Saquish Journal 2009

It's 2010

2010-01-09T06:26:00.001-08:00

See more at: http://saquish2010.blogspot.com/

Wild

2009-12-29T04:35:00.000-08:00

Rain/wind/clear/calm/clouds/wind....repeat.

On the Skim

2009-12-23T16:50:00.000-08:00

Hopes were dashed: the east side of the bay was lined with 1" sea ice. The western edge was navigable, but within 20 meters it was impassible. I had to crush myself a big hole to turn around within, then moved south to the rtg field where I was able to harvest (within the thinner ice) what was needed for the day. It took a while, it was cold, it was a little risky - but it was actually kind of fun.

Frozen Margarita

2009-12-23T04:39:00.000-08:00

11 degrees right now and heading back out for more. I am hoping that yesterday's slush on the surface has not solidified into a sheet of ice.

Good times....

Something New

2009-12-20T05:39:00.000-08:00

These spoon shells were abundant along the margins of a recent drainer. I took a few home and steamed them up. Admittedly, they are small, but taste great. If only they were a little larger.

Another Nice One (11.22.09)

2009-12-15T14:23:00.000-08:00

A Nice Morning On The Water

2009-11-21T15:18:00.000-08:00

2009-11-04T18:45:00.000-08:00

If you're interested in the Zanzibar shellfish project then go to this link:

www.saquishjambo.blogspot.com

Force of Nature

2009-10-21T16:37:00.000-07:00

Some scenes from the coast and interior...

Supersonic

2009-10-17T05:39:00.000-07:00

More photos from last week's trip with Jeff, Joel, and Don. Thanks to Terry Nugent for snapping some from his vessel.

Speed of Sound

2009-10-13T17:58:00.001-07:00

October 11, 2009

This was kind of a makeup trip. Chip, Joel, and I went out with Jeff in late August and, well, we skunked out. That means that we didn’t hook any fish. This was not anyone’s fault, to my knowledge. It was just that the tuna were finicky and not interested in biting, that’s all. Oh yeah, and the other boats around that spooked them away and pissed us off.

So we went out on the water this past weekend to see what was what. The coldness of the morning was new to us, the first really cold one yet this year. Some steam came off the water from where we put in. The boat, Carla Noel, sped out to the deeper waters in good time and our first sight of fish, as the sun broke over the horizon, turned out to be blues – good sized ones though. I was delighted to land one, but the spirit on the boat was somewhat less enthusiastic, so we moved onward. It didn’t take too long to find the tuna. That was also true for about 12 other vessels out there. Some were friends and others were idiots. I hate to put it that way, but it kind of seems to be true. The friends are careful not to crowd or spook your fish and would rather find their own school to work on. The others seem to consistently follow you, crowd you, and then run over the fish.

This happened time after time. Over several hours we kept finding schools to work, but either the fish would go down quickly or some jackass would arrive and fuck the whole thing up. Usually both occurred.

But Jeff and the rest of us kept our shit together and moved on and on and on. There were a few mishaps and arguments, but these were quickly forgotten. Then, finally, there was a school we had found and stuck with for a half hour, and finally the fish came up and stayed up long enough for a few good shots. And it was good. It was actually really good and we were really lucky.

Joel: “I have a fish on my line,” in a musical tone.

Then his reel screamed like Godzilla.”

At the same moment I felt the hit on my tuna plug which slid just a couple inches under the surface. “I’m on!” But then slack, “I’m off.” Then again, a hit, “I’m on again.” Then slack. But I didn’t give up and kept the single-hook plug dog walking towards the hull. Then it happened: about six feet from the boat this beautiful fish glided forcefully to the plug, mouth open, then closed, and off into the abyss, my line screaming. “I’m on!” But no one heard me because Joel’s reel was still peeling off and all attention was on him.

“Hey, John’s on too,” eventually noticed Don Gunster. “Yep,” I replied. After a few minutes we were able to hold the fish for a few seconds and turn up the drags. “Okay guys, we’re going to have to communicate and work together on this one,” Jeff explained. “Who’s closest to the boat?” By this time I had cranked most of the lost distance back and the fish was only about five yards down. It was decided that my fish would come up first. Joel let his take some line out before his next attempt to draw it in.

Then Joel’s line snapped. Crack. “Holy fucking fuck fuckshit fuck!” yelled Joel. And I agreed. His line simply snapped somewhere and he was free of the fish. This sucked, but we still had one to get to the boat. Suddenly I felt some performance pressure. I fought the thing for a good 20 minutes, then, I must admit, my lower back began to unravel. This was because the fish set itself under the boat and the posture I had to provide created spasms and pain. I could have continued, but I weighed the outcomes and realized that if my back was to go out then I would really be in the hole. Seeing that Joel and Don had nothing else to do, I handed the rod over to the nearest of them, Joel. But his forearms were toast from fighting his fish. So the rod went quickly to Don. And he delivered. It only took a few winds of the reel to bring the leader to the tip of the rod, and then we saw the fish. A nice one (I already knew that). Jeff managed to close the deal and within minutes it was over the rail and onto the deck. It measured 65 inches and we estimated the weight somewhere around 150 to 160 pounds. It was a beauty.

At this time the wind picked up significantly. The relatively calm day changed rapidly and the seas began to act up on us. Tired, satiated, we collectively agreed to begin our trip back. After about ten minutes of blasting through the waves we found a school of big blues. I caught one and kept it (just had it tonight actually – kid’s request). The sun was low, seas up and spray on my face. It was beautiful out there. The last big trip of the year, and I realized this and thought about that on our way back to the ramp. I thought about a lot of things between soakings from the bow spray. Joel laughed as I received the 57 degree shower all the way back. I didn’t care.

We cleaned the fish at the ramp which was something we were hesitant about doing. Then, after conversing with folks who were pulling boats out too, we took one last look at the bay and drove off. We knew that this was the closer of the season. Schedules and bank accounts wouldn’t allow another one of these this year.

But the tuna immediately went to good use. It’s amazing how this fish brings people together. It reveals the best of us too. I hope it lasts a while.

Amongst the Waves

2009-10-05T17:30:00.000-07:00

The weather is finally changing; then changing back. Tonight I was sucked dry by thousands of mosquitoes that are desperately feeding for their over wintering babies. Some wind, some rain, and some nice sunny days.

I fished a few times over the past week. The first trip was already described briefly (with Joel). Then I did a few more short solo explorations around the bay. Mostly just birds (cormorants with gulls and terns above them) - these are teasers. Then I managed to find some stripers in and along some skinny water marshes. All smallish fish though.

Then Dave Yozzo came up for his typical 24-hour tour of oysters, fishing, music jam, helping me plant a few oysters, and quick food. The fishing was so-so, but he managed to land a few stripers and we had a good time jamming with some friends on Thursday night. I think he enjoyed throwing a few of the final oysters from the upweller overboard.

Yesterday I was late getting out onto the fish. I was bummed: a foggy morning and my friends who came into Mattakessett were telling me of fairly good action out there. Jon McGrath even had a bloody carbuncle on his striper thumb from the dozens he was reportedly landing. I called Jon on my way out of the harbor. "Yes, they're still here...bass and some blues!" "OK, I'll be right out," I responded. But before I could fold my phone the sound of birds drew my attention to the swarm of activity along the shores of the marsh in front of Long Point. I soon arrived, tossed out some small poppers, and had about four good attacks, but no hookups. These fish looked large and I was convinced that they were blues.

