The heft of rope. Wind blowing the boat off the nets and straining the corkline. I'm glad for gloves on windy mornings. Pelicans gather, diving their beaks into the sea to tear herring out of the net but shake their heads at the baby rays, tossed back pink and black. Silver gleam. Tailor? Mulloway? Mulloway. A tugging on the corkline and a tangle of stingray and mesh over the gunwale. The smell of flowers from across the harbour. Pull the net across the water against the wind. Salt spray. Start the outboard and go ahead to ease the strain and stop the net from furling. Long fronds of weed with butterflied cockles for anchors. Hair in my face. Seagrass parting under the tinny. A Shepherd's Warning sky. Slap of a black bream tail in the red box. Shake the catching net at the pelicans so they rise away from the herring in a panic and settle again, cruise back in. One barnacled blue manna crab. Gnarly bastard.
Breakfast.
Cut my hands up a real treat breakfasting on that gnarly barnacled crab.
ReplyDeleteAh the life of a fisherwoman. Such beautiful descriptions here. I can almost taste the salt off the sea on my tongue.
ReplyDeleteLovely writing...... brought back memories - early mornings, pulling amateur craypots. And that thing, when you are at sea, or have been out there for a whle out of reach of land. The smell of earth is so strong when you get near it again. It's weird that you don't seem to smell it the rest of the time.
ReplyDeleteFeels good. Smells good.
ReplyDeleteIt's wild isn't it? That smell. The wood chip pile at the port is another good one, especially at night.
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