Our hearts go out the family of Gene Frottier, lost but not forgotten. A true Provincetown character who loved being at sea. Dave and I watched him one day as he seemed to be playing in the surf onboard the 'Annalise', the boat he owned before the 'Twin Lights', named after his daughter. He was off the Highland, the wind was howling and we were in the parking lot at Coast Guard Beach - the green hull was bouncing off the top of waves and it looked like he was just out there to enjoy the ride, having fun. After watching him we knew that boat would be good in a sea and months later we bought it from him when he wanted to move on to the 'Twin Lights'. Anyone who has spent as much time under the water - diving for lobsters - as on top of it -as he did - must have loved the ocean and what he was doing. He had much to say about how our fisheries were being run, he researched topics and wrote letters regarding injustices, outspoken with strong opinions he would always stop and talk to his fellow fishermen on the wharf. He was a hard worker, fishing in all kinds of weather and sea conditions. Gene's son, Emitt and our son became friends in High School, having in common their dads liking nothing better than being out on the ocean. Gene will now sleep with Father Neptune and his spirit will rest with the angles. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving - let us remember all those who have lost so much - from Hurricanes, from sickness and from tragedy.

There's no turning back now, either it's a new foc'sle or Dave will be sleeping in a hammock next summer during Squid season. Another major rehab is taking place. I had a peek today at the inside of the F/V Richard & Arnold. She is now a bare hull, bunks gone, sink and stove removed, empty. The next phase is the hardest part - deciding where to put the 'head' - oh yes, there will be a full bathroom, shower, hot water and all. The galley and salon will be housed in what was once fish-pens. It is becoming a reality. www.provincetownfishwife.com

Thank you to the many people who have written to me about my book, 'Nautical Twilight'. The past few months have been filled with your kind words. I am glad you are enjoying the book. You have inspired me to share more of my writing and so this short story is for my fans. Thank you. My sea stories are a representation of a way of life upon the water that is fast disappearing. This short story is as true as it can get. I have changed some names to protect the innocent. I hope it gives you a chuckle----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Albert On the Can a short sea story by J. J. Dutra

Albert worked on a fishing boat out of Provincetown MA for many years. Most nights he slept on the vessel where he worked, a good situation for the owners and the crewman.  The fisherman had been awake for over thirty-six hours, first fishing, then enjoying the local pub and finishing with a half-mile walk to the end of the wharf where he made his way down a ten foot ladder. To get to his bunk on board the 'Reneva' he would cross the decks of the 'Jimmy Boy', the 'Shirley & Roland' and the 'Plymouth Bell'  stepping from rail to rail, climbing over empty fish boxes and pulling on ropes. This night was no different, he went below, crawled into the bunk and was asleep in seconds.

When the Provincetown fisherman opened his eyes he was listening to the boat's engine purring in the background. Like most wooden fishing vessels this boat had the familiar rolling rhythm, a creaking and a slow sway. It was time to fix a pot of coffee and light the kerosene stove that would take the damp chill from the air. Something felt different, but Albert was not fully conscious. Thinking it would be time to haul back and he'd better get topside he came through the doghouse to the deck and it struck him, bringing him soberly awake, eyes wide open. He was on the wrong boat.

Stopping at the tip of Cape Cod on its way south for sea scalloping, this Maine boat had tied on the outside of the usual string of fishing boats alongside McMillan Pier. The captain from Maine wanted a hot shower and a good meal, he'd been eating his brother-in-law, Billy's one meal, hash and eggs for a week. Their day began in the twilight, casting off and heading round the cape, hoping to run out for scallops then head to Point Judith, RI.  The captain was sitting in the wheel house looking out toward the horizon to the east when Albert stepped on deck. "What the hell?" the captain gasped. Standing before him was a skinny stranger with a big toothy grin. His hair was sticking up. He needing a shave and his clothes were almost rags. If you got close enough the smell of fish and beer was discernible."Billy, take the wheel." The captain was out the door and roaring over the engine, "Where the hell did you come from?"

The stowaway did a shuffle, moving around on the deck like he had to pee, a sort of dance, light on his feet. "Gees Cap, I'm awful sorry. It  appears I've stepped aboard the wrong boat, which can happen, you know." The stowaway looked around, "I'm a good crewman, I'll give you a good days work, you won't even have to pay me. You can take me back to town after today's fishing. How about that?"
The captain towered over Albert, sucking in the air, puffing up his chest he bellowed, "We ain't out for a day fishing, we're headed to Block Island and I don't take passengers." Albert has heard this kind of hollering before and he knew to wait out the rant. "I'm sorry about this, cap. Maybe you could just take me back. It ain't far to P-town."

