naval base in Adak, and delivered him as envoy to the waiting fleet. As communications officer, I had decoded several messages from Washington, DC Headquarters concerning this event. Labeled “Secret” (second in classification only to Top Secret) the messages contained the details of our rendezvous with the Japanese. Weeks later, our ship returned to home port in Ketchikan to find casual news coverage of the event that had been handed to us as a heavy military secret.
Whoever the traitor was who broke the story to the American public, it hadn’t been one of us. We were too militarily indoctrinated to risk our necks leaking a story. However, the news provoked no particular outrage throughout the nation. Alaska was still remote for most Americans—a territory still years from achieving statehood, while Americans were more preoccupied by the spread of Communism than the state of its abundant seafood shelves.
Japan may have been humbled by losing its war, but this had not impaired the ability of its fishermen—goaded perhaps by hardships back home—to take full advantage of an opportunity. The Japanese fishing fleet that we had secretly welcomed back into Alaskan waters turned out to be anything but modest. It consisted of three mother-factory ships, each with its own fleet of catcher boats. The largest ship of these (of which I have the most specific information) was supplied by some thirty catchers, each with a crew of about twenty who fished their nets around the clock. More than half a century after the event, I established contact with the Japanese-American whom our Coast Guard ship had escorted from Adak to the Japanese fleet. At the time of our 1952 encounter, he was a young man (as I was) just beginning a career that had not yet been fully defined. Since then, Dr. Francis M. Fukuhara has become a distinguished marine scientist with a veritable library of publications to his credit.
Recently, Frank Fukuhara graciously consulted his old notes and furnished me with firsthand recollections. They indicate an extent of preparation and organization beyond the average American’s ken at the time. Perhaps even beyond the ken of the officials in Washington who were keeping the event quiet.
According to Fukuhara, writing of only the mothership complex he had experienced among the three that had come over, each of the 3 catcher boats would set about 5.5 miles of drift net per set, but many would actually set as much as 10 miles of gear every night. If each of the vessels set 5.5 miles of net, the entire 30-boat fleet would have almost 165 miles of net in the water each night. And this was only one of three mothership complexes!
The mothership complex was perfectly organized, with nothing seat-of-the-pants about it. According to Fukuhara, it consisted of two main groups: one that fished and one that processed the caught fish. The leader of the fishing group had a team to establish fishing strategies by analyzing fishing, weather, and oceanographic data. The fleet’s fishing vessels were then deployed in strategic patterns. A fleet manager oversaw both fishing and processing. Proper communication was vital to coordinate the deployment and logistics of the fishing boats, and it was necessary to maintain contact with company headquarters in Tokyo. The fleet carried such supercargo as a licensed physician and several Taiyo Fishing Company officials. On another front, vegetables and other food items were regularly brought by refrigerated supply ships. These ships were designed to bring supplies to the fleet and afterward to transport the finished fish products back to Japan.
This was in 1952. Japan might have needed permission to return to the waters off Alaska, but the United States and Canada protected only the waters within three miles of shore for their own fishermen. The foreign fleets had harnessed technologies developed during World War II to make their catches efficient. It seemed that the only backward fishermen were those from the host waters of North America, who went to sea in boats still as modest as those of their fathers. In many cases, the foreign fleets simply overran domestic nets and bullied smaller domestic boats aside. It could be watched from the shores of Alaska and New England.
By 1975, according to US Department of Commerce figures, there were 3,477 foreign fishing vessels working off Alaska, over two thirds of them Japanese. Also 475 off California, plus 382 off Oregon and Washington. Off the Atlantic coast were 2,339 foreign vessels, over half of them Soviet. And our 1952 welcome to ships from the hungry but strategic Japan started it all.
Only with the 1976 passing of The Magnuson Act, which took charge of US waters within two hundred miles of shore, was the foreign presence controlled. Canada had taken similar action a year previous.
By then, American and Canadian fishing ships were beginning to be able to handle their own country’s sea bounty. They did so, often with continued overfishing. Even now, more than a third of a century after The Magnuson Act, much of the sea bounty off North America still remains depleted.
All of this is another story. But it started with the need to use one of Earth’s natural resources to feed hungry people.
