July 25, 2004

LOBSTERING

The travel alarm woke me at four thirty.  Quickly pulling on the clothes I had laid out the night before I slipped out of the coach and went to wake Daniel who was camped next door.  Back home I grabbed a piece of sausage, a cup of tea, shirt jacket, a down vest and headed out the door.

It was five o’clock and Adrian Watkins and Daniel Sauliner were waiting in Adrian’s truck.  I slipped in the back seat with Daniel and we headed for the entrance of Belle Baie where we stopped to pick up the crew, Scott and Denny.  Both are young fellows as is Adrian.  Adrian is in his late twenties, I suppose, Scott perhaps twenty four and Denny about twenty two.  Adrian began fishing with his Dad while still in school.  Scott has been fishing about five years and Denny just two and a half.

Small talk filled the cab while we made the short drive to the Digby harbor where the Attaboy lay tied up.  We climbed down the metal ladders to the deck of a scallop dragger that lay next to the pilings, climbed aboard her then maneuvered around all the machinery on her deck, boarded another lobster boat and then boarded the Attaboy. 

Adrian got the big Detroit diesel running and began switching on running lights, radar, GPS, depth sounder, autopilot and other electronics.  Scott and Denny began readying to cast off the shore lines while Daniel and I stored the things we had brought on board, in the corner of the wheelhouse.

When all things were ready Scott and Denny took in the shore lines and Adrian got us underway, heading out of the harbor toward the first trawl.

 Daniel and I stood close to Adrian watching the glow of the electronic screens as well as the compass heading and talking with Adrian.

Behind us Scott and Denny were busy.  Forty pound flats of frozen herring were taken out of plastic tubs and then, after removing the plastic strapping and cardboard box, run through a hydraulic bait cutter, in the bait room.  One misplaced hand could result in the loss of fingers, or worse, when the metal ram came down and sliced the frozen bait into four neat squares before the slab was pushed further into the cutter and then cut again and again until the whole forty pounds was reduced to hand sized squares.

 This morning in a relative calm this looked like an easy operation.  As the day wore on and the boat rocked in sizable swells the task became a little more dicey.  When the bait was cut it was placed in bait bags made of open fabric mesh and then put in a tub where it stayed until it was put on a spike in a trap.

The morning had started off cool and now that we were away from the shore the air was even cooler.  Adrian turned on the cabin heater.  Outside the fog descended and reduced visibility to a quarter mile or less.

When the bait bags were ready Scott and Denny had just enough time to go below, in the cabin, and retrieve their wet weather gear and don it.  This was heavy soled rubber boots that came to the calf and rip proof water repellant bib overalls.

When dressed, both guys grabbed a handful of carb intense snacks and wolfed it down before going back on deck and getting ready to pull the first trawl.

Adrian had followed his GPS through the fog to where the first trawl buoy bounced on the waves. 

As he deftly brought the buoy along the starboard side Scott snatched the anchoring line with a boat hook, grabbed the line in his hand, passed it over a wheel hanging from the rear roof of the wheelhouse, handed the boat hook to Denny and then wrapped the line around a winch wheel which Adrian activated.

 This operation, which happened quicker than it takes to tell, took place each time we retrieved a trawl, eighteen times in all.  As the day progressed and the weather worsened it sometimes required Scott and Denny, together, to pull the line aboard and place it on the winch wheel.  Only my imagination could tell me what this would be like in really heavy cold weather.

Once the line was secured on the winch wheel Adrian used the winch to pull rope, with nine thousand pound tensile strength, aboard where it fell into the rope locker just below the winch wheel.

Lobster traps are set at ninety foot intervals, by law, on the trawl line.  Once the buoy line is aboard the winch continues operation until the first trap is hanging just below the wheel suspended from the rear of the wheelhouse.  If the trawl line or the four foot section of line that connects the trap to the trawl line is fouled it is cleared at this point and then Scott grabbed the ninety pound trap, dry weight, and pulled it on board.

On board one end of the three foot long trap was placed on the rail and the other end on a metal ledge next to a bulk head.  Since I didn’t measure the trap I’m not quite sure of the dimensions but will tell you that the size is determined by regulation.

This is a highly regulated industry but the fishermen have learned to live with those regulations and follow them very closely.  Failure to do so can result in the loss of license, loss of boat, truck and personal property.  The license itself only cost twenty five dollars a year but since the government froze the numbers several years ago licenses are passed from father to son.  When they are sold the price can be up to a million dollars.  Boats range, in cost new, from three hundred thousand dollars up to multiples of that number.  These figures alone provide great incentive for compliance with the numerous laws regulating the fishery.

