| Random Chronicles Second Tale |
| New Hampshire Writers |
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| From the creative mind of a New England fisherman comes... |
| Out Of Order Tales From The Sea by Billy |
It usually was ten o'clock, but not be there at ten. Yeah, it's
simple the boat leaves at ten o'clock so be there before, like nine forty
five. Well why not call it nine forty five then? Not sure, why does it
matter? Well..what? It doesn't matter I just...so usual time ten
o'clock.
I showed up at nine thirty, just to be safe as I'm not sure I still
quite understand this well known unknown method of time as fishermen
we keep. Sea bag packed, double and triple pairs of clothes, socks,
gloves and skivvies. Saw a show on TV and got the idea to buy them new
because they pack better, damned if it wasn't true. Says you experts on
TV babysat kids, generational slackers the History channel has taught
me more than any school I attempted and yes I meant attempted not
attended. Which is a pun at my dyslexia, sorry. Alright, never mind I will
tell that one later.
So it was a hot August night where even your t-shirt is too heavy a
layer, still air and a very dank, fishy odor as I stepped out of my
truck. Locked up a skeptical glance at it's surroundings taking a guess
at it's unhampered survival I made tracks to the pier. I swear a rat
was chasing a cat around back the side of the coop up, christ that thing
was big I quickened my pace. This was a little boys dream coming
true, tell anybody swear to god I kill you but yeah, duh, I get how cool it
is what I do. I mean come on? So there she was fishing vessel Jerri
Ann, lit up like the Starship Enterprise she was at the time top notch,
second to non and my green horn ass was about to step foot on what has
become the most amazing journeys I think one could have. Oh gees,
remind me to tell you how I broke the shower towel rack on that trip and
how pissed Ricky was. Of course that wasn't the last time I pissed
Ricky off there was that hole thing in Atlantic City but another time !
for that one too.
The summer was 1993, the boat was owned by my life long friends
father, the captain my friend, the first mate my other life long friend
and a good old Irishman named Joe Murphy. He has a chin like Jay Leno,
the strength of ten dumb bulls getting their balls yanked and would give
any honest man the shirt of his back. For real, he had an eye ball
tattooed on each kneecap, freaked me out the first time I saw it. A
light plume of blue smoke rose from the exhaust stack, high powered deck
lights like I had never seen surrounded us in a daylight world trapped
within it's beams. To this day it's still the coolest thing to be out
hundreds of miles to sea, no sight of land just bright stars on clear
nights and sometimes several other boats sprinkled about lighting their
own little worlds like mini cities we work and move threw the night. The
bonds you make as men aboard these boats, the crews that stay together
share some of the roughest times together most of them not happen!
ing on board. Because at sea even in the roughest conditions we have
built trust in faith in that guy working along side us with our life,
his in mine something not to be taken for granted. So getting back on
track...
simple the boat leaves at ten o'clock so be there before, like nine forty
five. Well why not call it nine forty five then? Not sure, why does it
matter? Well..what? It doesn't matter I just...so usual time ten
o'clock.
I showed up at nine thirty, just to be safe as I'm not sure I still
quite understand this well known unknown method of time as fishermen
we keep. Sea bag packed, double and triple pairs of clothes, socks,
gloves and skivvies. Saw a show on TV and got the idea to buy them new
because they pack better, damned if it wasn't true. Says you experts on
TV babysat kids, generational slackers the History channel has taught
me more than any school I attempted and yes I meant attempted not
attended. Which is a pun at my dyslexia, sorry. Alright, never mind I will
tell that one later.
So it was a hot August night where even your t-shirt is too heavy a
layer, still air and a very dank, fishy odor as I stepped out of my
truck. Locked up a skeptical glance at it's surroundings taking a guess
at it's unhampered survival I made tracks to the pier. I swear a rat
was chasing a cat around back the side of the coop up, christ that thing
was big I quickened my pace. This was a little boys dream coming
true, tell anybody swear to god I kill you but yeah, duh, I get how cool it
is what I do. I mean come on? So there she was fishing vessel Jerri
Ann, lit up like the Starship Enterprise she was at the time top notch,
second to non and my green horn ass was about to step foot on what has
become the most amazing journeys I think one could have. Oh gees,
remind me to tell you how I broke the shower towel rack on that trip and
how pissed Ricky was. Of course that wasn't the last time I pissed
Ricky off there was that hole thing in Atlantic City but another time !
for that one too.
The summer was 1993, the boat was owned by my life long friends
father, the captain my friend, the first mate my other life long friend
and a good old Irishman named Joe Murphy. He has a chin like Jay Leno,
the strength of ten dumb bulls getting their balls yanked and would give
any honest man the shirt of his back. For real, he had an eye ball
tattooed on each kneecap, freaked me out the first time I saw it. A
light plume of blue smoke rose from the exhaust stack, high powered deck
lights like I had never seen surrounded us in a daylight world trapped
within it's beams. To this day it's still the coolest thing to be out
hundreds of miles to sea, no sight of land just bright stars on clear
nights and sometimes several other boats sprinkled about lighting their
own little worlds like mini cities we work and move threw the night. The
bonds you make as men aboard these boats, the crews that stay together
share some of the roughest times together most of them not happen!
ing on board. Because at sea even in the roughest conditions we have
built trust in faith in that guy working along side us with our life,
his in mine something not to be taken for granted. So getting back on
track...