But I ran out of time. I had to work. So I did.

Then later that day, about 2:30, on my way back out to work, I stopped by Eagles Nest and had fun there - landed four small bass in about ten minutes. I had to load up the boat with oysters and head in. But for fun, I decided to go back to that marsh at Long Point. Within the moorings - a few casts and a few busting fish. Nothing yet. Then, what must have been my tenth one, slam! It was difficult keeping the fish away from mooring balls, and at one point I had to start the engine to avoid drifting into a moored boat. But then, the fish tired and I landed it. It measured 32 inches. I kept it. I took a few more casts but then realized that this was a lucky bonus and that I should get back to work.

At the boat ramp Gregg Morris and Don Merry greeted me with smiles. And we talked about the nice weather. And we talked about our oysters and how they were growing, and such. And we watched as a poor guy got clocked in the nose with spinning winch (ow!) while trying to load a boat onto a trailer. And after making sure he'd be okay, we dispersed.

At home I ran Pearl Jam through my garage sound system (loud) and cleaned the fish. Then I washed and bagged some oysters. Though the day was ending too soon (getting darkish around 5:00), it was amazing and I was happy to be alive.

...and this...

In the Storm

2009-09-28T20:02:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning was spent on the water with Joel. It was pretty nasty - rain and wind...SE at about 20 kts. But we found the fish and had a great time. In addition to stripers, Joel landed a busty black sea bass right before I landed a lobster. A first for me...on a silver jig.

I left the camera in the truck so no photos and this is unfortunate.

Oh yeah...

2009-09-28T20:00:00.000-07:00

...and Joel Meunier landed a cunner during the one-fly tournament. Look at the picture and see for yourself.

Another One Fly

2009-09-16T18:41:00.000-07:00

The 3rd Annual One Fly

I looked over to Ken and said, “Well, it seems that the fish have either moved or gone down.” After a short pause Ken scratched his white beard and replied quite calmly, “It’s a good time to have lunch.” A sailboat had just cut through the school of stripers we had spent ten minutes setting up on. They were pressing baitfish against a patch of salt marsh in very skinny water north of High Pines. But this odd timing was just that – odd. We waved, said hellos (I knew the skipper), they continued their daring path sailing southward along the shoreline, surely spooking any other fish along their way. It was high noon and indeed, a good time to have lunch.

So this was the 2009 one fly tournament in Duxbury. The weather was too good, too nice, and it had attracted too many boats. As a result the fishing was tough and frustrating. Ken and I were on different teams yet shared the responsibility of keeping each other honest and striving for the “longest boat” prize. We did this from 10 until 5, which really is the worst slice of time to attempt to catch large stripers. With the sun, high tide, and all the idiots out there slicing up the rips it was just plain frustrating. But not for all of us.

The planning for this event began last fall when our organizing committee (me included) resumed regular evenings at Jon Nash’s house (sometimes Tom Nichols’ or other locations….the Winsor) to scheme out the details. This might actually be more fun than the tournament itself because we can get together, tell jokes, look at charts, drink Tito’s, slurp oysters, and just get outright stupid for a couple hours here and there. The tournament, on the other hand, is more stressful, at least to me. “Come on Brawley, you’re a guide….where are all the fish?” Yes, yes, I know. I fish a lot on the bay, but usually not between 10 and 5.

But besides my obvious whining (above) the event was fun and it is, and will always be a cherished memory. This is because I get to hang out with some of my best friends, go fishing all day, then wine and dine without any feelings of remorse. We gather at the Nash barn, tell funny stories (at least mine are) and feed ourselves the fish we caught that day.

The end of my day on the water, with Ken, was great. We had set up, on his suggestion, along a narrow channel where fish were sure to be using to exit the area at the end of the ebbing tide. This came to be true and we hooked a few there. Ten minutes before the end of the official tournament I lost my fly and proceeded to throw slug-gos out from my spinning rod. I had figured the end was here and I really didn’t have my heart set on the trophy. I just wanted to hook a large fish. So there, in the flat water, my slug-go sidewinded just an inch in depth, and boom, a 30-something bass went over it. Though it never hooked, it took several tries up to the boat (eye to eye) and this made Ken’s juices flow. He quickly threw his fly at the same spot several times. But nothing happened. I put my gear away, looked at my clock to see it was 5:00 pm, and then we both decided it would be best to head in for the party.

Ken took a few fish and I landed one. Earlier that morning, prior to the tournament, Chip Cornell and I had a fantastic time with blitzing schools of stripers. I landed a keeper and Chip released several in the upper 20s. Yet the day ahead was somewhat of a disappointment.

However, the party was the nuts.

Caramel Nut Blast

2009-08-29T18:23:00.000-07:00

First off, the title of the story has to do with a candy bar. But to be honest and consistent it also might refer to Joel’s enthusiasm when it comes to planning a tuna trip with Jeff Smith. Chip Cornell, Joel, and I planned this trip back in February. Joel got a taste of hooking some feisty 130-pounders last summer with me and Jeff and immediately began a regimen of core strengthening exercises in anticipation of the 2009 season. On Tuesday we were hoping to see his strength tested. This is what happened:

On Monday Chip, already out in Wellfleet, eagerly awaited our arrival. At 4:30 Joel sped up my driveway while I feverishly worked to wrap up my oyster deliveries. I was stressed for time and hadn’t showered in a couple of days, which always makes matters worse. So I finished up the oysters, showered off, and soon we were driving down Routes 3 and 6. And finally I was able to relax and suddenly realized that I was on a fishing trip (an out of town one). The first omen Joel identified was the Jeep Cherokee in front of us in Harwich that had a rubber squid placed on the rear wiper blade. “Oh dude, this is a good sign. We’re going to hook into some massive bluefin tomorrow.” His foot pressed further on the accelerator as he continued to describe his pescatorous visions of screaming reels and bloody bibs.

We arrived in Wellfleet (at Chip’s family house) and Chip immediately poured a few vodka tonics before putting the steaks on the grill. My sister, Priscilla, made garden-grown beats, salad, and a killer summer tomato salad (with mozzarella, basil, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar). At dinner, over red wine, we discussed the tuna, how it lives, where it lives, and why we fish for it. Despite our knowledge of the pressures imposed by international fishing fleets, we agreed that we were a mere fraction that might eventually over harvest this amazing fish. “Just one more year,” we mutually agreed, knowing well that as long as there was a season and a slot, we’d give it a try….as long as our backs held out.

Jeff Smith is an excellent tuna guide. The forty-something native Arizonan is based in Wellfleet though he’ll launch anywhere between Truro and Chatham to find the shortest cut to the fish. He has an amazing center console boat that is absolutely perfect for chasing schools of tuna, bass, blues, or anything. Jeff instructed us to meet him at 6:00 on Tuesday morning. On the way to the boat we stopped at a convenience store and added to our cooler of sandwiches that Chip prepared the night before (wrapped in wax paper and cellophane – wax paper?). Some coffee, waters, and energy bars were thrown into the heavy cooler and off we were to the boat. The boat ramp was busy – commercial bass season was upon us and this added to the daily traffic of recreational and guided fishing. A few handshakes and mischievous verbal jabs were exchanged as we boarded the Carla Noelle and made our way out to what would be a twelve-hour trip.

