It was our first hot day on the water, and it all started drifting back to me. Summer fishing, that is. I remembered how the greasy herring oil from our bait seems to melt all over everything in the heat. How the same hot tank that was essential for my warmth just 3 months ago is now so repulsively. . . well, hot. I remembered the feel of a newly-molted lobster squishing in your hands. And how amazingly delectable a PB&J tastes after endless hours of hauling traps in the heat. I now officially pronounce it summer.
The heat seems to bring out the smell in everything. The smell of balsam fir was so sweet that you would have thought your nose was stuck in a balsam candle. And the scent of roses was so overbearing that you would think your Grandma was leaning over your shoulder, her perfume permeating the air. Of course, all of the odors on board weren't pleasant. The smell of bait was also amplified, even though our herring was quite fresh. But it's a small price to pay for a beautiful ride around the islands all day.
After banding the 100th male shedder I started to notice a pattern. I asked Cap if the males molt first. Sho' nuff they do. Cap said (with a sheepish little grin) "It's all about breeding. The males shed first so that they are ready to mate when the females arrive. The males have to be a little firmer to get it on." I was amused by this very practical explanation.
After a 12-hour (6am-6pm) day of smelling and catching, I'm pretty tuckered out. I'd better rest up for picking up our last load of traps offshore tomorrow! Nighty-night.
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