Storms Aren’t the Only Threat. Captain Sean Dwyer Struggles With Crew Chaos. Can Sean Dwyer Keep the Boat—and His Crew—Together?
Exclusive from the Bering Sea: Rookie Captain Battles Crab, Chaos, and Crew Conflict
Bering Sea — The wind howls at 40 knots, waves slam against the hull of the F/V Brena A, and saltwater stings every inch of exposed skin. But for rookie captain Shawn Dwire, age 23, the weather is just one of many things threatening to sink his season—and his sanity.
“This isn’t a job,” he says, gripping the wheel tightly. “This is survival. We’re grinding. We’re not sleeping. And we’re still losing pots.”
After a late start to the crabbing season, Dwire and his young crew are racing against time and tide to make up lost ground. But the sea, as always, demands respect—and exacts a toll for every misstep. Within a single shift, two crab pots snap free, each loaded with valuable catch, each loss totaling thousands of dollars.
“That’s $3,000 down the drain in a matter of minutes,” Dwire mutters, staring out into the grey nothingness.
Rookie Mistakes and Rising Tempers
On deck, deckhands Tony Bundy and Britt Jandry are feeling the heat. Their job is to inspect every line before setting the gear. But in rough seas and under exhaustion, corners are cut—and gear breaks. Fast.
“You need to check every inch of that line,” Dwire yells down from the wheelhouse. “If there’s even a small fray, it can go. And when it does, it takes a pot, your paycheck, and possibly someone’s life with it.”
But instead of accountability, Dwire sees something else.
“It’s always somebody else’s fault. Tony shrugs. Britt rolls his eyes. Nobody owns up,” he says. “And it’s bulls***.”
The friction is starting to boil over. After another snapped line, Dwire pulls Britt aside. “You gonna do anything about it?” he asks. Britt deflects. Tony says nothing. “That’s the problem right there,” the young captain says, voice rising. “No one takes responsibility. And that’s embarrassing.”
The Cost of Carelessness
The risks aren’t just financial. A few minutes later, a heavy metal hook flies loose from a pot, narrowly missing Tony’s head. It’s Pair—the greenest greenhorn on the crew—who yells the warning.
“The guy at the rail is supposed to call that out,” Dwire says. “If that hook hits someone in the face, it’ll split their skull open. Knock teeth out. Kill them. It’s not a joke.”
But the more experienced crew members act like it is. And Dwire, already battling fatigue, weather, and low morale, has no time for attitude.
“You got an attitude and you’re a mediocre fisherman?” he says, deadpan. “Then I know exactly where the conflict’s coming from—and it starts with Britt.”
Against the Sea and Each Other
Still, amid the chaos, the numbers don’t lie. 97. 104. 100. Pot after pot comes up full, the sound of clattering crab echoing across the icy deck. For a moment, there’s relief.
“This is where the crab are—Western end,” Dwire says. “We can’t run from them. We just have to keep fishing.”
But even success brings argument. Britt complains about “smalls and females.” Dwire snaps back: “I don’t care if you dig through 500—if you’re getting 100 keepers, you’re getting 100 keepers.”
The message is clear: stop complaining, start working.
“There’s always guys on boats who think they know better than the captain,” Dwire says. “I’ve seen it. You bring them to the wheelhouse, lay it out for them—they either shut up or get off the boat.”
Young Captain, Old Pressure
At just 23, Dwire carries the weight of every decision. Every pot dropped, every second of lost time, every word of backtalk—it’s all on him. And the weather is turning worse.
“It’s hard out here for a pimp,” he jokes grimly. “But I don’t care. We have to keep going.”
Below him, the deckhands pull line after line. Hands are raw, eyes are hollow, backs are breaking. But the ocean doesn’t wait. And neither does the quota.
“This isn’t a democracy,” Dwire says. “This is crab fishing. You screw up, we all pay.”
Welcome to the Bering Sea
As the boat bobs in the choppy black water, the storm grows heavier and the tension sharper. But the Brena A keeps fishing.
“You give some of these guys a ten-pound bag of hundred-dollar bills,” Dwire says, “and they’d still complain about the weight.”
The captain laughs. But only a little.
Out here, every pot is a gamble. Every mistake is expensive. Every hour is dangerous. And every attitude problem could cost a life.
Welcome to hell.
Welcome to crab season.
