Muckalarking
Oh, great. Me and Michelle are at it again, and catching nothing again. The worst fishin’ season I’ve ever been through. That’s no exaggeration, I swear. And I been at this 53 years!
Why? Who knows, but if I had to guess I’d definitely go with weather conditions. I think that rainy June we had (the worst in history, by the way) really did us in. As you might know already, the fish migrate seasonally, and that rain basically fucked the whole works. Too much fresh water flows into the ocean, reduces the salinity. Then the water temperature was way down — just threw everything into a big chaotic mess.
Just my luck, huh? I could not have picked a worse time to write about fishing down on the waterfront — no goddamn fish. I’m thinking, What did sportswriters write about when baseball went on strike? Women’s baseball?
Well, I won’t bitch a whole lot, because here comes my angel again, Michelle. Now, she’s very well traveled and she can stimulate my thought process. She makes me think of ideas and such so’s I’m not staring at a blank piece of paper and wasting all our time. I sometimes think she’s going to demand half my paycheck — and rightfully so!
Only bad part is she’s got a soft spot for seals. And she really objects to my tried-and-true method of scaring them away: heaving stones at their heads. I try to explain to her that rocks would just bounce off their heads, and I can’t hit them anyway. The guys that work for the Fish Pier like it, though. They gleefully cheer on my endeavors.
But she does make suggestions. Not that great today, though, ’cause she wants me to write about “the changing of the Portland waterfront.” And see, I’m like, “Duh, where you been, Michelle?” ’cause it seems to me that’s about all I ever write about since I started this gig. And you know, every time I think about the Portland waterfront, an old song by Merle Haggard comes to mind: “Are the good times really over for good?” Ever heard it?
My gosh, I remember running a dogfish operation for awhile. Maybe 10 boats at a whack waiting to off-load. And that was just dogfish! We’d actually measure our by-catch by the bucket. Well, no more, Michelle.
What I want to write about is muckalarks. Don’t know what that is, do you? I was watching this show on History Channel called The Worst Jobs in History, and I learned that in the olden days there was actually an occupation of going down the seashore and picking up any sorts of scrap you could find, and then reselling it to any scrap dealer that would take it. What a job!
That was on The Worst Jobs in History, but I’d say it was one of the best jobs in history. My goodness, imagine scavenging the seashore and getting paid for it! Now, it certainly didn’t pay much, perhaps two pence a day, but to me it’d be heaven on earth. I guess copper was the big treasure to find. They used to line the hulls of their boats with it. I’d be really good at that job. I just wish that was still a career. I don’t know what two pence a day would translate to nowadays, but shucks, must have been enough to live on, right? And who could put monetary value on having the time of your life?
Michelle votes against that one. OK, try this one out. Did you know in India the burial practice is to cremate the dead on the edge of the water? Well, after the big burn, they take and throw the debris from the fire into the water, and there’s actually a fish that eats the remains, called a gooch.
No, Michelle? OK, how ’bout “three sheets to the wind?” Comes from an old ship losing its sails to a huge storm. Of course, we know it now as being a catchphrase for being hammered to the max, staggering and reeling about with no control over one’s actions.
I’m just trying to ignite everyone’s sense of heritage, which be the sea, me lads. You see, even with no fish to catch there’s still plenty to write about. Do please stay tuned. Next month, I plan to answer all the questions I’ve been asked about fishing this year.
