Windows of Opportunity

First, I have to once more engage my lack of escritorial productivity in the past couple of months (apparently escritorial is not a word, but I thought it ought to be). What I mean by that is my lack of published words since I've left the disaster in the Gulf of Mexico. Not only have I been fighting with a real lack of inspiration stemming from the realization of just how dark the relationships between Big Oil, Big Government and Big Media are, not to mention the complacency of the American public, but I am also constantly stymied by the mountains of unfinished projects and loose ends associated with my time down there. That being said, I think the universal post solstice energy is helping to push me though the mud and into a new era of productivity. And with that, back to the cold, Rhode Island winter:

In my last blog I talked about the windows of opportunity in which we have to go out and ply the Atlantic in search of lobsters and crabs. More often than not, on either end of our trip out we are assailed with strong winds and nasty seas which make it unpleasant to be on a boat. As a surfer though, it means that we are usually back on land when there are waves, which is a high priority for myself and the Captain of the boat, Jamie Risser. Jamie and I have known each other since we were tow headed grommets hanging around the pier and getting into trouble. Jaime and I are tight, in fact it was Jamie's arms which comforted one of my first loves when I went away to college.

Jamie has been fishing since we were kids as well. When most of us were enjoying a more carefree life, Jamie was following his Dad who was a commercial fisherman in Point Judith, and from a young age, Jamie earned respect from the older fishermen of the point. So, even though he's a couple of years younger than me, I can't imagine another captain that I would feel safer with on the ocean, not to mention singing Madonna at 0430 in 10 foot seas with ice on the deck.

So, Jamie and I have surfed nearly all of our lives. He is probably one of the most respected surfers in the Northeast, and it's always exciting to watch him going down the line. Working on the boat is pretty hard, and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't hurt from the sheer physicality of it, but working with such a good friend, someone who sees the world as I do really makes it doable. Not that I have a whole lot of choice right now, though I suppose I could claim bankruptcy, but that's not really all that kosher. Not that spending my tax money on killing brown people to make oil barons richer instead of on education and conservation is kosher, but...

Not only does the elevated sea state give us some enjoyment, but it also makes it difficult for rock dwelling birds like the Purple Sandpiper to forage. On this particular day, Purple Sandpipers were pushed nearly into the parking lots to find anything to eat, as the high tides and big waves combined to cover most of their habitat. I even saw some foraging on the sand, which for Purple Sandpipers is pretty weird.

>Deckhand Chris Wroblewski puts some of the days catch down into the live tank.

Going Down

11/27/10

We left the dock at 11:00 AM, with a strong southwest wind agitating the Great Salt Pond and straining the many flags around Point Judith. The wind was so strong, in fact, that the wavelets being created lapped up and over the bulkhead at Rhode Island Engine and sprayed deep into the parking lot. A quick perusal of the nearby Gulls failed to turn up the first year Glaucous Gull that had been hanging around for the past ten days or so, but it might still be there.

We threw the lines, and made our way into the harbor, and as I stood on deck the wind went right through me. Since I hadn't expected to be in Rhode Island this winter I have none of my winter clothing and am ill equipped to say the least for a four day trip deep into the north Atlantic Ocean. I had woken with the beginnings of a cough, but had been in such a hurry to get ready for the trip and say goodbye to family visiting for Thanksgiving I had not time to address this burgeoning potential health issue, yet there I stood in the frigid wind, now surrounded by water, quite noticeably coughing. Little did I know at the time, that in my rush, I had also forgotten a good deal of the warm clothing that I do have.

When looking out at the North Atlantic from shore in the winter, it is a rare thing to see a placid ocean, rarer indeed would be to see the phenomenon last for three days, which is how many days we need to work out at sea. The time of a boat captain in New England in the winter revolves around the four o'clock updates on NOAA's marine forecast which constantly changes. We have seen that we can't rely on NOAA to accurately and competently report on the level of oil in and around the Gulf of Mexico, or in seafood for that matter, but they remain the only source for a decent marine forecast, and our very lives depend on their daily prognoses. It is very common for us to steam out in a gail, and return in a gail with the hopes that we might cram 50 or more hours of work into a less tumultuous window of agreeable weather.

Last Saturday we left at 1100 AM with the calculation that the wind should drop out just in time for us to reach our fishing grounds at midnight, one hundred miles to the south and get some work done in a nicer environment.

We exited the Harbor of Refuge and made our way into the open ocean in a wet and wild ride. Everything on deck had been tied down in preparations, and as we made our turn through the opening in the breakwater we braced ourselves for the inevitable crash and boom as the first waves hit us, and blew up and over the boat. A large group of Common Eiders was up against the wall, right in the maelstrom of the crashing waves on the west side of the rock formation, but they seemed to be unconcerned with their situation, and bobbed and dove with an ease that spoke of a great comfortability being out in the cold Atlantic, even against the wall. The males are really starting to look handsome again as the soft seafoam green takes over the dappled brown basic plumage on their roman heads. Content with one last view of these ducks and a flyby Long-tailed Duck, I retired to the bunk, where the other two deck hands were already sound asleep. Although it was mid-day, sleep came easy, as it usually does on the boat, even when it's rocking and rolling! You've got to get it when you can, and the body quickly becomes accustomed to taking advantage of any time in the bunk.

Within 20 minutes on deck, I had been soaked by an errant wave. All barrels on the port rail were instantly filled, and random gear was thrust toward the center of the boat with the thousands of gallons of seawater that exploded passed us, and filled my boots. I was able to change two and half hours later. At 0200 the next morning I awoke after 2 hours of sleep with the second scariest fever I have ever had, and was unable to work for the first three hours of Monday. When I finally made it out on deck, it was gorgeous. The sea had calmed down and was completely glassy. The other deckhands were working in T-shirts in the end of November! I felt horrible, but my spirits were uplifted by the occasional small groups of Dovekies that the boat happened upon. Dovekies are a really neat bird, and are one of my favorite little guys. So small, yet so hardy, these tiny little "penguins of the north" ply their livings in the harshest of environments, and I'm always amazed by their seeming nonchalant demeanor.

The next couple of days were spent in a fever induced haze, and by the time we had unloaded our catch on Wednesday morning, I would spend 65 of the next 72 hours of my life in bed thinking about the Northern Fulmars and Great Shearwaters that glide so effortlessly passed our boat as we work, and hoping that I'll be ready to go next week, when it's time to go back out on the cold Atlantic.