goosefish
01-12-2004, 07:42 PM
This story, I told to the guys at work today. They had heard it before, and enjoyed it: It is the great theme of love and hate. An old fishing story of mine. I thought I'd spend this cold evening telling it to you...............................
I was working on a freezer trawler out of Point Judith, RI. We were out squid fishing, about 100 miles south-east of Block Island. About five or six days into the trip a white egret landed on the boat, looking like hell, tired and near death. During the spring and fall migrations, it is common to find dying birds on deck. I think that they get blown down from the higher altitudes, and once near the sea surface they get into trouble, seeking whatever refuge they can find. Songbirds, hawks, owls, wading birds............................................
Anyway the captain took this egret up into the wheelhouse, where he began to nurse it back to health. After two days the bird was drinking water; and then after four days he had the bird eating from his hand!
The bird was looking much better. And the captain began to really enjoy the birds company. They had bonded.
The bird had been on board for about six days, and finally--for the rest of us--the trip had come to an end. We hauled the net back for the last time, hooked the doors, and began steaming for home.
We started getting closer to Block Island and the bird seemed like it could sense the land, started jumping around the wheelhouse, looking excited and eager. The captain then opened up the wheelhouse door and the egret hopped around the boat, landing on the crane, the stack, the bow.
Block Island was now in plain view and the egret got braver and braver. Finally it made a small flight out to the end of an outrigger......................................... ................................
Then the egret made a go for it. The captain watched it fly. Awkward flaps at first, but then the egret found its form.
All of a sudden a flock of seagulls came flying over to it. The seagulls drove it into the ocean where they killed it, dead.
The captain howled; he raged--he spun the boat around, full throttle toward the gang of gulls. He ran down into the galley and got a loaf of bread. Then he went into his stateroom and grabbed his shotgun.
Once he got out on deck he threw the bread in the water.
"Come in get it you fu---------king gulls!" The gulls flew over and began eating the bread. He open fired, blasted them, swearing like a madman. Dead gulls bobbing on the surface of the sea. Shotgun smoke.
The rest of us watched from the rail, a safe distance away. I don't think the captain was the same man after that. His hatred for gulls was forever sealed.
I was working on a freezer trawler out of Point Judith, RI. We were out squid fishing, about 100 miles south-east of Block Island. About five or six days into the trip a white egret landed on the boat, looking like hell, tired and near death. During the spring and fall migrations, it is common to find dying birds on deck. I think that they get blown down from the higher altitudes, and once near the sea surface they get into trouble, seeking whatever refuge they can find. Songbirds, hawks, owls, wading birds............................................
Anyway the captain took this egret up into the wheelhouse, where he began to nurse it back to health. After two days the bird was drinking water; and then after four days he had the bird eating from his hand!
The bird was looking much better. And the captain began to really enjoy the birds company. They had bonded.
The bird had been on board for about six days, and finally--for the rest of us--the trip had come to an end. We hauled the net back for the last time, hooked the doors, and began steaming for home.
We started getting closer to Block Island and the bird seemed like it could sense the land, started jumping around the wheelhouse, looking excited and eager. The captain then opened up the wheelhouse door and the egret hopped around the boat, landing on the crane, the stack, the bow.
Block Island was now in plain view and the egret got braver and braver. Finally it made a small flight out to the end of an outrigger......................................... ................................
Then the egret made a go for it. The captain watched it fly. Awkward flaps at first, but then the egret found its form.
All of a sudden a flock of seagulls came flying over to it. The seagulls drove it into the ocean where they killed it, dead.
The captain howled; he raged--he spun the boat around, full throttle toward the gang of gulls. He ran down into the galley and got a loaf of bread. Then he went into his stateroom and grabbed his shotgun.
Once he got out on deck he threw the bread in the water.
"Come in get it you fu---------king gulls!" The gulls flew over and began eating the bread. He open fired, blasted them, swearing like a madman. Dead gulls bobbing on the surface of the sea. Shotgun smoke.
The rest of us watched from the rail, a safe distance away. I don't think the captain was the same man after that. His hatred for gulls was forever sealed.