January 21, 2010
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Herring Run
Looking out to sea one night I see him
His skiff a stone's throw from our island
Bent-over-old
Stops
Shines his light down into the shallows
Quick flash and then shuts off
Not to scare them
Tide's coming
Full moon's up too and very bright
Paints a shimmering slash across the sea
Glass-flat and windless
Moon-beam spots him - oars dip and stir
Trails of luminous plankton twinkle
He speaks softly into his walkie-talkie
Can't hear but must be they're running good
Nice size I guess
Not too many mackerel in with them
Disembodied voices crackle back
By-and-by other old men come quietly in skiffs
Towing double-enders piled high with net and float
They work quietly throughout the night
Set the half-mile long mesh-trap
Anchored to ancient engine blocks buried in mud
Beyond the old water-fence
Leave a small opening for little fish
To follow the shore to Bramhall's ledge
Can't go further
Trapped
Thin silver swarm swims endlessly inside the net
Presses against it bulging
Glimmering fish-ribbon fluorescing
A few inches from the surface
Bigger fish preying on them must swim deeper
Can't chase and swallow
Might flounder in the shallows
Propelled by rushing tide
The agitation deflects off Bramhall's ledge
Not wanting to - reverses course
Turns south trying to escape
Struggles against the tide
Feeds into the seine's huge circled purse
Set half-way center in the long net run
Dawn sees the sein complete
Burnt-orange floats
Weighted weave vertical in the sea
They sit in their skiffs and smoke
Old men exhausted not saying much
The wife makes coffee - I go out with the steaming pot
Styro-cups and doughnuts
Ask permission to fish the seine for mackerel
"Finest kind" and "thank you for the java" they reply
Sun's up
He calls Port Clyde for the dragger Mary Ann
Busy with other seines
Be there tomorrow afternoon
Later that morning after they're gone
I sit with the kids in our skiff inside the purse
Hand-lining for the mackerel
No time at all we've caught enough to jar two dozen quarts
Should last the winter
Like shooting fish in a barrel I say
What does that mean daddy the kids ask?
Lots of seals for company in with us
Up they come for air smiling
Mouths stuffed with herring and tinker
Overhead the shags croak at us
Want to drive us off so they can feast too
He comes back later with his skiff
Sits in the center of the purse
Shotgun in his lap
Keep the shags from eating the catch
Not like seals he says - eat their fill and leave
Black buggers will stuff themselves till they can't fly
We hear the blasts till it gets dark
Most all next day too until the Mary-Ann shows up
Beach and rocks littered with dead birds
The old men are back
Feed the fish-hose into the purse
She settles deeper as the catch fills her up
Takes up the purse slowly with her crane
Sea pumping out the other side
They reset the purse after the dragger leaves
The run continues for the next six days
The Mary-Ann returns each day
Until the wind shifts and the run ends
Do the math
The Mary-Ann hauls thirty thousand bushels
Price drops to eighty cents
Because they're also running up and down the coast
How many cans of cat food and sardines on supermarket shelves
Does that come to?
(Double-click in the photo section to view my painting (061) of the inspiration for the above... The Friendship Maine fishermen shown have all passed away and no one sets for herring anymore...Too much work... and besides the canneries shut down years ago...)
Comments (8)
What a story! I left you a comment on your painting, too. This was so enjoyable for me to read . . . thanks for sharing this memory!
That was a good tale. You have such dear memories, and I for one truly appreciate that you share them with us.
I could almost smell the sea with this one and hear the sounds. Thank you.
Very epic.
@Seranish_Shores - Thank you so much... It is a shame that these fellows and their masterful handling of the bounties of our inshore seas have drifted into the past...So many people depended on the living it provided ... I'm 84 now and will be joining them soon... hope you liked my painting of the seining...If you click on it a couple of times you will get a good visual of their hard work... and I'm sorry I don't respond more often to your Xangas... but I read them all with great pleasure... at our age, it's one of the few real pleasures my wif e and I have... blessings on you and yours...
Incredible per usual. Oh my god, your paintings and art are amazing!!! Thanks for all the words, and I apologize for my delay, life gets the best of me sometimes, as you well know. It's just a testament to this net thing that we can have this sort of dialogue and interest and your paintings live here on the web. I'm really thankful you are on here, and you motivate me to continue through life, never to stop. There have been days where life gets so much, the stress, the responsibilities and social pressures seem to siphon the energy, but nothing will prevent this sort of out pouring to whatever it is came before us, after us, and forever in time. Just keep up what you are doing, and we gotta talk about some of these pieces, I'd love to have one of yours hanging in here as a reminder to never put the instruments of art down, like dreams collecting dust.
What a mighty brain you have, my friend. Reminds me of my brilliant Scottish grandfather who never stopped writing!
Do the factory ships troll your waters now? Or is all the herring gone?
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