With the trap resting on the rail and ledge the spring loaded top is opened and the task of removing lobsters, measuring those near the minimum size, keeping the legal ones and returning all others to the sea, is completed.  This includes all egg bearing females.  One female has hundreds, if not thousands, of eggs attached to the underside of her tail.

  When the eggs are laid they will hatch in the cold waters where about three percent will live to maturity and harvesting size, in seven years.  Conditions are such that the Bay of Fundy, where we were fishing, has the highest survival rate of young lobsters of any fishery in the world.

When the lobsters were out of the trap the crabs, sea urchins, star fish, cod, sculpins, haddock, seaweed, lemon grass or anything else that has found its way into the trap is returned to the sea.

Denny, who works on the stern side of the trap, has handed Scott the bait bag from the spike inside the trap and while Scott opens and empties the bag of any remaining bait Denny places a new bag full of fresh bait on the bait spike, closes the top and moves the trap towards the stern.  Scott throws the empty bait bag into the bait room where Denny will fill it once the trawl has been run and reset.  Sometimes a seal will stick his nose into the trap and steal the bait, taking the bait bag in the process.  When that happens no bait bag flies through the air and into the bait room.  The trap is pushed down the top of the rail, seesawing as it goes, to maintain balance, and near the stern it is placed on the deck as far to port as possible.

  It will rest here until the trawl is reset.

By this time Adrian has the next trap waiting to be brought aboard.  The routine continues until the last trap has come aboard, been cleaned, re-baited and readied to be reset.  If the catch was good the trawl will be reset close to where it was if not it will be relocated.  In either event when it is time to reset the trawl Adrian yells “yep” over the sound of the engine, wind and waves and Scott shoves the last trap on board over the side.  The trawl line pays out over the stern as the boat gathers speed.  When the ninety feet of line between the traps has paid out the next trap on the trawl line is snatched into motion and goes flying over the open stern.

 With the throttle wide open this continues until the last trap is set and then the marker buoy follows.  Then it is on to the next trawl.

On the way to the next trawl Denny loads the bait bags that have just come out of the traps and places them within easy reach of his work station.  Scott bands the lobsters and drops them into a large holding tank, full of sea water.

The first set of trawls that were worked all lay close in.  They were near the harbor and the shore.  We were in five to eight fathoms of water, six feet to a fathom, but in some cases were within a stone’s throw of the rocky shoreline which was sometimes a beach and sometimes a precipice. 

High on the treed hills isolated houses stood watch over the bay while on a lower plane a lone tent stood in a clearing.   Who lived there was unknown to us but Scott did remark that many people from Florida had purchased land and built summer homes, here.  If that was the case there were no citrus groves, mangrove swamps or sultry summer days to gaze on from the comfort of air conditioning.  On the other hand air conditioning here would be a bit like gilding the lily.

 As we worked our way out into the Bay of Fundy, home of the largest tide falls in the world, the wind increased as did the seas and rain began to fall.  Scott and Denny, while they were donning their rainproof tops, told me it was not rough and I admitted to having been in bigger seas but the boat was certainly giving us a good ride.  As they went about their work I put my hands on the overhead to steady myself as I made my way about the wheelhouse.

Daniel had been all over the boat, as it was being worked.  He too is a lobster fisherman, working the stern portion like Denny.  On one occasion he grabbed a piece of seaweed that came aboard on one of the traps and popped it in his mouth much as one would do a piece of cabbage or lettuce.  It was mentioned that what he was eating looked like dulce.  He agreed and said that it was simply the fresh, un-dried version.  Later when a sea urchin was brought from a trap he cut it open and ate it remarking that everything in the sea is good to eat.  He may be right.  It was on his boat that Onie and I first ate raw scallops.

As bait bags were emptied of old bait it was dumped in a large plastic lug.  Later it would be dumped into the sea.  For now it was more convenient and quicker to just accumulate it.  Gulls seem to congregate where ever fishermen ply their trade.  They followed our boat and during a lull in hauling the pots, traps, some of them ventured to land on the deck where they picked up small pieces of old herring.  One bird in particular was aggressive enough to land on the old bait lug and began eating out of it.  Scott and Denny thought that was funny but when he began trying to steal fresh herring out of the new bait bags thy quickly sent him flying.

Daniel lit up the kerosene burning stove in the galley area of the cabin and placed a pot of sea water on it, to boil.  Around the perimeter of the burners ran a heavy steel rod that kept the pot in place in heavy seas. 

Lunch time was fast approaching and the dulce and sea urchin had hit the spot but not filled the stomach.  As lobsters were brought aboard a few were selected to serve as our lunch.  As soon as the water began to boil several lobsters took their final dive in salt water.  A few minutes later they were beet red.  Daniel emptied the hot water overboard and then set the pot full of lobsters out to cool.  By this time he had on his jacket and I had on a tee shirt, light weight turtle neck, down vest and shirt jacket to stave off the cold air.  Outside the cabin in the rain drenched air the lobsters quickly cooled.

