Coasties

Today when Cap turned on the VHF radio, it was tuned in to channel 16, the Coast Guard Channel, as usual. We listened to it for a bit before he had a chance to change it to the local channel.

The local fishermen communicate on Channel 6. Most boats have it blaring all day so that they can hear the bitching and banter over the whine of the hydraulic hauler. Anyone unaccustomed to listening will most likely have trouble interpreting the exchanges of the fishermen for two reasons:

1.) their accents are thicker than crude oil

2.) fishing lingo is a different language.

I've alluded to typical conversations on the radio several times in my blog. Even a friend of mine, who was born and raised in southern Maine, said she "couldn't understand a word they said" on the radio upon her first day out hauling.

After many long days of being captive audience to channel 6 , I am now able to decipher local radio talk. I've been told that I have an accent myself, so I am accustomed to the local tongue. I also know many of the local boat names, captains, and common topics, so I know what to expect when I'm listening.

The funny thing that struck me today when channel 16 came on was that I couldn't understand a word that they said. I couldn't even begin to understand what was going on. The gravelly voice on the dispatcher could have been calling a square dance for all I knew.

I think it's safe to say that the Coasties are the unfriendliest people that I've met on the water. Last fall we were approached by the Coast Guard twice while we were hauling traps. The first time they came whizzing up in their little inflatable zodiac that looked so overloaded with the eight of them that I thought they might need Coast Guard assistance. I met them first, since they approached from the stern. I stopped stuffing bait bags to walk aft and greet them, saying "Hey, how's it goin'? " or something along those lines. They completely disregarded me and went straight for Cap. They asked him if the boat had been boarded in the past year for inspection. Upon his affirmative reply, they promptly headed back to their Mother Ship without further delay. We watched in the distance as they moved on to heckle the next innocent victims.

The second time that they encountered us, they were in a fancy triple-decked hulk of steel that looked more like a governmental rig. (I'm sure there's an official name for this type of vessel, but it's beyond me.) This time I decided not to bother going out of my way to greet them and I went right on working, letting Cap deal with them. The exchange was practically identical, except this time they had the decency of parting with good wishes, saying "Have a good day" or some such nonsense.

I asked Cap why the Coasties are so unfriendly and he said they're probably from Nebraska or another land-locked state that's never before seen a drop of saltwater or a fisherman, for that matter. They certainly didn't know how to treat a sternlady, that's for sure.