Seafood processing workers needed in coastal communities

June 25, 2007 by Laine Welch
Hundreds of seafood processing workers are still needed in coastal communities all across Alaska. Most of the jobs are entry level but many demand skills that go far beyond the slime line.

“There are a lot of skilled jobs that can set the stage for a career in the seafood industry that pay decent wages and don’t demand a college degree,” said Laurie Fuglvog, an employment analyst with the state Department of Labor (DOL).

Jobs include quality control technicians, cooks, electricians, plant and production managers, refrigeration mechanics and engineers, machinists, and fresh fish coordinators. Positions can be located at shore based seafood plants and aboard at sea processing vessels, and when fisheries wrap up in one region, workers can be relocated to another through the Traveling Seafood Workforce program.

Many seafood companies cover most transportation costs and room and board for their workers, Fuglvog said.

“Each company has slightly different rules, but usually if you’re in a remote area you get a pretty good deal and it’s a great way to save money because there’s no place to spend it,” she said with a laugh.

Fuglvog added that along with seasonal or year round career opportunities, seafood industry jobs provide a good training ground for younger Alaskans.

“It’s a great opportunity for high school seniors or graduates to see different parts of Alaska and establish a work history,” she said.

The availability of seafood industry jobs plus the opportunity to visit Alaska lure an increasing amount of foreign students each summer, Fuglvog said, but the state DOL works with seafood companies to attract and retain Alaska workers. Unisea, for example, formed an Alaska Hire committee several years ago to boost resident employment around the state.

According to 2005 DOL data, seafood harvesting and processing accounted for 14.6 percent of all private sector jobs in Southeast Alaska, 18.9 percent in the Gulf Coast and 51.9 percent throughout Southwest Alaska.

Get more information on seafood processing jobs at any state job center, or apply on line at www.jobs.alaska.gov . Contact a Seafood Employment Specialist toll free at (800-473- 0688).

The Labor Department’s Division of Business Partnerships also offers grants totaling $4 million this year under its State Training and Employment Program (STEP). The awards, which are usually limited to a maximum of $300,000 per applicant, are open to both non-profit and for profit organizations.

Last year, for example, Ocean Beauty received a grant to provide training on specialized fish processing equipment for workers in Kodiak.

The goal of STEP is to employ Alaskans in “critical demand” occupations in priority industries of health care, construction, information technology, education, natural resource development, transportation, hospitality and tourism and seafood harvesting and processing.

Requests for grant applications are posted on the DOL web site in the Spring and Fall.
Contact is Christine Sanderford at 907-269-2002.

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…About Getting a Job on a Bering Sea Fishing Vessel

Many stories have been told about people who, with no trouble whatsoever, landed a job as a crew member in Alaska’s fishing industry on a highliner fishing boat and made tons of money. There are published materials for sale which boast of lucrative jobs in canneries and on fishing boats. The reality is, that for every success, there are many failures. A prospective crew member’s chance for a profitable season will be enhanced by careful assessment of job openings and close attention to details regarding any job offer.

During harvest seasons, prospective crew members must walk the fishing docks to follow up each word of mouth lead to speak with the skipper personally. The travel and waiting for such an opportunity can be costly, both physically and monetarily. Crew members rarely leave good jobs, so only a small percentage of hopefuls find their berth in this manner.

ADVISORY: Some of the reasons crew members leave should carry a warning to job seekers to proceed with caution. Commercial fishing is rated as one of the most hazardous occupations in America. Reputable boat operators rarely have serious mishaps, nor do they lose good crew members through misunderstandings. It is a good idea to find out why the departed crew member left. A vessel with numerous crew vacancies during the harvest season warrants investigation before new crew accept a job on it.

Minimum wage laws do not apply to crew member jobs in the industry. However, certain federal and state laws concerning hiring of persons under the age of 18 do apply.

Wages are often based on a share or percentage of harvest earnings. Newcomer deckhand earnings range from 1.5% to 10% of the adjusted gross catch, depending on location and type of fishery and the skills the worker possesses. Some vessels offer a daily rate from $50 to $100 instead of a percentage of the catch. Recent market conditions have caused some share rates to decline.

CREW COSTS
A crew member can be expected to purchase specialized apparel such as:

wet weather gear $100 per set
rubber boots $40 to $70 per pair
gloves $2 to $12 per pair
wrist covers or sleeves $5 per set
sleeping bag $70 to $200
The fishing vessel owner/operator should provide other specialized gear required by the Coast Guard, such as a survival suit. Make sure the vessel has a good safety reputation.

