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Alaska Weddings

By Susan Page Davis

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Caddie Lyle stood on the bridge of the ship, watching out the windows ahead as the farthest Aleutian Islands came into view. The crew of her ship, the U.S. Coast Guard’s buoy tender Wintergreen, was carrying out its early summer assignment to check their most remote navigational aids and deliver supplies to a few isolated Native Alaskan villages. Volcanic mountains formed an eerily beautiful backdrop to the frothing seascape that stretched before them into infinity. The 225-foot ship seemed a tiny bit of flotsam.
The Bering Sea writhed all around the ship, tossing it up and down in nauseating plunges. Caddie braced her feet as a particularly violent lurch hit them and focused on a large map hanging on the wall across the room. Seasickness rarely overtook her, but she’d struggled the past forty-eight hours in the inhospitable waters of the North.
The skipper paused beside her and looked forward out the big windows, at the barely visible land in the distance. “In a few hours, we’ll be at the western end of the U.S.A.”
Caddie nodded and pulled in deep breath. Her stomach settled down as the deck found a more level plane. “Can’t believe I’m really out here.”
“You can believe it. We’ll put in at Attu soon. When our errand there’s completed, we’ll head on home.”
Home and family seemed worlds away. Of all the people Caddie loved, only her father had seen these waters. Like her, he had come years ago with supplies for the Coast Guard station at Attu, the last in the chain of Aleutian islands. She stared out the side windows, where nothing but waves and sky existed. This wild setting reduced the massive Wintergreen to a fragile bark. But God was still above, keeping them afloat. She smiled at the thought.
“Sir,” Lindsey Rockwell, their operations specialist, called to the captain from her post at the radio desk. “I’m getting a distress signal.”
The skipper hurried to her side. “What type of vessel?”
“It’s a Russian trawler. We’re the nearest ship, although they may be just outside our jurisdiction.”
“Let’s go. What’s their position?”
Caddie dashed to the desk where she worked when plotting the ship’s course. As the captain gave the orders for a change of direction, she entered the new course on her computer console then carefully wrote it in the log.
In less than an hour, during which Lindsey maintained contact with the Russian ship’s crew, the trawler appeared on the horizon. As they drew closer, Caddie could see that the fishing boat sat very low in the choppy water, sluggishly riding each wave and turning willy-nilly with the elements. She wished she had her camera, but couldn’t leave the bridge to fetch it from the tiny cabin she shared with Lindsey.
“Crew of fourteen in a small boat,” Lindsey called out. “The skipper is now leaving the trawler, and he’s the last man off.”
“Where are they?” The captain searched the heaving surface with his binoculars.
“I’ve lost contact, but I assume they’re pulling away from the trawler.”
“Well, that thing’s going under before we can reach it.” Captain Raven shook his head.
Every man on the bridge scurried for binoculars. All was silent for several seconds as they scanned the water around the trawler. Caddie prayed the fishermen could get far enough from their doomed boat that they wouldn’t be capsized by the waves it made when it sank.
A shout came from outside. “Lookout reports the vessel on the horizon, sir,” Lindsey said. “Small boat at two-eight-zero.”
“There!” The captain pointed. “Alter course.”
As the crew rushed to obey, he whirled toward Caddie. “Get down on the main deck, Lyle. I’ll give you half a dozen hands to help get those Russians on board. You oversee the operation.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Caddie turned and ran for the ladder, hearing the captain’s voice echo over the loudspeaker. When she hit the bottom stair, seamen were already streaming onto the buoy deck. She rattled off orders to prepare to lower a workboat over the side to assist the Russians.

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