The captain didn't usually yell at his crewmen, but Albert had given him quite a start. "You'll have to swim back, you good-for nothing-stowing away on my boat, idiot. We are six hours out of town and that would put me 18 hours behind and I've got the tide going with me. I'm not turning this boat around. We'll put you off in Block Island." The radio began squawking from inside the wheelhouse. The captain is pacing when Billy leans out the door "Captain," he calls, "Captain, come listen to the talk on the CB radio." The big man steps inside as his crewman continues, "The talk is about a fellow named Albert. They're worried about him, seems like he wasn't in his bunk this morning.
The big fellow leans out the door and hollers, "Hey, what's your name?" The stranger perks up.
"Albert Swan. At your service," he said. Then he returns to counting the change he'd pulled from his pants pocket. The captain take the radio mike in his meaty hand, pressing his thumb to the side, scanning the horizon and speaking, "This is the 'Angelina' out of Stonington calling the captain looking for Albert, come back." Static, scratchy noise, then,  "This is the 'Reneva' on this end."

"Well Cap, seems we have something in common and something of a dilemma. I got me a stowaway by the name of Albert Swan. Sound familiar?" His answer comes across the airwaves.
"That's him. Is he all right?" Joe lets go of the mike and chuckles into his coffee.

Having contacted someone who might be able to help the wanderer, the Maine captain begins speaking again, "He's not hurt or anything, but I can't keep him as crew. I was thinking of putting him off in Block Island or maybe Nantucket, but when I mentioned this to Albert I thought he was going to cry. Got any ideas? Over."

Joe has been fishing for twenty years and can see the problems. He'd have to chase the boat to Nantucket, use up two days supply of fuel and have no catch. He picked up the mike and said, "Angelina, what is your position? I don't see you on my radar."

"Approximately 5 mile south of Race Point and coming up to the Whistle buoy," came the reply.
Joe can picture Albert on the dock in Nantucket. Maybe the police would send him back.
Albert is sitting on the hatch that covers the fish-hold when he suddenly jumps up and holler out, "Say Cap, if you set me off in Nantucket could you lend me some money?"
The captain doesn't answer, but grabs the radio mike. "This is the 'Angelina. I'll put Albert off in Nantucket and give him twenty dollars. Over."

The reply comes back, "This is the 'Reneva' Listen cap, I've got an idea. You said you were near the Whistle buoy, we're 12 miles north of that big can." Joe has a smile under his bushy black beard, "How about putting Albert on the buoy? Its big enough to hold him. I'll head south and get him when I finish this tow. Maybe a couple of hours. What do you think? Over." Both captains are shaking their heads as if in unison of some strange force, knowing that this could be a simple answer to a complex question. In other works - its worth a shot.

"That a fine idea. I'll go ask Albert and get back to you." The radio barks out. The vagabond fisherman is looking worried. "Hey Albert I've been talking with Joe from the 'Reneva' and he has an idea that he thinks will work for all of us. " The big man braces himself against the rail and outriggers facing his stowaway, "I could put you out on the Whistle Buoy and Joe would come and get you." The captain from Maine is expecting Albert to put up a fuss, take time to think it over or refuse outright. Instead Albert jumps up, "That sounds fine, I know the place, been by it many times. I knew my ol' captain wouldn't let me down." Albert sounds like he's going to take a seat on a bench and wait for the next bus. The captain leaves scratching his head.

These heavy metal markers sit in the water four feet high, like an oil drum with a ring around it for tying to. Historically they dotted the entire eastern seaboard when mariners found their way with chart and compass, before GPS. The depth of the water at this location is one-hundred feet with a swirling tide, rushing, pushing and pulling the buoys off center, at times tilting twenty degrees. It sits two miles from land, too far for even the best swimmers due to the strong currents. When the buoy comes into site, the captain has a fleeting pang of remorse, a moment of doubt, but he maneuvers his 52 foot vessel closer to the bobbing cylindrical marker. "It looks safe," the mate said as he hooks the metal ring with the gaff then quickly slips a line through the ring as the captain hold the boat in slow-ahead. The boat is suspended, attached and the captain takes the boat out of gear.

The captain come out from the wheelhouse and hands Albert a gallon jug of water, a bag with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and potato chips. Albert looks around then into the paper bag, as if he is going to change his mind, "You wouldn't trade this water for a six pack of beer would you?"
The captain snarls and walks away.

Billy helps Albert over the boat rail. He leans out, bag between his teeth, jug in one hand, clutching the buoy's ring in the other and said, "Thanks for the lift." The 'Angelina' disengages, falls off and is moving away with the tide. Albert raises his hand, waving, watching the only boat on the horizon leave,  while in-between sea and sky Albert positions himself and waits. Eight hours later  the 'Reneva' appears alongside the buoy. Joe hangs out the wheelhouse and yells, "Hey Albert, you ready to go fishing?" Albert gives his rescuers a big smile, lifts his arm  toward the sky and give them a thumbs-up.