No One Would Take Me Fishing, So I Stowed Away on a Commercial Boat
Fourteen years old and goggle-eyed with excitement, I was fresh from a farm on the Connecticut side of Long Island Sound, and I’d crept aboard the Hilda, a plodding trawler crusted with spray. Rangy, rugged Jake Brannon, a commercial fisherman who moored the Hilda in a tidal river near our village, was the skipper. Though I was aboard the vessel without his consent, Jake and I weren’t strangers. Most of my experience in saltwater fishing up to then had come because I’d helped him pull lobster pots and beam-trawl nets, tong for quahogs, and handle lines for blackfish, fluke, weakfish, and bluefish. I never thought of such activities as work-like hoeing corn and pitching hay. The sea and fishing fascinated me. Jake’s gift for spinning yarns was partly to blame for my stowing away. more, >>CLICK TO READ<< 09:45
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