My Uniform

This morning when I was getting ready for work at 5 am, I was thinking about what to wear, what to wear. . . green t-shirt? No, that's too nice. Favorite summer jeans with holes in knees? No, I don't want them to smell like bait. It seemed that I didn't have any clothes ratty enough to wear to work. All of my designated work clothes were so smelly that I couldn't stand the thought of putting them on my clean body. What an interesting dilemma, I thought to myself. Most normal people have the opposite problem. The average American looks in their closet at their sneakers and jeans thinking that these casual clothes aren't formal enough for their office job. That's a problem that I hope never to encounter.

Here's a sampling of my morning mental checklist:

1.) Hair tie.

Very important. No, seriously. A ponytail is an essential part of my uniform for both practical and personal reasons. First of all, my ponytail sticks out of the adjuster strap hole in my baseball cap and keeps my hat on when it's windy. One day I forgot my hairtie and tried using a cable tie to retain my hair. Not advisable. My hair was too slippery, the tie fell out within 5 minutes and my hair was everywhere. It drove me crazy all day, distracting me from my work. Secondly, a ponytail is one of the only physical attributes that distinguishes me from a little boy when I'm on the boat. While I don't want my work ethic to be any different than that of a sternman's, I do want to retain some feminine qualities in my physical appearance. In other words, I want to work like a man, but not to look like one. I also like to wear earrings in the summer (in the winter having metal in my ears was too cold) for this reason.

2.) Rubbah Boots.

Pretty self-explanatory. They keep my feet dry. I have insulated boots for winter and regular ones for summer. I had a helluva time finding ones that fit me. I wear men's size 5 and most of the boots start at size 6. I searched everywhere before I was successful. They've served me well.

3.) Rubbah Gloves.

Hence my glaring glove tan (pasty white lower half of forearm and dark brown upper half). Believe it or not, my gloves can make or break my day. Wet, leaky gloves= bad day. Soft, dry gloves= good day. When your hands are steeped in bait juice all day, you don't really want leaky gloves. Enough said.

4.) Oil Gear.

Also called oil skins, foul weather gear, foulies, or just plain Grundens (the famous Swedish

brand). This consists of overalls and a coat with hood. I also had a hard time finding the size of these that fit me (extra-small). The little boy's ones are too thin and don't last long. I had to special order them in the mail. These are the most valuable part of my daily attire. They cost close to $100 a piece (overalls and coat each). Don't lose them.

A good friend saw a picture of me donning all of my oil gear and commented that I looked like an "orange eskimo." This look was accentuated by the ski mask that I wore to protect my face from the bitter wind.

5.) Ball Cap.

Also essential. Keeps the sun out of my eyes and my hair out of my face. When there's a lot of splash on a rough day, the bill of the cap shields my face if I look down, thereby keeping saltwater out of my eyes. Also makes me feel cool. :)

6.) Contact Lenses.

My glasses get hopelessly streaked with salt water when I wear them on the boat. Cap wears glasses and has to wash them with windex a couple times a day. I think contacts are just easier.

7.) Layers.

If you've visited Maine for more than a day, then you know how predictable the weather is: it can drastically change in the span of minutes, and often does. Even today consisted of a beautiful, calm morning which changed to a chilly, gusty afternoon as the southerly wind picked up. I actually had to put on two more shirts. This is why layers are so crutial to my uniform. These days my layers are: a tank top, a thin cotton long-sleeved shirt, and a sweatshirt. On a particularly cold day shrimping this winter I counted 7 top layers. I appeared quite stalky and buff, but in reality my bulk was mostly wool and fleece. I was like a little toddler in their first snow suit with arms straight out, barely able to maneuver. Comfy, though.

When my checklist is complete, off I go for another day as sternlady. I must confess, it's the best uniform I've ever worn.

Summahtime

May the catching begin! The shedders have arrived! We finally caught something today.

It was our first hot day on the water, and it all started drifting back to me. Summer fishing, that is. I remembered how the greasy herring oil from our bait seems to melt all over everything in the heat. How the same hot tank that was essential for my warmth just 3 months ago is now so repulsively. . . well, hot. I remembered the feel of a newly-molted lobster squishing in your hands. And how amazingly delectable a PB&J tastes after endless hours of hauling traps in the heat. I now officially pronounce it summer.

The heat seems to bring out the smell in everything. The smell of balsam fir was so sweet that you would have thought your nose was stuck in a balsam candle. And the scent of roses was so overbearing that you would think your Grandma was leaning over your shoulder, her perfume permeating the air. Of course, all of the odors on board weren't pleasant. The smell of bait was also amplified, even though our herring was quite fresh. But it's a small price to pay for a beautiful ride around the islands all day.