39
ADAK RAIN
Jones Henry returned his boat to Adak harbor to deposit Swede Scorden and to refuel his boat. By now, the sight of the volcanic mountains that seemed to rise from the sea had become routine, as had the green-swept hills in places where land had eroded beneath the cones. This wild country suited him.
At the fuel dock, before he could lift a hose, a navy boatswain and several seamen converged, all wearing sidearms. The boatswain declared, “Sorry, sir. Orders are to impound you for a couple of days. But I’m directed to see that you get a room and a meal ticket for the time you’ll be here.”
“What the fuck?” Jones raged. “I’m a goddamned American citizen.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve got to come aboard and direct you where to tie up. And then to see you’re taken care of.”
“I’m sorry to have pulled you into this,” muttered Swede. He was visibly upset. “I’ll go at once and speak to the commanding officer here. Any loss to you, Jones, I’ll pay from my own pocket if my company doesn’t.”
They even pulled the spark plugs from his engine and put a padlock on his cabin door. Jones Henry would have been more outraged if they hadn’t treated him as well as they did. As it was, he’d barely been taken to a plainly furnished room in one of the enlisted men’s buildings when a young ensign entered, apologized for the mistake, and led him to another building. Furnished quarters with a bed and private bathroom. Swede stood in the doorway of the adjacent room. “We’re VIP guests, Jones. Not mere fishermen. I called strongly upon the commander of the Base, showing my credentials. Accommodations together. All paid. So. Let’s enjoy the sights of Adak for a while. I see from a menu that they’re serving famous king crab in the officers’ dining room tonight. Okay?”
Jones shrugged. The sea had been rough, and a hot bath wouldn’t be so bad. A full meal waiting afterward. But then he remembered: “My crewman’s still in the enlisted men's quarters. Make sure he gets good treatment, okay? Name’s Lloyd.”
The young officer nodded. “I’ll take care of it, sir.”
“Okay then.” Jones stretched, suddenly in a good humor. They couldn’t keep the Japs out there a secret forever. And right now, the exactness of a military base appealed to him: everything in order. Besides, Jones was no longer a sergeant and didn’t have to salute every kid officer. “They’d better have a lot of that crab. I’m hungry.”
At dinner that night, Jones trailed Swede, who had joined some officers he had met previously. After fancy drinks with olives, he barely glanced at the menu before saying to the waiter: “Just bring me some of each way you fix that king crab.”
“Soup first? Salad
, sir?”
“Crab only. Since I catch it I’m going to see all the ways it gets fixed.” One of the officers laughed. “Give our guest what he wants.”
While the others ate broth and greens, Jones was served lumps of crab with celery and mayonnaise, followed by cold crab legs smothered in a thick rosy sauce. Then, while the others were given sides of vegetables, he was served long, spiny crableg shells from which he extracted tubes of white meat to swirl through melted butter. Halfway through, the richness of it began to bother him but, having committed, he continued eating.
“Maybe they can fix you king crab ice cream for dessert, sir?” the officer commented, amused at Jones’s tenacity.
“Not bad, this crab. But heavy, ain’t it?” Jones admitted finally.
Hours later, the rich crab remained in his stomach like a lump. Certainly don’t puke it up. Although that would have been a relief. When Jones finally fell asleep, he dreamed of Jap soldiers stomping over his body while he lay in an endless field of mud. Jerking awake, he rose and paced the room, hoping the dream would dissipate. A window looked out over low roofs to the sea. In the blowing rain, no lights shone out on the water except for a couple of buoys bobbing up beyond the breakwater. Wherever the Jap fishing fleet had gathered, it lay beyond the horizon. Damn Japs. And his stomach still growled.
By 4:00 a.m. the rain had stopped and the easterly sky had brightened, although a set of hills blocked the glow where the sun might be rising. He needed to move, not sleep. He dressed. Craving sweets now, Jones ate part of a candy bar he’d bought at the PX, stuffed two others in his pockets, and headed out for a stretch. Between buildings the streets were deserted, although streetlights still glowed in the early dawn and reflected in puddles. After a while, he found his way to the pier where they had impounded his boat. There she bobbed, almost breathing as the water surged around her. The padlock on the cabin door held firm when he tugged it.
WARRIORS Page 39
