signals to them with her hands. But the skiff keep on going.

"Hide me," Hallie jokes shrinking against the baitshed. "I say pods are teaching other pods about us," croaks Billy Goat continuing the subject. "It doesn't make sense that they feed on black cod naturally--the fish are too deep for them. The only time they can get such a big meal is when we bring them up. And it's only been fifteen years or so since longlining could come into its own with the Loran plotters on the market. So there's either more whales around or the ones that are here are spreading to word about us to each other." "You know, I saw the damnedest thing," says Mad Jack distantly. "I still don't quite believe it, I guess I saw it--just this morning. There was about twelve of them over on the other side of the island." "Hey, Hallie, "interrupts Lockjaw, "look over there. On the island. Your sweet heart is calling youuuu." Everybody looks shoreward to see blonde Molly halfway up the side of a grassy hill yelling,

"Hallie! Haaayyyyyy! Hallie!" She is waving a pink sweater and wears a skirt. Everybody aboard starts laughing. "Hey, lover boy,

someone's calling youuuu," Toasty coos like Bing Crosby.

"Oh, God, where do I hide?" Hallie cringes. "Well, let's go get her," Toasty says.

"Yeah," Mad Jack booms out laughing and shaking his head, "hell, go get her, she can come to my party if she wants to." Not wasting an aye-aye, Toasty jumps up and ducks back through the bait shed and into the skiff. In a few seconds he is scooting off toward shore. Hallie just shrugs. "Guess it's going to be a good old party," he grins. "Yeah, so I'm tellin' ya," Blaine continues telling Mad Jack, this has been the worst season ever. That lay-over in Dutch Harbor cost me a lot of money--a lot of money, I don't even want to think about it. Goddamned waste of time and money. Three weeks laid up in Dutch fixing the boat--1000 Dutch dollars--$10,000 bucks gone like sun on the Bering Sea. I shoulda' got it fixed in Seattle. I should 'a knowed better, all in a damned fired hurry to get on the fishing grounds in Alaska. Between the Dutch bandits and the whale bandits, a man as like as wants to take up delivering mail for a living."

"Don't worry, Blaine," smiles Mad Jack with an encouraging wink, "you'll get it back. A couple good trips and you'll get it back. And you got a permit for Chatham Strait at the end of the season, don't you?" Blaine nods.