Sure enough, when I arrived at the landing, it was sparsely populated by old beater pick-up trucks, whereas it is usually nearly full. Many boats still lay sleepily on their moorings in the harbor. Yet we trudged on past all of the precognitions of bad weather. Upon leaving the mouth of the harbor, we spotted a few other brave souls hauling traps, but they hung close to shore, weary of leaving the protection of land. We steamed on. As we began to haul traps, more gulls than usual swarmed to the boat, since there were fewer boats out from which they could eat bait scraps. Even a few gannets, normally offshore residents, stuck to the shoreline seeking shelter. I saw why when we reached open water.
Although we had experienced much worse conditions at sea this past winter, the five foot waves, five second wave period, and 15-20 knot southerly winds seemed daunting after being spoiled by beautiful summer weather recently. Cap told me this winter that when the wave height and wave period are a 1:1 ratio, it isn't going to be much fun on the water. He was right.
For a brief period the clouds parted, the rain stopped, and the sky lit up. I looked toward land and noticed that the low-lying clouds had lifted. I took comfort in seeing my family's cottages nestled cozily behind Little Island. My other source of reassurance was from watching the Discovery Channel series "Swords: Life on the Line" about swordfishing, starring my hero and recent acquaintance Linda Greenlaw. I've been watching this show after reading Linda's book Seaworthy and realizing how tame my wildest days at sea are compared to the 70-foot waves and gale force winds that they experience on George's Banks. I thought about this today as the spray showered my face.
Yet, my mind didn't persevere. I don't know how many times I thought to myself "I am so done with this job." Of course I didn't utter a word to Cap. I don't complain on the boat. Cap knows when I'm unhappy and vice versa. I did however ask if we were going to continue hauling after we shifted ten traps. Cap asked if I had had enough or if I could stand more. I replied that I had enough a while ago, but that I would keep plugging along if we needed to haul more. We kept hauling.
About ten traps later, I snapped. A huge wave hit the stern, cascading over the transom and splashing over my head. Water trickled down the back of my neck. I yelled a few expletives. Cap asked "Rouge wave?" slightly amused. I had previously thought, with the lifting of the clouds, that the wind might die out a bit. But instead it seemed to be breezing up. The seas became more of a nuisance. We rode the waves like cowboys on a bucking bronco, hence why lobstermen are known as "cowboys of the sea." Each time the boat's bow dove into another wave, water splashed over the roof of the wheelhouse and cascaded off the back like a waterfall, landing on me.
Now there are very few things that really irritate me in this world in terms of pet peeves. But one thing that really sends me over the edge is the drip off the starboard, aft corner of that wheelhouse roof. You see, it drips onto the very spot that I stand while baiting and cleaning out the lead trap when we're hauling pairs. It drips right onto my head. It doesn't take much to get that drip started--even a little condensation in the morning will sometimes do it. But today it wasn't a drip. . . it was a high-pressure jet stream. Incessant. I couldn't avoid it. I pulled the trap aft on the rail while I removed the lobsters, but then I had to pass through it to reach the lobster bucket. I pulled the trap forward, but then when I baited it I was under the drip. There was no escaping the drip.
Soon after that "rouge wave" I became seasick. I believe that seasickness is a state of mind. If I can remain mentally calm, then it's smooth sailing. But if I start to think about how rough it is and/or how disgusting the bait is, then I'm done for. I fought it off until early afternoon, but then I felt the surge in my throat and couldn't hold it back any longer. It was right when we were setting traps and I couldn't hide it from Cap. He saw me hurl over the rail this time. I didn't say anything afterward, just kept stuffing bait bags. He told me that he was going to head in soon after that. Once or twice this past winter times Cap suggested calling it a day after he noticed that I was seasick and I refused to be the reason that we stopped hauling. Today was not one of those days. I was so miserable that I didn't feel guilty. Besides the traps still had bait on the lines and were therefore still fishing.
I don't recall the last time that I was so elated to step foot on land. It was such a relief to reach the landing. I hadn't eaten or drunk anything all day and started to feel my face flush with dehydration and my tummy growl with hunger. I'll just say that I'm tickled to be back in my comfy warm, dry home with food and water in hand. This sternlady had one heck of a day.
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