The storms of January took out our pier, gangway, and the float where I normally tie up my fishing boat. But neighbors in Harpswell are kind and generous — even to outsiders like me. Without a dock and float to tie up my boat, a neighbor lets me tie my boat to his mooring. The mooring is anchored in a quiet eddy, but it is surrounded by racing currents when the tide runs. Each time I use my boat, I row to the mooring in a small dinghy that another neighbor graciously loaned me. The dinghy is tied to a haul-out that a third neighbor has allowed me to use.
But I’m starting to believe that these “gracious” gestures were devised to set up some entertainment for the neighbors at my expense.
With heavy fog on the water and a moving tide, I enjoyed a nice morning of fishing from my boat. Finished with the fishing, I secured my boat to the mooring, carefully transferred myself and my gear from boat to dinghy, and started rowing back to shore. With my generous size and age, and across those currents, this fine craft felt more like a “dinky” than a dinghy.
Because of the rapid currents, landing at the right place on shore required vector calculus. To compensate for the fast current, I aimed the “dinky” far up current. My calculations worked and I successfully crossed the rapid water, entering the calm area among the seaweed and emerging rocks of the shoreline.
In a relaxed state, I noticed that screeching birds had replaced the sound of the moving water.
All around me terns were diving into the calm water for the same baitfish the striped bass were chasing. This was an opportunity no serious fisherman could pass up.
Still sitting in the dinghy, I set the oars down and made a cast to the spot where the birds were diving. On the second cast I hooked a fish. Excellent! The slow head shakes told me it was a large striper. But that head-shaking fish was trying to exit the scene via that fast water, and it was pulling me and the dinghy with it. If the fish pulled me into the current, I’d have big problems. I’d be 200 yards down shore in moments, and to get home from this Nantucket sleighride I’d have to wait for the return tide.
More calculus. I didn’t have an anchor to toss. The oars were scattered in the dinghy, and I couldn’t use them anyway since my hands were on the fishing rod, trying to keep the fish from tangling around mooring lines and lobster traps. Just as I thought I had about five seconds to do something drastic, the fish shook the hook free. I was relieved but had the feeling that the neighbors must have been watching and were quite amused.
Back to the situation at hand. The dinghy was already beginning to spin around with the changing velocity of the currents. With no time to reel in my line, I needed to quickly put the oars in the open oarlocks and get this dinghy heading away from the fast waters. With some buffer distance I could relax a bit, but I was concerned that another fish might bite the still-trolling lure, so I temporarily let go of the oars to reel in the line. Temporarily turned into permanently as one of the oars slipped out of the open oarlock and into the sea. The neighbors were definitely watching. I had a fishing rod tangled in a mess of line, an oar in one hand, and the essential second oar floating out of arm’s reach. More calculus. I reached the floating oar with my fishing rod and got it back to the dinghy, into the oarlock and functioning.
With the dinghy back to shore, I took a deep breath and chuckled at this shoreside circus. “OK, folks. The show’s over. Let’s all move along.” But instead, my fishing addiction overcame my better judgment. The terns were still crashing into baitfish in the water. The temptation to catch those feeding striped bass when they were close to shore was too strong.
I dropped my gear on the shore, grabbed the fishing rod and waded shin-deep out into the shallows. The sandals I was wearing were meant to get wet like this, but their traction on the seaweed? Nope. I slid ass-first into the seaweed, the watery home of crabs, clams and whatever else lived down there.
“You see, neighbors? This is why I always wear my life vest. Pretty smart of me, right?” Convinced that this SHOULD be what the neighbors were thinking, I ignored their stares and set to fishing. Right away I hooked and landed a spunky fish. As I released the hard fighter, I recognized that it’s good to finish a performance on a high note. So I walked back to dry land, soaked to the waist, feeling like I’d redeemed myself.
As I gathered my gear and started back home, I didn’t dare look up at the house windows that faced the water, but I’m sure those generous neighbors were behind them, smiling, laughing, and maybe even applauding at the success of their clever entertainment setup.
