The Storm on the Red Sea
By Dan Stinson
It was a dark and stormy night. Oh well, it sounds like a good way to start this story. I was sitting at home, relaxing, and about to drift off to sleep, when the lightning struck. The thunder rolled in like a cannon volley and just about knocked me out of my chair. Visions of a dark stormy night came rushing back through my mind, and scenes of the past became real all over again.
I joined the Army when I was seventeen, looking for fun and adventure, but it was slow to come. I went through basic training at Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri, then through six months of schooling at Ft. Devens, Massachusetts. I thought I would be sent to Vietnam or some other hot place, some place where there was a lot of action. But instead I was sent to Homestead Air Force Base, Florida. After eleven months of on the job training, I then received my orders for immediate relocation to a far away place called Asmara, Ethiopia. I got out the old Atlas and tried to find just where in the world this place was located. It was about as bad as Timbuktu. (Timbuktu is a small town, somewhere in West Africa) Asmara, Ethiopia is located about forty miles (as the crow flies) from the Red Sea, on top of a mountain range, 8,000 ft. above sea level. That was to be my home base for the next year and a half.
Many exciting things happened to me while I was stationed there, but I still wanted to go deep-sea fishing on the Red Sea. And finally I got my chance. Nine of my Army buddies and I went down to a small seaport called Massawa. We scrounged around and finally found a place that would let us rent the equipment we needed. They were ancient rods and reels, left by other Americans, but they still worked; which encouraged us. Then all we had to do was find someone with a boat, someone who would be willing to put up with dumb GI's for a few days. This was not very hard, because a lot of the locals were fisherman, they all had boats, and they all needed money. After a lot of arguing back and forth, we were finally able to agree on a price. We then loaded our gear and got ready to leave port.
The boat was about forty-five feet long, twelve feet wide, eight feet deep, and it had a tiller at the back, which was the means of steering it. (It reminded me of one of the junks you see in pictures from Vietnam.) There was an old six-cylinder Chevy motor in the bottom, and the best speed we could coax out of it was ten miles per hour.
While we were waiting for the crew to cast off the lines, some young boys gathered around the wharf, asking for money. I decided if they were to get any money from me, then they would have to work for it. So I dug around in my pockets for some change, and threw it into to the shallow water at the back of the boat. Those little rascals could swim like fish, and it wasn't long before they had gathered up all of the change. The water was so clear, we could see them swim along the bottom and pick up every coin. The other guys decided to do the same with their lose change, and it wasn't long before we had twenty-five or thirty boys in the water. We could have watched all evening, but the captain had tired of our little game, and he was ready to go. So the lines were cast off, and slowly we eased away from the dock. The young boys thanked us for the coins, wished us good luck, and then left with a rowdy farewell.
We finally left port and headed out to sea. We were going to an island thirty miles away. Our coolers were filled with ice, and we brought along extra ice to preserve the fish we caught. Yes sir, we were going deep-sea fishing.
It was late evening when we got close to the island, darkness had settled in, and you could see the phosphorus sparkle from the prow of the boat. It was a beautiful sight! Our little ride had taken us three hours, but we were ready to unload our gear and set up camp.
The next day we fished, and fished. All day long we fished, trying to catch something edible, but the only thing we caught was barracuda. There were only five rods and reels, so that meant only half of us could fish at one time. I then came up with the bright idea of fixing up my own fishing line. There were plenty of hooks, and a lot of extra line, but we had run out of lures. The barracuda were very quick at grabbing the lure, and then biting the small lines in two, so we lost our lures. I took an empty beer can, cut one side out of it, and then attached it to a hook. It made a very good spinner bait. Then, like a fool who had consumed too many brews, I wound a line around my hand, and attached the homemade lure to the end. While the boat slowly idled through the water, I gradually played out the line, until it was about 50 yards away.