Scott and Denny passed on lobster for lunch instead sticking to their high carb corner store lunch.  Daniel showed me how to take the tail fins off the lobster, remove the tail from the body, cradle the tail in my palm and then close my fingers around the tail, crushing the shell before lifting out the tail meat, intact.  Claws were broken open with knives and meat picked from the small portions with a pen knife.  Daniel found a spoon and cleaned out the body and head parts.  I let him have mine.  With the boat on autopilot Adrian joined us for a quick bite before returning to his duties.  It was quite an experience eating my fill of steaming fresh, they had been out of the water less than an hour, lobster while on boat a boat pitching in the windblown sea while rain fell outside.

Perhaps it was the increasing wind that drove away the rain but whatever the reason it began to clear.  Nearly thirteen miles away the shores of New Brunswick could be imagined in the increasing sunlight.

With the last trawl reset we headed back towards Digby and the harbor.  Still the wind blew and brought back the rain and what seemed like even cooler temps.  Scott and Denny broke out the seawater hose and began a preliminary washing down of the deck, rails and superstructure.  The craggy coastline slipped by and soon we were abreast of the Digby lighthouse and then we were crossing the path of the Digby-New Brunswick Ferry. 

Shortly the pier was rising twenty five feet above us.  Topside a truck waited.  It had an electric winch mounted on the back bumper.  Lowered to us in covered lugs was the four hundred pounds of bait for the next trip.  When all the bait was on board and stowed the lugs containing the lobsters, which Denny and Scott had loaded on the way in, were hoisted topside and weighed.  We had brought in three hundred three pounds.  They would bring six fifty and pound.  The take would be divided among the license holder, the captain and crew.

New bait was on board and the lobsters had been off loaded but there was still work for the crew, winch and those topside.  Eighty five pound anchors are used on both ends of trawls when fishing outside, in the Bay of Fundy, in fifty to sixty fathoms of water.  With the end of the season approaching, next Saturday, August 28^th, deep trawls were being moved closer in where anchors weren’t needed.  Today several sets of anchors were sent topside to be stored, to wait for the next season.  With those gone Scott and Denny finished washing down the boat, with the seawater hose, as we made our way to where we would tie up next to other boats.

Numerous large crabs had been taken from the traps.  These had been saved.  Now that we were tied up the job of removing the claws took place.  Crabs can’t be processed at sea as it is unlawful to keep small crabs and any size female crab with eggs.  To enforce this law at sea would be impractical so the fishermen are required to bring the crabs in to the pier.  Fishery Officers may come aboard a boat at anytime to check the legality of catches giving no warning and not needing a search warrant.  When the claws had all been gathered the crabs were thrown back into the harbor.  I watched as most swam toward the bottom where they would find their way out of the harbor, reestablish residence and grow new claws.

Once tied up it had been necessary to climb over two other boats to gain access to the ladder which we climbed the twenty five feet to the top of the pier.  Standing on the pier the swaying of the boat could still be felt but was quickly forgotten when it was mentioned that we would be stopping for ice cream on the way back to Belle Baie.  We did.  I had chocolate.

At the coach I delivered a large plastic bag full of crab legs to Yvonne and to June and Al.

Onie was gone but soon returned.

Cold had set in on the boat and was still there when the ice cream went down.  Now it seemed to be even worse so the bed was sought for warmth and comfort.  Onie woke me at six thirty.

Onie had just started our supper when Yvonne came to our door with rappie pie.  We had been invited to her house for supper but in my fatigue had completely forgotten it.  She had brought it to us.  We had just sat down to eat when June and Al came calling.  They had boiled the crab legs and were bringing us some.  Al proceeded to show us how to crack them and get the meat out.  He cracked and we ate.  Soon all the legs were gone then we visited for a spell before they went to their camper.  We returned to the rappie pie and a salad.

     Outside the weather was blustery.  Most of the weekend folk had gone home.  We elected to stay in and watch the Game Show Network before turning out our lights at eleven.

July 26, 2004

THE WAY IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE

After a good night’s sleep Onie and I rose at nine and had our coffee and tea.  Solitaire occupied us while our drinks were brewing.

After that I settled down to write and Onie got ready to go to the gym.  Shortly she and June left.

Outside the Marlin it was partly sunny with the wind blowing from the north holding the temp at a cool sixty three.

By eleven thirty Onie and June were back from the gym.  Our day would be simple.  After breakfast we would wash and dry clothes, hanging out what we could.

