A week ago Saturday my friend John's son went into town with his sternman for drinks. A sternman is the guy who goes along with a lobsterman as a kind of mate. The sternman baits bags, bands lobsters, etc., gets a share of the catch. This particular sternman is kind of a lowlife.
The two went to town and got drunk. David, my friend's son, couldn't drive, so he had his sterman drive home. Sternman drops David at the house, then takes the truck back to town. At some point, sternman is being chased by another friend of mine (a police person) doing 108 mph. The police person friend gives up chase at town line and calls State Troopers to continue pursuit. Staties find the truck with the undercarriage and body separated, truck completely totalled, windshield covered in blood. No occupant. Come to find out later the sternman hitched back to David's house, threw the keys on the kitchen table, and announced: "I trashed your truck. Here're the keys." On hearing the news, David took some time out from his quiet night to beat the crap out of the sternman, who, it turns out, was already on probation and had no license.
Today, David takes his father's truck to buy a new truck for himself, leaving John without transportation all day. I help John unload a trailer full of shingles, I take the carbs and fuel pumps off my Yamaha 150, and then I come home. Before I get settled, John calls to ask me to follow him down to the garage in his mother's car, a Dodge Neon. Here's the good part:
John says he gets in his mother's car to drive it to town, and he hits the brake pedal, and it goes to the floor. He walks back inside to tell his mother she doesn't have any brakes, and ask her how in the hell she's been driving like this, and she says:
"Well, I don't really use them that much, Johnny."
Poor John. He's had a bad week.
I can relate. I spent all last week driving to and from the hospital in Portland to be with Sandra. And I had to take my Mom with me because I couldn't leave her alone. Four hours in the car with my Mom, daily. At one point, I look down at her pants and notice they're dirty. I say: "Your pants are dirty, Ma. What happened?"
She answers: "You did that."
Meanwhile, a Florida man was found floating about three miles from my house. Apparently, his sailboat sunk. He was on a trip from Thomaston to God knows where. Must have hit a ledge. Water's about 50 degrees. Looks like he froze to death. Never met the man so I can't say much else about him. Seems to have been a lone transient. Here one day, gone the next, literally.
Two weeks prior, a father (whom I did meet) and his son left Rockland on another sailboat bound for Gloucester. It was rough and had been for quite a while. Sailboat never reached its destination. USCG Falcon jet found the boat floating about 30 miles from my house. Lobster boat raced to the scene. When rescue arrived, a 22 year old male jumped in the water from the sailboat and swam toward the lobsterboat. Later it was discovered the sailboat had no life jackets, no emergency equipment. Son claims father fell overboard a week before the rescue. Says he didn't know how to sail or get the engine started or use the radio. Son and mother live in New Hampshire. Wouldn't speak to press. No further investigation forthcoming. This is a very strange story worthy of writer speculation/embellishment.
Some families here seem to reap drama and tragedy by the barge load.
-seabgb
Copyright © Bob G. Bernstein (seabgb) All Rights Reserved!
Friday, November 18, 2005
Yellow Eye of the Eagle
Last month I moved my big boat up the river behind my house. I've been rowing back and forth ever since. It's about a mile and a half. Most of the time I get into a zen frame of mind, listen to the oars groan in the oar locks, hum a mantra to myself, glance over my shoulder at my destination or keep my eyes focused on the place I just left. This one particularly day, foggy as hell, pea soup, I rowed out with an eye on the little wavelets, making sure I kept a certain angle on them with the dinghy. When you're rowing, you're always facing the wrong direction. It's easier to take a bearing off something behind you when you start -- unless you can't see behind you, which is why on that day I used the waves to guide me.
Anyway, I went to the big boat, started it up, and motored it around to charge the batteries. Then I came back to the mooring and put everything to bed, got in my little dinghy and headed back to the house. Same deal, one eye on the waves to keep me on course.
