June 8
Tonight I have decided to write about today only (even though I have lots of days to catch up on here, which will happen soon I hope). There are no photos to share, unfortunately, but perhaps my descriptions will suffice for now.
To begin, I was a bit hung over from the start. And this surprised me. I had attended two town committee meetings last night, then joined some of my fellow members at "the Library" where a couple too many MGDCs and guitar playing on an empty stomach may have gone a slight bit too far. I had hit the sack last night believing that I'd be up at 4:30 to meet Don Gunster along the shore to take my boat out for some early morning fishing. I was determined. But when I awoke, obviously late, at 6:00, I nearly jumped out of my skin and drowned in guilt. But soon I surrendered to the reality that I had unfortunately Borgarted poor Don's morning...and turned over to sleep another hour.
The day at work pretty much sucked. I was bent out of shape and it rained most of the day. My head hurt a little...only enough to annoy me the slightest bit. And I've come to realize that I don't enjoy my job nor much of my surroundings there. Depressed yet energetic to do something more, I felt that the afternoon would be a good time to cut out and hit the water. Don agreed, via telephone to the next building, and soon a plan was concieved.
By 3:00 I was on the road to the house to gather my gear and to fill the jerry can at the gas-n-sip at Hall's Corner. Off to the boat, and it felt so good to be free of everything. I had been clever enough to grab a sack of frozen mackerel from my garage freezer (specifically purchased to house fish and related products) for the lobster pots that I had not checked in almost a week.
The water was silver. Everything was silver and gray. Dark, ominous clouds skirted up from the southeast. The wind, initially east, was going all over the place. From a stiff breeze to calm, I felt odd and aprehensive as I navigated the boat eastward to the middle of the bay. Some good sized swells slowed me down as I approached an area called the Nummet...and I worrried more...or was it the edge of my hangover?
Don phoned me several times as I neared Two Rock anchorage where our lobster pots sat. He was attempting to get a business proposal out the door, late on Friday afternoon, and promised to be available for pickup soon. So I checked my pots: no fucking lobsters (again), but lots of rock crabs, and good sized ones too. I decided to keep the larger ones which amounted to about a dozen or so. I baited the pots and moved them to deeper waters among the mooring field. Then the phone rang and Don was ready for pickup at Matakeesett, the town landing.
The rain was coming down by the time I arrived and the wind too, was picking up and messing things up. Don added that some guy on shore was warning him that a major storm was brewing, that we'd be idiots for heading out on the bay. But we felt that we knew the waters and the conditions and moved on; plus, the worry wart was of questionable intelligence.
After removing only crabs from Don's pots we headed out to the mid bay area where fishing would presumably be better. A few drifts between Clarke's Island and the Bug Light yielded 3 for me and 2 for Don, although he "Gunstered" both fish which means, in essense, that he overreacted at the first sign of a bite and yanked the fucking lure out of the fish's mouth, hopefully not removing the entire jaw area. But then, on my fourth fish, I sent the Yo-zuri sailing back toward the craft (airborn), narrowly missing Don's face, and causing a severe, incapacitating laughing fit -- a good one.
So, we continued through the silver scene to a couple more spots. We picked up several small stripers along a nice ledge near Plymouth Harbor and drank a couple of beers as we drifted and told stories. We complained about work, which I am admittedly embarassed to write about, but it is true: I don't like my job right now. So, it was fun to complain, actually, and we narrowed our targets to deserving victims, and it felt good to vent and laugh. In the end, however, we sighed, unhooked a few fish, and realized how fucking lucky we were to be out on this bay, on a silver day, with no one else around. Really though, we are lucky, I am lucky, and I appreciate the time I can spend doing this.
We were wet, sipping down some Bass Ales, and headed into shore. The horrific wind had died and we landed peacefully along the shore and loaded up my truck with our gear, and a pail full of crabs. When I arrived home I pryed open a few oysters that my friend Skip had given me, steamed the crabs, and fried up a nice striper filet (in olive oil, butter, herbs, and paprika) from a couple days back (also some greens and mushrooms). I turned up some radio jazz and sipped some red wine. A nice night in all. Better than work, but I will need to face the job on Monday.
