>
> Copyright 1997 Guy Gannett Communications, Inc.
> Portland Press Herald (Maine)
>
> October 12, 1997, Sunday, CITY EDITION
> SECTION: FRONT, Pg. 1A
> LENGTH: 1640 words
> HEADLINE: LOBSTERMAN'S DETERMINATION HELPS HIM SURVIVE;
> A TRAP-HAULING WINCH GRABS DOUG GOODALE'S FINGERS AND RAVAGES
HIS RIGHT 
> ARM.
> HE LOSES THE ARM BUT NOT HIS DESIRE TO RETURN TO THE OCEAN FOR
HIS 
> LIVING.
> BYLINE: Clarke Canfield Staff Writer
> DATELINE: WELLS
> BODY:
> Lobsterman Doug Goodale knew he was in trouble the second his
boat's
> trap-hauling winch grabbed the arm of his oilskins, yanked his
fingers 
> under
> a knotted rope and slowly crushed his bones.
> He watched in horror and howled in racking pain as the machine
mangled,
> crushed and stretched the rest of his hand, then his wrist, then
his
> forearm, beyond recognition.
> The worst was yet to come. The winch flipped Goodale overboard
and
> continued twisting and stretching his right arm as if it were
made of
> Play-Doh. By the time he freed himself, his lifeless limb was
nearly 
> ripped
> from his body, and was so elongated that it dangled nearly to
the 
> ground.
> Goodale's life was forever changed last month when a doctor
amputated 
> the
> arm just above the elbow.
>
> Today, he has to learn all over the simplest of tasks: how to
write, 
> brush
> his teeth, light his cigarette.
> For Goodale, and the thousands of other Maine fishermen like
him, 
> accidents
> are a part of fishing, one of the world's most dangerous
occupations 
> where
> fishermen know - and accept - the risks in return for the
freedom of the
> sea.
> Commercial fishing had a fatality rate last year of about 61
deaths for
> every 100,000 fishermen, according to the Coast Guard. Nobody,
however,
> knows the true injury rate and state and federal statistics are
lacking.
> Suffice it to say that working in rolling seas on decks that can
be 
> slick
> with fish guts or ice, with heavy equipment flying around and
weather 
> about
> as predictable as a day's catch, fishermen put up with perils
most 
> people
> have trouble fathoming.
> But for the love of the ocean, it's difficult for most fishermen
to 
> leave
> the business. Even after losing an arm, Goodale vows he'll be
back 
> fishing
> within a year.
> ''What this boils down to is it's another setback,'' Goodale
said. 
> ''It's
> like going down to your boat and your motor gave out. Or like
the pump
> doesn't work. Or the bait man didn't come.
> ''Only this time, the setback will take more time.''
> A last-minute decision
> Doug Goodale's day began at 3 a.m. on the morning of Sept. 30.
He had
> planned to fish aboard a dragger out of York, but by the time he 
> arrived at
> the dock the captain had canceled the trip because of bad
weather.
> Instead, he decided to pull a few lobster traps - despite the
rain and 
> mist
> and stiff wind that was blowing. He drove his 1980 Chevy pickup
truck 
> back
> to Wells Harbor, got his bait and boat ready before driving back
home 
> to his
> double-wide trailer.
> It wasn't yet 6 a.m. when he kissed his wife, Becky, goodbye and
headed
> back to the harbor for a morning of lobstering aboard his 20-foot
> fiberglass-over-wood boat with a 70 hp Johnson outboard engine.
> Goodale has fished off and on for the past seven years and
worked aboard
> shrimp and groundfish boats besides hauling his own traps. A
boyish 33,
> Goodale enjoys a life where his hours are flexible, he can wear
jeans 
> and
> T-shirts, and not worry if his hair is combed or not. His high
energy 
> level
> is ideal for the rigors of fishing.
> Goodale got his own boat a year ago from a friend who was going
to junk 
> it.
> Goodale patched it together and painted it purple - the only
color 
> paint he
> had. The boat is known among Wells fishermen as ''the Barney
Boat,'' 
> after
> the Barney purple dinosaur character.
> Because of the bad weather, Goodale was the only lobsterman out
that
> morning, about a mile outside of the harbor where he planned to
pull 
> some of
> the 125 traps he has. He never got past the first trap.
> 'Slave-hauler' winch
> When he hauled his first trap, Goodale did as he always does. He
wrapped
> the 3/8-inch trap line twice around the old-fashioned ''slave
hauler'' 
> winch
> he has on board. That type of winch is powered by a small engine
rather 
> than
> a hydraulic system, and is sometimes seen on small boats such as 
> Goodale's.
> As the winch's warping head began spinning, the boat hit a wave
and the 
> line
> crossed and knotted up. Goodale reached over to turn off the
winch 
> motor so
> he could untangle the rope. But as he reached for the kill
switch, the
> rocking of the boat in the 10-foot waves caused his arm to slip
into the
> winch, where the rope grabbed hold of his orange oilskin rain
jacket and
> yanked his fingers under the rope.
> He yanked back. But the winch motor - feeling the strain Goodale
put on 
> it
> - pumped up the power even more and pulled his arm in even
farther. 
> Goodale
> desperately stretched for the kill switch, but his reach was a
foot too
> short and he yelled in pain as the rope and pressure crushed his 
> fingers and
> the winch kept pulling, pulling, pulling.
