The crew had one last day to prep their boat before the Salmon season started near Kodiak, Alaska. Brian, a young greenhorn, fresh off the plane from Oregon, was stacking boxes with enthusiasm. He was quick to do whatever he was told, and never asked many questions, desperately wanting to impress the captain. He had yet to develop sea legs, as the only path he had walked thus far was the short distance between the harbor, fuel dock and marine hardware store.

“What next, skipper?” Brian eagerly asked, immediately after carrying a dozen boxes of groceries into the galley. The captain quickly scanned the deck, wanting to capitalize on the green horn’s frenetic energy. Unable to find a task on the boat, the skipper decided the time had come to initiate the new greenhorn as he shoved off for the first time.

Looking the greenhorn squarely in the eyes with a seriousness Brian hadn’t seen before, the captain barked, “I want you to go up to the hardware store and get some prop wash.”

Brian had visited the store several times in the past week fascinated by the strange tools of the trade: fiddles, zincs, five-foot long gaff hooks, huge white-handled gutting knives— the list went on. He enjoyed the responsibility the captain had given him and always found some new intriguing item. Brian had befriended the men working behind the counter who showed him where to find items like radar equipment and glove liners, advising him on which rain gear was less likely to tear, and reminding him to give the receipt to the captain when he returned to the boat.

“Back again farm boy?” called the man behind the counter.

“Yep! Skipper says we need some prop wash before we leave town,” Brian beamed, strutting down the aisle.

The store clerk let out a small chuckle, wanting to let the young man off the hook. “Sorry, I think we’re sold out of prop wash” he said with a smile.

Recognizing Brian’s voice from the back room, the second clerk was quick to jump in, “We got a few gallons left in back room, it’s our personal supply. It’s not much, but we won’t charge you as long as you bring the bucket back when you return to town.”

“Sure, no problem,” replied Brian, thankful he did not have to return to the boat empty handed.

The Captain was bewildered to see his deckhand walking down the dock with a bucket.

“I hope this is enough, it’s all they had. No charge, we just have to return the bucket,” Brian said proudly.

The captain, fighting back his desire to laugh said, “That will be enough, we’ll use it when we leave town.”

A few hours later the rest of the crew returned. Eager to include them in on the joke, the captain gathered them in the wheelhouse to tell them about Brian’s special duty.

Shortly after the lines were cast off, the crew gathered to watch as the boat quietly idled its way through the dark harbor. The captain summoned his authoritative voice and sternly groused, “Alright Brian, go get the bucket. When we get into the channel, I want you to go to the bow and slowly, really slowly, pour out the prop wash. It will hit the water, run beneath the keel and wash the prop.”

Brian could hardly wait, proud that the whole crew could see him performing the captain’s special chore. He braced his knees on the bow to ensure a slow and steady pour and took a look back at the wheelhouse to catch the captain’s eye for the signal to go ahead. He noticed the captain was grinning like he had never seen before. Brian tried to make sense of the captain’s mood, but his thoughts were interrupted.

“POUR IT!” the loud hailer belched. He whipped around and poured the sudsy liquid down the outside of the bow and into the dark sea. As the small stream disappeared into the water, Brian sensed something didn’t seem right. “Prop wash?” he thought, “How is this supposed to wash the prop?”

Confused, and wanting finally to ask the captain a question, he turned back to the wheelhouse and saw the crew laughing. Feeling embarrassed, Brian finally realized the joke. “Prop Wash”, he said laughing.

Written by Keith Howard as told by Gale Holfert.