The weather was misty, then foggy, then really foggy. The GPS and radar provided the guidance we needed to make it out to our destinations. Despite the fog, Joel spasmodically applied sunscreen and this provided some laughter (see photos). Then I showed Joel the wrapper from the energy bar that had for breakfast: Caramel Nut Blast. This crippled Joel and puzzled the others. “Dude, we need to order a t-shirt from this company,” he blurted out between snorts of giggles. It was actually funny.

Oh yeah, the fishing. Well, it went like this: first location, no fish. The second spot (crowded…um, the SW corner) was more productive. Joel decided to warm up his day with about 10 wily dogfish which brought upon a wrath of deprecating jokes which did not bounce well off his skin (his humility lasted longer than mine would have). Chip landed a dogfish too. The skunk was almost gone. Then I, the lucky one I suppose, landed a couple of fat stripers that would have been great to keep, but being out on the bank, a sanctuary for striped bass, they had to be released. But I swear, my first strike, which didn’t hook, felt like a tuna.

As slack tide approached Jeff decided to move onto another area several miles away. The trip took a while and when we arrived it was hot, calm, and sunny. No fish to be seen. But this was the plan: wait until the tide would move again which would likely turn the fishing on. In the meantime, on a hint, we took a short trip to a nearshore area to seek some breaking bass. By the time we arrived the bass had been replaced by blues – big ones. But this was fun. We wasted a shitload of Jeff’s expensive plastics before we realized that the schools were all blues, however we managed to hook and land several, kept one for Chip’s grill, and then moved back to tuna waters.

We were into our tenth hour on the water and hadn’t yet found any tuna on the surface. Plenty of food and water was at hand and this was consumed while we searched and searched. Moods were good, but it is typical that after so much time on a small vessel, one gets dazed and confused, and retreats into inner thoughts. I thought about how much I loved being on the water, especially with this group. I also thought about the sun and how glad I was to have ample sunscreen (applied hourly). I also realized that the summer was waning and that I’d better get my act together and fish as much as possible over the next couple of months. Finally, I thought about the piece of clamshell that was likely embedded deeply into one of my fingers – from about three weeks ago; it hadn’t surfaced yet, but I knew it was there.

The boredom was finally interrupted when I spotted a break on the surface. “Yo! There’s a fish – on the top at three o’clock!” The others slowly realized what I said and looked into the sun’s glare for more corroborating evidence. Nothing else happened. So, feeling that I might be hallucinating, I began to discount my sighting and brush it off as wake or whitecap. I continued to scan the water and of course, in five minutes Joel and I simultaneously spotted a school of tuna just inches below the surface. Their tails were in the air and they were calmly swimming in unison in circles. Chip put his phone away and Jeff honed into the sighting and carefully guided Carla Noelle into position. In a few minutes we had our shot. Joel fired off a pencil popper and I delivered a large jumping bait. Chip, in midship, also got his pencil popper out to the school. But nothing happened and eventually they dove. “Fuck!” Exclaimed Joel, as his energy level rapidly increased. We were now recharged and ready to go.

The school came back and as Jeff closed us in on them I noticed another larger school just a hundred meters away. I also noticed that some other fishermen in the area were catching on to our sudden series of sneaky maneuvers (that’s the problem with good weather/visibility). We honed in on the school. Joel and I tossed out two perfect casts and retrieved the undeniably most attractive lures around in front of their noses. I tensed up, “Get ready, here we go..” Then, oddly, the lures arrived at the side of Carla Noelle without a notice. They weren’t biting.

This went on for at least an hour. We’d spot a school of daisy-chaining tuna, creep up to them, cast in front of them, then skunk. They were nice fish too. Probably 150 to 200 pounds each. They wouldn’t hit.

Good for them.

The sun, after baking us all day, was sinking fast to the west. It was time to throw in the towel.

Tired and bleached, we managed to swig down a couple of Red Stripes at the Wellfleet house. I wanted to stay the night but there was too much work to do at home. Somewhat dejected, we departed by sunset to Routes 6 and 3 where more stories were told and future fishing plans made. We all decided, on the boat, that Columbus Day weekend would be our next trip with Jeff (last year was amazing!). On that trip I hope to hear Joel yell out “Holy nutblast!” as a 200-pounder nearly spools his reel in the fall air.

PS: more (better) photos coming soon.

Fishing Again

2009-08-19T18:27:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, August 19

I love fishing with Chip. He’s my brother-in-law, married to my sister Priscilla. He is hardcore fly only. So when he comes up here I guide us around and fish the stern with my spinning gear and give him the bow for casting flies. He loves it.

Chip arrived on Monday afternoon. We took stock of the next couple of days – the tides, my work schedule and such. And then we went fishing. The evening’s tide was poor – a neap incoming. But we hit all the spots and tried and tried…and couldn’t find a fish. But we didn’t skunk because Chip used a pattern that apparently attracts young herring gulls. His first Duxbury landing of 2009 was a juvvy gull who caught the fly mid-air and then proceeded to freak out. I mean really freak out. But we were gentle and in a matter of seconds we had freed the poor bird and watched it fly away quite happily. This was just after another gull grabbed my jumping minnow and moved it 20 meters south for me. So we figured out, as the sun sank to the tree line, that is was time for a drink at the Winsor. So we did, and actually ate dinner there too. Susan’s scarves were still on sale and Chip took advantage of this.

Tuesday morning: up and out pre-dawn. Chip took a medium black with a plain stick and I went with a medium with cream and a plain croissant. Plain. But on the water we did better. Still slim pickings but we managed to find a few. Chip prevailed with three or four nice ones on the fly (deceiver) and maxed out at 27 inches. I was on the road to Skunkville until I finally landed a beach channel schoolie. This was fun and it made us hungry. Chip provided omelettes for all of us at the house. Cool.

Lunch was devoted to making some Joel-style sluggos. This involves surgery and since I was with one of the best surgeons around, I decided to make a few double hook sluggos for the ensuing day and a half of fishing. Chip and I sat under the umbrella out on the porch, he marveled at my insistence on calling Joel and asking for tips on the design. But it was kind of like fly tying really. There is an art to sluggo tying and the results are pretty much worth your effort. I stopped at three because my Krazy Glue ran out, but I had enough to do some damage, even if there weren’t any fish in the bay this week (month).

By 1:00 we were back out on the rips. The tide was fucking perfect and the rips were looking good. On the way out I spotted a small school of fish in skinny water. I got us there and we began casting and getting hits right away. It was getting exciting. Then some moron decided to check out what was going on. He motored his boat at medium speed from about a mile away, clearly focused on us as a way to find his fish. As he closed in on us I muttered something like, “Christ, is this a friend of yours Chip?” And as I expressed some curses to Chip the young man did the unbelievable: he motored right over the very small school of fish that we had been working on for the past ten minutes. Out of nowhere this imbecile thought it was fine to gab on his cell phone and motor at 6 kts up to us to take a fucking peek. My lead head FinS narrowly missed his face as I uncharacteristically snapped. That was a warning shot. Then he continued over the fish (which by now were spooked and gone) with a shrug – “what?”. I told him what and he left.

So that put a small damper on our afternoon. But not for long because soon, after exhausting the best rips of the bay, we found a bunch of small schools and Chip, the avid fly fisherman that he is, continued to prevail and land a couple of nice ones. Too short to keep for dinner, but nice. We then ran out of time and tide and had to join Alex on the grant for some oyster bag shaking. Sounds bizarre, but that’s what it is. We worked oysters for a couple of hours in the water and it allowed us to cool off and tell jokes.