> The winch then flipped Goodale overboard, where he dangled in
the frigid
> waters with his arm still attached to the spinning winch. His
adrenalin
> madly pumping, he twisted around and climbed back into the boat.
> His heart pumped hard, blood spurted out of him and into the
boat, and 
> he
> struggled as the winch stretched and mangled his arm. Pieces of
skin and
> flesh flew into the boat. A bone abruptly popped out of his
elbow. His 
> lower
> arm continued twisting, like somebody spinning a wet towel.
> Only flesh and some muscle connected his lower and upper arms
and 
> Goodale
> grabbed his twining knife, short-bladed but razor-sharp, and
began 
> cutting
> frantically at the rope twisted around his arm. ''Oh my God! Oh
my God! 
> Oh
> my God!'' he thought.
> Whack whack, whack.
>
> He cut through the rope and through his oilskins and then
through part 
> of
> his flesh. He was free. The ordeal had lasted but a minute or
two; its
> effects will be felt the rest of his life.
> His arm was so mangled and stretched it hung down to his ankle.
Goodale
> knew it was lost. ''At that point, I was worried about saving my 
> life,'' he
> said. ''Not my arm.''
> Points boat toward home
> With only one hand to work the throttle and wheel, he pointed
his boat
> toward home. His mind raced wildly. Pain ran through his body.
He could
> barely see; his glasses had fallen overboard when he tumbled
into the 
> sea.
> He still had his wits about him, however, and knew how difficult
it 
> would
> be to navigate the treacherous channel that leads into Wells
Harbor,
> especially with waves running eight to 10 feet. He considered
zipping 
> the
> boat ashore on the beach outside the harbor and running up to
one of the
> summer cottages; but the season had ended weeks ago, and he
didn't think
> people would be home.
> So he steered his boat into the surf, looking for the right
opening that
> would take him into the harbor. He had to go the perfect speed.
Too 
> fast and
> the bow would dip under the swells and possibly swamp or
overturn the 
> boat;
> too slow and the waves would come into the boat over the stern
and 
> swamp it.
> He rode the boat over the waves like a bucking bronco, shifting
his left
> hand between throttle and wheel.
>
> Screaming in pain, he turned the corner into the harbor and
could see 
> the
> town dock up ahead, where lobstermen Jimmy Shaw and Tony Vakalis
were
> salting bait.
> Goodale was screaming for help all the way in. He was nearly
delirious 
> from
> pain and lost blood when his boat reached the dock, where
Vakalis and 
> Shaw
> called for an ambulance and tried to calm him down.
>
> Goodale's arm hung limply to his side.
> ''I thought it was going to fall off,'' Shaw said. ''I didn't
want to 
> touch
> it because it might fall into the drink and I thought they might
be 
> able to
> reattach it.''
> Chick Falconer, the Wells harbormaster, ran from his office on
the dock
> down the gangplank to the boat. ''The poor bastard was screamin'
and
> hollerin,''' Falconer said. ''His arm and hand were like jelly.''
> The ambulance arrived in minutes - it felt like hours - and
emergency
> medical technicians, with help from Shaw and Vakalis, carried
Goodale 
> up the
> gangplank and drove him first toward toward Southern Maine
Medical 
> Center in
> Biddeford, and then to Maine Medical Center in Portland.
> The pain subsided only after the morphine kicked in.
> Back in the harbor, the lobstermen washed the blood and pieces
of flesh 
> out
> of the boat. ''It looked like he had dressed a deer on the
boat,'' said 
> Ted
> Johnson, a lobsterman who took Goodale's boat back to its
mooring.
> Johnson tied up the boat, took four finger-long chunks of flesh
he 
> found on
> the boat console and threw them overboard, and returned to the
dock. A 
> group
> of gulls flocked to Goodale's boat in search of morsels.
> Back on a lobster boat
> Goodale was out of the hospital two days after doctors amputated
his 
> arm.
> Four days after the accident, he was back on the water on a
friend's 
> lobster
> boat, learning how to band lobster claws and fill bait bags with
his one
> arm.
> He has more operations and a fitting for prosthetic arm in the
months
> ahead. But Goodale isn't one to sit still.
> A restless sort with an easy laugh and an optimistic outlook, he
isn't
> about to feel pity for himself. He just wants to get on with his
life.
> He's learning how to do things all over again. A natural
right-hander, 
> he
> has to learn how to write with his left hand. How to button his
shirt. 
> He's
> cut himself shaving left-handed, and accidentally brushed his
tongue 
> until
> it was bleeding while brushing his teeth. He's learning how to
drive his
> stick-shift truck again with only a left arm, and has cut wood
with a
> chainsaw.
> He's received dozens of cards and letters from throughout New
England, 
> some
> addressed only to ''Doug Goodale, Lobsterman, Wells, Maine.''
He's 
> already
> looking at the Uncle Henry's trading publication in search of a
boat 
> with an
> inboard engine in it.
> But the hardest thing for Goodale isn't learning how to tie his
shoes 
> with
> one hand. It's sitting still the way the doctors say, protecting
the 
> nerve
> endings on what remains of the end of his right arm. Time can't
move 
> fast
> enough.
> ''I'm going back fishing,'' he said. ''It depends on how good
the 
> doctors
> are if I'm a hobbyist, if I'm a part-timer or if I can go
whole-hog and 
> make
> a living at it.''
>