Thoughts before I do something that I deem productive.
Here is a time for me to flex, re-rack and decide. Decide a direction in which I want to create a future. A legacy that provides fruit and shade to those that are still in the “cloud.” I loved fishing. I love being on the water. Living in the current.
Staying Current by living in it.
I haven’t much to say here but am feeling so pulled to produce something before I… organize “things.” What may come of this lettered piano in the next 10 minutes only the consciousness of the phalanges in conjunction with the moon have coordinated.
I want to write about the last 20 some days in the most Mozart of ways but really it just ebbed and then it flowed. Sleep, must have happened and then the engine started followed by a deafening alarm.
Gear up. Manage the system of the Skipper’s non-verbal communication to the fishermen on deck. The hand is thrown up then the bag is tossed. Watch yer foot so the fish are being caught…not you. Listen, oh shit - backlash! Your responsibility to reflex the handle to stop the reel. The net is now set.
I like to think I learned quickly but I simply would watch and then memorize it like a dance. Contributions to my morning MTV dance videos learning how to Shake it like a Tail Feather with my older sister. Move A, B, and C. Still tripping on my boat vernacular (Line not Rope/Portside is left/Cleat not tie off place/Galley/Laz..) but my body worked like an ant knowing exactly what to do without much thought.
Tide is changing. You can see the divide in the water of silt being kicked up from the bottom and bluer water on the other side. Amazing. As observed, this can also relate to where we will set the net again. We are looking for jumpers… but don’t point! Oh that was a joke - but is it? And no whistling on the boat…or bananas… or girls. I just assumed the role of our boat’s mascot so got away with it.
Work hard. Work fast. Stay hydrated. Assess the fish as it is coming in so you know how you are going to release it. Then bleed it.
Gillnet.
I am on an ocean high while being tossed aboat. Biophilic:) hm, yum.
Seasick - twice. Talked myself through both of them - AL - this is all in your mind. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.
I eat raw Nuuns. It feels like the adult version of Pop Rocks. Entertains the mouth too.
Hair lost in translation of a braid - portside of my head done by the Skipper, starboard my crew-mate, and third completed by my sausaged fingers. I convince myself that scales and blood are exfoliating for my skin so no need to be washing that daily, oh and wet/cold feet are good for the sole. *reminder to invest in Bamas next time
The season culminates, we are pulled out. I read the last boat’s name out the window, “Big Booty Judy,” and hope to one day be more than just the peak girl.
Asked to go seining in Prince William Sound in six days.
Without thought, yes.
The inertia of the current wakes me in the night as I grab for the headboard.
More landsick than I ever was sea but more than that, I’m homesick.
I am being pulled, my silt is kicked up; I recognize that this cellular weight grounds itself quickest when in motion. Humph. Humpy.
Salmon, I am honored to be humbled by you.
My bag is packed and more dry food is on its way - LETS GO.
Fingers are closing the curtains of this concert but the beat in my heart forces the crowd to go Wild. The breeze from the clapping suspends the closure for this last ode…
Thank you.
Thank you planet for allowing my species to be a part of this incredible Web.
I am hooked on YOU.
May I serve you as best as I possibly can.
Forgive me for the times I let a parasitic mind hold me back.
I seek a symbiosis of Mutualism with all of your children.
Your Salmon are some of the greatest professors of Altruism.
I’m obsessed.
Your Salt for the Sea Air Netis my existence.
Your inconsistency challenges my compass of artistic persistence.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
*And thank you Bartholomew Patrick for capturing these photos, braiding my hair, and gifting me Junior mints <3 Besties.
Kommentare