by Andrew Grey
“You won’t be. The only way we’ll fail is if we don’t find the fish, and that’s on me.” Arty patted the second device on his dashboard.
Jamie nodded and leaned closer. “Sounds like maybe we’re both a little worried.”
Arty turned to him with a nervous smile. “You can say that again.” He turned back to his instruments, and Jamie returned to eating his breakfast. Arty ate when he had the chance, and when they were done, Jamie took the plates down to the kitchen and washed the dishes in the sink. Beck showed him where to put them away, and after he was finished, Jamie joined everyone on deck.
“We’re about an hour out. Let’s get the equipment set up, and then I’ll start looking for some good bottom. I thought we would put in two lines, one on each side of the boat to start with. If the spot proves good, we can add buoy lines and then circle around to pick them up.”
Jamie wasn’t sure what Arty meant, but Reginald got him busy, helping him set up lines and then showing him how to cut bait. “Pieces about that big with skin. It helps keep the bait on the line. We’re going to need plenty, but don’t waste it.” Reginald checked Jamie’s work and then patted him on the shoulder. “That’s real good. Just keep that up.”
The lines were on large reels, like small winches with short poles. One was anchored to the back corner of the boat, and another was set up on the other side of the boat, partway up. Jamie figured that was to put as much space between them as possible.
“Mine looks good,” Beck said.
“So does mine,” Reginald agreed. “We have to be careful not to get them crossed or tangled.” Jamie turned around just as a pair of gloves hit him in the chest.
“Wear those if you’re working with the lines or hooks. The lines will cut your hands quicker than anything. And be careful of the hooks.” There was no heat in Reginald’s admonition. “As well, watch out for the fins. They can be like razors.” Jamie washed his hands, put on the gloves, and went back to work, grateful to be in the center of the boat and under cover.
The guys worked as Arty maneuvered the boat in weird patterns. “Okay, let’s get some lines down,” Arty called. Reginald and Beck got to work on what they called a bandit, which seemed to be the oversized fishing reel.
“Grouper are deepwater fish. We’ll bait the hooks, two to three on a leader for each line, give the fish a chance to react, and then haul up the line to check our luck,” Beck explained, and he and Reginald began baiting the mounted reels and lowering them in the water. “These lines are on automatic sensors. It will keep the bait near the bottom and haul up the line automatically when a fish bites. We have two of them. The rest of the lines are done by hand.”
“Damn, there’s a lot to learn.”
Arty came up behind him as the boat bobbed on the gentle waves. “You’re going to do fine.” He was so close that Jamie could feel the heat from his body. He may have shivered at the zing of attraction.
Jamie had developed pretty good instincts over the years, and judging by the way he had seen Arty looking at him a few times, even with his sunglasses on, he was pretty sure that Arty was gay too. But Beck and Reginald seemed like down-to-earth guys, and he had learned through bitter experience to be wary. “Thanks.”
“We all have to do our part.” One of the lines clicked, and the reel brought it up. “Snapper,” Arty said when the fish appeared. Reginald got it out of the water, jabbed it with a syringe, and then in a quick movement, pulled the plunger and tossed the sizable fish back.
“Why’d he do that?” Jamie asked.
“We have to throw the snapper back, but if we didn’t remove the air from their internal bladder first, they’d die. Respect the fish and do as little harm as possible. That same fish could be caught by someone like us during red snapper reason,” Arty explained as Beck rebaited the line and sent it to the bottom, grabbed another, and brought it up.
The process was repeated until the lines went quiet, and then Reginald and Beck hauled them all up and Arty moved them to another location. The guys baited hooks and had them ready while they moved. They ate during the breaks and had lines in the water almost as soon as the boat stopped. Jamie kept an eye on the bait, making sure there was some ready at all times.
“Is it usually like this?” he asked. They had already brought up a number of fish and even a few sharks, but not a single grouper.
