Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Time is different now that I've been on the water for a few years trying to make a living. The transitions between days, weather systems, and seasons are much different than before. I live within them and through them. Being on the water all the time makes for an endless summer in many respects, but the winters are harder. The summer lasts a long time because working keeps one warm and the bay is always beautiful. And then the winter months (January through March) are the tough ones when fingers hurt and there is much to do in short time – short because of day length and the frequency of poor weather or even worse, ice. Since working on the water I’ve felt that seasonal transitions occur in real time and I believe this is possible to experience only outside of an office, or sometimes referred to as the fattening pen. In real time there are no distinct margins of entry, there are no real thresholds, but I do notice change ever so subtly. Each day is different, yet often the same.
The oysters experience and behave differently. These things grow when the growing is good, get ready for sex, maybe have sex, then feed as much as possible until the temperatures decline to about 40 F when they go dormant and get covered up by silt. Their enemies (crabs and some snails) go away in winter too, so they just lie there and sleep. But they’re not completely safe because guys like me head out there with frozen fingers and lift them out of their slumber, sort them out, wash them, and sell them.
Guys like me continually watch the oysters. We study them throughout the winter months and ask ourselves questions like: Are they pumping (feeding) yet? Any new growth noticeable? Are the crabs getting them? And so on. When brief glimpses of nice weather begin to appear in February, and when the bay is thawing out a bit, we tend to look for signs of spring. Maybe we’ll see a few more hermit crabs, but nothing else really happens until March when maybe a flounder or an eel will show up. Slowly, then suddenly, the bay comes to life. In early April the crabs appear in numbers, the brown frown (brown algae) invades and becomes quite problematic, and some fish are visible. Also the gannets move in, as do the ospreys. Ducks start moving out. Fingers stop hurting (I think 40 F is the threshold). By late April (now) the whole thing is changing daily – more crabs, more birds, and more fish. Add in a catalyst, a couple of 90 degree days, and things start changing faster.
But the most fascinating thing about April, to me, is seeing that edge appear on the oyster. The edge begins in early April, very subtly, but it is recognizable; a few millimeters of new, white shell. Then within a few days it soars: a quarter of an inch almost overnight. Some oysters show it really well (see photos). This one particular oyster was a nice one but was too thin, or short, for the market last fall and was returned to the farm. I found it while wading yesterday morning on a good drainer. The new shell growth was phenomenal, not in its length, but in its shape and pattern.
I showed this oyster to Bill Bennett. He also marveled at it and said, while pointing out the length and curvature of the new growth, “That oyster is going to fill that whole void, that volume, in no time and keep growing out to a nice size!” But then we both looked at each other and realized that he was wrong. “No he isn’t, he’s going out on the truck,” I returned. And we both laughed for a bit. We’d love to watch them grow like this all year, but at some point they grow so large that you can’t sell them. As Skip often reminds me, “They don’t make good pets.” Or something like that.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
The Bronx Zoo is actually a nice place to be. The humans, of course, can be hard to deal with, but they were ok. I have conflicting feelings about zoos, but that is for another time. This recent visit was nice and it will always be a good memory.
I felt like I connected somehow to this gorilla (above)...somehow. We both stared at each other for about two minutes. I wondered what his/her thoughts were. I assumed that I knew, but not sure.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The office has a nice land view. But really, being able to process the oysters on the float saves time and sanity. This time of year there are few people around and it is often a solitary experience to be at the office. I find odd music to listen to while I cull, wash, then bag. Sometimes there are odd people to listen to too. As the weather warms over the spring there will be increased traffic and visitors who will come up and ask what we're doing there: "What are you people doing?!" "Working," is one reasonable response, but sometimes we remember to say, "Living the dream."
But it is not all beer and skittles. For instance, yesterday was wet and windy. Squall after squall moved from the south, bringing along with it 15-minute periods of 30 knot southerlies and big raindrops (which travel at least 30 knots into my face...faster if underway into it). On the boat this weather makes working somewhat challenging as things fall over, waves crash over the transom, and hauling the oysters gets a bit dangerous (what's the water temp?... 45 to 50 perhaps). Back at the office (the float) things are a more stable in these conditions, but moving crates and things from the boat to the office, and vice versa, I might look like Harold Lloyd trying to scale rooftops.
Right now the oysters are coming alive as evidenced by some nice new growth along the edges. Just in time. The bay is also alive with fish (flounder, smelt, alewife, and some stripers). Gannets diving, hungry gulls fly about, and my bare hands don't hurt anymore when in the water.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Last week the float went in. This, in effect, is our warm season office where much of the processing happens. Having the float saves an hour or two per day of lugging and transporting bushels onto trucks, etc.
We pushed it out to our mooring and returned to find Charlie White back at the ramp. Good timing: Alex returned his biofouled cell phone (see earlier story). He was glad to get it back.