Taking Chances

It was 1997 during my senior year at Humboldt State University where I was studying Business and Fisheries. I fished to pay my way through school. My boat at the time was a very tough 32-foot Down-Easter named the Sea Breeze which I renamed Full Rack. After fishing 60 days without respite, far offshore in the wee hours of the AM, I was tangled in my black cod, pot fishing gear and sucked over the side in 2000 feet of water. I barely survived the incident and it changed my perspective on life and making a living at sea. I was saved as my glove slid off my left hand as I zoomed to seafloor. Released from the line, I floated to the surface only to be hauled aboard by my faithful deckhand, Richard. He slapped me awake as I awoke moaning in pain as I felt my broken wrist and dislodged elbow joint.

“Do you wanna go in Chris?” Richard asked.

“No, we need the black cod to sell so I can pay for the cast, finish pulling the gear!” I said as I moaned in agony.

After selling the catch and getting a cast and some meds, I had a fire sale. All my hard-fought gear and the boat itself was for sale.

Full Rack went for $78,000 and another $10k for the gear. A nice forty grand profit over the amount owing due on the bank note.

I can still remember the conversion.

“Mom, I got forty grand cash, should I buy a house?”          

“No son, that is for old people, go have some fun, what about that Harley idea you had?” She replied.

She knew I had long wanted to buy a HOG and ride across Europe with the fantasy of selling it for big profit in Paris.

Three weeks later I met my brand-new teal Soft Tail Springer at the air cargo hanger in Ljubljana, Slovenia where a family friend named Branco managed to grease customs to let it through without the massive tax normally due.

I fired up my bike in the hanger and the blaring, popping tail pipes alerted the recently liberated, former communists that the “sound of freedom had arrived” as Bronco so eloquently put it. With a smile, I revved the throttle repeatedly.

With just a few bucks in my pockets, two credits cards, one change of clothes, a knock-off leather biker jacket and a very questionable looking set of chaps and boots, I strapped the saddle bags shut and set out across Europe with no plan what so ever. I was 25-years old, a strapping American male and so far, computers had not taken away our souls, I had no dog, no rent, no girlfriend, no debt of any kind and I had recently survived a near death experience at sea.

As I laid into the throttle rattling windows in the ancient alley ways of old Europe, I was as free as a man could possibly be.

I tore across Germany and Austria, sleeping in the bushes, train stations, hostels and hotels. My hair grew long and nappy and I am sure my body odor could have scared away witches. At one point I rolled up to a lake in the middle of Austria. With only shorts, thongs and my biker jacket on, I strode up to a couple of sun bathing topless beauties. One of the beauties, Anna was a quick friend and for the next week I lived at her massive house, ate her food and made love like a sailor on shore leave.

In time I had to wave goodbye to Anna and her massive Saint Bernard. She protested and waved with tears in her eyes as I rode off.

I collected my French cousin, Scott, who rode bitch as we covered the French countryside and the coastal, cliffside town of Biarritz.

In time I made it to Paris. I went there mainly based on the Hemingway quote that it was “movable feast.” It met the billing and then some. I rolled into the Rungis Market place, known as the belly of Paris, the Rungis is the central fish and meat market and I made contacts there that lead to the start of my 15-year career as an international seafood trader.

Naturally a few Frenchman that “helped” me make my contacts tried to hustle me along the way, but they settled for a few glasses of Rosè after a full night of slinging fish on the trading floor.

After a fun night on the town and with a belly full of red wine, I zoomed through the same tunnel that Princess Dianna would meet her end just a few days later. The tunnel had an eerie feeling and it felt like some sort of bear trap waiting to be sprung.

Six weeks later, I was out of time and money and took a rock bottom price for the Harley. I took my first real financial loss in life and I was so ashamed that I told folks back home that my Harley had been ripped off, because in my mind it had been.

Looking like a mad man, still wearing my biker jacket, I boarded the Swiss Air flight back home. Back at Humboldt, I was six days late for the start of the new semester.

But what I lost in money I gained 1000-fold in what was one of the most valuable experiences of my life. None of us will ever be young and free again, and by taking a chance I changed my life for the better, found a new career path and lived that period of my life to the fullest, with abandon and no apologies.

***See photos with late friend, Craig Mattox, his daughters Pearl and Veronica – Craig recently died sea urchin diving at San Miguel Island, rest in peace brother.