Dust kicks up on Highway 101. Ben Neely’s ’65 Mustang growls north. The trailer rattles behind like an impatient heartbeat. It’s 1973. Nineteen-year-old Ben, fresh from high school, has $1,000 burning in his jeans. He craves salt spray after a globe-trotting sail. Pacific City, Oregon, a foggy blip of docks, one bar, and Haystack Rock beckons. This isn’t a vacation. Instead, it’s launch day for a dream: commercial dory fishing. In A Well Misspent Youth, Neely’s raw memoir unfolds this pivot. He shifts from landlubber kid to sea-tested novice. For young adventurers and memoir readers aged 18-40, it’s a coming-of-age siren call. One boat, one partner, endless horizon awaits.
Hitting the Road: Youth’s Bold Gamble
Ben rolls into town. He tows Mike, his lab-partner-turned-crew. Mike joins mid-basketball game. Amid hormone-fueled whispers, a near-miss romance almost derails Ben. Claudia’s doe eyes and miniskirt tempt him. Lips lock; hands wander on her living room floor. However, she pulls back. “You’re leaving for Oregon. It wouldn’t be right.” Virginity intact, resolve hardens. Ben hits the road. Mike’s all in after one pitch: “I’ve bought a commercial fishing boat. Up north… we’ll fish her.” Eyes glaze; hands tremble. Mike bites. No experience? No problem. Youth’s currency is grit.
Pacific City sea stories start gritty. The fleet’s a motley tribe. Longhaired hippies mix with crew-cut conservatives. All bond by the Nestucca’s mouth and the Pacific’s punch. Ben spots Marty at a backyard barbecue. Marty’s broad-shouldered, brace-wearing son of Professor Nole. He hawks his castoff: the Kisutch. It’s a 20-year plywood dory. Twenty-two feet of flared gunwales and up-swept bow. “Piece of crap,” Marty insists. Green-tinted hair flops. But Ben’s hooked. Kipling’s tales of Atlantic-rowing dories echo in his skull. High bow slices swell. Wide stern takes horsepower. This is no toy. $1,000 seals it: dory, 35-hp outboard, beach-launch Jeep named Bertha. Mom frets over dinner. “You could drown!” Dad, adventure-scarred from their Aussie odyssey, grins. “Not bad, not bad at all.”
Moreover, renaming her Bloody Wog nods to British slang. It shows bloody-minded resolve. They rig for silver salmon. Hogie, the laid-back fish buyer, fronts gear on credit. “There’s a learning curve… Next year, you’ll pay me off.” Stormy crackles over VHF with quips. He mimics Yogi Bear. But the real test looms. Launch day arrives.
Launch Day Chaos: First Waves of Reality
Dawn fog cloaks the beach. Holiday rigs clog the line. Sport boats scatter sand like confetti. “It’s a zoo,” Ben gripes. Bertha grinds forward. He arcs toward unprotected cliffs. Then, he backs at full tilt. The first wave slams the stern. Brakes squeal. The Wog slides off into froth.
Suddenly, the engine floods cold. Mike yanks the starter rope. Twenty gallons deluge them. Then 200 more. “This water’s COLD!” Ben yells. Sea boots fill to the crotch. Oars lash free. They row like demons. Mike’s ferocity bends 10-foot sweeps. Breakers curl. Four hundred gallons were dumped aboard. The bow claws up. Yet it founders under weight. Water laps the motor well. The Wog wallows, brink-bound. Nole hovers outside breakers. Buzz readies a tow. “We’re going to make her!” Mike bellows. They claw past. Boots flood; decks awash. Egos drown. Routine? Hardly. Dories flip in seconds. One bad set, and you’re kelp-flailing.
Therefore, first failures hit harder than surf. Trolling the Nestucca, they chase schools. But they miss bites. Empty nets pile up. Bills mount. “We fished hard,” Neely writes. “But we were going broke.” Budgets vanish on half-baked gear. Electric gurdies? Pass. Mike’s broke too. They’re “The Boys.” They scrape 25% of scraps. Highliners snag 30%. A capsized rig like Marty’s mirrors their stumbles. Kids flail till the fleet hauls ’em. Rushing sets sans tide reads ignores swells. Those capsize dreams.
Mentors and Turnarounds: Building from the Bottom
Enter Archie Bunker. He’s the crew-cut neighbor in “Love It or Leave It” tees. Gruff and conservative, he hates these “hippie” kids. Until desperation shows, pounding their door: “You ain’t catchin’ no fish?” Shaking his head, Ben admits defeat. Archie tosses a green-yellow hoochy lure. “Here.” Door slams. The “Archie Bunker Super Hoochie” is deadlier than a shotgun and flips their season. Third fish of the day: “Strikes again.” Secret weapon spreads. Hauls surge.
Additionally, romance blooms. Local Beauty Queen Debbie shines. Her Dory Derby crown sparkles. Dates spark amid bait prep. “Fascinating,” she says. Ben daydreams dory life. Under Captain Doug’s wisdom: “Choose your storms wisely.” Thus, this crucible marks Neely’s turning point. Pacific City’s docks lead to open-ocean gales. Youth’s fire meets sea’s hammer. First flops forge responsibility. Failures fuel fire.
From greenhorn blunders to tuna-captain dreams shattered later by EEZ zones, it’s wet-wild joy amid peril. A Well Misspent Youth, first in a trilogy, thrusts readers aboard. Feel the spray. Taste the salt. Claim your own test. Grab it now. Let Ben’s waves pull you under.