And that's my job for now.
To begin, I was a bit hung over from the start. And this surprised me. I had attended two town committee meetings last night, then joined some of my fellow members at "the Library" where a couple too many MGDCs and guitar playing on an empty stomach may have gone a slight bit too far. I had hit the sack last night believing that I'd be up at 4:30 to meet Don Gunster along the shore to take my boat out for some early morning fishing. I was determined. But when I awoke, obviously late, at 6:00, I nearly jumped out of my skin and drowned in guilt. But soon I surrendered to the reality that I had unfortunately Borgarted poor Don's morning...and turned over to sleep another hour.
The day at work pretty much sucked. I was bent out of shape and it rained most of the day. My head hurt a little...only enough to annoy me the slightest bit. And I've come to realize that I don't enjoy my job nor much of my surroundings there. Depressed yet energetic to do something more, I felt that the afternoon would be a good time to cut out and hit the water. Don agreed, via telephone to the next building, and soon a plan was concieved.
By 3:00 I was on the road to the house to gather my gear and to fill the jerry can at the gas-n-sip at Hall's Corner. Off to the boat, and it felt so good to be free of everything. I had been clever enough to grab a sack of frozen mackerel from my garage freezer (specifically purchased to house fish and related products) for the lobster pots that I had not checked in almost a week.
The water was silver. Everything was silver and gray. Dark, ominous clouds skirted up from the southeast. The wind, initially east, was going all over the place. From a stiff breeze to calm, I felt odd and aprehensive as I navigated the boat eastward to the middle of the bay. Some good sized swells slowed me down as I approached an area called the Nummet...and I worrried more...or was it the edge of my hangover?
Don phoned me several times as I neared Two Rock anchorage where our lobster pots sat. He was attempting to get a business proposal out the door, late on Friday afternoon, and promised to be available for pickup soon. So I checked my pots: no fucking lobsters (again), but lots of rock crabs, and good sized ones too. I decided to keep the larger ones which amounted to about a dozen or so. I baited the pots and moved them to deeper waters among the mooring field. Then the phone rang and Don was ready for pickup at Matakeesett, the town landing.
The rain was coming down by the time I arrived and the wind too, was picking up and messing things up. Don added that some guy on shore was warning him that a major storm was brewing, that we'd be idiots for heading out on the bay. But we felt that we knew the waters and the conditions and moved on; plus, the worry wart was of questionable intelligence.
After removing only crabs from Don's pots we headed out to the mid bay area where fishing would presumably be better. A few drifts between Clarke's Island and the Bug Light yielded 3 for me and 2 for Don, although he "Gunstered" both fish which means, in essense, that he overreacted at the first sign of a bite and yanked the fucking lure out of the fish's mouth, hopefully not removing the entire jaw area. But then, on my fourth fish, I sent the Yo-zuri sailing back toward the craft (airborn), narrowly missing Don's face, and causing a severe, incapacitating laughing fit -- a good one.
So, we continued through the silver scene to a couple more spots. We picked up several small stripers along a nice ledge near Plymouth Harbor and drank a couple of beers as we drifted and told stories. We complained about work, which I am admittedly embarassed to write about, but it is true: I don't like my job right now. So, it was fun to complain, actually, and we narrowed our targets to deserving victims, and it felt good to vent and laugh. In the end, however, we sighed, unhooked a few fish, and realized how fucking lucky we were to be out on this bay, on a silver day, with no one else around. Really though, we are lucky, I am lucky, and I appreciate the time I can spend doing this.
We were wet, sipping down some Bass Ales, and headed into shore. The horrific wind had died and we landed peacefully along the shore and loaded up my truck with our gear, and a pail full of crabs. When I arrived home I pryed open a few oysters that my friend Skip had given me, steamed the crabs, and fried up a nice striper filet (in olive oil, butter, herbs, and paprika) from a couple days back (also some greens and mushrooms). I turned up some radio jazz and sipped some red wine. A nice night in all. Better than work, but I will need to face the job on Monday.
And that's my job for now.
posted by John at 5:50 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home