“Sometimes,” Arty told him. “This can be a tough, shitty business,” he complained and turned to the others. “Have you ever wondered why we even bother?” Man, Arty seemed down, and as the hours passed, they only caught two keep-size grouper, which they put on ice in one of the many cooler boxes built into the boat. Each cooler wasn’t very big, but put together, it was pretty clear that they could hold a lot of fish.
“Let’s move. This was a location Dad had as a maybe, but it feels like a bust.” All the lines were pulled up and secured, and then Arty revved the engine and they were off.
“KID, YOU have to be patient,” Reginald told Arty, and Jamie did his best not to listen in. “I know it’s hard.”
“Yeah, but what if we don’t find anything?” Arty asked.
“It’s only the first day,” Reginald explained, then patted Arty’s shoulder, and went back to work.
Jamie felt the same anxiety. He hadn’t been sure about what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been catching fish after fish, only to have to throw them back. They seemed to get everything except what they were after, and he had signed on to try to make some money. At this rate, they were going to be out here until doomsday and come back with just enough to make sure they all got nothing. Patience, he told himself. He needed to have patience. Nothing ever came easily to him. He’d have to work at it.
The breeze was cool off the water, and Jamie needed his jacket. He was going to have to figure out how to clean the fish guts off of it when he was done for the day, because it was covered. In the afternoon, the sun warmed things enough that he could take the jacket off, but as the sun began to set, he pulled his jacket on again.
“Well, guys, that’s it for today,” Arty said, calling an end to their first day. The lines were hauled in and stowed, and Beck showed Jamie how to clean the deck.
“We pump seawater for that. Don’t use the fresh or we’ll run out.” He left Jamie to it, and he worked, trying to tamp down his disappointment. But what had he expected? For the fish to just jump into the boat?
“Some days are like this, and tomorrow will be better,” Arty said. He went to the back and tossed the anchor into the water, then cut the engines. “The batteries are well charged and will hold us for the night. We just have to be careful of usage. They’ll recharge tomorrow.”
“What’s the weather look like?” Reginald asked once everyone was below.
“It’s supposed to be cloudy tomorrow, with the chance of showers, but the winds are supposed to remain light, which will keep us riding smoothly. We can fish in the rain and fog. Who knows? Maybe it will change our luck.” Arty slid into the seat, and Beck set to making a simple but hearty dinner of warm sandwiches and half a gallon of pasta salad that he pulled out of a cooler.
AFTER EATING more than he thought possible, Jamie wandered up onto the deck. The running lights were on, and a small amount of light leaked out from the cabin, but otherwise it was pitch-black, and the sky was lit with a billion stars. “I used to go out at night away from the farm and watch these same stars,” he said as Arty closed the cabin door. Jamie sat on one of the benches and then lay down, looking upward.
“Me too. I’ve seen these stars many times from out here.” The water lapped the side of the boat, the sound incredibly soothing.
“You came with your dad, right?” Jamie asked.
“Yeah. Dad was always happiest when he was on the water. I used to go out with him when I was out of school.” Arty sighed.
“Was it something special the two of you did?” Jamie asked, more than curious about Arty, though a little nervous because of the way his belly kept flu
ttering when they were together. Jamie wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. He reminded himself that this was a job and that he needed to keep his head and thoughts where they belonged. He didn’t want to get into trouble.
“Oh God, no. Being out here with my father was sheer hell. I could never do anything right, and he worked me harder than he worked anyone else because I was his son. I came with him the first time when I was fourteen, and I baited hooks all day and then had to make dinner and clean up. The other men played cards after dark, but once I was done with the dishes, Dad had me clean the deck. He never let up over the years. Once, I was so tired, I fell asleep right where you are now. Dad woke me with a bucket of water.” The touch of ice in Arty’s voice was unmistakable.
“Why? You were a kid.” Jamie was aghast.
