The end is near- two days left. Remember the guy who used to walk around Times Square in NYC with that sign on his back? The ending I'm talking about is the season of the Fluke, government style.  The allocated quota is caught - all you guys go home, no more work, no more fishing, no more money. Find another way to make a living. There is bitter taste in my mouth and yet I wish to thank NMFS for allowing us to fish at all. After all their job to protect the fish, never mind us, we can always buy fish from other countries. I still wish to thank them, even though we will have no income for months at a time, even though the boat will be tied up, rusting, and even though more fish are eaten by predation than anything we'd be able to catch, I am still grateful for the opportunity to be allocated a few fish. I'll be glad to have Dave home for more that two days at a time. He had to do the week long trips because there is nothing else he can do right now and we have no idea what we will be allowed to catch in the fall or winter. There's not much fishing around Provincetown and Cape Cod Bay in the summer and on the Atlantic side the cod and haddock have moved north to cooler water. The seals are eating the yellow-tail and other flounder. The lobsters are eating the guts and stuff left on the sea floor by the seals so there is a glut of lobster and falling prices. Lobster pots and gill nets blanket the bay. Do you think that when we run out of fish we'll eat the seals? I wish I had a good receipt for seal pie and I'd love to have a seal coat and boots like the coat my grandmother wore, keeping me warm this winter. We have so much to be thankful for: fish, game, fruits, nuts, all the blessings from this wonderful life and yet so many of us dwell on the dark side, drawn by fear. Remember that guy in Times Square, the end is near. It is a joke, you are supposed to feel pity for him and be repelled. The End is Not Near. So there.

Another Tuna Tail - Tale

There are stories about catching tuna, the indigenous fish that swims the world's currents, causing men to find ways and make remarkable efforts to catch them, stories that sometimes boggle the mind. During the summer of 1977 three men were  talking, standing together at the edge of the Provincetown Wharf. Kurt had just finished a scallop trip, cut and unloaded 200 bags of sweet sea food and was heading home. Henry was on his way to check his vessel tied to the wharf and Shane was out for a walk up the pier to look out at his small boat tied on a mooring. They were yammering about fish, boats, weather and other fishermen. There was hardly a ripple on the water that sweeps into the harbor every six hours. Unbeknownst to the trio a large fish was feeding upon the small squid that were chasing larvae and krill moving it closer and closer to shore. It appeared lazy as if it had eaten its fill. Shane spotted the large sharp fin traveling slowly around mooring lines and anchored boats. He felt the hair rise on his arms and he could feel his heart begin to beat faster. He knew what he was looking at, having seen this fin before.This could be his lucky day. He didn't say a word to anyone, but walked away, then ran to the  boat he knew would have a harpoon at the ready. His uncle Manny's boat the 'Silver Mink' would most definitely have what was needed.

Giant BluefinTuna can weigh over a thousand pounds and are today highly regulated, but in 1977 the name of the game was catch me if you can. Tuna are fast swimming and migratory, following paths that take them from Cape Cod to Cape Verde, away and back again. Best of all they are wonderful tasting, a rich protein delight and for a lucky fisherman they can provide monetary incentive.

Kurt began pointing in the directions of the fish and others began to take notice. Soon a small group had gathered to watch the lazy motion of the dorsal fin as it swam around boats and mooring lines just yards from the side of the pier The fish moved slowly, circling as if lost, coming closer and closer.

When a man sees an opportunity he needs to act. Shane was not out to impress. He did not think about what he would do with it once it was caught, nor about the money. For him it was instinct. He could see the large eye and the silver, blue and yellow scales flashing back at him from just below the surface.
Shane paused, waiting. People began asking what the long pole was for, did he intend to throw the harpoon from this distance, was that a shark? Shane didn't answer, could not reply, could not speak, willing the fish to come closer. And so it did. Suddenly Shane raised the pole and let it fly. The barb struck. The fish stiffened then leaped out of the water. The twelve foot pole flew away from the fish and the line attached to the triangular blade began to uncoil from the box it was stored in. A cheer went up from the growing crowd. Man and fish began a tug of war, the fish would fight for its life and Shane would fight to take it. He could not let the line play out as he would in open water, it was a crowded basin. He began pulling, struggling to move the giant fish to the beach, hoping the arrow shaped tip had gone deep enough.

People were shouting encouragement, "You've got him now. Keep going." The gap to the shore was narrowing. Thirty minutes into the battle the fish gave a final leap into the air and landed on the beach, high and dry as if it wanted to get the whole ordeal over with as quickly as possible. A roar went up from the crowd. Shane's hands were cut and blistered, his breathing hard when he asked a friend to stay with the fish while he went for help. "I don't want anyone coming along and staking a claim," he said. I don't know what he was paid for the fish, it weighed in at just over 400 pounds, but the standing ovation he received was worth a million dollars.