Silence

Cap and I are both serious, quiet, intent workers. We rarely chit chat, but when we do it is either first thing in the morning before we even board the boat, on the steam out, or after we step on land at the end of the day. Our work requires a lot of focus for a few reasons.

One reason is that we have to work as fast as we can to haul the traps and bring the shrimp to the dock before 3pm. This is a purely logistical motivation to focus and keep crankin' as hard as possible.

Another reason to stay focused is that it's practical on a boat; we have to be aware of our surroundings constantly all day for safety reasons. If I step carelessly when the line is screaming over the rail as Cap accelerates while setting traps, line and buoy, my foot could easily be caught and I would be gone in a flash. Not a pretty thought. When were lobstering, we were fishing in 80 fathom (480 feet) of water. Shrimping takes place much closer to shore and we fish in much shallower water, generally around 20-30 fathom (120-180 feet). But it only takes 6 feet of water (or less!) for a person to drown. My father forces me to wear a sharp knife in a sheath on the strap of my oil pants for the sole purpose of cutting myself loose if I go overboard, tangled in a line. The reality is that I probably wouldn't have a chance if this happened this time of year. I am fairly good at keeping my wits about me and I'm a good swimmer, but even if I was able to cut myself loose right away, I would probably be hypothermic by the time I was able to swim to the surface in 40 degree seawater. It is possibly the scariest scenario to be in on a boat and it could happen in one careless step.

Anyway, the whole point of that tangent is that we have to be intently focused all the time on what we're doing. Some fishermen crank country tunes on their radio all day while they work. I don't know how they do it. I would be hopelessly distracted by the temptation to sing along.

Cap and I, on the other hand, work in silence. Well, that is if you call the growl of diesel engine and the blaring exchange of fishermen on the VHF radio "silence." It is the closest to silence that you can get on a lobster boat, unless the boat is turned off at the mooring. We work silently, but that isn't to say that we don't communicate. Working with Cap I have learned that communication doesn't have to be verbal. Handing me two ends of rope means: "Tie these together." He doesn't need to tell me how or why. I already know. When I position the shrimp tray under the trap door it means: "I'm ready to dump the shrimp." No verbal cue is necessary. We are tuned into eachother's movements and thoughts. It isn't all that surprising when once in a while Cap makes a comment observing something that I was thinking about at that moment or vice versa. I sense when he is frustrated or worried and he knows when I'm stressed. By sensing eachother's emotions, we are aware of when the other person needs a helping hand and drop whatever we're doing to help eachother out. It isn't a tense silence nor is it awkward. It simply is. We may work without words, but we work in unison.