With washing and drying going on the temperature had risen to sixty nine by a quarter of four and the sun shone brightly in a brilliant blue sky.  Strolling back and forth to the washateria in my tank top and shorts I knew this is the way it is supposed to be.  When we got to a stopping point with the wash, it had been two weeks since we last washed; we agreed to finish on the morrow.

It was such a beautiful day we were loath to give it up.  Onie went to the store and got some chicken to grill outside.  In her absence I pecked a bit.  When she returned I lit the grill while she prepared the chicken.  While the chicken grilled she prepared a wonderful salad.  Soon we sat down to another Atkins meal.

The sun was going down in a blaze of glory over Digby Neck when we walked to Steve and Yvonne’s to join them, June and Al around the fire.  Everyone bragged on the glorious day we had experienced and hoped many more would follow.  Energy levels were still low from the weekend so an early evening found us back in the Marlin at ten.

July 27, 2004

ENCORE

The four thirty alarm rang again.  At a few minutes to five I struggled out of bed and jumped into the clothes I laid out last night.  Taking no time to make tea I grabbed a coke, bottle of water and some cold ham and lit out for the Digby harbor.  Adrian had called last evening and said they were going out again this morning.  If I wanted to go I should meet them at five forty five at the boat.  I quickly accepted the invitation not wanting to miss the encore.

The drive was quick and uneventful taking just long enough for me to gulp down the cold ham and drink the water.  It took a few minutes to find the boat when I arrived but I finally saw Scott and Denny standing on deck waiting for me.  Quickly parking the car I threw my coke, shirt jacket, down vest and camera in a five gallon bucket and hot footed it out the pier to the ladder.  A quick descent and crawl over an intervening boat and I was on board.  Adrian had the engine running.  Lines were cast off and we were headed out of the harbor and toward the first trawl.

Before us the water lay flat as carpet grass, the only wave being the wake of the boat that left just in front of us.  Nor a ripple stirred as there was no wind.

Without fog the shoreline looked altogether different until we got to the first set of traps.  Here, again, we worked close to shore.  In the calm I wondered how fishermen in sailboats worked these waters years ago.  Theirs must have been a back breaking job, hauling the pots up by hand, working the boats, braving the strong tidal currents, rocks and winds.  Would they recognize they trade if they saw it today?

With the sea so calm moving about the boat was easy and it felt good to be on deck and feel the warm sun beating down.  Trawls were hauled and worked.  Some of those in the Bay of Fundy were picked up and relocated closer to the harbor where they would stay until Saturday when all the trawls would be picked up and stored.  During the off season crew members would make necessary repairs.  There would be no additional pay as this is considered part of the job.

A few less lobsters were found in the traps than on Sunday but they appeared to be larger overall.  I opined as how we would have more weight.  Skeptical eyes looked my way.

Never during the day did the wind blow more than a mere whisper and the sun beat down with increasing intensity making the trip almost perfect.  The only thing missing were full traps but the guys seemed to be satisfied with the catch.

When the last trawl was set we ran back into the harbor, passing the Digby lighthouse and ferry, once more.

The boat and crew would go out twice more, without me, before the season ended, Friday morning and then again at midnight Friday.  Then they would run the trawls, Saturday, pick them up, take them and store them before taking the ebb tide to Yarmouth.  The trip, on the flowing tide, would take three hours.  On the flood tide it would take six hours so timing was crucial.

Bait, including flounder carcasses, was sent down and lobsters sent up.

 When the lobsters were weighed my keen eye was verified for we had one pound more than on Sunday.  The largest lobster weighed it at eight and a half pounds.

Tied up once again we scaled the ladder and went to the vehicles agreeing to meet at the ice cream shop.  I again had chocolate.

Two fifteen saw me back in the Marlin where Onie had been up since eight thirty, cleaning. 

She had finished the wash, including the rugs and our sheets, and had it hanging on the line.  Outside on the table sat the coffee pot.  She had run it through the cleaning cycle several times.  On the picnic table the cover for the vent fan over the stove lay drying.

All thoughts of sleep left me when I saw how hard she had been working.  I ran some cleaning water through the coffee pot and put the vent fan cover back in place.  Then dry clothes were folded and brought in and we made our bed.  When I went back out for more dry clothes Onie scrubbed the bathroom and kitchen floors.

It was supper time and Onie served it up in grand style, salad of lettuce, avocado, onion, cucumbers and tomato followed by haddock, crab and spinach.  Strawberry short cake was dessert.

The shades of evening were being drawn when I walked over to visit with Steven, Yvonne, Al, June and Jeanette.  Onie stayed in and tuned into LMN.

