Physical Limitations

Although I only stand 5'4'' and weigh 130 pounds, my ego stands much taller. I don't consider myself arrogant, just confident and stubborn. I sometimes catch myself thinking that I am physically much bigger than I really am. I once dated a huge fishermen who weighed twice as much as me and I never hesitated to lift the same heavy objects that he could lift. That's not to say that I was always successful, just that my will was strong.

They say that a strong back and a weak mind make a good sternman. Having a job in which my capability is largely reliant on brute strength has been a humbling experience for me. It's true that I am capable of lifting just about anything under 100 pounds. But that doesn't mean that it's good for me. Towards the beginning of shrimping season I was heaving around 100-pound trays full of shrimp all day long, partially out of stubbornness and partially because I didn't want to bother Cap for help. That didn't last long. My back let me know that I couldn't go on doing that. Cap insisted that I ask for help stacking trays. I learned that asking for help wasn't as painful as the way my back felt when I didn't ask. Those back pains forced me to realize my physical limitations. I learned that it is essential for me to ask for assistance as well as to lift with my legs and close to my center of weight. Otherwise I would be a cripple.

In addition to the amount of weight I can lift, daily life on the boat has awoken me to other physical limitations. For example, first thing in the morning when a captain goes to bring the boat in to the dock, the sternman traditionally fetches the bait and hooks it up to the heist. Bait barrels hold about 5 bushel and could easily weigh 400 pounds when full of herring and brine. Every dock has a dolly that is used to cart bait barrels from the bait cooler to the heist where they are lowered to the boat. I have watched many a fisherman secure the dolly, tilt the weight of the barrel back onto the wheels and whisk it out of the cooler with ease. I had no reason to think that I couldn't do it myself. I'm a sternman after all, right? So I clipped the dolly on to the barrel and leaned back with all my weight to tilt the barrel back towards me. I'll be damned if I couldn't so much as tilt that barrel. I was simply too light to counterbalance the barrel. I got quite frustrated and huffy, but eventually cooled down enough to ask for Cap's help. That was the last time I tried that.

Cap is a tall man. I'd say he stands about six foot and his long limbs are appropriately proportioned. That is to say, Cap's arms are significantly longer than mine. When Cap measures out rope, he uses his arm breadth as a measure of about a fathom (six feet). One day Cap was measuring out a pile of rope to see if some old coils were too short to use. I sidled up alongside him and started to help. One, two, three. . . eight! The coil was plenty long by my measure. I told Cap so and added that he might want to check it himself. One, two. . . seven. Cap declared it short. I left rope measuring to him from then on. After all, our units were different.

Yet another shortcoming pertains to the lobster tank. At the end of the day we pull in to the dock to sell our lobsters and empty the lobster tank one by one to make sure that they are all alive. You can't sell a dead lobster. Dead lobster=dinner. Cap's tank is quite deep, so he has rigged up a system in which a wire mesh basket sits in the lower half of the tank. Once we've emptied the upper half, we pull the basket up by it's rope handles which are secured to cleats outside the tank, thereby elevating the lobsters within arm's reach. Well, within arm's reach for Cap's fathom-long arms, that is. By the time we hit the bottom of the basket I have to practically throw myself into the tank to reach the lobsters, whereas Cap reaches in with ease to touch the bottom of the basket. While I usually persist until the last lobster is removed, Cap usually remarks "I can get the rest, Katherine. You don't have to kill yourself." But by golly, we're a team and I'm gonna help him 'til the bitter end. Yet another physical shortcoming.

Despite my physical limitations, I think I do pretty darn well. Working on the boat has made me realize the importance of helping eachother out. It is satisfying to prove that I can lift a 100-lb tray of shrimp all by myself, yes, but it is also fruitless. Working together and not "killing myself" is much more impressive than brute strength. This has been a valuable lesson aboard the boat. I still take every chance I get to show off for the boys, though. That will probably never change.