Fishing Expeditions

Why fishermen who used to welcome the Coast Guard have started to dread it.

Mick Kronman from the December 1996 issue

(Page 2 of 3)

Dennis Henderson, a fisherman who revered the Coast Guard all his life, remembers the day in 1991 when his opinion changed. "I was piloting one of several shrimpers I own, heading from Fort Myers, Florida, to Key West, a 120-mile run," he recalls. "The Coast Guard spotted me through the fog off Fort Myers and sent officers aboard, to check compliance with federal safety regulations." That's when his nightmare began.

"They herded us to the back deck and held us at gunpoint like criminals--me, my wife, and my crew," Henderson recalls. "They wouldn't even let us go to the bathroom. Then they ripped the boat apart, stem to stern. They were obviously looking for drugs, and the 'safety inspection' claim was just an excuse to get aboard. Finally, they simply let us go. No citation. No apology. No cleanup. No nothing."

Shrimper Julius Collins tells a similar tale, about the time he and his crew stood, terrified, while nervous, teenaged Coast Guardsmen held shotguns on them amid steep, rolling seas. Meanwhile, fellow Coasties gruffly rummaged through his boat, looking for whatever contraband they could find. "It's humiliating and damned dangerous," Collins says. "It's a miracle nobody's been killed during at-sea inspections, either accidentally or on purpose." One Louisiana fisherman even remembers the time a Coastie who had yet to find his sea legs stumbled and dropped his shotgun on the deck. The fisherman picked up the weapon and handed it back to the young man, saying, "This is yours; I believe you were holding it on me."

Safety Catch

Under fire for its zealous pursuit of personal-use drug cases, the Coast Guard unofficially mellowed its Z.T. program in the late 1980s, choosing to focus instead on nabbing large-scale traffickers. Meanwhile, vessel safety was coming into the spotlight, following the death of a U.S. ambassador's son during a fishing boat disaster in Alaska's Bering Sea.

"At the time, the fishing industry was seeking relief from high insurance costs by limiting boat owners' liability," recalls Rod Moore, a former House Merchant Marine Fisheries Committee staffer and a man who helped write the complex, much-debated Commercial Fishing Industry Vessel Safety Act of 1988. "Congress, however, chose to implement tough safety regs instead, a move that consumer groups and the American Trial Lawyers Association, neither of which favored liability limits, lobbied heavily for."

The Safety Act required fishermen to buy life rafts, emergency radio beacons, fire extinguishers, flares, and "survival suits"--insulated garments worn as a protection against the chill of the sea. Some fishermen praised the new law, but others, especially small-boat fishermen who work near shore, said the safety gear was too expensive ($10,000, plus $1,500 annually for upkeep and recertification) and took up too much space. The high cost, they claimed, forced them to forgo other important safety measures, such as yearly drydocking. Some even claimed that the bulky, 100-pound life rafts rendered their small boats unstable.

One particularly harsh critic was Alan Dujenski, who served 20 years with the Coast Guard (the last five in marine safety) and who now works for a marine insurance brokerage in Seattle. He says the whole safety program was hastily crafted, is rudely enforced, and generally misses the mark.

"Most casualties are caused by a lack of vessel stability, a lack of [a hull's] watertight integrity, insufficient bilge-pumping systems, fatigue, and a lack of seamanship education," Dujenski says. "It's as if the Coast Guard is saying, 'We know your vessel is going to sink, but at least you can save yourself when it does.' The regulations perpetuate the idea that safety equipment is a St. Christopher medal that will protect you from harm. Nothing could be further from the truth."

Though admitting flaws in the safety program, Coast Guard officials note that the number of lives lost after notification of an emergency has dropped significantly since passage of the Safety Act, from over 1,000 per year to fewer than 500. This, they claim, is significant for fishermen, who have the riskiest job in the United States (155 fatalities per 100,000 workers annually, according to the latest available government figures).

Gregory Sharp, crewman aboard a 53-foot fishing boat that capsized in frigid seas off the Washington coast in July 1990, was one of the first ones saved. "She went down in 20 seconds," he recalls. "I barely had time to get scared, let alone grab a survival suit." Sharp hung on to floating debris. "I noticed our [emergency beacon] had floated free," he says. "Its strobe light was blinking, so I figured its radio signal was working, too."

A Russian satellite picked up the emergency signal and relayed it to a station in Illinois. It was then relayed to Seattle and finally to a Coast Guard unit in Astoria, Oregon, across the Columbia River from the famous Cape D. rescue squad. An hour later, Sharp was safe. He offers this message for fishermen reluctant to install the $2,000 radio beacons: "If you can't justify the expense, just ask my wife and children if it's worth it. Better yet, ask your own."

Bellicose Boardings

But the real problem with the Safety Act is the manner in which the Coast Guard enforces it, especially the boardings. Ostensibly intended to check compliance with the law, "most boardings are courteous affairs, undertaken by highly educated, well-trained, respectful officers," says Cmdr. Steve Austin, a New England Coast Guard law enforcement officer. Some fishermen agree. One even recalls the time he was boarded, inspected, then invited to the Coast Guard cutter to eat T-bone steak, drink wine, and swap sea stories.

Many fishermen, however, say Coasties packing guns and leftover Z.T. attitudes bully their way aboard boats, checking everything from rafts to the size of ship's bell (rarely used for signaling in modern times) or the height of letters on a required placard noting that the discharge of oil is prohibited. These sometimes belligerent searches, which a single boat might endure several times per year, can result in fines approaching $1,000 for a minute violation.