We hadn’t had enough of the Winsor so we stopped there on the way home for some refreshments. Alex, Chip, and I were joined by a bunch of Skip’s crew (Maggie, Katie, A1, A2, and Murray) as the most distinguished mud-covered patrons. That was fun and short-lived. At home we grilled steaks and made the most of what I had grown so far in my garden and it was great – the oysters on ice were perfect and the wines that Chip selected made the evening.

Wednesday morning: woke up late. But not too late. There were some clouds and fog so the morning lasted a while. Chip and I searched some of the good rips on this incoming but couldn’t find much. Then some sporadic schools here and there. My sluggos were, however, doing well. I got a couple of fish on one drift (to about 26 inches) and this made Chip work harder and harder. But he couldn’t manage a hit. We moved on to a few more spots and finally hit one where I did pretty well on my squid-patterned sluggo – a 30 incher finally arrived. This moved our attitudes into positive territory and all was well. But in the end Chip didn’t find any.

The fishing this past week was difficult. I picked up a number of small blues last week but only five stripers over four sorties this week. Not too many people out there because of the poor conditions. I can’t explain why the fishing is so poor. But one indicator might be in the guts of today’s keeper. The kids were huddled around me as I cleaned the fish and, of course, they were interested in the gut contents. I reached in there and found a large stomach, I opened it and out spilled out only one specific food group: crabs. Sand crabs and, sit down, a spider crab. I’ve never seen a spider crab in a striper before. This was interesting. I wonder if the baitfish are sparse and that, therefore, the fish are sparse, and therefore, the fish are feeding on spider crabs. Hmm. No pogies, not many blitzes, so it might make sense.

After the autopsy Chip hopped into his speedy car and sped home to CT. I went to work oysters and continued throughout the rest of the day. Tonight we ate one filet of the striper (Chip took the other one home). I prepared it in a tomato sauce fresh leeks from my garden over bowtie pasta (all we had) and crusty French bread and salad. I am still in heaven.

Tuna next week and hopefully more stripers.

Summer Blues

2009-08-12T18:23:00.001-07:00

The small ones are in now. They taste great.

Bluefish rule.

(no photos)

East Winds

2009-07-29T19:16:00.000-07:00

At 1:56 my eyes opened and then, through my ears, heard the wind in the trees above. I knew the forecasts were all mixed up and that it was possible that a tropical wave coming up from the Bahamas could intensify and give us a little bump. So when I came to (at 1:56) I realized that if I could see the trees moving here then the wind was coming from the east or south, or in between. This wasn't good news.

The drive down Washington Street went from bad to worse: leaves littered the road and I could see the rain blowing horizontally from right to left (east wind). I said "Crap!" several times...maybe worse words too. And then, the arrival at Mattakeessett Court confirmed my fears. The boats were facing away from land and bouncing around and the east wind was fairly strong and consistent.

4:42 -- the wind, which was responsible for waking me every fifteen minutes, was now picking up and the trees were showing it. I jumped out of bed, forced on my wet jeans and made my way back down to the waterfront. This time the rain was heavy and the wind was ENE at about 30 or so. Crap. Larger limbs now scattered Washington St. and sheets of rain were blowing in from the east.

Billy Bennett was parked in the lot, I couldn't see him through the rain but knew he was in his truck. Alex was down on the dock checking things out. It was amazing. The whole dock was rolling and the boats were just about coming up over the finger floats. It was freaky. A few boats had broken free and one large sailboat, Barney's, was wedged into the guzzle, partially against the rocks. Alex, Bill and I worked to secure a couple of DBMS boats and then, like magic, the whole thing kind of stopped. The dropping tide and the coincident shift in wind direction caused a cessation of the waves. The rain even died down a little. The worse was just about over.

But the damage was real. Several motor boats turned over or swamped, Barney's sailboat went aground and a few of the DBMS boats were damaged against the bulkhead.

Here are some photos.

Hitchhikers

2009-07-22T18:20:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been noticing more of these guys attached to some of my oysters (see photo above). They are oysters, but a different species: European oysters. The latin name is Ostrea edulis and are known as "flat oysters." They are native to western European coasts, particularly France where they are called "Huître plate" or simply "Plate." Other names include "Gravette" and "Pied de cheval" ("horse hoof") which is in reference to a particularly large European oyster.

So what are they doing attached to my American oysters (Crassostrea virginica)? They were introduced in Maine in the 1950s and by the 1980s they had established themselves as far south as Salem, Massachusetts. I don't know when the first sign of them arrived here in Duxbury. We find them, usually in the summer months, here in the bay and some of them are quite large. However this year a few of us are finding more of them, nickel-sized, attached to our virginica oysters.

So how do they taste? Hmmmn, well, the Europeans absolutely love these flat oysters. Most Americans don't like them at all. I've tried them a few times and although I didn't really like them at first, I can see how one can acquire a taste for them. They are similar yet different; the usual discriminatory attribute described by the general populace is a distinct metallic taste. But I've found them to have similar sweet and salty flavors that our virginica oysters possess. The metallic essence is sharp at first but then it dissolves over a few minutes and the other properties become more pronounced.

What else...well, they are pretty flat (even when large) and are easy to skim across a relatively calm sea toward unsuspecting friends working on nearby floats.

"Hey Graham, how about another Pied de cheval?"

The Swimmer

2009-07-07T17:17:00.001-07:00

Well, we found an opossum on a mooring ball yesterday. We did. I had just picked up Hunter at the town dock and on the way back to the float he said, "There is a possum right there....on the mooring." I followed the trajectory of his index finger and sure enough, there was the poor creature clinging onto one of Long Point's square blue-foam mooring markers next to Can 21. It was funny. So I decided to report this thing to Don Beers, the Harbormaster. The call went something like this:

Ring-ring

DB: Harbormaster.

JB: Yes, I'd like to report an unauthorized mooring tenant in the harbor.

DB: Say that again? What?

JB: Yes, there is an individual of an unauthorized species that is occupying a guest mooring in the bay. Can you do something about it?

DB: What?!

JB: Don, there's an effin opossum clinging to this mooring ball next to Can 21!

DB: I'll heat up the oil....

...ok, so you get it. Actually, Don called animal control. Skip then appeared and I pointed to the sorry creature. He looked at it and bent over in laughter, which made me bend over in laughter. Funny.

Before animal control arrived I managed to track down David Grossman who was able to snap a few pictures of the opossum.

How did he get there? I have no idea. Some people guessed that it was on a boat and jumped off. Others think it simply swam out there. I think it swam and got a little disoriented.

But while we're on the subject, here are some facts about opossums:

OPOSSUMS FACTS
(http://www.rutherfordcounty.org/pets/pdfs/OPOSSUMS%20FACTS.pdf)

• Opossums lived during the Age of the Dinosaurs... fossil remains have been found from 70 million years ago! This means that the opossum is part of the Earth's oldest surviving mammal family.

• The opossum doesn't have a permanent "nest" because it is nocturnal and transient. It will spend and average of 2-3 days in the same hideout, then move on. Some weeks later it may return to your place, depending on your hospitality.

• Opossums have soft, rounded opposable thumbs with no fingernails, on their hind feet.

• Opossums do not dig holes, as their paws are very soft and tender, much like a human hand.

• Opossums may drool, growl and show their 50 teeth when frightened, but in reality are placid and prefer to avoid any confrontation.

• They are slow-moving with very sensitive hearing and smell, opossums are not territorial and will adapt to any environment where food, water and shelter exist.

