Johnathan Hillstrand Confronts Female Captain That Nearly Cost Him His Career | Deadliest Catch
Johnathan Hillstrand Confronts Female Captain That Nearly Cost Him His Career | Deadliest Catch
There’s a very short window of opportunity to find a boat and a captain willing to take me on.
I’m headed to find Jonathan on the Time Bandit.
I’ve never met him, but I need a boat. Captain Jonathan Hillstrand—he’s worked in Alaska for over 40 years. That’s local knowledge and a depth of experience I can’t match. The kind of insight you only gain by fishing a place your entire life.
I’m hoping to have a conversation with him. We’ll see how it goes.
[Music fades in]
“Hey there!”
“Right now, I’m going for golden crabs. It was really good to us last year. Pretty excited. Plus, I get to visit my brother Andy. Be good.”
[Music builds]
It’s under Greenlaw.
The Greenlaw. I haven’t seen her in probably 25 years. The last time was on the East Coast, when I was working out of New Bedford, Massachusetts.
Back then, there wasn’t a season for king crab. I was barely scraping by. I bought a boat—the County Explorer. Spent every dime I had.
Linda was running a boat called The Hannibal, working George’s Bank. I was the new guy on the East Coast, no connections, no favors.
They told me, This is our bank. I said, Is your granddad’s name George? Because this is George’s Bank. I didn’t care whose name was on it—I was broke. And Linda? Her boat was one of the ones that ate my lunch.
“That’s the other boat’s Beaver there. Get your clippers. If you can get his line up, cut it clear. Let’s cut my buoys off.”
It was decades ago. But back then, losing gear was devastating. I didn’t have money to replace those buoys or lines. Almost lost my business over it.
It mattered to me.
“How you doing?”
“Hey, good, thanks. Linda. Linda Greenlaw—I know you.”
“Yeah, right on.”
“Back East, yes, I’m from there. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Well, I came with a little quota. I’m looking for a boat to fish it. It’s important for me to get on the water with my quota.”
He squinted, not buying it. I didn’t expect him to be thrilled to see me.
“You don’t recognize me, do you?”
“We—we’ve met before,” I said. “I ran a boat out of New Bedford in the early ’90s. You ran my buoys over with your longline gear. Cut them clean off. I was new.”
He leaned back, grinning. “That’s ancient history. I’ve got two captains already. There are plenty of other guys in town. Good luck.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“One piece of advice: Watch out, Linda. Don’t mess with the Time Bandit.”
Unbelievable.
Apparently, sometime in the early ’90s, I cut his line. He’s holding a grudge.
I’ve been tangled in hundreds of lines longlining for swordfish. You cut it. You move on. That’s just fishing. You deal with it.
I never maliciously cut someone’s line. If I did cut his line, I was probably doing us both a favor. Gear conflicts happen.
If I held onto every grudge over gear, I’d be miserable.
He thinks I’m a liability. That doesn’t sit well with me. I know how to run a boat. I know how to lead a crew.
I’ve spent more time at sea than most of these captains. They don’t know me.
Back in 1985, I captained my first boat, the Gloria Dawn, out of Portland, Maine.
We’d been at the dock for weeks, re-rigging from swordfish to halibut. On sailing day, I looked down and saw the top of someone’s head bobbing in the water.
Oh Jesus, someone’s in the water.
I ran over and pulled him out. Two of my crew helped dry him off. One said, Uncle Patty.
You know this guy?
Yeah, it’s my uncle. He’s coming with us.
Uncle Patty was down-and-out, living on the streets. Fishing was his family’s last hope for him. It was a point of pride for them. I decided to take him.
We threw off the lines and left the dock.
Five days out, we hit the fishing grounds. I went below deck and tried to rouse Uncle Patty.
He wouldn’t move. He was yellow. His eyes were wide open.
He died.
What could we do? Two of my crew were his relatives. Fishing with a corpse was out of the question.
We wrapped him up, laid him in the bait freezer, and started the long trip back home.
I should never have taken him offshore. That was a liability—not me.
But arguing about that now won’t get me on a boat. Boats are casting off. Trips are starting. I don’t want to be left standing on the dock.
