There has been many a Saturday in the past eight summers of my life when I've been cleaning my parents' oceanfront cottages, gazing out at the lobsterboats and wishing I was on the water. I suppose that's how I came to be interested in lobstering in the first place. It looks like a very romantic way to spend one's time on a beautiful, sunny day in July.
But now I know the reality of the industry. Today I looked out at those same boats as I helped my dad replace a bathroom in a cottage. This time my perspective was a bit different: I couldn't be more grateful to be high and dry on land. Now I know what it's like to be out there this time of year.
Winter is on its way. The leaves have fallen, the north wind blows, and the sky has a cold, heavy greyness suggestive of snow. On a choppy day like today I look at those boats with pity. I know how miserable it is to be out there with the boat wrenching about under you, your tools sloshing back and forth, knowing that you still have hours of work ahead of you before Cap points the bow landward commencing the hour steam home. It may be the most lucrative season, but it's the least enjoyable.
A few days ago (on Nov. 3) I awoke to the phone ringing at 7 am. I craned my head to look at the number with one eye still shut. It was Cap. My heart sank: what if his new sternman hadn't worked out? I looked at the date: a year and three days ago Cap had called me out of the blue asking for help on deck. What if he was making that call again? I let my voicemail answer the call, but I couldn't fall back asleep. Curiosity ate at me.
Eventually I listened to the message. To my surprise, Cap wasn't asking for help at all! He was offering me fish! He had gone on a charter trip the day before and caught tons of polluck. He told me where the fillets were located if I wanted to stop by and pick some up. I was touched: I knew that Cap treasured seafood just as much as I did.
An hour later I pulled in to Cap's familiar driveway, grateful to be arriving on the occasion of friendship and not employment. Cap wasn't home, but I had a nice visit with Mrs. Cap. Upon my leaving she handed me a bulging bag of beautiful polluck fillets. I shared them with my friends and family. It was truly a treat.
I confess that I miss the perks of fishing. Most of all I miss eating fresh seafood that I caught the same day. Now I know that I am physically capable of lobstering for a living. But I also know that I'm never going back to it. Evah.