Shortly I returned with Yvonne.  She and Onie were going to the gym in the morning and she needed something for Steve’s lunch.  I volunteered the grilled chicken we had from Monday night so she wouldn’t have to stay up and cook.

Onie and Yvonne planned their trip to the gym and then visited for a while.

Later Onie went to bed to continue her movie on LMN.  I read for a while, played solitaire and joined her at ten.  She was still watching the movie when sleep caught up with me.

July 28, 2004

PLANNING

Onie was the early riser this morning.  She made coffee and tea and worked on the stories, getting them ready to post, while I slept.  Outside in the cool morning air the fog made the overcast skies look even grayer.

When I rose she got ready and left for the gym with Yvonne around ten thirty.  By now the fog had thickened to a drizzle and by eleven had graduated to a real rain.  With my fuzzy slippers on I pounded away on the laptop with my tea cup at my elbow.

When Onie returned she began working on supper.  Soon the smell and warmth of fresh soup filled the coach.  Outside the rain continued to fall, dropping the temperatures along with the water.

Inside Onie and I worked on planning our upcoming trip to New Foundland.  A phone call was made to secure ferry passage from North Sydney, Nova Scotia to Port aux Basque, New Foundland this coming Friday evening.  Too many other folks had the same idea and no room was available.  Nor was room available on Saturday, Sunday or Monday.  There was a change of plans.  We now will leave on Tuesday, August the third.  With the departure date firmed up, five days later than we had hoped for, the Labrador portion seemed a bit tenuous.

Some neighbors from Louisiana in a Hi-Lo camper moved in on the lot next door.  We took a break and went out to say hello.  They were Aggie and Don LeBlanc from Lafayette and were here for the Congress.  Since they had not made reservations here, well in advance, they will have to move on Friday to make room for some one with reservations.  They will be going to Church Point Campground, about three quarters of a mile from here. 

While we were outside the holding tanks were drained and then we retreated to the Marlin.  The rain continued to fall.

Inside I went back to writing and Onie began a movie.  Later we had some fresh soup.  Outside the rain finally stopped but was replaced by a heavy mist.  The cold damp penetrated the walls of the Marlin and put a chill on us so we donned some warm clothes before continuing, Onie with the planning and me with writing.

By now Onie was planning the whole trip, by mutual agreement.  I will do the phoning for reservations.  As she laid out the trip she discovered that there were major Viking sites in Newfoundland.  The prospect of visiting Viking ruins had been the major magnet in Labrador.  Now that Onie had found Viking ruins in Newfoundland we agreed that Labrador would have to wait until another time.  In addition we would limit our trip to the west coast of Newfoundland so we could be more leisurely in our travels. 

Supper time came on and as we were sitting down to eat Yvonne came by with our Atkins order.  A few minutes later she left and we resumed our meal.

A movie entertained Onie while I wrote.  When I could peck no longer I joined her in bed and we watched GSN until we were ready for sleep.

July 29, 2004

RAIN CHECK

Rain rarely wakes us at Lake Road but it has done so frequently, here.  It did so again this morning, early.  In fact it was too early to get up so we rolled over, pulled the covers up higher and went back to sleep.

The next time we woke up the rain had been replaced with fog.  It was damp and chilly in the coach and it seemed a good addition to coffee and tea would be buckwheat cakes and sausage.   With a unanimous vote I began preparations for breakfast.  While the sausage boiled and the griddle heated the pancakes were mixed.  Then we got down to the serious business of flipping wheat cakes.  Onie waited until the first one came steaming off the griddle and then she buttered it, added syrup, cut some sausage and began removing the wrinkles from her tummy.  When her plate was full I began loading mine and as the cakes hit the plate Onie buttered them for me.  Soon it was my turn to fill the tummy.  I passed on the syrup and used figs instead.  It just seems that nothing can beat hot buckwheat cakes and figs, sausage and hot tea to drive away the cold and dampness. 

Fortified against the day we made our plans.  We would go to Digby.  Onie could go to Guy’s Frenchy while I stopped in at Sobey’s to pick up passes to the tall ships and then went to Canadian Tire to check on the inflatable bed we were trying to by.  We had a rain check and it was saving us a hundred dollars so we didn’t want it to slip away.  When my shopping was over I would pick her up and we would go grocery shopping before going home.  While we were making our plans the sun burned off the fog and warmed the interior of the car.

We drove off to Digby in warm sunshine.

When we got there our plan worked to a tee and then some.  In addition to getting the bed I found some small stainless nuts and bolts that I needed and a flower pot to put a wild rose in.  The wild roses here are magnificent and have the most wonderful aroma.  We are going to try digging one up and taking it to Lake Rd.

