That’s How It Goes (when you wear rubber clothes)
Words By Ellis Jones
Photos By Capt. Cole Steffens
Before I found myself back in San Francisco navigating a chaotic personal storm, I had spent about a year in New York. I was living off the financial cushion of my consulting work in the transportation industry, a field I knew well thanks to my background in taxi dispatching. On the side, I immersed myself in the city’s vibrant nightlife, sharing my passion for music as a vinyl DJ in various bars. Eventually, that chapter closed, leading to my return to San Francisco, where my life took a sharp and dramatic turn when my girlfriend unexpectedly threw my clothes into the street, forcing me to seek refuge in a nearby bodega just to escape and catch a cab.
That year became a masterclass in bumming around North Beach. I was nomadic, bouncing between the couches of various friends on their days off and finding temporary refuge with a succession of beautiful women. During this aimless stretch, I drifted down to Fisherman’s Wharf and fell into a friendship with a local fixture we’ll call “Sprinkles.” Sprinkles lived for free on a boat that was, for all intents and purposes, actively sinking. The harbor authority let him stay there on one condition: he had to run the bilge pump every twelve hours to keep the vessel afloat while they figured out some bureaucratic shell game to transfer the title before intentionally scuttling it.
Sprinkles also happened to be a prominent purveyor of “dry goods.” Sensing an opportunity, he set me up with a sweet front-to-back operation, supplying me with a wide, top-tier variety of these “dry goods” on credit, allowing me to pay him back as I made my rounds and turned a profit.
It was right around this time that I crossed paths with Captain Cole. Cole commanded a veritable pirate ship of hardened commercial fishermen who possessed an insatiable appetite for “dry goods.” Before long, my role in this waterfront ecosystem solidified. My primary job became “driving the forklift”—our shorthand metaphor for meeting the crew the exact moment they hit the docks, ensuring they were fully loaded with whatever “dry goods” they required to survive another grueling twenty hours out at sea.
Captain Cole’s boat was docked right behind the Hyde Street Pier, offering a stunning view of the Golden Gate Bridge and a constant symphony of barking sea lions all over the docks. Three of the four crew members lived in the surrounding Bay Area, heading home during the week, but they’d all return to Fisherman’s Wharf when it was time to head back out to sea. This meant that throughout the week, there were three empty bunks on the boat, and it quickly became one of my regular crash spots. That’s how I got to know Captain Cole so well and became a trusted part of his world.
Those late-night missions onto the dock, displacing six-hundred-pound seals to clear a path, were just part of the routine. The real magic happened during one unforgettable night, though, when we sat under the influence of those “dry goods,” watching a boat pull into the Bay and put on a fireworks display so close it felt like it was right on top of us. It was a profound, powerful moment that cemented our bond. Now, Captain Cole is bringing that same raw energy to the pages of Chainsaw, sharing his stories and sending snapshots from the sea for our readers to enjoy.
Chainsaw Magazine 