Crew members supply their own commercial fishing licenses. In 2000, commercial fishing license fees are $60 for a resident and $125 for a non-resident. The Alaska Department of Fish and Game has a web site offering
crew license information and purchase:
http://www.labor.state.ak.us/esd_alaska_jobs/seafood.htm

How I found myself while homeless in Alaska

The  Michigan Daily and written by Jasper Kigar. 

It started with the Discovery Channel. I’ve always had a yen to travel, but the show “The Deadliest Catch,” may have had a greater impression on me than on the average viewer. The summer after my freshman year in Ann Arbor, I packed my bags and left for Alaska to seek adventure and fortune as a crabber. I never made it to the Bering Sea, but that summer changed my life.

My name is Jasper Kigar, but it hasn’t always been. My parents named me Taylor. That’s what I went by before my trip to Alaska. When I left I was hoping to change my personality from the cloistered and meek church boy to something more fierce and attractive. It’s debatable whether I’m more attractive now, but after spending the summer vacation as a vagabond and a fisherman, my personality changed, and along with it, so did my name.

When I landed in Anchorage, I was scared. I quickly learned that the crabbing season was winter, not summer, and I had to find some other way to make the $20,000 cut a crabber might take home after a run. My best friend Josiah encouraged me, and after asking around in local bars about where to find fishing jobs (the next best thing to crabbing), we hitchhiked the 210 miles from Anchorage to Homer in three days, thanks in part to a Cajun man named Steve who preferred to drive with a buzz. He sipped Jim Beam while barreling down the curvy Alaskan highway at speeds I think averaged at least 105 miles per hour.

When we got into Homer we had no housing and it was too cold to camp so we enrolled in a homeless shelter called the Refuge Room. Josiah shared a bunk with an old sex-offender named Dan, who smelled of piss and semen. I slept above a 4-fingered chef named Larry, who had a propensity for falling asleep while talking.

After Josiah and I parted ways, I took a job on a salmon seining boat. When it went bankrupt, I took a job on the docks working at a cannery and lived for a few weeks with a hippie named Caressa in the back of her camper on the beach. After Caressa left to help out on a real crabbing voyage, I was left high and dry and homeless, again. I saw her out to sea, and later that evening, walked down the docks, hungry.

I heard laughter coming from an old cargo boat called the Beaver, which I would later learn was a sort of Vietnam Veteran’s commune and a place the weak of stomach were advised to avoid. I walked in to see five burly men sitting around a table in the galley drinking cheap beer and smoking hand-rolled cigarettes. They stopped talking and stared.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“He looks like a fisherman,”

“Smells like a slime liner,”

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Jasper,” I replied.

“You play crib, Jasper?”

It was the first time I’d used the name Jasper. Until then I’d gone by Taylor. At the time, I didn’t think about it very hard. I was nervous, and I wanted an alias.

We did play crib that night. If you ask him now, he’ll say he won, but our memories from that night differ slightly. To make a long story short, we hit it off. Ken let me stay in the captain’s quarters for as long as I was in Alaska. He slept in the engine room because he said he preferred to be “close to (his) diesels.”

I don’t know why I pulled the name Jasper out of my head to talk to those rowdy guys, but I think it was because I was scared. I thought it was possible they might try to kill me, so I gave them a fake, rugged-sounding name, partially to protect myself in case I had to make a run for it. For whatever reason, it stuck. On the ship, I started to fit in and feel at home. We were a ship of rejects and ruffians, of which I was the youngest. I hid my sheltered background along with the Arabic and Spanish I learned at the University. I learned to speak their slang, and I learned to drink – a lot. Beer break on the Beaver started at 3 p.m., and we usually went strong past midnight.

Today my name is Jasper. When I came home from Alaska and stepped back into the college life at the University I held onto my scruffy face and the name. My friends didn’t know what to make of me and most didn’t accept it, but every new person who I introduced myself to met me as Jasper, and my mother and grandparents took to the name. Jasper had a more exotic story to tell than Taylor. Plus, he could work all day and hold his liquor.

I returned to Alaska last summer. I lost all my money again and quit the business for good. The name, though, will stick with me. In fact, I’m making it permanent. My hearing for a formal name change is April 3 at 3 p.m. at the Washtenaw County Courthouse. But before that happens, I’d like to extend my deepest thanks to Captain Ken, without whom I never would have been scared enough to recreate myself, and Taylor, who had the courage to try the next best thing.