After banding the 100th male shedder I started to notice a pattern. I asked Cap if the males molt first. Sho' nuff they do. Cap said (with a sheepish little grin) "It's all about breeding. The males shed first so that they are ready to mate when the females arrive. The males have to be a little firmer to get it on." I was amused by this very practical explanation.

After a 12-hour (6am-6pm) day of smelling and catching, I'm pretty tuckered out. I'd better rest up for picking up our last load of traps offshore tomorrow! Nighty-night.

Comfort

Today the part for the boat arrived. Cap spent all afternoon deep in the bowels of the boat installing it. Cap is a tall, lanky man and I still hardly believe that he can scrunch into that tiny space let alone maneuver well enough to fix things down there. He clinked and clanked around for hours occasionally requesting that I hand him tools or parts from above. I sat close by so that we were within arm's length.

I felt like Cap's little henchwoman today. Like one of the Oogy Boogy Man's little henchmen from Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas. But I am not a henchman who does her job out of fear as they did. No, I assist Cap because we are a team and we help eachother out. This was also my role as his divetender. My job was to support him. He was doing the hard work, and I was there to ease his work and make sure that he is safe.

As he directed me to various tools, I hung half in and half out of the engine compartment through a hatch door in the wheelhouse. The compartment is well-insulated, padded with egg-crate foam. It is warm since it retains the heat from the engine. I find the smell of engine oil and Gojo comforting and familiar, reminiscent of my dad's days as a captain repairing his boats.

Today I was wearing the over-sized wool pull-over that my dad used to wear fishing. Now it is my cold weather boat coat. I have worn it for the past two winters working on the water oystering and lobstering. It served me well this winter. Not only did it keep me warm, but it made me feel safe when the weather was dicey or things got challenging. I felt the comfort of my father's strong arms reassuring me that everything would be alright.

A boat motored by in the harbor and the wake reached us, gently rocking the boat back and forth on the mooring. A soothing sprinkle pattered on the wheelhouse roof. "All is well," whispered the rain, "You are home."

The Cove

Back Cove is my favorite place on Earth. Granted I haven't seen all of Earth, but I can say this pretty confidently given that other places which might be equally or perhaps even more beautiful than the Cove don't have the sentimental value that Back Cove has for me.

You see I have played in and around the Cove all of my life. In fact, I was baptized in Back Cove. I don't remember it, but my mom tells me that when the minister dripped cove water on my forehead, my eyes opened wide and I smiled. Not much has changed in 24 years. :)

As a young child I played under the footbridge catching crabs with summer kids. I didn't know then that we were catching and feeding green crabs, a very invasive species of crab. Regardless, we had a ball and widdled away many hours learning about intertidal marine life via exploration.

Back Cove was also the setting of my second love. He is a fisherman who still lives and lobsters out of there, whom I now consider to be a good friend. He is one of the few other people who appreciate the Cove as much as I do.

Just a few weeks ago, my mom had some extra pansies that I planted in front of where the fishermen park their huge pick-ups in Back Cove. The guys liked that. One of them encouraged me when I was planting them saying: "That'll fancy it up a bit."

My family's business is also located there. We have three cottages and a dock where guests can row around in our rowboats. My father and I are in charge of keeping up the dock. I gel coat the fiberglass skiffs when they need it. I made the signs and maintain those. I decked the dock with cedar and the ramp with pressure-treated decking a few years ago. Daddy and I take turns bailing out the skiffs after a hard rain. I usually help Daddy with the annual spring ritual of riding the float down from "The Pound," under the footbridge, and tying it to the float for summer use. Then in the fall we ride the float up the Cove to park it on a bank for the winter. The float is kept on the bank so that the ice doesn't push it around and do damage in the winter.

"The Pound" is the section of the Cove on the other side of the footbridge. It is called this because it used to be a lobster pound. There are still old stubs of pilings that supported the

pound house at the turn of the 20th century. Grandpa remembers when the pound keeper used to live there. Now there is just a footbridge for people to walk across. My father and a handful of fishermen have been responsible for maintaining the footbridge for as long as I remember.

