 It
was one of those days that the wind pushed the palm trees around and the
sun gleamed brightly over the warm sand when I pulled down the ten mile
long road that led to Channel Islands Harbor. The green Plymouth hadn’t
been put through its paces all week and handling the typical coastal and
harbor fishermen was beginning to be a real drag. The Fish and Game radio
broke squelch and banged the repeater at the same time. The radio barked
out my call number 648... 694. I instantly recognized the salty voice
as that of Lieutenant Hank Hoover aboard the patrol boat YELLOWTAIL. I
immediately responded, flashing through my brain was the thought of an
invitation to go 10 - 7 tonight (off duty) with Hank and drink some tall
cold brewskis. But that wasn’t to be this day.
I responded, “694 go ahead to 648!”
Hank replied, “648, 11 -98 (meet me) Code
2 (ASAP) at the YELLOWTAIL.” As the smile lost its wrinkle on my
face, I kicked in what was left of my carburetor. When the Plymouth took
its initial lunge forward, I tightened my control of the dark green patrol
unit. I was only minutes away from the patrol boat berth. As I backed
off 115 I rounded the last corner that led to the parking lot above the
big gray patrol boat and screeched to a halt. Quickly I ran around the
buildings and down onto the dock. Aboard the boat were several people
in civilian attire with Hank. I paused at the stern of the Yellowtail
with my hand poised over my sidearm.
Hank came to the back of the forty four foot
patrol boat and said, “Town, these narcotic officers need our help.
Do you remember seeing the RED BARON trawler in the harbor at Port Hueneme?
It’s hauling a lode of dope up the coast. These narcotic officers,
one from Newport Beach PD and Sergeant Carpenter from the Ventura County
Sheriff’s office need our help to catch and board that craft.”
Hank went on explaining that the boat had left Port Hueneme harbor just
south of us about twenty-five minutes before and we needed to leave right
now. As Hank talked, the rest of our supporting cast, Lieutenant Ken Nilson
and Warden Gayland Taylor arrived. Hank fired up the big 671 twin Cummins
diesels and the YELLOWTAIL surged to life.
I asked Sergeant Carpenter, “Don’t
you guys have helicopters?”
The husky Sergeant smiled at first and then drew
his mouth into a frown saying, “Yes” and then asking why.
“Well, we’ll have one hell of a problem
if they dump the load before we catch them!”
He said, “I gotcha!” As the radio
went to his lips I already knew what he was going to do. Besides, I thought
to myself, the helicopter crew could do with a little extra flight pay.
While all this was going on the bumpers were pulled up and the California
State Colors went up with old Glory. All of the radios, scanners and radar
were cranked on as we cruised out of the harbor (a little hotter than
normal). Once we hit the breakwater Hank threw the big dual topside levers
forward and the humming engines roared to an even pitch at twenty five
knots. The smell of the cold salt air and sea spray were invigorating.
As we headed out the big yellow orb of the sun above the rolling sea was
descending fast.
I leaned toward Hank and yelled in his ear over
the roar of the engines, “Hank, why didn’t these guys use
the Coast Guard Cutter? It’s moored just a hundred feet away.”
The chortle was low and restrained but I knew it was going to lead to
something funny from the old sea dog. Hank explained that Sergeant Carpenter
had first gone to the Coast Guard with the same story. They told him they
would be glad to help.
Carpenter had told them, “Great, let us
go get our other guns.”
The Coast Guard freaked and said, “Guns,
you can’t bring guns aboard a United States boat, why that would
be an act of war!” (This was prior to the United States Coast Guards
big drug interdiction program.) The two officers couldn’t get by
this Ill-fanned logic and proceeded towards the Fish and Game patrol boat
YELLOWTAIL .
As the big gray patrol boat charged steadily
northward a sharp watch was kept on the horizon. Lt. Nilson kept his face
glued to the radar scope in hopes of locating the little orange dot on
the screen. This was one of those days when you could see almost everything
except what you wanted to in the damn thing. Out in the distance, through
the sea spray, towards Ventura we spotted a little black object zipping
out across the water flying at one hundred plus feet altitude heading
busily northward. I knew instinctively that this was the dispatched helicopter.
As we hurried northward in pursuit of the RED BARON the support group
below was getting keyed up and ready to go. All weapons were checked and
rechecked. The old M-2 was pulled out and rounds loaded into the clips.
Hank sang out, “There she is!” We
all scrambled above decks looking towards the northern horizon. I spotted
her off in the distance, above her buzzed the little Ventura County Sheriff’s
helicopter ever circling the cornered prey. The clips full of 30 caliber
rounds were snapped into the old M-2 carbine. I gave the boarding order,
me first, then Warden Taylor then the other officers. Lt. Nilson was to
cover us both from the YELLOWTAIL with the carbine. I had little fear
of boarding in the rough sea. Hank was an expert skipper and could set
me down on a dime anywhere, and I had boarded more than my fair share
of vessels from the YELLOWTAIL. Like Hank’s, my only concern was
(A) - not getting shot and (B) - not loosing anyone overboard in the rolling
seas.
As the helicopter hovered
overhead Hank hit the blue strobe on top of the cabin and cranked the
siren up. Over the PA Hank ordered the RED BARON to ‘heave-to’
(stop). The RED BARON slowed and cut her engines. At the same time, Hank
swung the stern of the YELLOWTAIL around and deposited me on her port
side rear deck. My 357 Colt fairly leapt into my hand from my breakfront
holster as I gained my sea legs aboard the vessel. I ordered all of the
crew out on deck placing them under arrest and told them to raise there
hands (stick - em’- up). Behind me a forward hatch door swung open.
Lt. Nilson swung the carbine past me ready to plug whoever came out of
it.
The shouts of, “Behind you!”, were
lost in the wail of the siren and the roar of the YELLOWTAIL’s engines.
The skipper of the RED BARON sensing the possible
deadly results said, “For God’s sake don’t shoot! All
we have aboard is some grass.” The gap between the boats widened
as the swells pushed the YELLOWTAIL some thirty feet away. Finally swinging
back it deposited Warden Taylor aboard. As I put all hands face down at
gunpoint on the deck, Gayland, gun drawn cautiously checked the open forward
hatch door. Fortunately no one was inside, the hatch had only been sprung
in the rough ocean chop. With Warden Taylor covering the suspects I began
handcuffing the subjects till I ran out of handcuffs. After the crew was
mainly secured the two narcotic officers were deposited aboard. Warden
Taylor covered the crew while I worked with the two Narcotic officers
to open the front hatch.
The hatch squealed and splintered as we broke
it open. Then laying the hatch cover back a low, “Holy shit”
escaped from somebody’s lips. The hatch was completely full of Acapulco
Gold (marijuana) wrapped in bundles with ten kilos to the bundle. The
two narcotic officers were looking at one another with huge Cheshire cat
grins. I could tell from the look between them that this was the culmination
of a long and hard search up the coast for the elusive boat.
As the sun knelt low on the rolling ocean waves
Lt. Nilson clambered on board, to begin piloting the seized boat and crew
back to the open arms of the Ventura County jail. The amount of Marijuana
seized was one of the biggest ever made off of the Ventura, California
coastline. Over ten tons were man-handled bundle by bundle and stacked
on the floating dock until it almost sank under the weight (some had to
be removed before more could be stacked). The dock was not only covered
with dope but scads of reporters as well (sometimes they're interchangeable).
Finally we were through
with a very long day. I kept wondering if that salty old sea dog with
the now grizzled unremoveable smile on his face would ever buy me that
tall cold beer I had in mind in the first place before this whole thing
got started.
He did.
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