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\\\Dutch Harbor,On the rocky Aleutian island of Unalaska, is a harsh place. There is hardly a single tree in sight,thanks to the relentless, scouring wind. Discarded anchors, spools of old rope and muddy tangles of fishing line lie scattered everywhere by the roadside. Sea salt transforms automobiles into curtains of rust, and when the crab fleet is in town the bars are raucous until well past midnight. There are no-high peels of laughter, no tinkling of wine glasses, no female energy at all, just a bunch of hard-bitten boys getting fucked-up.
\\\With good reason. In the 1990's the Bering Sea's crab fishing grounds were America's most dangerous workplace, claiming 83 lives during the decade{out of fewer than 2000 total fisherman. 61 men died when their boats capsized, sank or caught fire, and 22 others perished in the ice cold water after they'd had been whacked upside the head by a crab pot or gotten caught in a crab pot line and yanked over board. Indeed so many crab fishermen have died on the job that many fishermen still cleave to arcane superstitions, such as refusing to leave port on friday or forbidding anyone to step onboard with a banana.
\\\\\\Fishing for King crab{and it's smaller cousin opilio or snow crab} is not something you do off the dock on a warm summer afternoon. The impressive beast, witch can span 3 feet, thrive in the chilly waters of the Bering Sea, several hundred feet down and well offshore, they are caught in mettle pots that resemble the go-go cages found in bad New York night clubs circa 1989. The pot are loaded with smelly bait fish, tossed overboard, and hauled back up about 24 hours later, hopefully filled with squirming crabs. The complicating factor here is that most crabbing is done in late autumn and winter, when the Bering sea isis at it's coldest and stormiest; in really severe weather, one crewman is typically assigned to the job of breaking ice off the railing with a baseball bat so the ship doesn't get top-heavy and capsize.
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