On the way home we stopped to buy some raspberries, three dollars a pint.  Once again we were struck by the cultural difference here from the States.  The berries were displayed on a small wooden table.  Attached to the table was a crude sign naming the price.  Next to the berries sat a pint pickle jar with a note attached to it; place your money inside the jar and make change as necessary.  No one was in sight and the jar had a fair sum of money in it.  I put our six dollars in the jar and took two pints of berries.  As we drove off we wondered how long the money jar and the berries would last in the States.

Yvonne hadn’t gone to the gym when we returned so she and Onie went together.

In their absence I pecked and accessed the WWW.

Wash is never completely done so when Onie got back we worked on that a bit, hanging out some jeans, sheets and underwear as well as some bath towels.  Nothing smells better than towels and sheets that have dried in the sunshine and a nice breeze.

Yvonne made a crab dip from some of the claws from the trip on Sunday and tonight she was serving them.  We were invited for seven o’clock, to partake.  We kept the appointment and the partaking was very good, thank you.

After the appetizer we went home and had supper before returning to sing while Al and Steve played.

While we were gone several Cajun couples had gathered at the campfire.  We visited with them, between songs, but when the night grew long we took the short walk home and to bed.

July 30, 2004

PLAYTIME

A cool fog wrapped the coach when we rose around eight.

Coffee and tea accompanied our breakfast of cereal and cream.

Onie got ready for the gym and she and June departed leaving me with two of June’s grand children, Kristin, a ten year old young lady, and Dillon, a five year old who is all boy.  She didn’t just dump them on me.  I volunteered to keep them so she and Onie could exercise together.  Al, who would normally watch them, is playing golf with his son, Joey.

By unanimous consent we mounted our bikes and took off for a tour of the park.  Dillon suggested we could ride on the road but as it was quite foggy I thought it best we stay in the park.  Kristin led for a while, then Dillon and then me.  The lead swapped more than a few times as we wound back and forth through the park going back into the trees and then out to the point where the cold strong southwest wind pushed at us.  After a few trips through the park Dillon’s legs were beginning to tire so we headed back to the pit and playtime.

The question was; what should we play?  Dillon had a game called Bob the Builder and he suggested we play that.  He got it from Al and June’s camper and brought it into the coach where he spread it out on the floor.  It is a cute game.  The object is to build a two story tower before anyone else.  Play is done by spinning a dial that indicates; take a piece, barricade or dozer.  Nine pieces are needed to complete your building.  If the dial lands on “barricade” you get the only barricade to protect your building from other players who might get “dozer”.  When dozer is indicated the dozer is started, allowed to spin in the middle of the board and then released.  If it strikes an opponent’s building anything that falls goes to the dozer operator.  Half the dial face is dozer so a lot of potential wreckage takes place.  When Dillon got the dozer he got the broadest grin he could manage as he planned a little wrecking.   The three of us laughed and giggled as the dial spun and we built, barricaded and wrecked until someone finally won.  Then we played again.

Young stomachs require frequent refilling and so it was when the last game was played and the pieces back in the box my job changed to grape washer.  We had bought grapes yesterday but they weren’t yet in the refrigerator.  When Dillon saw them he announced that grapes were his favorite snack.  I told him that was quite remarkable as they were mine too.  Kristin allowed as how she didn’t like grapes.  She did like bananas and was glad to eat the one that we had left over from Haley’s visit.  When the red grapes were washed and in a bowl Dillon and I dove in.  When about half were gone, we had a pound, I mentioned he might want to be a little careful about eating too many as they could give him diarrhea.  Nope, he replied, that wouldn’t be a problem but they would give him a lot of gas.  Whether the thought of the gas or perhaps the prospect I had raised was the over riding concern he decided to call the great grape feast, to a halt.  We had discussed going to the beach and lagoon but Onie and June came back.  June announced it was time to go to her camper but Dillon wanted to go to the lagoon and throw rocks.  June agreed he could go so we set off for another adventure.

The lagoon is but a hundred yards from our front window but one should remember that distances grow for short young legs.  Dillon led the way, climbing over rocks, wading through wild flowers and climbing the dune while I followed with my walking stick.  We stopped to throw a few rocks from the top of the dune before trekking on down to the waters edge.  I wanted to show Dillon how to skip rocks on the waters surface but he was having none of that.  He had discovered a dangerous situation.  Someone else had made two rafts from scrap lumber.  They were tied together and then to an old anchor.  He explained to me, with a very serious look, that this was a dangerous thing.  Kids floating on these things could get hurt.  He set about rectifying the situation.  He worked until he had the anchor rope untied, separated the rafts and then struggled to shove each of them into the wind rippled lagoon.  When they were floating, towards a lee shore, he stood and announced with a proud grin that the problem was taken care of and that no kids would be hurt on “those things”.  A few rocks were sent to the bottom of the lagoon and then the seaside beckoned him.

