It was early on a Friday afternoon and despite the breezy grey weather I was soaked to my screaming bones with sweat and cursing Crystal’s Uncle Calvin (who got me into my current situation) under my breath. Brycen (Cal’s son) and I were hauling a very sketchy aluminum rickshaw overflowing with heavy metal crab traps up an impossibly steep gangway. It took both of us to get the beast up and over to Calvin and his new friends; a gang of grizzled old fisherman who did nothing to help us, but sure seem to have opinions on how we’re doing it wrong.
I was trying my very best to look tough in front of this motley collection of bums and pirates, despite my suspicion that there was a better way to go about this whole affair. Of course I was the only one on this particular commercial fishing dock that had no sea legs. Calvin and Brycen both grew up on fishing boats as (I suspect) Cal’s father and maybe even father’s father did. They knew all the moves, the lingo and the unspoken rules of the dock. Me, I was just an extra pair of hands. Read More
It’s Valentine’s weekend, the Horseshoe Bay ferry terminal is choked full of exhausted island travelers grimly thumbing through their neglected emails. The tension in the airless, reeking waiting room is so thick with worry that you could slice some off and sauté it. Two ferries have been canceled thanks to the hurricane currently pounding on the windows, and the lady with the tinkly voice on the intercom says it’s possible no-one will be returning to the island tonight… And yet, my wife and I are in pretty good spirits.