Just today I went down to the Cove to eat my lunch on my family's dock and "hob-nob" with my fishermen friends. I helped one lobsterman unload traps from his truck (barefoot). The boys were worried that I'd drop a trap on my toes. After that, I put on my bathing suit and jumped in the Cove for an exhilarating dip. One sternman looked on in awe saying that I am "crazy." I had intended to go for a full-on swim, but I seem to be getting wimpy as I grow up. Just two years ago I was swimming in the Cove in May. Now it's mid-June and I can't even stay in for more than five seconds.

Swimming in the Cove used to be a daily ritual throughout my high school and college years. I would swim the length of the Cove and the Pound. Sometimes I brought my faithful lab friend, Liza, along to enjoy the briny taste and refreshing feel of saltwater immersion. We had a grand time cooling off together.

Now that I live in Town, my visits to the Cove aren't as frequent, but are every bit as cherished. It is just as easy for me to lose hours down at the Cove now as it was when I was eight years old. I enjoy talking with the locals to find out how the fishing is, chatting with artists painting on our dock, and going for an evening boat ride with my dad.

I look forward to swimming with my parent's 4-month-old chocolate lab pup, Zipper, this summer. Zipper was also recently baptized in the cold cove water. My dad brought Zip in the rowboat to row out to his motor boat on the mooring. On the way back, Zip was sitting behind my dad as he rowed, and Daddy heard a SPLASH! Zipper had taken a dunk and was swimming around cheerily. My dad scooped him back into the boat. It's hard to keep a good lab dry. So I have a feeling that I'll have a swimming partner once again before long!

(Photos by AOK)

The Case of the Cursed Coveralls

Today Cap and I learned an important lesson that won't be easily forgotten.

We set 30 traps and were at the mouth of the Harbor gearing up to haul some traps. I was filling bait bags (as usual) when I looked up to find Cap searching all over for something. I asked what it was that he was looking for and it seemed that he was missing his oil pants (or "coveralls," as he calls them). I helped him look and, being unsuccessful, suggested that perhaps he left them at the dock the previous day. It was easy enough to "run in to the dock" and get them before we started to haul traps, as we were only a short distance away. But Cap, being easily frustrated with himself, became agitated. Turned out the tide was down and there wasn't enough water to pull in to the dock, so he'd have to put the boat on the mooring and motor to the dock in the skiff. An added step made him even more irritable. By the time he climbed on to the bow and tied off the boat, he was all flustered and dropped the bow line. The skiff drifted off in the strong nor'west breeze, gently bumping off of other boats. Cap's instinct was to kick the boat into gear and fetch the skiff, but at this moment, the boat stalled. She couldn't be persuaded to start up again. The screens went blank. Both of our stomachs sank.

Cap tinkered with wires, switches, and fuses all afternoon. Luckily he is a gear-head and has a mind for figuring out problems as well as much knowledge about engines. The most help that I could offer was handing him tools and flipping switches at his request. He figured out the part that was defective and ordered a new one. Meanwhile, I learned about fuses and how to trouble-shoot. The first thing we did when we reached land was to grab Cap's oil pants from the dock. They were right there waiting for him. All of that trouble for a pair of Grundens!

At times like that, I can't help but think of the name of Cap's boat. The proud word on her transom represents the feminine spirit of enlightenment in Tibetan Buddhism. The word translates to "sky walker" or "sky dancer" (Wikipedia). However, one of her terrestrial embodiments is the trickster spirit. Boats are inherently unpredictable and unreliable. She has certainly lived up to her name today and in the past.

The lesson of the day was: have patience with oneself. It is all too easy to be quick-tempered and disgusted with yourself, especially when your goal is to do everything as quickly as possible. But the fact is: we are human. We aren't perfect. We make mistakes. Therefore, we must do our best and accept the fact that we might not meet our expectations for the day.

Summer Fishing: The First Haul

Today was officially the first day of summer fishing. It was the first haul close to shore. While things were easier and the scenery was much more enjoyable, I'd forgotten how fast and furious summer fishing is.

We're fishing singles instead of pairs now, so there's less to do per buoy, but it has to happen afap (as fast as possible). There's generally less time. There's no hour-long steam out to the fishing site. As soon as we reach the mouth of the Harbor we're there. There's also no time in between buoys, since they are set closer together. And there is very little delay between gaffing the buoy and the trap breaking the surface, because we're fishing the shoals (shallow water) and the lines are short. In other words, there is very little time to rest.

There is also less thrill factor fishing this time of year, which I'm ok with after the most intense winter's work that I've ever experienced. Instead of catching huge, thrashing cusk, a puny little rock gunnel can occasionally be found in the bait bag. Gnarly spider crabs that resemble crustaceans out of the Bering Sea are replaced with baby rock crabs the size of your pinky toe nail. Not much of our summer by-catch is worth eating. My attitude towards summer marine life has changed considerably since my first summer lobstering.