• Opossums do not hang by their tails-the tail stabilizes their position while climbing and walking.

• Besides their natural predators in the wild, humans, cars and cats are the demise for this docile creature. Very few survive to adulthood, and usually live only 1-2 years if they do.

• "Playing Possum" is one of the most effective ways the opossums defends itself. When unable to flee, extreme fear places the opossum into an involuntary coma. They become stiff and their mouths will gape open. This condition will last 40 minutes to 4 hours. Most predators will abandon their attack, once the opossum is thought to be dead.

• Opossums cannot jump. An opossum may get into a trash can only if it has been knocked over by another animal, or if it's against a fence and the opossum drops into it, which can trap the opossum in the trash can. Just tip the can over and eventually the opossum will scramble away.

• Opossum fur coloring is most commonly gray, but can range from white and cinnamon to black.

• Baby opossums are usually born between the months of February and June.

Fishing

2009-06-29T15:47:00.000-07:00

Dave Yozzo came up from New York to work on some Flupsy research. After work we fished for a little while. In the wind-driven rain. That Tuesday afternoon/evening was harsh and we were the only fools out there. The east wind was coming at us at around 20 kts and where I decided to take us fishing was in the open and the Cape Cod Bay rollers battered us around little. The rain (which hasn't really paused - two weeks later) was pretty much sideways and stinging our faces. But the rips were hot and we enjoyed lots of feisty stripers. "Now!" I yelled on each drift through the standing waves and "Wrreeee!" went our reels. It was fun, but the only downside was that the fish, beautiful as they were, were too small to keep. And Dave wanted to take one home. I could sense it.

That evening was spent playing some music at some run down place on the Jones River. That was more fun than the fishing though. Dave could have turned up a few notches for us. Actually, not really. But his fingers were like a harpsman's and some notable tunes evolved out of Tom Petty, REM, and Pearl Jam originals.

The next morning I found Dave reading in the living room with that look on his face: okay, let's go fishing. So we did. We managed to have better luck. The weather was slightly better because the wind was lighter and the rain turned mostly to mist. We did well in some of my favorite spots. Two keepers and lots of others. Slug-Gos were the bait of choice but I also landed several on Fin-S baits and some of Joel's homemade jumping minnows.

We cleaned the fish. My two fillets went to Andy, better known as A2 on the water, who's birthday I missed the previous week - a great guy who I have yet to fish with. Dave's went into his cooler for the trip back home to New York. The sole keeper lobster we hauled in from my pots went to my daughter, Jane, who loves lobster and anything else that comes out of the bay.

A few days later, Dave and I were in a project meeting in NYC (drenched by the heavy rain that day) and recounted our trip to the Duxbury rips among others during coffee breaks, etc. And then it dawned on me, as it has numerous times in the past, how lucky we are to be able to fish like this here. Not just HERE here, but in New England. My friends in Wales are suffering through a complete collapse of their fish stocks and read these accounts within a storm of frustration. We're lucky for the fish and a lot of other things on the bay.

One thing I forgot to mention. Before heading out on Tuesday evening, a local charter captain and his group of clients brought in a nice bluefin (pictured below). We grabbed the frame for our lobster traps...and for scraps.

June 15, 2009

2009-06-15T20:21:00.001-07:00

Next up….Moon Jellies, more mackerel, and a visit from Dr. Dave Yozzo.

Jane

2009-06-15T20:17:00.000-07:00

May 30

She jumped out of bed, saw me loading the truck for my day on the water, and asked me if she could come along. So she did. She’s just 9 years old and off to catch stripers with her dad on a Saturday morning. She took a cast and hooked up immediately in one of my favorite spots. Then after some fishing we checked on some oysters, and fiddled around with some oyster gear. Jane then proclaimed the need for us to actually go clamming somewhere – digging for steamers. So we did. We ended up meeting our neighbors (the Flaherty’s) out off Goose Point for some steamer digging and did quite well. We ate the steamers on the front porch before dinner.

Memorial Day Weekend II

2009-06-15T20:08:00.001-07:00

As you guessed it, Joel and I went fishing again for a little while. We did okay but nothing too amazing to report. The Meunier’s left by mid-morning and then I took my son out to the float to help me work on culling some oysters. A brilliant day.

Memorial Day Weekend I

2009-05-26T18:26:00.000-07:00

On Saturday the Meunier mobile arrived at our house, full of Meuniers. We were in for an afternoon of explorations and an evening of food and jazz. And this was all accomplished in typical fashion. The dinner: rigatone pasta with a green crab tomato sauce. The green crabs came from my small crab traps at the oyster grant. Also oysters (raw and fried) and a bunch of other stuff that I now don't remember well. Jazz at the Winny was nice and I ended up staying too late (apologies to everyone).

But the fun started on Sunday morning. Joel and I sped out onto the bay as soon as the tide freed my boat from the slip. We decided to get some mackerel first and so we did. Fifteen boats were all schooled up at some random location outside the bay. We were number 16, and then more arrived. Nothing but a small cod that Joel was lucky enough to dredge up off the bottom (too small to keep). Then we trolled around, hit the mackerel, stopped to reel some in, and in no time the 15 other boats (a quarter mile away) emigrated to our small nation of fishy waters. Then we bolted.

The live lining of the mackerel worked out well, except none of them hooked. Lots of screeming lines, but no landings. While lining the macks, we fed Slug-gos to the rips and this produced some nice ones, including a 34 on my line. We fished well and enjoyed some tackle busting fun, even kept most of the fishing private (away from the others).

The mackerel were immediately placed on my Weber grill by noon and consumed by 12:30. Fantastic.

We had planned to either hit the beach or head out in the boat in the afternoon. But all plans changed as a large thunderstorm hit us from 4:00 til 6:00. Large hail, lightning, winds, amazing rain, all that stuff....it hit us hard and wouldn't stop. It was fun but worrisome: a house on Washington St. was hit by lightning and was burning; large hail dented cars and ripped up gardens, tree limbs down, and flash flooding. Cool stuff.

The power went out in our house for hours and we took that as an opportunity to cook wings and burgers on the grill, drink some wine, and enjoy the candle light. Earlier, the rainbow over Miles Standish was amazing.

Not really a good fishing story at all because I am tired and barely awake. Maybe I'll take another shot at it tomorrow. But next up is Monday and Tuesday (today) when some of the year's best fishing continued. To be continued.

Signs of Spring, Hints of Summer

2009-05-20T17:42:00.000-07:00

Now the bay has changed and there are fish everywhere and things are growing. People have also changed. Some things don't need to be said (written):

In the Fog

2009-05-17T17:51:00.000-07:00

Saturday, May 15

I overslept. I did. I knew I would, and I did. I was pretty tired from a long week and the plan to meet at Matt. Ct. at 5 AM didn’t sit well with me. Not only did I forget to set the alarm, I also managed to silence the phone so that Joel’s call at 5:10 never had the chance of waking me. But my right arm woke me at 5:12. It had “fallen asleep” and while I began to pump blood back into my hand by making fists I realized that I was missing something important: a morning on the water with Don Gunster and Joel on Don’s boat. Holy shit! So I called Joel and he understood and they both allowed me the 15 minutes to scrape myself together and arrive at the waterfront, totally disheveled. Totally.

