The Deadliest Catch!

[excel]

In reality, 'Deadliest Catch' has never been safer
By MIKE LEWIS
P-I REPORTER

As news releases go, this one was standard issue. Exclamation point? Check! Words emphasized in capital letters? CHECK. Superlatives? The most amazing check ever.

The unusual thing about the Discovery Channel's announcement of the upcoming red king crab season and, more important, the filming for the next season of "Deadliest Catch" was the date.

Sept. 25, 2007.

See it? No? Look again. That's right, 2007. From the looks of it, the catch today still is pretty deadly. Indeed, the name says "deadliest" nearly three years after the first episode aired and elevated Seattle and Alaskan crab fishermen to working-class celebrities while it hauled in a payload for the popular cable station.

But as is said, appearances can be deceiving. This is the case for "Deadliest Catch." Ask a crab fisherman. Ask the people who regulate the fisheries or the Coast Guard crews who sometimes rescue crabbers. Ask the fishing families.

Ask Shane Moore. Chances are "Catch" fans don't know Moore -- certainly not as they do TV show regulars Phil, Sig or Eric. The Bothell man no longer fishes. But he still gets paid. That is because he now leases his share of the catch, essentially getting paid to not fish.

Or ask Jord Kuinge, 54, a crab boat captain and one-time owner of the 134-foot Arctic Sea. When the weather is bad, unlike in the not-too-distant past, "we will back off. When we offload, we will stay in town overnight. It's quite a bit different," he said. "We have the option of not taking too many risks."

The reality apart from reality television? The catch has never been safer. In the 1990s, seven crabbers a year died in the Bering Sea. Between 2000 and 2005, nearly four a year did. But since 2005 -- the year "Deadliest Catch" first aired, there have been no deaths.

"That's the funny thing," Kuinge said with a grin. "It's gotten safer while everyone thinks the opposite."

The reason is something called rationalization. Simply put, in a rationalized (think rations) fishery, the shares of the catch are divided and owned before they are caught. For crabs, these shares have been divvied among Alaska tribes, the processors that put the expensive legs on dinner tables and fishermen with a documented history of catching red kings.

The shareholders can buy, sell or lease their shares. Because portions of the catch are guaranteed, the season now lasts for months, not days -- a drastic change from the derby season of four years ago, when crabbers competed over the catch, no matter the danger, no matter the weather.

How has it worked? Great, for some. No so great for others.

As a shareholder, it's worked pretty well for Moore. Although he declined to say the size of his quota or how much he leases it for, here are some ballpark numbers to think about:

When the feds divided up the crab catch, each crabber received a 0.4 percent share of whatever that year's limit is. This year, it's 20 million pounds the crabbers are allowed to catch. So for an average share of 0.4 percent, it comes to 80,000 pounds at, say, $4.50 a pound wholesale. Lease that share to another crabber or a cooperative for roughly 70 percent of its catch value, and the price is $243,600.

A quarter-million dollars to not fish.

Moore, 46, fished for 22 years, nearly all in the cowboy days before rationalization, when 300 boats fished relentlessly until they reached that year's limit. Dangerous weather, injuries and deaths didn't stop the season. And there was no guarantee a crew would catch anything -- except hazardous working conditions.

"It was dangerous and a crapshoot," Moore said. "Not like it is today."

This year, about 70 boats have headed north along with the Deadliest Catchers listed in the news release. Most of them are part of large cooperatives that lease former crabbers' quotas. With a guaranteed share, these boats pull in when the weather turns bad. Crew members get six hours of sleep a night. With all of that, the danger has plummeted like a baited crab pot.

But ratings remain high.

As Kuinge talked, his crew readied the Arctic Sea for departure from Ballard. They'll be up there at least two months, so Peter Vindedal, a deckhand for 20 years, was in a hurry to get home to see his girlfriend before the boat departed.

Vindedal is one of the lucky ones. The downside to rationalization is that it shrank the industry. The 70 boats now operating employ 150 fewer crabbers, according to the industry estimates. (Deckhands said the number is far higher; about 800 to 1,000 fewer jobs.)

"There are fewer jobs," Kuinge agreed, "but the ones that remained are more secure."

So more crabbers than ever are staying home, as one crabber put it, "either on the couch getting paid or waiting for an opening on a boat." The season is safer for those who still work and certainly for those who don't.

That's reality, but maybe not such great television.