“Yeah, well, Dad had decided he wanted me to toughen up. I was sixteen when that happened and woke up sputtering. He had no good reason to do it, because I had finished my work. But what the hell could I do? He was my dad and the captain. I wish now that I had stood up to him. That was probably what he was trying to get me to do. But I went back to work. I don’t know to this day what he was thinking. Dad never talks about very much, and it’s always a matter of looking at the clues and trying to figure out what he means.”
At least Jamie never had that problem. “My dad yells. No doubt about what he’s feeling. I lived at home and wanted to eat, so I worked. There wasn’t a lot to do with any spare time. I asked Dad for a horse, but he wasn’t going to have any ‘hayburners’ on his farm.” Jamie smiled. “When I was sixteen, I was working after school and on weekends. I told my dad that I should be paid for what I did, and you’d have thought I’d crapped in his best shoes.” Jamie remembered that day very clearly. “So I went on strike. I had a friend, and I arranged to stay at his house for a few weeks. I had some money, so I was able to pay my own way. His mom and dad were supportive.”
Arty chuckled softly. “Wow. What happened?”
“Dad came over, demanding that I come home or he was going to call the police. My friend’s mom told him that was fine with her. She’d wait until the police got there, and then she’d explain to them that I would be in danger if I went back there.” Jamie grinned in the darkness. “She was a little over five feet, and my dad is about six-three. She stared him down and said that as long as he thought his children were indentured servants, then he was in violation of the law, and that I deserved to be protected. So she was going to do it, since he wouldn’t.” Jamie laughed outright. “That was one of the few times I ever saw my dad bested.”
“Damn…,” Arty breathed. “Did he come around?”
“Yeah, he did. He paid me so much every week for what I worked after that. I had to buy my own clothes and things, but in the end, we were all better off.” Jamie turned his head to the side, but couldn’t see very much more than an outline in the darkness.
“My dad paid me for my work,” Arty said. “He never stiffed me that way. I got a share of the haul from each trip I went on, just like any of the other hands. That wasn’t the issue. My dad and I were out here like this, all the time, and still I know nothing about him. I’ve talked to you more tonight than I did with my dad on all those trips combined.” The boat rocked on a larger wave, settling into the trough, and the motion dissipated. “My mom died when I was thirteen, and that made for some very lonely teenage years. Friends told me that he changed after she died. I think that’s true.”
Jamie could understand grief, especially for someone so close. But he still shouldn’t have ignored his son. That made little sense to him. But then, after his own father’s behavior, nothing should surprise him at all.
“Morning is going to come very early, and we should get some rest.” Arty got up, stretching. “I have to be up first because I’m going to try to move us before it gets light so we can have as much of the day to fish as possible.” Arty said good night, and Jamie followed him into the cabin. He got out his kit and did a quick cleanup. Then he felt his way into his bed and closed his eyes, barely hearing Beck and Reginald snoring, though he was acutely cognizant of the fact that Arty was just a foot or so away. And that only added to the heat that was already building in the cabin.
IT WAS still dark when Jamie woke. The boat rocked vigorously from side to side. He somehow found his legs by holding the side of the cabin until he could locate his kit. Jamie washed a pill down with a glass of water and then headed topside and found Arty already about.
The sea had grown rough, and there was almost nothing he could see beyond what was visible in the running lights. “What a difference a day makes,” Arty said as Jamie climbed on deck. “Go ahead and pull up the anchor. I want to get the engines started so we can move. That will dissipate some of the bobbing-cork feeling, and we can go to the next location.”
Jamie hooked up the anchor line, tugging the heavy weight upward and then into its place. Arty pressed the button to start the engine, and it churned, but didn’t turn over. Arty tried again, and Jamie turned to where he sat in his seat. He tried yet again, and the engines rolled and sent up black smoke out of the back of the boat before fully roaring to life. Jamie released the breath he’d been holding as Arty turned them around and started the boat forward.
“Are the others still in bed?” Jamie asked.
