By Paul Lebowitz

For their crews, life on a sportfishing boat means long hours of labor. Love of the sea keeps them coming back day after day

The kelp paddy was only 50 feet off when all four trolling rigs were hammered. The anglers at the rail fumbled the big combos out of the trolling harnesses and slid into the corner, rods bent with fish, as the Ranger 85 skidded to a stop. Fishermen spilled out of the cabin and flooded onto the stern, hurriedly scrambling to pin a sardine and flip it into the water. Moments later a dozen men were jostling for space to fight yellowtail.    

In the midst of the melee several deckhands darted about, sorting out tangles. Emphatic calls of “Color!” and “Gaff!” cascaded down the rail. Manny Vargas, the deckhand instantly recognizable from the bushy black goatee on his chin, quickly sized up the situation.

There were too many yellows to gaff at once, and none was bigger than 12 pounds. “Swing ‘em,” directed Vargas, as he took one of the trolling outfits in hand and jack-poled a fish onto the deck. 

Ten minutes later the flurry was over. Two dozen yellowtail and a couple of dorado were already chilling in the fish box. Young deckhand Alex Edwards, a recent high school graduate, hosed away the last crimson traces of the early morning’s excitement. When he was done, the deck was back to its pristine white sheen.

Meanwhile the galley had filled with hungry fishermen drawn by the salty aroma of bacon. The cook, the ever cheerful Aaron Malone, passed out hearty breakfast burritos and brewed pot after pot of strong coffee. Somehow he single-handedly managed to feed a crowd of over 30 in as many minutes.

Up in the wheelhouse, Captain Frank Ursitti and his second ticket Steve Grossberg both held powerful binoculars to their eyes as they scanned the horizon. Before long they were joined by Australian deckhand Todd Vallerine. The side-scanning sonar chattered and first one radio then another erupted in speech, but there was next to no small talk as the men intently looked for signs of life. It was all business.

Grossberg spotted a slick on the water, a telltale sign of a small raft of floating kelp, and extended his arm at length to indicate its direction. Owner / operator Ursitti steered his sportfisher to intercept, but this time there were no fish swimming under the paddy.

“I’m going to nap for 30 minutes,” said Ursitti, who’d rotated night watches with Grossberg. He’d scarcely laid back on his wheelhouse bunk and closed his eyes when a voice over the radio scratched out a fish report. The captain rolled over to consult the chart on the screen of his laptop, adding another bit of info to the continual puzzle of where to find a payoff for his 28 fish-hungry passengers. Ursitti spent the balance of his restless nap plotting reports and revising his game plan.

The prior evening, while his crew loaded scoop after scoop of live bait from the Everyingham Bait Brothers barge in San Diego Bay, Ursitti had stood on the elevated foredeck of the Ranger 85 to deliver unwelcome news to his hopeful passengers. Reports from the day and a half fleet were terrible. The nice-sized yellowfin and bluefin tuna up to 60 pounds caught earlier in the week had evaporated. Seiner pressure, explained Ursitti.

It’s tough out there, the affable captain said, but he promised to look hard and go the distance. A few of the assembled anglers smiled ruefully, but there were few grumbles from the men who’d paid about $300 a head months earlier for the privilege of fishing with Ursitti. Most were repeat customers who had every confidence the crew would grind it out to the end.

A grind. It’s a fair description of the life a sportboat crew leads. At the height of the offshore season, captain and crew labor weeks on end with few breaks. They live on the boat, spacious enough for the passengers who ride along for a day at a time, but surely confining when the universe measures 85 feet by 22. Crew cabins aren’t exactly spacious. Move into your bedroom closet if you want an approximation, and not one of those luxurious walk-ins either.

Next to the weight of responsibility that rests on the captain, the most difficult shoes to fill might be those of the galley cook. Up before dawn frying bacon, then scrubbing pots until the wee hours, the position demands more than culinary skills. Part bartender, court jester, substitute deckhand, and yes, even nurse to seasick passengers, a good cook can make a slow day of fishing go down easier.

Then, if you want to imagine life as a deckhand, spend most every waking moment cleaning the boat, sorting out tangles and soothing hot tempers, carving fish on a heaving deck, or fixing whatever’s broken today.

“There’s always something,” said Ursitti, who on an early July trip dealt with sonar trouble, pump problems, and a shaft that ran stubbornly hot. Even brand new boats have issues.Running day in and day out puts as much strain on the mechanical systems as it does on the crew, and just like the machinery, a captain can’t afford for his crew to crack under pressure.

The sportfishing business is a service industry. The passengers who shell out their hard-won dollars don’t appreciate anything less than a total effort. Give them surly deckhands and inedible food and they’ll take their business to a competitor.

What keeps the crew going? It can’t be just the money. At about $8 an hour for the cook and deckhands plus tips, there have to be easier ways to earn a living.

A second captain brings in between $90 and $125 a day; the captain, if he isn’t salaried or operating his own vessel, around $125 to $150. Clichéd as it is, love of the sea is a major motivation.

ALWAYS ON THE LOOKOUT – Ranger 85 Captain Frank Ursitti keeps his eyes on the prize: fish and their telltale signs. There was little small talk between crewmen in Ursitti’s wheelhouse. It was all business.

SWING IT! – With more small yellowtail at color than ready gaffs, Ranger 85 deck boss Manny Vargas opts to jack-pole a fish. Quick thinking and a cool demeanor are indispensable deck hand qualities.

THE CLEANING NEVER ENDS – Deck hand Alex Edwards heads out to wash down the deck. There’s always something that needs cleaning or maintaining on a hard-worked sportboat.