We climbed back up the rocky dune and down to the incoming tide.  For a few minutes Dillon flirted with the incoming waves, running back and forth with each one incoming or receding.  His little boy shrieks of delight rolled out toward Digby Neck and back over the dune.  Soon the temptation of the foaming water was too much and he stood as a wave washed over his water sandals and up around his small ankles and then came up close to his knees.  Now he really shrieked and laughed, stomping in the cold water, his face lit as if by a thousand suns.

Kristin who had left us when we went to the lagoon came to join us.   Dillon had explained, in an exasperated voice, that she had gone to feed a toy baby who couldn’t eat out of a toy bottle that was empty.  It was plain that he didn’t have much patience for make believe when it came to tending dolls.  After all he IS a five year BOY. Kristin brought her baby with her.  When she saw Dillon running about in the water she removed her dolls shoes and socks, the socks found a refuge in the pocket of my jeans, and was soon allowing her dolly to walk in the shallow water.  The doll mimicked Dillon’s yells and was having a good time until she waded a bit too deep and got the cuffs of her pants wet.  I heard Kristin scold her.  Dillon snorted.  I leaned on my walking stick and enjoyed the scene that has been repeated countless times through the ages, little girls practicing for responsibility and motherhood and little boys practicing for, fun.  I think I’m glad I’m a boy.

The damp air as well as the standing was taking its toll on me so I suggested it might be a good time to go see Grammy June.  The suggestion fell on deaf ears the kids not hearing anymore than the doll.  When it was repeated with a little more authority they told me they could stay on the beach by themselves.  After a little conversation the three of us went to check with Grammy June on the advisability of that.  After the conference they returned to the beach and I repaired to the motor home, to rest.

The sun shone down outside as we worked inside.  Reservations still needed to be completed for the upcoming trip so it was back to phoning.   When the last confirmation number was recorded we turned our attentions to getting pictures ready to combine with stories, the ultimate goal being to post more stories.

June mentioned she wanted to go dig some quahog clams when the tide was low.  It was low.  Steven had already set off with his bucket and pitchfork.  June was waiting for me.  I got my army shovel, a bucket and joined her.  On our way to the beach we fell in with Yvonne and a bunch of Cajuns who were going to dig regular clams.

The heavy fog misted my glasses as we picked our way over the exposed barnacle encrusted rocks and seaweed.  Depressions on the beach held puddles of water and soon enough my deck shoes were wet from traversing these small obstacles.  Yvonne and the Cajuns stopped and began digging.  June and I walked on toward along spit, still hidden by the fog, known as Majors Point.  Somewhere in front of us we thought Steve was already looking for quahogs.  The muffled sounds of Yvonne’s and the others’ hacks banging on rocks were soon lost in the mists.

When we came to a large expanse of rock free sand we began our search for holes, the size of a  pencil eraser, in the sand.  As we looked June stomped on the sand and I pounded on it with my walking stick, by doing so we hoped to startle any hidden quahogs and make them squirt a minnie geyser exposing their secret resting place.  Our search took us out of sight of land.  Some folks, who are no longer with us, have become disoriented in the fog while hunting clams and fallen victim to the incoming tide.  That is why my pocket held a compass which I consulted from time to time, just to keep our bearings.  Steven had been shrouded in the fog when we passed him but now we could see him, faintly, walking and probing the beach behind us.  We walked, looked and pounded for a long time, stopping infrequently to dig at a suspect hole.  Twice June pulled a quahog, also called a bar clam, from the sand.  My luck was limited to large sand worms.

The fog had thinned a bit and half a mile away we could see the blurred outlines of campers at Belle Baie.  We were walking on some on the lowest part of the beach and next to our feet we could see the incoming tide.  It was rolling over our footprints and the rippled sand.  The time had come to start our trek back.

On our way we came across Louie and Daniel Sauliner.  They were on a little rocky prominence digging for steamers.  I stopped to visit with Daniel.  His gallon bucket was almost full.  While he dug with a piece of old leaf car spring, like he used when he was a kid, I knelt by a small puddle of ankle deep water and washed the sand from the clams he was finding and from those in his bucket.  When his bucket was full he remarked as how I shouldn’t go back with an empty bucket so he began digging with renewed zeal.  Clams were being pulled from sandy holes; where he moved the rocks to expose the sand, he dug.  When all the clams were taken from a location he moved on a little striking rocks with the spring, an alert eye looking for a tell tale spurt, bubble or hole.  When the right clue was seen rocks were quickly scraped or thrown out of the way and he dug, vigorously.  While he dug he talked of his love of the beach and how it is free to all to enjoy, how he had spent a childhood learning its secrets and how as an adult he has gathered food from it.  While the tide covered the flats Daniel filled my pail and then declaring he wanted to find one more big clam struck an innocuous looking rock, moved it, dug and pulled out a big fat clam.  Yes, the beach had few secrets from him.

