Bugger and Gullyfluff

After my crew had unadvisedly gone to sea without my presence on the last excursion, I was less than excited about the coming voyage. Treacherous sea dogs they may be, but never would I have suspected they'd be capable of such low debauchery. I say, it heavied me heart to see such fine young men turn so quickly agianst their kith and kin. Still, the catch had to be taken in, and so we set out again for the open ocean, myself more than a little apprehensive.



A new member to the crew, out on his sophomore excursion, Blueblackbluebeard was there, and understandably excited. The season had turned, the winds had stopped blowing away visibility, and the promise of a fecund sea did call us to our destiny.



Aided by none other than our own Ol' Peg Leg, we headed off to a bad start by leaving vital equipment, not the least of which was our ship's log, behind on shore, rendering us unable to record the day's catch or the ship's progress. Ol' Peg Leg headed back to shore to retrieve the gear, while the rest of the crew continued the work at hand, only praying that, eventually, we would find ourselves able to catch up to the progress we'd made.

As Pelicor wills, luck was not with us that day. For no sooner had Ol' Peg Leg ambled off did we snag the largest beast of the sea I'd seen since our initial encounter with such a creature o so long ago. We fought with the great beast, employing all the teachings that the salty dog had learned us over the years, and finally were victorious over the monster. However, without holding tanks or a log, we were unable to keep the beast in captivity and, in a decision that rends my very soul to this day, were forced to release the beast back into the deep from whence it came, with no proof to its existence save our own testimony, and the damage that was wrought to our ship.



Of course, the comraderie one finds on a fishing barge is second to none, and we soon forgave the agregious error. As the trip wore on, the crew continued to maintain their closeness in the face of adveristy.





With our supplies and spirits renewed, the voyage soon turned out its first keeper, a fiesty fellow full of spit and mizzen. He fought hard, and long, but in the end we caught 'im!



Some of the new crew was excited to see their first haul. After as many years as I've seen, even the rough reels are part and parcel of the life, but to the new swabs their first catch was something that would stay with them the rest of their lives.





This young tallywhacker seemed particularly enamored with the idea of witnessing his first haul.



The ritual that goes along with the catching of your quarry is a long-standing part of life on the open ocean. Hard to think that one day, after the sea winds have tightened his eyes and the rigging has toughened his hands, this soft-hided boy will be taking part in the same rituals, laughing at the wonder of his own new swabs.

In the meantime, the knowledge of a successful catch had raised the spirits of the seasoned fishmongers aboard, and we shared a knowing and convivial smile at the joy the catch had brought us, and the prospect of more game to come.





Unfortunately, as with any long sea voyage, the isolation and the malnourishment can begin to affect your judgement. You can become a completely different person, unable to tell between good and bad, right and wrong. You could throw yourself overboard, never thinking for a moment that it might be the end of ye. Even with the closest friends you can find with ye there on the deck, men have gone mad, had perverted and warped their minds. I'd seen it happen before and, as the weeks wore on, I could sense that something was awry.



As soon as I'd start thinking things were improving, when we'd catch a fresh breeze or the bounty of the sea would be plentiful that day, something else would hint, subtly, that something wasn't quite right.



One day, taking stock of the heavy loading equipment we keep on board for the big hauls, I stumbled onto a scene the would make any seafaring man stop dead in his tracks. Suddenly, the strangeness with which my crew had been acting recently made a bit more sense.



Luckily, I caught onto the problem before the sea-relations could get out of hand. Stranger things have happened to men on the open water, but to allow them to continue would have surely ended in tragedy. After a stern talking to, and a hastily pieced-together explanation on their part concerning something called the "honey dip," the problem had been soundly dealt with, and the ship began to run as smoothly as it ever had.



And, thankfully, my crew had taken up its original fraternal bonds, once again enjoying the closeness never to be known by man on the land.



But not that close.



That's better.

...

As the voyage drew to a close, one of the mates brought up the subject of stopping at the port of Normton on the return trip. Occasionally, we weigh anchor in the little port-town to blow off some steam after a long stretch at sea and celebrate a successful catch. We had returned well ahead of our projected date, and so I issued a day-long furlow in Normton, a place known for its delicious edibles.



Imagine my surprise, after the not-to-be-mentioned discussion on the ship involving something called a "honey dip," which I understand can be read more about here, upon seeing this delightful child's amusement bearing such a coincidental monicker!



Truly, the Fates had been with us. Pelicor had been kind this journey, and the wonder of the discovery of the amusement, as well as the pride of a good haul, shown in the eyes of our fellow shipmates.



I finished my time in Normton by enjoying their famous Apple Pie A La Mode, a delicacy I try to enjoy whenever I come through the port. As it was brough to my table in one of the small eateries peppered throughout the hamlet, I gave thanks, in my private mind, for the life we have been given, for the life we have chosen, and for the lives we took in order to ensure a successful journey. For a life of adventure, a life of high seas and strong winds, this is no small price to pay.



So... where's the pie?

...

I'm still waitin' on that pie.