The first summer that I fished with Cap, six years ago now, I was very excited by the new marine life in his traps. We caught some whelks that I was so fascinated by that I had to take them home and try eating them. So I steamed them up at my folks house. Those things were so rubbery that I couldn't even chew them into small enough pieces to swallow. That was the last time I tried eating whelks.

However, we did find some neat inedible marine life today. We caught fish representing all three primary colors: a brilliant red lump fish, a yellow/goldish sculpin, and another lump fish that was brilliant blue. Unfortunately, the idea of taking a picture of all three fish together didn't cross my mind until I had thrown them back. . .

Summer fishing is just different. I am straining to remember the ropes since the last time I lobstered with Cap in the summer was six years ago. I have to re-learn how to differentiate shedders from hardshells. The extremes are easy to distinguish: the very soft shedders will squish in your hands, the hardest hardshells are growing barnacles on their shell and have dark undersides to their claws. But it isn't all black and white. The hard shedders and the young hardshells constitute the grey area. Cap's test is holding the claw out straight so that the joints are locked and squeezing the claw itself. If the membrane between segments bulges with the movement of fluids inside the claw, then it's a shedder. This is a very subtle indicator, but it does work. We double band hardshells (2 rubber bands/claw) and single band shedders. It's important to differentiate since shedders are worth a dollar less ($2.75) per pound than hardshells ($3.75). Today Cap went through the lobsters that I designated as hardshells, picked out four and called the rest shedders. I have much to re-learn.

Despite the change of routine and lack of adventure, I am very grateful that it's summer. This is the time of year that is truly inspiring to me. My focus isn't distracted by numb fingers or lobsters freezing. We probably won't be weathering 10 ft seas this time of year. I am able to appreciate the beauty of my surroundings and indulge in a more social setting. Summer has come and I am glad of it.

Practice Makes Perfect

Cap and I were on the water all day enjoying the glassy smooth ocean and taking up a load of traps "down below." First thing this morning I told Cap about the silly dream that I had about being able to fillet a cusk with two swipes of the knife blade. Cap and I periodically catch cusk in lobster traps offshore, but I've never filleted them on my own; I usually have Cap or my dad do it for me. Even they--two experienced fishermen--struggle to fillet cusk, since it has a thick and slimy skin that is very difficult to get ahold of. My dream was clearly a fantasy.

The first buoy that we hauled was one that had been "hung down" for a while and was recently showing. Another fisherman gave Cap a heads up as to its location a few days before. Turned out it was entangled in a huge snarl of 10 traps. Cap must have spent a half hour getting the mess aboard. I could have sworn that his line was going to part in the hauler from all of the pressure with such a weight on the other end. But, miraculously, Cap managed to reveal the ball of traps and I got to working on it. To my pleasant surprise, we caught 3 big cusks in those traps. Upon catching the first, I said "I guess my dream came true!" Cap replied "I was just thinking the very same thing." Each time he pulled a trap over the rail to find a huge cusk flipping violently he said: "Livin' the dream!" Their air bladders were inflated from the dramatic pressure difference as they surfaced, so I didn't even feel bad about keeping them.

When we got to the harbor, I saw my good friend sailing in on her brother's sail boat. Today is her birthday. I rushed to Back Cove where I decided to prepare the fish myself and give some to my friend for her birthday. My dream had somehow given me the confidence to go for it. I'd watched Cap and my dad many times, so I knew the steps, but decided that I just needed to get the feel for it myself by doing the action. The filleting itself was actually a lot easier than I expected, but the slippery skin did make the fish difficult to handle. My fillets aren't perfect.

There are plenty of bones and rough edges. But it worked and now I feel capable of tackling the task again.

My dad and my ex-boyfriend stopped by for moral support while I worked the fish. Both

demonstrated techniques that eased the process. I haven't been so proud of something possibly since my first "A" on a test! I found this newly-learned skill so satisfying because it enables me to process what we catch in the ocean so that I can eat it. It completes the cycle from trap to plate. Catch, fillet, cook, and eat!

I gave some of the fish away to my loved ones. Two fillets went to my farmer friend for her birthday present. My dad took two. And I plan on frying up a fillet for my fisherman friend as a thank you for all of the seafood he's given me. That leaves one fillet for myself, which will be a good three meal's worth. Plenty to go around. I love sharing the fruits of my labor.