Thank you to the New Bedford Working Waterfront Festival - volunteers, committees, boats and fishermen for providing us with a wonderful weekend. We ate fish, crab, mussels, scallops, and clam chowder. We listened to sea chanties, poets, story tellers, and writers. We walked the waterfront, boarded fishing boats and talked with friends. One man who came to visit the Richard & Arnold told us his father  had captained our boat back in the 1940's. We met people from Alaska, Canada, New Jersey and we reunited with friends we hadn't see in years - what a treat. Even the rain couldn't dampen the spirits of all in attendance. And to top it off- our ride home was a beauty. The sun came out as we left New Bedford Harbor, the wind was light - variable, with a full moon rising. We did a whopping 12.5 knots through the Cape Cod Canal and 8.5 across Cape Cod Bay. The Richard & Arnold is now back in her berth at MacMillan Wharf in Provincetown waiting for her next trip.

From Portsmouth, NH to New Bedford,MA

We enjoyed the time spent at the New Hampshire Fish and Lobster Festival: the food was great, the people friendly and the fisherfolk are raising awareness regarding the small boat fleets and what is happening to our American Fishing Industry.  Sept 29 & 30, 2012 Dave and I are taking the F/V Richard & Arnold to the New Bedford Working Waterfront Festival. The theme this year is:
Fish Tales: Fact, Fiction and Narrative Tradition.  Stop by and say hello.

The highlight of the Fluke season came last Sunday, when a dark green boat, a Bertrum design followed the Richard & Arnold into the basin in Menemsha. Dave had fished the day and was on his way back to harbor and began wondering what he captain of the dark green boat wanted, it was following close behind all the way to the dock on Martha's Vineyard. After the Richard & Arnold was tied up and secured, the Bertrum came along side and a gentlemen reached across the rail to Dave, "Let me shake your hand," the older gentleman said, "You don't remember me, do you?" He had the biggest smile on his face and Dave warmed to him right away. "I'm Arnold."   Dave took a moment to understand that standing in front of him was one of the brothers that our boat had been named for when it came to Provincetown back in 1933.  Arnold continued, "I'm 82 years old and I'm so happy and proud to see how you've kept the boat. My father would be proud too. My brother Richard has passed away, but he'd be proud as well if he were here to see her." There were smiles of joy and tears of excitement, "I remember when my dad, Frank Parson fished the boat from Provincetown Harbor when I was just a child." Arnold Parson shook Dave's hand a dozen times while he looked over the boat and talked about how great it was for him to see the 'Richard & Arnold'. What a great way to end the Fluke season which closed the following day. Thank you to Arnold Parson for showing up at just the right time to say hello and then bon voyage, to a vessel that has both a history and a future.  

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.

A seafaring holiday

Day 1: a car for an hour, a ferry for an hour, three buses took two hours and finally the harbor of Menemsha, on the island of Martha's Vineyard. The Richard & Arnold at the dock and Dave waiting, I was happy to see that not much has changed - the houses, the boats and the people as I remembered, inviting and warm. Actually it was one of the hottest weeks of the summer season, but I had the most refreshing swim at the beach near the harbor, looking back toward the mainland, west facing. The water was cool, clear and salty. Dinner was fish and lobster, of coarse. Day 2: Awake at 3AM. Dave started the engine and let go the lines. It felt like the middle of the night, so I stayed in the bunk ---Big mistake. An hour later I found myself sea-sick and unable to stand up. I lie on the deck like a wet fish and roll around most of the day wanting my headache and queezyness to go away. Every ten minutes I ask Dave "how much longer?" The gods of the sea looked down on me with pity and we arrived back at the dock around noon. Not bad. I changed into a bathing suit and went first for a swim then for a shower. Very refreshing. Dave and I ate lunch on shore, on the dock . A cup of chowder and saltines for me. A seafood sandwich for Dave that he called a "chimmmy-chonga". A friendly fisherman Tim, who owns and fishes the old 'Bottom Scratcher' renamed 'Four Kids' gave Dave a ride to a pharmacy to buy bonine for me. There was no Dramamine left in the whole village at Menemsha Harbor. I'll bet I'm not the first mariner to go begging for it.
Day 3: Much better, the stuff works. We headed out again at 4AM but this time I got up and went on deck to see the night turn to day as we headed south toward Gay Head Lighthouse and past the tip of the island.  Noman's Island lay as a grey lump on the horizon off in the distance. The sea was running 5-6 feet, it was rougher than the day before, but the pill was working it's magic and I was able to help a little with the sorting of fish. The piles are small and Dave had the deck cleared in less than fifteen minutes. The fish were slow coming and he decided to move, closer inside, not as rollie and easier for me. We bruise easily at our age. Dave ate eggs and sausages, I lived on water and crackers. The regulations allow for 300 pounds of Fluke per boat, per day with five days allowed each week and so we were back at the dock by one o'clock. I went for a swim, showered  and had lunch with my honey and then with mixed feeling, I hopped the bus at 4PM, then the ferry and then the car. Dave calls me "a tough lady". I was asleep in my own bed by 10PM- but recovering took two days. It was a memorable three day holiday and you know what? I'll have to do it again - I forgot to take pictures.  

Me and the Provincetown Blessing of the fleet

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