The fog was thick. It took a long time for us to get out to mackerel ground. The fog never burned off and the mackerel never showed up. But about 15 other boats did and it was a scene. Actually, hearing all the close calls in the fog was entertaining and frightening. Anyway, we bagged out on the mackerel after the only thing hitting the jigs were illegal herring (all released) and headed in a ways to some flounder ground. There we had fun in the fog, landing our limit of 24 flounder in just over an hour. Don crinkled our mojos with sounds of the 70s from his XM radio which allowed us to laugh and sing through the fog, aware that many others would hear us (but would never see us).

After the mackerel we visited only two spots that I felt would hold bass. Seeking them through the fog would be tough, especially with the 70s cheese stomping out the telltale chirps of the gulls and terns. Both spots produced many large, feisty stripers and we had a fun time catching them. It was awesome and Joel, in correct form, sputtered cuss-filled exclamations, when he experienced near misses, faster than shit through a goose. Some of them were great:

“Holy shit-on-toast!”
“Fuckin’ fucking fuck!!”
“Fucknuggets!!”
“Holy fucknuggets!!!”
"Fucknuts!"

…and a personal favorite:

“Holy fucking fucknuggets Daddio!!”

(I am sorry if you are under the age of 17…but this is an honest account)

And then there was Don Gunster, famous for his “rip-the-hook out of the fish’s mouth” style of fishing. His first “Gunster” was terrific. Fish was on, then Don ripped the lure out of its mouth with the force of 14,000 giga newtons, sending the lure inches from the hull and our cherished human flesh. Others followed, but he was quite cool about it and even provided the occasional announcement that he, in fact, had “Gunstered” the fish. But Don’s first time out for the season was quite productive and he landed several keepers among dozens of others that were healthy in size.

I was in a tired daze most of the morning and my mind was almost as foggy as the bay. We went in around noon and cleaned the fish under a mix of fog and sun (and fast moving, whispy, low clouds), my favorite weather. It was also getting hot. I watched Joel clean the fish. I also watched people moving stuff from the old Duxbury Bay Maritime School building to the new one. And I felt pretty good.

I forgot my camera...no pics.

May 13 - Wow

2009-05-17T08:29:00.001-07:00

On Wednesday (3/13) I spent a few hours fishing with Joel. The day was absolutely amazing because not only were the stripers abundant and large, but we found flounder (thanks to J. Bunar), and the mackerel were in thick. The south winds made it a little wet here and there, but no matter. The fishing was spectacular. Alex Mansfield was also out there and we all fished for a while together. The three of us hit our limits in no time. Here are some photos:

Feelzgreat

2009-05-09T04:42:00.001-07:00

The post office was busy this morning with oyster guys picking up their packages from Maine. But that was just one sign of summer. The other one was the school of large stripers that were congregated around Two Rock channel midday. They were busy slurping down food and the laughing gulls were busy picking up the pieces. It was fantastic and so I tossed a line in and hooked a keeper which ended up feeding a dinner party back at home. It was 30 inches long, but there were others in the mix that exceeded this size. The school lasted about a half hour, then split up into smaller pods and changed with the weather. They were nonexistent within a few minutes and the SE wind moved S and the clouds came in. A quick search around the rest of the bay indicated nothing else but hungry birds.

The gut contents of this dinner fish consisted of a dozen or so sardines or anchovies, I am still checking up on the exact species. Also, a relatively large Asian shore crab, an invasive that is showing up more frequently here in the bay.

But enough of that. I grilled it over cowboy charcoal and it was served along with mango lime salsa (see Chris Schlessinger's "Thrill of the Grill"), black beans, rice, and Art's cole slaw. It was great.

Feelzgood

2009-05-03T18:28:00.000-07:00

The first thing that happened upon Joel’s arrival was the prompt breaking off of the last two inches of his Fenwick rod when his son, Trevor, slammed the car door on it. Good thing he packed two rods. After the curse words and histrionics subsided the two of us (Trevor ran upstairs in fear) got our tackle together and began packing what we needed for our first try of the season for dinner stripers.

We decided to take kayaks down to Buzzards Bay. Then I decided it would be easier to borrow my friend/neighbor Ned’s kayak because it was shorter than mine and therefore easier to lug around. But then the second mishap occurred. When I started to pull his kayak off his rack system (attached to his shed) the rack system failed and two kayaks fell on top of me. Ouch. But I survived, as I’ve survived all the major earthquakes, and soon Joel and I were speeding south to the fish.

The weather this afternoon was overcast and mild. The water on the bay was surprisingly warm. We put in on the coming tide and paddled out about 100 m and started casting our poppers. Within ten casts Joel was on. It measured out to 26. Then I was on, another in the mid twenties. Then we were both doubled up with near keeper fish. It was fun. Just about every cast resulted in a strike or a swirl and this lasted about 15 minutes. Then it stopped. The wind picked up out of the south and the bite just stopped. So we moved up into some salt marshes, explored several creeks, and enjoyed a small plane overhead doing acrobatics (wild stuff) and I envisioned it crashing somewhere. But it didn’t crash anywhere.

The marshes provided only tranquility. Then out to the open water where we had luck earlier. I hooked two fish that were about 26 inches long. Then the rain began and the wind picked up. We discussed heading in and eventually we decided to. I had forgotten how much my lower back hurts after a couple of hours fishing in a cramped kayak. So we started back across the bay toward the car. Then I heard a whine from Joel, then saw him fighting the fish, then heard him ask for the tape measure. We awkwardly measured the thing: 28.5 inches – dinner.

Back at home Brooke and Suzanne had the wine and cheese started and the fish was cooked in a fantastic tomato sauce and poured over ziti. It was an amazing dinner. The girls then hosted a beach party desert in the basement with beach boys and James Brown music….lots of whipped cream on Suzanne’s ginger cake.

Now a quiet house and I am full. We each landed about six nice fish this afternoon and lost twice as many. Feelzgood.

The Edge

2009-04-28T17:46:00.000-07:00

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.

The Zoo

2009-04-25T17:10:00.001-07:00

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.

Gyotaku

2009-04-23T03:11:00.000-07:00

"Dude, check this out," Joel said as he removed the contents of a poster tube. His grin widened as the print unfurled between his hands. It was the Gar from the seafood show last month . It was nicely printed in blue and green.

Mission accomplished.

The Office

2009-04-22T04:15:00.000-07:00

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.

The Float

2009-04-09T02:53:00.000-07:00

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.

A Grann Day

2009-03-25T18:30:00.000-07:00

It has been a pretty long day, mostly on the water. The winds that hit us Monday and Tuesday set most of us back in oyster production so today was catch up time. This morning it was still blowing out of the north at a good clip (15 to 20) so Alex and I grabbed what we could under these conditions, with a coming tide. After some rapid processing on shore, and a couple of deliveries to the shop, we went back out for the remainder of the day - set up the float mooring and grabbed a lot of oysters for tomorrow.

We also listened to tunes (primarily WERS on the seemingly seawater-proof Dewalt boombox) told stories, gabbed a bit about friends and foes, and just took it all in. The wind screeched to a halt at 3:00 and everyone on the bay was able to enjoy it. Lots of sunshine and moderate temps. A good day.

The gulls were about and they seemed to be feeding on something in the water: diving and splashing. We figured they were after a polychaete worm hatch (mini sand worms that swim about to frolic and spawn). Also the razors are getting active on the flats and the gulls like them too. But maybe some smelt or herring are starting to show...probably not, maybe smelt, but anyway, they were onto something.