Then a fish struck! A big barracuda took the lure, and just about tore off my hand. I was helpless for an instant, and then my senses returned. I kept yanking hard, but the line would not break. It was obvious that I would have to pull in the monster all by myself. The rest of my buddies looked on in surprise, and then they all broke out in laughter. One of them made the remark, "You caught it, you land it." Hand over hand I pulled the line in, and finally landed my fish. I quickly unwound the line from my hand, and shook it vigorously to restore the circulation. That was one fish I sure would like to have had mounted, but circumstances prevented it.
The sun bore down on us mercilessly! And by the time evening rolled around, we were all sunburned, and our thoughts were on getting to the island, grilling the steaks we brought along for our evening meal, and consuming a lot of beer. We were almost dehydrated! The island was our base camp, and that is where we would spend our nights. The Ethiopian Navy patrolled the waters, and didn't take kindly to boats being on the open sea at night. They could blow us out of the water if they caught us away from the island. Just as soon as the boat touched land, one of the guys jumped out, and started running down the beach to find a big rock to get behind, so he could relieve himself. (There were no bathrooms on the boat) Before he could find a convenient spot, he stepped on a sharp piece of coral, and cut his foot very badly. Now a decision had to be made: would the little Captain of the boat take us back to the mainland and risk being blown out of the water, or would he wait till day-break? We finally persuaded him to take us back. A few extra dollars sure can change a person's mind, especially American dollars.
We were about ten miles from the island and had twenty more to go, when we saw a big storm coming our way. Even though it was late at night, the flashes of lightening lit up everything, including the mountains and the desert terrain over on the mainland. It was an eerie but beautiful scene. Suddenly the storm was upon us, and the lightning flashes were all around us. We were afraid that one of the bolts would hit us, and fry us to a crisp. The temperature dropped quickly, the warm seawater washed over us and started to fill the boat. Because of the sudden drop in temperature, the warm water was a relief from the cold. We would ride up one side of a wave, and then slide down the other. It was necessary for all of us to run from one side of the boat to the other to keep it balanced. The little craft was definitely not designed for rough seas. I had planned on doing some scuba diving and spear fishing on this trip, so I had my gear with me, and I placed it close at hand, just in case. I figured I had a good chance of survival with the gear on, should the boat sink. While the storm raged around me, the thought kept going through my mind, "We are not going to make it, I think we are going down." Three local fishermen were hired to come along and help us, but we had to help them when the storm hit. They were scared to death! I can still see them in my mind. The little guys would squat on their haunches, rock back and forth, and chant their prayers. Then they would look at us to see if we were as scared as they were. It was about this time I started to get a little religious, and even said a few prayers myself. I crawled back to see how the captain was doing, and I must say that the he did his job very well. He stayed at the tiller, guiding the boat through the rough seas, also chanting his prayers. I gave him my baseball cap to protect his face from the stinging, driving rain, and then crawled back to the middle of the boat. The sea was so rough that you had to crawl, or risk being thrown overboard. We continued to fight the storm for a few more hours, and then it gradually subsided. One of the guys told me he got sea sick during the storm and had to throw up, and jokingly I asked him if he made it to the side of the boat. Then seriously he said to me, "I was so sick and scared at the time, what little bit of food left in my stomach, wound up at the bottom of the boat." And it was the same with others, but they were too proud to say anything about it.
Well, the good Lord was with us, and the storm finally passed on, but it took us six hours to make it back to port because we were blown off course. We located a doctor at a small Army post, and he took care of our buddy's injured foot. While we were standing around waiting for the doctor to finish, one of the MP's told us we were lucky to be alive. Because it was one of the worst storms he had ever seen, and he had been there for over a year.
Before we left the island, we asked the natives if they wanted our fish. I could only understand a few words of their language, but their gesturing told us they wanted the fish, so we gave them all of our catch. I also gave them the one I caught with my homemade fishing gear. In all, it was about two hundred pounds of barracuda. At first we didn't think they would want it, but they loved barracuda, and they were as happy as little kids with candy. We never did get to grill and eat the steaks, but it probably was a good thing, because they were bought from a local butcher in Massawa, and who knows what kind of bacteria came with them.
Morning arrived, and the deep-sea fishing trip was behind us, so we returned the rods and reels, packed our gear, and headed back up the mountain.