“Yes. And it’s going to be a rough day.” Spray shot up onto the front windows, so Arty started the wipers. “Go below if you like and sleep for another hour or two. There isn’t going to be anything worth seeing, and you might as well rest while you can. If the others are up, tell them the same thing. I hope to be able to start fishing at dawn. Let’s hope our luck improves even though the weather hasn’t.” He turned away, and Jamie did as he was told, watching as more spray hit the windows.
The random movement of the boat had settled, but the noise of the water rushing by the hull was something else. Beck and Reginald were stirring, and Jamie relayed Arty’s message and then climbed back into bed, closing his eyes and trying to go back to sleep. But it wasn’t going to happen. There was too much noise with the water slapping the hull right outside where he lay. He got back up, going past the others, who were both asleep. He went back topside and sat on one of the coverings in the center of the boat. Someone had made a pad for it, and with the fresh air and roll of the boat, he closed his eyes and dozed off.
He had meant to keep Arty company, but he must have needed the rest. It was daylight when he cracked his eyes open again, the clouds reaching the water at the horizon, which was much nearer than it had been the day before. “I’m sorry. I came back up to keep you company.” Jamie rubbed his eyes, and Beck came up from below with crackers, cheese, and sausage, and set them on the small table under the cabin roof.
Jamie ate tentatively, unsure how the movement was going to affect his belly, but his appetite kicked in and he ate more heartily after a few bites. “Another half hour or so,” Arty said, and Jamie finished eating, then got to work, so that by the time they were on-site, lines were ready to be baited and dropped. They went through the same process as the day before, made more difficult because of the rocking boat and the drift.
“Don’t tangle the lines,” Reginald told Beck. Somehow Arty seemed to find an area that looked good to him, and as soon as they stopped, they dropped the lines.
“Jamie, take that one,” Reginald called as he hauled in a line.
Jamie hurried over and started reeling. The fish was putting up one hell of a fight, and one of the automatic reels clicked and started hauling in as well. “Well, look at this,” he said with a grin, hauling a dark-colored fish out of the water. Beck raced over and got the hook out of its mouth.
“Damn, kid, that’s got to be a forty-pound black grouper. Well done.” He slid it into the box along with some ice. “Bait your hook and get the line down again.” He hurried back and took another grouper off the line, put it in the box, and sent the baited line back down.
“We’ve hit the mother lode,” Reginald said
as he added another fish to the box. Already they had caught more grouper today than they had the entire day yesterday.
“Cut some more bait. We’re going to need it,” Reginald said as he hauled up yet another line, while Beck did the same. It seemed a little surreal as fish after fish emerged from the depths.
“Shark,” Beck called, and Reginald hurried over with a small club. He stunned it, and they got the hook out before dropping it back in the water. The work was smooth—lines came up, grouper were taken off and either placed in the box or, if they were too small, had their bladders emptied and then were dropped back in the water. Snapper and other species were returned as well. This went on for what seemed like hours of frantic activity, and then it got quiet.
“Pull them up. I’m going to move,” Arty called, and Jamie helped reel in the lines. The others rebaited any hooks that needed it as Arty moved the boat, and Jamie cut the bait. “Okay, I’ve got her steady—drop the lines.”
They did, and fish hit immediately once again. “This must be a grouper hot spot,” Jamie said.
“The bottom is perfect—limestone with plenty of areas to hide. And if you look over the side, there are tons of little fish, even at the surface. It must be teeming with feeders down there.”
“Jesus,” Beck called. “I’ve got a monster.” The automatic reel he was using strained as it worked to bring in the line. Jamie wanted to go over and look, but one of the lines on his side hit, and he started to draw it in. Another beautiful black grouper came out, and he got it off the line the way Beck had shown him and into the locker, then added more ice just as Beck and Reginald whistled.
Three hooks on the line held fish, and damned if two of them didn’t have amazing grouper. The third was a red snapper. Reginald got each off the line and iced down, then treated the snapper and put it back into the water.