Mizzenmast

I awoke late one night to the fierce giggling of a young squab I had never laid eyes on before, but who me best mate Ol' Peg Leg informed me was our newest hand aboard the ship. Evidently, while I slept in the brig, Three-Fish had taken the vessel to sea and had started taking in an early catch. The boy had landed a fine haul on only his first trip out onto the mirrored blue, in the dead of night, no easy task for a fresh grunion such as he.



Still, as I lay there in bed, sick with the Brine Fever, and the boy stood above me, cackling, I couldn't help but think that something was wrong, that this new addition to our crew, once solid and dependable as a rock, would weaken the joints of my proud and stoic band. I was beginning to have reservations.



Reservations indeed.

Bloooooo black blue.

The Shamefaced Umbrellafish

Once again, my fearless mate and I head out into the rough and unwelcoming weather, knowing we may never return but hoping, just the same, for enough of a catch to see us through the night.

As our previous efforts had proven fruitless, and as our first venture was met with nothing but inhospitable environs, we decided to move to more verdant grounds were I was informed the game had been more plentiful in the past.



The sea was generous this day, me lovelies. We had not been there half-of-an-hour when, distracted by merry talk and gay banter, my own dear friend did hastily draw my attention toward my own dear rod which, laden as it seemed to be with promise of quarry, was a-bendin' and a-shakin' like to pull itself free from its moorings. Had he not made the happenings known to me when he did, I don't dare think on what may have become of us that day.

However, our wits were about us, and our minds sharp and quick, and after a struggle which can only be remembered as epic beyond believin', we had ourselves our first catch.



The creature had ben hooked not through the mouth, as if t'were attempting to gnaw on the victuals affixed to the line, but rather the tail of the beast, which must have, by chance, hooked itself as it was attemptin' to swim by. I don't know what God you pray to, best beloved, but somethin' was out there that day, something helped us ground what was perhaps the greatest and single most gratifying catch we'd ever experienced.

Though the game was fair, and though our fever was high for the fishin', the sea was awash with another gaggle of the sea's denizens. Soon, my worry that we might accidentally hook one of these monstrosities and be forced to reel it in, face to face, gave me pause.



We began to look for other means of girding our larders for the long journey home. My mate, apt fellow that he is, quickly discovered a new quarry, and one that was as likely as those hidden beneath the brine.



Crouching there, feelin' out his intended capture, he made ready for a chance at furthering the day's glory. Whip quick, he leaped up from his seclusion and lunged, full force, at the unsuspecting prey.



Alas, today was not be our time to conquer both the creatures of the deep and the avians of the sky. The earlier success of our day, however, lightened our hearts, as we set sail once again for our port of call... home. The journey was long, a perilous quest, and along the way, many a wonder did we see.



"Ahoy!" We hailed, and "Ahoy!" again, to no reply from the helmsman of this vessel. As we drew nearer the craft, we continued our attempts at communication, but to no avail. Finally, as we drew up alongside him, we took one final look, if nothing else to see if we could give quarter to a soul lost or injured, as we ourselves would no doubt hope some fellow seadog would accomodate us. Nothing could have prepared us for the sight which awaited us.



Silently, we turned forward, and set loose full sail, leaving the horrifying vision behind us, fading into the dank fog and our haunted memory. As we neared our home port, is occured to me that a shipping date was upon us, and that we'd not have time enough to visit home and return along the same route to complete our business. I entrusted my mate to return the cargo, and the catch, to the home port, while leaving me along the way to complete our transaction. I'd catch a frigate bound north and be home 'fore our next run.

While dropping me ashore, we moored in a dock normally kept open for those less fortunate than ourselves, God love their poor, tortured souls.



This is not conduct I'd like to see associated with the Old Salts, nor is the gesture my best mate appears to be adopting.

And yet, sometimes, these are the prices you must be prepared to pay, for a life spent well in the arms of the sea.

3/16/2006

Caught: Possible Shovelnose Guitarfish - 1. Pigeons - 0.
Days Since Last Trip: 3
Days Until the Next: 3
People Absent from the Latter: Me.

Our cast grows, next update.

Sea Legs

The day began as any other day, out on the high seas. Me best mate and I headed out on a sunny morn to the halcyon beaches of Balboa in search of the day's catch and the hopes of surviving another brutal spring day.











The sea was angry that day. Waves rose and fell like elevators. Or something. The sky groaned green and the bait came slowly. Our day was quickly turning into one of shame and starvation.









Having failed in our attempts at plundering the fickle bounty of the sea, we headed for the local market and procured for ourselves such delicacies as were to be had in those desperate times. Though we survived another day, what price was our humanity ready to pay for our lives? What price would be too much?





Disheartened but resolute at our ability to glean sustinance from great mother ocean, we trudged home. And though our hearts were heavy, our feet remained light as we danced a jig in thanks to our forefathers, that our lives were just and good, and that tomorrow held another hope for a successful catch.



3/13/2006

Caught: 0
Possibilities: Endless