LIVE ABOARD – Cook Aaron Malone shows off his cabin during a rare free moment. Like Malone, most sportboat crews live on board their vessels. Home sweet home isn’t much larger than the average walk-in closet.

‘PINHEAD’ CHORES – Robert Whitfield hard at work. The young apprentice deck hand works Ursitti’s boat in exchange for room, board, and hard-won experience.

HIP DEEP – Deck hand Alex Edwards wades into a cold, slimy fish hold to sort the day’s catch. Crewing a sport boat isn’t a job for the squeamish or those afraid to get their fingernails dirty.

“It’s different every day. You don’t know what’s going to happen,” said Robert Whitfield, the most junior member of Ursitti’s crew. Whitfield is a ‘pinhead,’ an apprentice who works the boat for nothing more than room and board and valuable work experience.

Many a deckhand dreams of working his way up the chain, through deck boss, second captain, and on to owner / operator. Like Edwards, who said he’s considering enlisting in the U.S. Coast Guard, some plan to leverage their sea time in other ocean-going careers. And then there are the fixtures like Vargas, who as deck boss is responsible for managing the maelstrom that is a crowded deck in a hot bite. He’s been at it for over 20 years. When asked why he sticks with the job in spite of long hours, hard work, and time away from family, the wave of his hand at the wide open horizon off the stern was explanation enough.

Earlier, when I met Vargas and most of the Ranger 85 crew at the H&M Landing dock, they were enjoying a few moments of precious relaxation. The boat was already fueled, all routine mechanical maintenance done and the twin diesels shined to a high gloss. They were waiting for the captain, who was off getting groceries. Shirts were off and the banter flew with the easy familiarity of a tight-knit crew.

Ursitti arrived and disappeared into the pilothouse with Grossberg. Meanwhile Malone tossed boxes from the dock onto the Ranger’s stern. The supplies whizzed through the air, over one shoulder then the next, and Edwards shuffled his feet to keep up as the irrepressible cook made a game out of the chore.

Passenger boarding time approached and the mood turned serious. The captain prowled the boat, eyeing its readiness. Soon Edwards was pushing a mop, and Whitfield was cleaning windows under Ursitti’s watchful gaze. “We’re ready,” announced Ursitti, and the line of eager anglers trooped on board, stowed their gear, and signed in with deck boss Vargas. Everyone aboard, Vallerine cast off the lines and the Ranger motored off into the darkness and dim prospects for this day and a half trip.

Perhaps the Ranger was lucky to stumble upon that early-morning kelp paddy stocked with yellowtail. More likely that first bit of success was due to the eagle-eyed watch-keeping of Ursitti and his pilothouse crew. With fish on board and the mood considerably lightened, a day of long rides punctuated by periods of frantic action commenced.

Each time the call “hook up” rang out from the stern the crew smoothly reacted. The boat would slide to a stop, the deck hand perched ready on the bait tank already flicking sardines into the water. The anglers jostled for space at the rail, willing the frantic tail beats of their baits to turn into the rush of line that signaled a pick-up. Then either an exultant shout of “fresh one!” would ring out, or else the angler would groan in dismay at a missed strike.

Vallerine’s Aussie twang penetrated the clamor. “Follow your lines,” he’d patiently urge, over and over as the day wore on. Somehow he did not lose his patience with the few inexperienced fishermen who continually allowed their baits to stray into other anglers’ lines.

“Hot rail!” shouted Edwards as he ushered an angler with a charging fish on the line up to the bow. Going stride for stride with the fisherman who was watching wild-eyed as the line on his reel quickly diminished, the young deck hand coolly directed traffic, “Over, over, under,” he’d say, and men twice times his age would immediately comply.

The wildest stop of the day found Ursitti down at the rail gaffing fish and working out tangles. Fish that landed on the deck were quickly whisked away to the forward fish box, marked with the lucky angler’s number, and then quickly placed in the chilled fish hold. Later that night, Edwards would climb hip deep into the slimy cold box to sort the catch and prep it for cleaning.

In the galley Malone grilled up burgers and handed out cold ones to thirsty passengers. Tasty snacks kept coming all day long. Cookies, fruit, chips, and hot wings hit the tables and livened up the long miles between stops on fish. As evening came on and the skies darkened the cook, still smiling, cracking jokes, and calling passengers by name, was hard at work on dinner.

Ursitti kept hunting fish until the last moment. He was philosophical, saying they’d given it their best effort.  The fleet had struck out on tuna; only one other boat had matched the Ranger’s count: 90 odd yellows, a handful in the 20-lb. range, 2 small dorados, and one fat but lonely albacore taken off the penultimate paddy of the day.

While the passengers ravenously attacked Malone’s thick-cut pork chops, freshly mashed potatoes, and mixed vegetables, out on the stern deck hands Vargas and Edwards cut fish under the harsh deck lights. The pair worked quickly, blank looks on their tired faces. The customers were asleep in their bunks long before the job was finished. Then it was time to wash down the deck. It must have been well past midnight when the deck hands finally headed off for some rest. 

They showed little sign of fatigue the next morning. With the anglers gathered on deck, Vargas went through the cabin changing pillowcases while Edwards vacuumed. Back at the dock, the passengers trooped off the boat, but not before receiving a warm thank-you and firm hand-shake from Captain Ursitti.

As I followed the last of the straggling anglers up the dock I turned to look back. There were Vargas and Edwards, squeegees in hand, swabbing the Ranger’s sides. It was 10 a.m. The first hopeful passengers of that day’s overnight trip would be arriving in hours.  

Time for the crew to do it all over again.

The Ranger 85 and sister-ship Coral Sea offer 1 to 2.5 day trips throughout the offshore season. Visit www.ranger85.com or dial 619-997-9993 for additional information.