A change of gears: Last night Brooke informed me that our friend David Grann has published a new book called "The Lost City of Z" and that it has been on the NY Time bestseller list (we now have a copy). It turns out that B. Pitt will be producing and acting in the film adaptation very soon. Pretty cool. David is one of two younger brothers of one of Brooke's best friends, Alison. (Did I compose that last sentence correctly?). We all grew up in adjacent neighborhoods. Anyway, go read the book. I am going to start it tonight and looking forward to it....the story of an exploration for a lost city in Brazil in the 1920s.

But back to the bay: more of the same tomorrow. Then hopefully to frolicking and spawning...why should the worms have all the fun?

On the Farm

2009-03-23T17:44:00.000-07:00

This past weekend was a doozy in many ways. But the best dooziness occurred on Saturday when my family and I visited our friends at Taylor Farm in Londonderry, VT. The Taylor Farm, located on Route 11 (not too far from downtown Londonderry), is a 500 or so acre dairy operation run by Jon Wright and his wonderful family. They keep on the order of about 100 dairy cows (Holsteins and New Jersey’s), milk them twice a day, and make Vermont’s best and only raw milk Gouda cheese. They produce several varieties including traditional, chipotle, smoked maple, caraway, nettle, and a prized aged Gouda, to name a few. They also keep draught horses, regular horses (I’m not a horse guy so I don’t know the terminologies), pigs, ducks, geese, and lots of chickens that squawk around and crank out eggs every day. Dogs, cats, bugs, birds, bees, ….what else? That might cover it.

I first met Jon Wright last year when my sister, Priscilla, and I took the kids for a tour around the valley between Stratton, Magic, and Bromley mountains. I had read about the Taylor Farm in a review in the Boston Globe the week before and being a farmer, and a cheesy kind of guy, I felt that this was probably going to be a good destination. Upon meeting Jon’s sister, Mimi, in their small, rustic retail shop, I knew we were in the right place. We bought all kinds of cheeses and goodies for the kids, then off on a one hour sleigh ride behind two cool draught horses. We stopped at a small Adirondack shelter out in a field somewhere where he started a fire for the kids so they could roast marshmallows and make samores. He provided hot cider and while the kids were toasting the solidified corn syrup the three of us ensued in conversations that spanned farming, oysters, global sustainability, and Vermont. In short, we had a great time with him out there. And afterward I promised to come back after he explained that they rent out their guest house throughout the year.

So I kept my promise. Last summer our family made the trip up to Londonderry and rented out the Wright’s guest house for a few days. We had an amazing time: the kids were off and running, helping with chores, exploring, and getting completely filthy with mud and manure. As promised, I brought a bag of oysters and it disappeared from sight within seconds. Last summer’s trip to the Taylor Farm was one of life’s best memories – especially because Max and Jane were so into it and not one second was devoted to any type of electronic device. I even got to fix some plumbing in the bathroom.

So last weekend we descended upon the farm again. This time with my brother-in-law, Chip (who you may have read about on this blog), and one of Jane’s friends, Katiana. The place was mobbed due to a kid’s birthday party (sleigh rides, etc.). But I managed to find Jon and spend a few minutes catching up. Unfortunately the visit witnessed the bad news that the Wright’s encountered over the winter. In February their dairy barn, a massive structure, collapsed under the asymmetrically-placed weight of the season’s snow during a nighttime wind event. Two cows were killed, the rest were rescued overnight (in bitter cold) by several members of Jon’s family and community. Even 6 weeks later they were still preparing the barn roof to be raised back up in several sections. It looked to be a monumental task. But Jon’s spirits were high and he had the help of his friends and neighbors. They’ll be fine I think. A large bash is planned for May to celebrate the restoration’s completion and I think I’ll go.

So we did our part and bought lots of cheese, milk, goodies for the kids, yarns, hats, and other stuff from Mimi in the shop. I presented Mimi with a bag of fresh oysters and this was received with a large smile. Then off we went, passing Mimi in the driveway running back to the shop with a lemon in her hand, “..for the oysters!”

Two more stops – a maple sugar shack and a woodworking joint. Great stuff. Then back to the house on the mountain.

Dinner was absolutely magnificent: oysters and cheese with wine for appetizing us, then steaks on the grill and some of Chip’s best side dishes to date. There was a berry pie from Taylor Farm for dessert. We ate, then put on the Who live at Kilburn (1977) on the high definition Jumbotron over the fireplace and carried on throughout the evening with the aid of Brooke’s brother Tom (who lives in the area) and our friends Lynn and Eric (from CT) who, by sheer coincidence were staying only a half mile from our place. As I watched Pete Townshend jump, jig, and jam I looked around and felt a distinct appreciation for life.

See how much fun it is to support local farms? Now back to the oysters… Now back to the real challenges.

Gar? Yar!

2009-03-20T08:09:00.000-07:00

The International Seafood Show occurred from Sunday through Tuesday. I went in on Sunday. The show is both grating and fun for me. I am not a big fan of wading through rivers of people in confined spaces. But the thing that kept me from freaking out at the show was the consistent awareness that we were in the Expo Center, which is something like 250 square miles in area, so there would always be places where people thinned out to tolerable concentrations.

There are some nice things about the show. First, I am with my friends and we make it a fun time. It is also an opportunity for vendors to make connections and support business. Other friends and colleagues are usually there and the event offers the chance to catch up with them. But one of the benefits of the show is sampling all kinds of food, from all over the world, and to see and meet all sorts of organisms.

Take Joel, for instance. He is some kind of organism and this was his first time attending the show. He was immediately attracted to the various species of marine life being served and shown in display cases. The Louisiana gar that he fell in love with ended up in his basement making fish prints. See his expression of love, lust, and delight below.

Another organism of interest is CJ. Of course, he’s famous now and most of you already know lots about this species, the CJificus Huskonia. But what you might not know is that you have to feed him, like a parking meter, to get him to work right. Finding the coin slot can take time however. But at the show we found it and Cory did his best to add extra minutes to C. huskonia.

The show is full of other sights, ranging from delightful to repugnant. One specific event crippled both Joel and me. As I was waiting for Joel to get through the long line in the men’s room, pondering the instructional signage in front of the entrance (see below), I was briefly unaware of mystical events taking place inside. Joel emerged not relieved but in a twisted fit of laughter. I instinctively asked what was going on. All he could do was to feebly raise one finger, about shoulder height, and say: “Dude, just …..…just wait…….…ohhh shit…” So I waited. And in a few seconds a man resembling Joe Pesci (Joe Fish perhaps) emerged from the restroom with a little hitchhiker….a souvenir of sorts.

Ah, life.

Just photos

2009-03-15T03:45:00.001-07:00

...this scene was really funny....

Temps

2009-03-14T11:24:00.000-07:00

Let's go for a swim.

Things

2009-03-13T03:02:00.000-07:00

There are some things that turn up when working on the water. Most of them are crap: bottles, gloves, hats, and the occasional bra. Then there are other things.

But when I find odds and end out there I sometimes wonder who owned them. The Hooters hat, off of some guys head in a burst of SW wind as he tilted his chin back to finish his 6th beer. The gloves that probably drift into the bay from somewhere off shore may have been owned by lobster guys from Maine.

One of my favorite finds while digging steamers was a key chain/bottle opener with a big green beetle inside of it. The story behind that - a mystery.

But some items are of known origin. A couple of months ago, as Alex and I landed at Matt. Court a friend of ours suddenly marched down to us and asked us for a rake: "Hey. You guys have a rake?" Um, no, this time we didn't. The reason? He dropped his phone off the end of the Yacht Club pier. But it wasn't a waterproof phone and the tide was coming, so we kind of shrugged our shoulders and offered the right advice: buy a new phone. But then yesterday Alex found the thing. No one's home.