Each carrying a pail we headed for the campers where we took the clams to Steven’s rig.  Later tonight when the group gathered they would be steamed in some sea water. Friends and strangers alike would be free to enjoy the fruits of his labor and the bounty of the sea.    

At the coach my wet shoes, socks and jeans were shed before I collapsed in the recliner.  Two and a half hours of cold fog and uneven walking had taken their toll on me.  The coach was quiet.  Onie was visiting at Ann and Dan’s.  I rested easy.

Supper time was approaching and Onie returned to begin preparations.  I went out and lit the grill. 

Broccoli salad, sautéed mushrooms and onions and steak would grace our plates.  When Onie was ready the steaks were placed on the grill, long enough to restore them to body temperature, and then we were ready to dine.

  One of our Canadian friends had remarked, in passing, that all really good beef comes from the States.  This was really good beef and it came from Canada.

Revived somewhat from the good meal I read while Onie watched LMN.  She soon retreated to the bed and sought the warmth of the bed.  Once again the cold dampness of the foggy day had penetrated our home and the bed offered refuge from it.  Soon we were a couple, united, as she watched TV and I continued to read.

Lights out came at eleven. 

July 31, 2004

GOT TO

Daylight revealed a continuation of the fog.  It was still there when I rose at seven thirty to start the coffee and tea.  Even though the thermometer read sixty five it still felt cold, to me.  While the drinks were making I pecked away.  With a full tea cup the dishes from last night were washed and set to drain.

After a cup of coffee Onie rose and fixed breakfast.

We got two packets of mail yesterday and this morning was occupied with reading it, sorting it, entering information it bore into the agency books, responding to it, paying bills and filing where appropriate.

When noon rolled around Onie fixed us something to hold us until supper and then we headed off to the boardwalk.

The southwest wind blew briskly as we got out into the bright sunlit afternoon.  Many times when we leave Belle Baie and go just a few miles we find sunshine and warmth.  The only thing that can account for that, as far as I can see, is the topography.  The park is in a bend of the bay and lies in a small depression made by the surrounding hills.  Cool air and moisture, normally a plus, are trapped here.  When temperatures are normal the park is the most pleasant place for miles, in the summertime.  This summer temperatures are averaging eight to ten degrees below normal so sweaters and windbreakers are seen more often than shorts and tank tops.  But now we were in warm air and sunshine, headed out for a walk.  Walking we stopped from time to time to look closely at wild flowers, the bay, an old building nearby and once just to kiss.  We walked past the wetlands and into the cemetery and tiny chapel.  We crossed the footbridges and stopped to notice the black flies resting on the thick yellow green algae, hiding from the brisk wind that would whisk them away like dead leaves.  Farther along, on top of the rock ridge that ageless tides had thrown up, we stopped again to watch hundreds of gulls and terns looking for a meal on the beach.  Occasionally a brave soul would try his wings, against the wind, only to soar aloft and then glide downwind before alighting on the beach, once more.

We had covered the four point five kilometers in about an hour, shedding our windbreakers along the way.  It was time to move on.

The thermometer in the toad read 76 when we got back in and headed to Jackie’s, Frenchy’s, Valu-Foods and Foodland.   We were laying in a supply of snacks and easy eatables for our New Foundland trip.  Atkins has worked for us and continues to do so.  We don’t want the trip to be our downfall.  After all, we know liberty and thinness carry the same price, eternal vigilance with an occasional sacrifice.

The short drive home was interrupted for a berry stop.  The little cart held a multiplicity of veggies as well as blueberries and raspberries.  The berries were three Canadian dollars a pint.  That would be about two twenty five U.S.  We got a pint of each dropping six dollars into the unattended cash box before heading on to the coach.

A strong wind blew through Belle Baie but it had expelled the fog for the time being and a little sun brought a small break in the damp cold.

While notes were made on the laptop Onie fixed blackened halibut and got to.  For those of you who didn’t know Granny, my Mom, got to is what resides in the refrigerator after a few meals.  Some people think of this as leftovers or warm ups but Granny thought of it as “got to” as in got to eat it or throw it out.  The halibut and got to were quite good.

The laptop beckoned when Onie left to go to Yvonne’s and the campfire.  When a stopping place was reached I joined her.  As night closed in and fog enveloped us once more we returned to the coach for raspberries, cream and bed.