To get to and from my boat, I have to row through the narrow part of a bight, a pass made even narrower when the tide is ebbing. I always get pretty close to this one big rock on the way in and this time was no different, except for one thing.
Picture this: Tide ebbing. Me rowing. Thick of fog. As I get close to the rock, these little white feathers blow by my face, so I turn around, and not ten feet away, standing on the rock, is this bald eagle picking the feathers off a seagull he caught. The eagle gives me this really nasty look, one of those yellow-eye-with-the-beady-black-center looks. A bit unnerving. For a second I thought he was going to take a bite out of me, but then he flies off to another rock about 100 feet away.
Made my day.
-seabgb
Copyright © Bob G. Bernstein (seabgb) All Rights Reserved!
Anyway, I went to the big boat, started it up, and motored it around to charge the batteries. Then I came back to the mooring and put everything to bed, got in my little dinghy and headed back to the house. Same deal, one eye on the waves to keep me on course.
To get to and from my boat, I have to row through the narrow part of a bight, a pass made even narrower when the tide is ebbing. I always get pretty close to this one big rock on the way in and this time was no different, except for one thing.
Picture this: Tide ebbing. Me rowing. Thick of fog. As I get close to the rock, these little white feathers blow by my face, so I turn around, and not ten feet away, standing on the rock, is this bald eagle picking the feathers off a seagull he caught. The eagle gives me this really nasty look, one of those yellow-eye-with-the-beady-black-center looks. A bit unnerving. For a second I thought he was going to take a bite out of me, but then he flies off to another rock about 100 feet away.
Made my day.
-seabgb
Copyright © Bob G. Bernstein (seabgb) All Rights Reserved!
About Moon Dog
There was a guy I knew in New York. Some of you may remember him. His name was Moon Dog. He used to stand outside the Sperry Rand building on 6th Avenue (or near there) dressed in garb that resembled clothes the Vikings wore, at least that's how I picture him now.
Moon Dog was an impressive figure, standing over six-something. Most people wrote him off as another street urchin crazy. My friends and I knew him differently. As an impressionable young man in my teens, Moon Dog's insights and philosophical ramblings inspired me to look at life from new angles.
Perspective is everything.
There are indeed such things as moon dogs. They're the colorful light effects the moon casts in clouds of ice. Moon dogs are akin to sun dogs.
There are also moon stones, sea dogs, moon-tides, even blue dogs.
Here in Maine, people will use moon-tide and blue dog, sometimes in the same sentence. As in: "We saw plenty of tuna but couldn't get the bait down past the blue dogs. Must be a lot of blue dogs 'cause of the moon tide."
A moon-tide is really a misnomer for a spring tide, the extreme tide that forms on the new and/or full moon. A blue dog is what some fishermen will call the blue shark, the streamlined and very iridescence shark that shows up here when the water temperature in the Gulf of Maine reaches about 53 degrees Fahrenheit.
-seabgb
Moon Dog was an impressive figure, standing over six-something. Most people wrote him off as another street urchin crazy. My friends and I knew him differently. As an impressionable young man in my teens, Moon Dog's insights and philosophical ramblings inspired me to look at life from new angles.
Perspective is everything.
There are indeed such things as moon dogs. They're the colorful light effects the moon casts in clouds of ice. Moon dogs are akin to sun dogs.
There are also moon stones, sea dogs, moon-tides, even blue dogs.
Here in Maine, people will use moon-tide and blue dog, sometimes in the same sentence. As in: "We saw plenty of tuna but couldn't get the bait down past the blue dogs. Must be a lot of blue dogs 'cause of the moon tide."
A moon-tide is really a misnomer for a spring tide, the extreme tide that forms on the new and/or full moon. A blue dog is what some fishermen will call the blue shark, the streamlined and very iridescence shark that shows up here when the water temperature in the Gulf of Maine reaches about 53 degrees Fahrenheit.
-seabgb
Thursday, November 17, 2005
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