Hot 'n' Heavy

It was just one of those days from the get-go. At 4 am I threw my body against all my will out of bed and trudged down the stairs grumpily. I glanced at my calendar while pouring milk on my cereal and sure enough the "30" marking this day of the month was circled. Minutes later "my friend"* arrived. It was that time of the month. All that I wanted to do was wear my night-nights (known by some as jammies or PJs), gorge myself on a chocolate buffet, and have my back massaged. Yet it was my responsibility to handle rotten fish and spiky crustaceans all day. Not exactly an inspiring thought.

Somehow I managed to gather myself together and show up at the landing only 10 minutes late. Cap pulled up right behind me and backed down the dock to unload. I collected my items (water bottle, lunch box, and hat) and put my boots on. Then I realized I'd forgotten a hair tie**. I was pawing frantically through my glove compartment and literally growling when Cap walked up behind me. I saw a figure out of the corner of my eye, turned and chirped "Oh, hi!" in the cheeriest tone I could muster. Cap explained where the bait was (buried deep in the recesses of the smelly bait cooler) and that he was headed out to fetch the boat.

The weather men actually agreed on one thing today: it was gonna be a scorcher. The morning was tolerable and I rather enjoyed myself out there once my cramps were dulled with Ibuprofin. It was another glassy-calm, crystal-clear summer day. Gannets plummeted from the air in the distance, diving for fish. A seal head bobbed amongst some buoys, curious about the human activity above-water. We slowly worked up to our usual pace and plugged along in content silence.

Then around noon the heat hit. My oil gear warmed up like an oven, yet I had a hard time imagining going without the protective layer. My black rubber boots baked my feet within. My hair piled in my baseball cap (since I didn't have a hair tie) acted as an insulating layer, amplifying the heat. All I could think about was plunging into the water and floating on my back for the rest of the day. Perhaps Cap could just tie a line around my waist and tow me along for the duration while he tended the traps. The roar of the boat wouldn't bother me. I'd be just dandy.

It wasn't bad in the shade under the wheelhouse roof, but the sun beat down on deck like it was the African safari. I was dripping in sweat carrying traps fore and aft as we shifted a few strings. Brutal heat. I measured and banded the lobsters as quickly as I could so as to return them to the cool seawater in the tank as soon as possible. I guzzled my water and soon ran out. My skin was still burning even after I smeared sunblock on it. I wore sunglasses all day, but I still got a headache from the blinding glare on the water. Who said they didn't think Maine got hot?!

Twelve hours later, at 5 pm, the second-to-last pair hit the rail. By then I was beyond punchy: I had cracked. This wasn't the first time, nor was it likely to be the last, that I had neared psychosis on the boat. I was probably pretty dehydrated and perhaps nearing the edge of heat stroke when I started to reflect on the day. Suddenly, I started laughing uncontrollably as I thought about how I would describe the day in a blog post. Cap looked at me out of the corner of his eye, but was too tired and grumpy to talk. I also didn't feel like speaking, so we plugged on in silence, this time not so content.

On the steam home, we managed to stir up some air movement as the boat motored at full tilt. I splashed my arms and face with cool saltwater while I cleaned the boat. Life started to look a little better. Somehow, I was relieved to hear that the day had been even more miserable on land. At the dock, Bobby reported that the thermometer had hit 100 degrees. The next few days aren't supposed to be much better. We'll do it all over again tomorrow. I'd better get to bed!

*see "My Friend" posted on July 6 for explanation

**see Item 1 in "My Uniform" posted on June 19 for explanation of importance