Early to Rise

This morning Cap and I were both late for our rendezvous. I was relieved to see that he pulled in right after me at 5:15 am. We rolled the windows of our vehicles down to allow air flow, slammed the doors, grabbed our stuff and headed for the dock. My other favorite fisherman in the harbor arrived at the same time and walked in stride with us toward the skiffs. I chirped an enthusiastic hello at Freddy, genuinely glad to see him. "Hey Girrrrl," he replied in his usual greeting for me. The three of us walked side by side in sleepy silence. Three fishermen walking in a line in the dark. We all had our work uniforms on: rubber boots, tattered clothes, ball caps and carried our lunch boxes in hand. I felt like one of the boys, but my ponytail gave me away.

When we reached the ramp, which is only wide enough to walk down single file, I hesitated allowing Cap to go first out of respect. I would follow my captain anywhere. But instead, the two gentlemen yielded to me, allowing the lady to go first. I smiled to myself noting their courtesy and traditionalism. Off I went charging down the ramp in long strides, while the two men tip-toed down behind me. We bid Freddy good day and made our way toward the mooring. I sat next to a few bundles of rope that had been sitting in Cap's yard for a season. The earthy aroma of musty dirt wafted up from the coils. A foreign smell in a marine environment.

As we rounded the mouth of the harbor and pointed the bow due south, the north wind greeted us with a slap on the transom. I hadn't seen that pesky wind for a while and can't say that I was overjoyed. That is a sure sign that fall is near, a fact of which I've been increasingly aware this week. Last week Cap commented that Labor Day weekend often marks a drastic drop in temperature. Sure enough, last week was blistering hot and I wore my wool fishing coat for the first time since last winter the day after the holiday. Impeccable timing.

The day was tiring. Somehow, my energy seems to dissipate in the north wind. It slapped me smartly in the face each time Cap brought the boat around, alerting me to the elements and practically stealing my breath with surprise. As the bow broke the waves, the spray showered my face and I found myself holding my breath. My body also tends to tense up when working on sloppy seas. It only takes a little persistent chop to make a sternman's job increasingly difficult.

We may have been early to rise, but I wasn't early to bed. By the time I got home it was 7 pm and much was left to be done. Shower. Laundry. Dishes. Tomorrow's lunch. Phone calls. Email. And bed at last. So goes the life of a sternlady.