I'm still waiting for the elusive bale. Or much better, that suitcase full of stacked 100s. Ah yes, that would be nice.

He's pink.

2009-03-08T05:21:00.001-07:00

Doggie got shaved at PetCo the other day. Must mean that spring is here. Kind of like Groundhog Day or something.

I had them save a bag of hair to tie flies with.

Look at that poor thing.

Stormy and Cold

2009-03-03T18:22:00.000-08:00

March 1 - 3, 2009

The nor'easter kept most of us in over the weekend. Then, of course, the backside of the thing brought in bitter cold temperatures and NW winds. Another day or two of this crud then it looks pretty good ahead.

Just some scenes from the past few days. My fingers were too cold this morning on the boat to think about taking the gloves off to shoot "on the water." So these are all on the land, looking out.

Untitled

2009-02-21T17:14:00.000-08:00

February 21, 2009

“You like this wind?” Alex asked me as we fastened the boat trailer to my truck. “I guess we’ll see what it’s like on the other side when we get there,” I added. Although the west wind didn’t rough up the waters along Snug Harbor, we knew that the growout area, across the bay, would be a different story. But we had RTGs to get back on the bottom and a shitload of oysters to harvest for next week.

The wind did turn out to be a little brisk on the other side, but the dropping tide reduced the effect and we happily worked while passing stories back and forth. One of Alex's tales made me double over and stop breathing. Our system was predetermined: I hauled them up and Alex worked on culling - he had forgotten his skins (the bib outerwear) so he took the boring job today in order to stay dry (it may have been my turn anyway). But it was sunny and somewhat mild and moods improved as we worked. The stories included events from last night – Brooke and I hosted a long-lasting party and he attended one somewhere else with bizarre events taking place at both venues. So we compared notes, then our banter moved around in random direction. And at some point along the way a wave came up and knocked over a full crate of culled oysters - half of them back into the water. “Fuck!” yelled the now bearded Alex, several times. Then he kicked something. Then I yelled "Fuck!" a few times to make him feel better but he was still pretty angry. So I did a parody of Alex yelling all kinds of nasty curse words and then made some attempt at comforting the guy, not sure if I was making matters worse or better, as I intended. It may have worked because then I couldn't stop yelping curse words into the wind and eventually I noticed the smile return to my fellow oysterman's face (he had determined that my mind was lost). We did okay out there, despite the bumpiness, and completed perhaps half of our week's time on the water in a few hours.

Fish? One winter flounder visited us: 6” and shocked to see us. It was returned unharmed to the bay. A few small horseshoe crabs, one green crab (not looking good), and that is about it for wild life. There are still plenty of geese and ducks on the bay. In a couple/few weeks I expect to see a gannet or two, and then we’ll know that the winter is getting ready to leave for good.

Back at Matt. Court we ran into Jon Nash who quickly filled his bucket with our oysters and dashed off as promptly as he arrived. Also along the shore were Dicky Beers and Jake Emerson. The wind diminished as the last crate was offloaded and the boat was pulled out of the water. And it turned out to be a nice day. The sun was now getting low and the reds and blues were becoming sharper along the bay. The bottle of beer that Alex provided me from his truck went down well in my driveway as I unloaded my share of the catch. I paused, looked around at the colors of the marsh and the treetops and could feel the season changing. I am sure that we’ll have at least one more dump of snow this winter, but the days are now noticeably longer and the sun higher. Milder weather is here and probably to stay.

I can’t wait to go out for the first fish of the year. Does anyone out there remember the Gunster?

Uncle CJ

2009-02-16T15:29:00.001-08:00

A funny thing happened to me early this morning on the way to the shop. See below:

Frame 1: What are we laughing at?

Frame 2: It might have something to do with CJ.

Frame 3: Yes, indeed, it does have something to do with CJ.

Priceless.

Late Tides

2009-02-11T19:03:00.000-08:00

I am upset that I really didn't (couldn't) take advantage of this month's good tides. I was busy on some desk work. But I got a walk or two. The spring tides (or also called moon tides) are special. They drain the bay, they flood the bay, they allow you to explore places never seen before. They allow some of us to access shellfish that are usually under water. They create a landscape that is kind of freaky. And this only lasts an hour or so.

Watching the bay drain out is one of life's best experiences.

Atypical moring

2009-02-11T18:51:00.000-08:00

An early bag delivery can be fun. Seeing Cory, CJ, and random guys around the shop only confirms that this is the right thing to be doing, at the right time. A nice reward.

The Nutz

2009-02-08T14:28:00.000-08:00

The following link will take you to Jeff Smith's videos from last summer. The 2008 summary movie is quite nice: tuna action and some interesting striper releases. Check it out and get hot and bothered.

http://vimeo.com/2675284

(I recommend blowing up the video to full screen - button on right of status bar - and if you have trouble with skips in the stream then just take the HD off...click HD)

George and Caitlin

2009-02-08T14:16:00.000-08:00

February 7, 2009

Today I was visited by my brother-in-law's nephew George and his girlfriend/other/? Caitlin. They came down from UNH to check out the oyster farm because their background is aquaculture and marine biology. I am twice their age and remember when George was born and it was great to have him pay a visit and see how things work on Duxbury Bay (in the winter). We went out to Goose Flat and dragged up about ten bushels of oysters in an arctic scene: ice was everywhere and it actually limited us a bit. But it was fun and I believe they enjoyed themselves. The temperature was tolerable. We also stopped by the nursery area and discovered leaks in our waders and the true temperature of the water. Not as fun as I envisioned. Anyway, here are a few shots from the day.

More Scenes from the Waterfront

2009-02-08T14:01:00.001-08:00

February 4, 2009

Pete C. coming in for the day.

Anyone home?

Gregg is about to put a shovel to work, with a smile.

Gregg and John just getting in.

On the Way to Saquish

2009-02-03T16:39:00.000-08:00

Yesterday looked like this at Matt. Ct.:

That's right, it was blissful, mild, and calm. I spent yesterday at my desk working on some reports and missed the nice break in the weather. But I managed to get down to Matt. Ct. to find Gregg Morris, Scotty Doyle, and Don Merry pull out there boats (and product) in front of the storm we had today. It was really nice....

....compared to today:

But today was also great. After spending most of the day working on reports and data analysis I took off for Duxbury Beach. I head out there often throughout the off-season because that is when you can actually walk and think and see cool things without a soul around. I did see one soul: Billy Bennett. And we joked around as usual about the weather and the bay. Man, I see him every time I head out there. So the walk was cold, windy, and eye-blinding. But I managed to snap a few shots off my new Olympus.

The Last Minute

2009-01-28T04:24:00.000-08:00

This time of year you have to pick the right days...

....to finish the job you started in the fall.

Frozen In

2009-01-25T14:50:00.000-08:00

Ah yes, the picture that Jane just drew for me is far from what the bay looks like right now. The picture shows us happily floating over a fish-filled body of water (with a few sharks; the kids like putting sharks in all the pictures), but as the sun sank tonight it looked as though 70% of the inner bay area was covered with ice. The temperature will not rise above freezing for at least four days, so we're in for it now. At least we got this week's oysters in on time.

A nice weekend with Joel and his family here in Duxbury. Fishing was a tall topic and lure-making will ensue shortly. All for now.